#for him to just allow her to walk away and not even that but walking out HIMSELF is so strange to Lilly and she HATES it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aureatelys · 2 days ago

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as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c.: 6k a/n: inspired by that one gifset of hotch desperately needing some moisturizer on his neck im so sorry. also my first time writing hotch's pov, pls be gentle. c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, kinda sunshine/girly!reader, mutual pining, alcohol mention, author pretending like they know about skincare, hotch is whipped and touch starved af, no y/n

summary:

You think Hotch needs to take better care of himself. Hotch doesn't know what to think. Or, 5 times you teach Hotch about skincare more than he wants to and 1 time he teaches you.

read below or ao3 here

one.

When Hotch first walks into the conference room ready to go over a new case, there’s something different that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Words dying in his throat, he sweeps his eyes over the entire room and doesn’t see anything significantly out of place. Then he’s passing over everyone’s faces, mentally keeping a note on how exhausted most of them are looking, and then landing on you.

Having only joined a couple of months ago, you were still fairly new to the team. However, with your sunny disposition and eagerness to learn, you blended right in. Hotch had watched in amusement as you were able to keep up with Reid’s ramblings, Morgan’s flirting, and Garcia’s antics. You were insightful, able to give new perspectives that Hotch would never have even considered, patient with victims and their families, and Hotch admired you for that.

Today, however, you look considerably suspicious as you give him a sheepish smile and a little wave. “Morning, Hotch,” you say, eyes sparkling, followed by a round of greetings from the rest of the team.

“Morning.” And then he spots a machine on the table near the wall, shaped and designed like a cat and spouting off what looks like steam at a steady and continuous rate.

Now that he’s noticed it, he realizes the conference room feels significantly stickier, the sudden humidity a stark contrast to the dry winter air outside. He can sense the slight congestion he’s been waking up to the past several months gradually disappearing.

“It’s a humidifier,” you explain after spotting the slightly confused expression Hotch was wearing, as if he’s never seen one before. To be fair, he doesn’t think he’s seen one in years as Haley was usually the one who dug it out of storage when Jack wasn’t feeling well. “I brought it from home, I thought it was a little dry in here. Is that okay?”

“I hope so, I was worried about getting a nosebleed the other day.”

“It’s good to have it around during this time of year, Hotch. Did you hear Anderson coughing this morning?”

“It’s also beneficial to have one on while you sleep, both with the white noise and being able to clear your sinuses and breathe easier with its optimal humidity levels.”

Truthfully, Hotch doesn’t care and he’s sure there isn’t some ridiculous regulation about not allowing a small humidifier, especially when Garcia has two space heaters in her office that you’ve had to ask to borrow at least twice a week.

However, the way you’re glancing up at him now from your spot at the round table, eyes wide and fluffy pink scarf wrapped around you because you apparently run colder than the rest of the team, Hotch would probably let you get away with anything.

He immediately sets that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on exactly what that means right now. He takes the only empty seat left that just happened to be right next to you, making sure to keep a respectable distance. “It’s fine. Just make sure to turn it off and empty it before we go.”

You give him a blinding smile that momentarily distracts him from the bubbling humidifier and the clouds of mist that are nearly falling into his face. “Sure thing. Did you know that it can also help with dry skin? So technically, we’re just taking care of our bodies if they ask why we need it.”

Although it makes sense now that he thinks about it, Hotch didn’t know that. He also doesn’t remember the last time he put on lotion or moisturizer, no matter how dry his hands felt.

Just then, Garcia wobbles in with her yellow heels and coffee mug, immediately launching into the brutal details of the case and where the team will be headed out to for the next couple of days.

When Hotch gets up to grab his go-bag from the office, he tries to ignore how it feels like he can breathe a little bit easier.

two.

“God, it’s freezing in here.”

Hotch glances up from his laptop mid-report to witness you taking the seat next to his with a resounding oof. You’re wrapped up in a blanket that you had brought from home that has somehow taken permanent residence on the jet, shivering despite the heater being on full blast. The corner of it lands on his knee, soft and warm.

The team had just finished a case in rural Montana, surrounded by mountains of snow and the wilderness. You had remembered to pack warmly at least, as Hotch had witnessed you struggling to take off the several layers of sweaters every time you arrived at the precinct. He remembers frowning in the car on the way to apprehend the unsub as you shivered in the passenger seat, having had to wear only a layer or two due to the bulky Kevlar vest and needing to be quick on your feet.

“It’ll warm up here in a second,” Hotch says, already wracking around his brain to see if there was another blanket hidden in a compartment somewhere. “A cup of tea will probably help.”

You slouch down further in your seat, cocooning yourself even further under the thick blanket. “I don’t want to get up.”

Hotch is almost tempted to lock his computer and get up to make you that cup of tea himself, however he glances around the cabin and notices several knowing pairs of eyes on him. He doesn’t have to be a profiler to know what the rest of the team thinks—that he’s gone soft on you.

You with your fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape and the thick socks that you put in your bag specifically for the plane ride home. He knows he’s not imagining the lingering glances you throw at Hotch or the way you occasionally stay late as an excuse to bother him in his office.

And he doesn’t necessarily mind. There’s a strange, innate pull that tugs in his stomach when it comes to you, causing him to watch you more carefully and seeking out your presence at almost every opportunity. The sheer grip of panic on his heart when you were shot after taking down an unsub by yourself and without backup several months ago had Hotch re-evaluating everything he knew about himself.

He’s aware of the possible repercussions, which is exactly why Hotch has learned to be patient when it comes to you, who has threatened him to forgo his patience altogether with every bubbly laugh he can hear from his office or knock of your shoulders against his in the conference room.

So he doesn’t get up to make you that cup of tea despite knowing how you take it with a splash of milk and two sugars, and instead turns back to finish the action report.

It’s only several minutes later when he notices you rummaging around in your bag out of the corner of his eye before you pull out a small and colorful lotion bottle with a triumphant noise. You pop the cap open and slather some on your hands before you’re turning to face Hotch again, the novel that Reid recommended to you untouched on the table. “Do you want some?”

The bottle in your hand looks somewhat familiar, most likely something he’s passed by at the store or on your desk, but Hotch balks at the pink flowers painted all over the bottle. He’s lucky the undoubtedly suffocating smell hasn’t hit him yet. “I’m fine, thanks.”

But you don’t put the lotion back in your bag, instead shifting in your seat until you’re fully facing him. Your blanket is nearly draped over Hotch’s thigh. “Are you sure? You know, it’s really important to make sure your hands are moisturized, especially with how cold it is here.”

He doesn’t know why you’re so adamant about this, peering up at him with bright and eager eyes and the open lotion bottle poised over his hands. He’s never liked putting on lotion, or any kind of creams, as it always made his hands feel uncomfortably greasy. He would eventually wash it off anyway.

He turns his attention back to his laptop, yet wordlessly puts a hand out towards your direction.

He thinks you’re going to pour a generous dollop and let him rub his own hands together, but instead, he nearly jumps in his seat when you’re grabbing onto his hand with both of yours and slathering whatever’s leftover on your hands into his palms and the back of his hands.

Your hands are cold, even moreso than his, but the sharp tingle that runs up his arm at your touch causes something warm to bloom in his chest.

“I didn’t want to waste it,” you respond to the confusion on his face. You’re thorough; making sure to slather the cream in between his fingers and even down to his wrists. He senses the sneaking glances the rest of the team are throwing his way, maybe even smug, but he’s painstakingly distracted by the way your hands look in his, the way he can feel both of your hands gradually warming up.

And then you’re pulling away, and Hotch suddenly misses your tender touch.

Like he expected, his palms suddenly feel gross, unpleasantly slippery like he has oil all over them. He wants to rub his palms on his pants or go wash his hands, but your watchful eyes stop him.

And then it hits him— the sudden scent of you, floral with some hints of vanilla, overwhelming his senses. It’s undeniably the same scent as your perfume, the one that seems to linger every time you stride past him at the office or when you’re leaning over Hotch to laugh at something Morgan said. Now, it causes him to sharply inhale, chest feeling unnervingly tight as he unconsciously marks it to his memory.

You’re still watching him with an expectant smile, bottle stored away in your bag for you to pull out again after you’ve gotten up to use the restroom and used the cheap hand soap that you’ve repeatedly complained about before. You look unfazed, as if your simple touch hasn’t sent Hotch’s brain reeling.

“It’s nice,” Hotch manages to say, voice only slightly strained. The smell is not as strong as he expected, but it’s still doing strange things to his heart more than he’d like to admit.

If possible, your smile widens. “Just nice?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s quite my signature scent.”

You hum and turn away, picking up your book despite Hotch knowing you’re not going to read a single page of it today, the spine already creased from where you’ve been laying it face down multiple times over the past month. “No, your signature scent already fits you.”

Hotch says nothing, not entirely sure how to respond to that, but your attention is already caught by the game of cards Reid and Emily are playing several seats away. You immediately set your novel down and scramble up and out of your seat to be their enthusiastic audience, leaving a trail of vanilla behind you.

Hotch immediately misses the warmth of your blanket.

three.

“What are you looking for now?”

You’ve been digging through your bag, your pink personal one that’s almost as big as your go bag, for the past five minutes. Hotch can hear the various items clinking around and the crinkling of multiple old receipt papers as you curse under your breath. He frowns, tempted to encourage you to clean out your bag if only to make packing more convenient for you. He couldn’t count the number of times you’ve exclaimed on the jet that you had forgotten something.

The team had gotten called to another small rural town in North Dakota for an unsub that’s been killing during the protective guise of blizzards, which is why Hotch was driving so painstakingly slow that Morgan would’ve surely had an aneurysm if he was in the same car. Despite the roads having already been salted, there was still a concerning amount of ice on the roads that had Hotch sitting ramrod straight in his seat and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were nearly turning white.

Luckily, it was only you and Hotch in the car, heater on full blast. You’re wearing at least three sweaters today with your coat draped over your legs and haven’t even complained once about it being too cold, citing how you’ve never seen this much snow before in your life. Hotch found it all extremely endearing watching you nearly jump in your seat at how the evergreen trees looked covered in snow. Like a Christmas movie, you had said.

“Found it!” You pull out a travel sized bottle of sunscreen, hurriedly twisting the cap open to squeeze and draw lines down three fingers.

Hotch glances at you out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed in confusion at your strange method. “Sunscreen? Are we going to the beach?”

“God, I hope not. I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit.” You roll your eyes while slathering the cream on your forehead, cheeks, down your neck, and even strangely over your ears before rubbing the rest on the back of your hands.

Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Hotch clears his throat. “I didn’t expect you to be so invested in your skin health.”

“It’s called skincare, Hotch,” you tease, screwing the cap back on but suspiciously leaving it out on your lap. “And it’s important to take care of your skin. Did you know that snow reflects UV rays, so even during winter you should put on sunscreen?”

Hotch chuckles before he could stop himself. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”

“Did you want some?” You’re twisting your body again to face Hotch, eyes sparkling despite it being horribly dreary and cloudy outside.

The only times Hotch has worn sunscreen was during especially hot summer days when he took Jack to the park or to go swimming. He’s seen you apply sunscreen in the office even when it was raining outside and the sun wasn’t forecasted to come out that day. He’s grown to learn not to ask questions.

“I’m okay, thanks.” The answer’s immediate, partly because he doesn’t need sunscreen and partly because he is concentrating on not crashing into a ditch.

“Come on, Hotch, it’s good for you!” He knows this is exactly the same thing you said on the jet several weeks ago, and since then, every time you’re putting on lotion and he’s somewhere in the near vicinity, you’re already squeezing some on his hands before he could respectfully decline. Luckily, you haven’t tried to apply it for him again.

You’re incredibly stubborn and Hotch wonders if you’re persuading the rest of the team to invest in expensive and fruity-smelling creams in an effort to have everyone properly take care of their bodies like you are with him.

“Alright.” And then he’s pulling his foot off the gas pedal just a bit to compensate for the distraction of having to put his hand out, desperately hoping you’re not going to lean over to apply it to his own face.

You luckily don’t squeal in excitement like he expected, just silently squirting the cream into careful and meticulous lines on his three fingers. Hotch can tell it’s definitely more of an expensive brand than what he was used to during the summer—lightweight and smelling like nothing.

Hotch carefully slathers it onto his face, starting at his forehead, down his nose, and then out to his cheeks and his chin. There’s still quite a lot left on his fingers and he remembers how you made sure to spread some on your neck, so Hotch does the same thing. However, he is definitely not going to put some on his ears.

Satisfied, you put the sunscreen away and twist as best as you could underneath your thick layers to put your bag in the backseat, because the floor of the car was too wet from the snow from your shoes.

“Happy?” Hotch’s face inexplicably feels greasier than he would like, but it’s not as bad as the vanilla-scented lotion or the cheap sunscreen laying forgotten in his closet. It’s already absorbed into his skin and when he rubs a hand along his jaw, he realizes that it must have had some moisturizer in it as well because his face feels softer than he was used to.

“Ecstatic,” you say, turning your face towards the window to hide the wide grin spreading across your face.

four.

The fourth time Hotch learns about skincare from you was completely and utterly by accident.

It had been a long and brutal couple of days chasing a serial in Tennessee, one that had nearly as much technological experience as Garcia. He had been two steps ahead of them until tonight, when they had finally caught a break and caught him before he could take any more women to hold hostage.

The all-consuming relief was palpable during dinner at the hotel restaurant despite the underlying knowledge that the same thing was going to happen next week. Conversation flowed, drinks were had, and Hotch was adamantly ignoring the fleeting looks you were throwing his way across the table.

Hotch and you had been dancing around each other for months, tension so tangible that the rest of the team were starting to feel uncomfortable. He’s been able to brush off Dave’s sly remarks in the privacy of his office, Morgan and Emily’s raised eyebrows tossed in his direction at every interaction he had with you, and Garcia’s elbow jabs at every possible second when you were in the room.

It's been frustrating for him, to say the least. He can’t tell them that he can’t make that choice for you, that he’s too conscious to not cross any of those professional boundaries himself. If that means that Hotch has to wait for several more months for you to make the first move, if that even happens, then so be it.

When Hotch watches the way you throw your head back in laughter at something Dave says at dinner, eyes bright and face slightly flushed from the wine, he thinks he’d be willing to wait as long as you wanted.

After being nearly kicked out of the restaurant from being too rowdy and Hotch hinting at being able to take the rest of tomorrow off once they fly back in town early, the team quietly shuffles back to their respective rooms. He knows there’s about a 50/50 chance that most of them will sneak out to a nearby bar in ten minutes, but at least he warned them ahead of time.

“Night, Hotch,” you had said, giving him a little smile and wave before your door across the hallway clicked shut.

Something warm settled in Hotch’s chest at that, so he did the most reasonable thing to cope with the unfamiliar and turned the TV on to a random news channel. With the volume on low and his laptop and files laid out on the rickety table, he got to work.

Several hours pass like that as he throws himself into the fine print, going over everyone’s action reports from last week and shuffling through old crime photos to make sure everything matched. It was a familiar process, and almost concerning with how much comfort he’s found in it—the scratch of his pen, the drone of the city several floors down, and the growing smudge of ink on his hand from his thoughts running faster than he could write.

When he gets to your report and notices it’s missing several key points of the case, as well as your loopy signature, he frowns.

The immediate thought that comes to mind would be to just put the file aside and move onto the other one. It wasn’t as if the report was due this second and he knows there were plenty of others that required more immediate attention.

The other thought that emerges, almost reluctantly, was that Hotch could easily go across the hallway and ask you to take a look at it and finish the report rather than waiting for the following morning on the jet when the rest of the team was undoubtedly going to be hungover. Prentiss was most certainly going to be cranky and demand everyone to be quiet because the hum of the jet was already grating enough. He’d just be doing the team a favor.

That’s what Hotch tells himself as he stands up from the low desk, neck and back aching, and makes his way out his room and to yours across the hall.

He briefly pauses, straining his ears as if he could hear anything through the door and over the erratic thumping of his own heart. Hotch is suddenly aware that you may be sleeping, or even out with the rest of the ladies to a sleazy bar, and he’s about to turn back around with defeat weighing heavy on his shoulders when he hears the click of the bathroom door open and your humming, faint even through the thick wooden door.

Feeling confident that he’s not disturbing you and something else Hotch can’t name at the fact that he’s going to be seeing you in the privacy of your hotel room, he raps twice against the door.

“Just a second!” And then the door swings open.

Hotch’s attention is immediately caught by the fluffy headband you’re wearing, light pink and with a comically large bow in the center. You’ve clearly just gotten out of the shower, the scent of your body wash infiltrating Hotch’s senses and causing him to tighten his grip on the files he forgot he was holding in the first place.

You’re wearing a matching set of light blue pajamas, short and clinging to your body in a way that has Hotch immediately tearing his gaze away and back to your bare face. Your lips are glossy, slicker than normal, there’s a drop of water slowly trailing down the side of your neck, and a dab of cream on your cheek that you seem to have not noticed.

“Hotch?” you ask, confused, before letting out a squeak and crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to hide your modesty. Hotch ignores the fact that it just makes everything worse. “Is everything okay? Don’t tell me there’s a case.”

The droplet of water has disappeared underneath the collar of your shirt and the scent of vanilla nearly suffocates him. “No case. Just needed to get your final touches and signature on this report.”

He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as strained to you as it does to him as he remembers why he was standing in your hotel doorway in the first place, the files in his hand suddenly weighing like a ton.

You don’t seem to notice anything wrong, if anything, a slow smile spreads across your face that has Hotch’s stomach flipping.

You look radiant, the intimacy of being near you in your pajamas when you were clearly in the middle of your nighttime routine not going unnoticed. He peers over the top of your head to notice your go bag on your bed, clothes and your personal laptop strewn all over the comforter, and the TV being tuned to what you’d call an “entertaining yet trashy show.”

“You’re still working even though you’re the one who suggested having an early night? It’s late.”

Hotch blinks at you because what else would he have done if not attempt to catch up on the seemingly never-ending pile of papers and reports? “You’re still up late too.”

You roll your eyes. “I was just about to go to bed before you knocked, so technically I have better work-life boundaries than you.”

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

You study him—still wearing his suit sans the jacket, tie only slightly loosened and sleeves rolled up his forearms. He hadn’t even bothered to put his shoes back on, comfortable enough with the hotel’s reputation to be in his room and take the two steps across the carpeted hallway in his socks.

“As long as you make it fast.” And then you’re stepping aside and opening the door further, the sweetness of the vanilla nearly pulling Hotch in.

Except he’s somehow distracted by the dollop of cream still on your cheek, right underneath your eye. Witnessing first-hand the twinkling of your eyes as you glance up at him and the way your pink headband has your hair pushed back, baring the most of your face he’s ever seen, has him sidetracked.

“You have a little…” He motions to his own face, hoping that you will take the hint.

And you don’t, not exactly, because of course you don’t. You immediately swipe at your face but on the wrong cheek and stare down at your hand when you don’t catch anything. “What?”

Hotch is a problem-solver, meticulous, and always thinks things through. That’s his job, to always be two steps ahead of anyone and everyone. So he’s not sure how or why he’s suddenly reaching a hand out to swipe at the cream on your face with his thumb, his touch lingering on the warmth of your cheek.

Whatever Hotch was going to say dies in his throat at the very audible hitch of your breath, the way your eyes widen at his close proximity. Your skin is smooth, softer than anything he’s ever felt, and he ignores the way you’re staring into him as he pulls back and absentmindedly rubs the moisturizer in the palm of his other hand. If he tries hard enough, the cream on his own skin nearly replicates the feeling of yours.

He's about to clear his throat to apologize, maybe even mention something about how the report can technically wait until tomorrow and turn right on his heel back into his room to ignore the adamant weight pressing down on his chest, when your expression changes.

Something almost akin to smugness tugs at the corners of your lips, the shininess inexplicably different and more distracting than your usual lipstick. Your bright eyes dance with amusement before your arms fall from where they were crossed on your chest to your sides.

“You know, I’m wearing a lip mask right now if you want some of that too.”

“Excuse me?”

If possible, your grin widens, causing Hotch to internally deny that he was suddenly feeling breathless. “I use a lip mask every night. They just make them look so kissable, right?”

Something in Hotch snaps, because if that wasn’t a clear invitation, he doesn’t know what is.

When he finally steps into your room, closing the door behind him, you’re slowly backing up until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall with that infuriating grin on your face.

You’re playing with him, you’ve been playing with him, but he doesn’t care and can’t even think about that when you’re peering up at him with soft eyes.

When Hotch brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, he thinks his stomach nearly twists itself into a knot at the immediate way you lean into him and the way your eyes flutter shut.

When he finally kisses you, he can smell the sweetness of the raspberry lip mask before he tastes it, seamlessly blending in with your vanilla body wash and making him feel more drunk than he’s felt in a long time.

You place your hands on his chest, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and something about touching him has you unconsciously parting your lips to deepen the kiss, causing the smell of raspberry to become stronger.

Hotch can immediately feel the stickiness of your mask on his mouth, and he’s tempted to pull away at the unfamiliarity of something on his lips, but then you’re sighing into him and his hands are suddenly on your waist where the bottom of your pajama top has barely lifted. The warmth of your skin was intoxicating.

You have to be the first one to break the kiss, and when Hotch opens his eyes, you’re staring at him, your smirk having morphed into a smile of disbelief. His eyes flit to the almost imperceptible smear of gloss at the corner of your mouth.

“You have a little…” You trail off, your eyes drifting to his own lips, your smile doing nothing to calm the erratic rhythm Hotch’s heart has taken.

Hotch wonders how much you had put on yourself because the amount that he can feel on his lips makes him immediately want to swipe at his mouth. But that would mean having to take his hands off of you and he doesn’t think he has the willpower for that.

Instead, he rubs his lips together in an effort to spread the tackiness equally over his lips before he says “I like it, but I don’t think I got enough.”

You huff a laugh at that, your fingers tightening from where they’re gripping the lapels of his dress shirt. “I think I can help you with that.”

five.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Just five more minutes, I promise!”

That’s what you had said ten minutes ago. It’s not like Hotch is impatient per se, just content that you had agreed to sleep over again after another late date night and there wasn’t a looming case coming up.

You had only slept over one other time when the team had gotten back from a case late and Hotch wasn’t going to let you drive yourself home when you could barely keep yourself standing. You had dozed off the entire car ride home, head leaning against the window which caused Hotch to adamantly avoid all the potholes and tight turns, and yet you still managed to do your skincare routine in his ensuite bathroom before coming to bed.

After that night in your hotel room, you’ve become bolder. You’re now sitting next to Hotch on the jet, you make your way up to his office when there were still plenty of people milling about in the bullpen, and the way you peer up at him through your eyelashes during case briefings has him itching for a cold shower.

Neither have you said anything to the rest of the team, but at this point, Hotch doesn’t think he has to with the way both Dave and Morgan have patted him on the back the day after you laughed at something Emily had said and leaned against him, leaving his shoulder thrumming from your warmth for the next hour.

Another five minutes pass and Hotch can still hear the clinking of your serums as you rummage through your cosmetics bag. He silently sets aside his phone to get up from his extremely comfortable spot in the bed to pad his way over to the bathroom.

The sight that greets him has Hotch’s stomach plummeting all over again.

You’re sporting that same headband with the pink bow again, however this time, you’re wearing one of his old academy shirts that had mysteriously gone missing from his dresser several weeks ago. You’re freshly showered and you’re holding onto some kind of strangely shaped metallic instrument that you’re scraping over your cheekbones and then down your neck. The way it drags over your skin has Hotch cringing sympathetically.

You immediately spot him, meeting his gaze through the mirror, and the way your eyes immediately light up has a small smile forming on Hotch’s face before he can help it. “Hey you.”

“Hey.” Hotch leans against the doorway, content to watch the clearly practiced movements of you rubbing your skin with this strange contraption. “It’s been over five minutes.”

You pout. “Sorry, I’ve been holding this off all week and I need to do it tonight.”

Hotch was sure that “need” was a strong word, but he doesn’t question it. He stopped questioning your thorough skincare routine months ago.

And then you turn to him, something mischievous tugging at your glossy lips. “Wanna try it?”

Apprehension thuds in his chest, but he takes a step forward into the glow of the bathroom anyway. “And what is it exactly?”

Detecting your hesitation a mile away, you give him a warm smile as you hold it up to him. “It’s called a gua sha. It’s supposed to help with blood flow and getting rid of toxins and all that.”

Hotch may not be a beauty or skincare expert, but he has doubts that this piece of metal can actually do all of those things. To be fair, he’s had quite a few doubts about most of the items you use and not so subtly make him try.

The delight painted clear on your face though has Hotch tucking those thoughts away. He’s sure he has no right to question one’s own method on how to relax.

“Okay.”

You immediately muffle a squeal and turn to grab some other serum you left out on the sink, a light gold swimming around in the bottle.

“I’ll only do half of your face, I promise.” You squeeze some of the mysterious liquid on your hands and reach up to pat the left side of his face.

It’s thicker than your usual products, most likely some kind of oil that smells like roses, but the heat from your hand and your close proximity has Hotch feeling inexplicably warm all over.

“Okay, now you just use this side to run up your cheekbone like this.” You demonstrate for him and he adamantly makes note of the light pressure you’re using. “And then you run it down your face and down your neck.”

When he attempts to copy your movements with the warm metal, he doesn’t notice any difference in how his skin feels or the blood flow in his face, but you’re studying him so closely that Hotch is tempted to say he does.

It’s a strange sensation, but honestly it doesn’t feel any different than if he used his own fingers to rub up against his cheekbone or jawline.

When he puts the piece of metal back in your open palm, you’re nearly teeming with excitement. “So, what do you think?”

He pauses. “I don’t think it’s for me, sweetheart.”

You pout but he can tell that you’re not offended. “Boo. Fine, I’ll meet you in bed, handsome.”

Hotch is about to turn back to go to bed before he remembers the thick oil covering half of his face, evenly dispersed but still uncomfortable and will surely stain his pillowcase. He attempts to discreetly wipe at it with his hand as best as he can before quickly rubbing it off on your arm and escaping.

The screech you let out echoes in his bathroom as you try to swat at him and narrowly miss, and the way he feels heat tinge at the tip of his ears is better than any metallic contraption’s claim to improve blood flow.

On his days off, Hotch much prefers spending as much time as he can at home, either with Jack, you, or, more recently, both. Even if Hotch technically sees you every day in the bullpen, you at work is much different than the you at home.

Or at least, he likes to think there’s a difference as you drag him to the grocery store during what was possibly the quietest afternoon he’s had in several months.

I just have to pick up a couple of things, you had said as you buckle your seatbelt in the passenger side. We’ll be back home in a jiffy.

Never mind the fact that the word home coming from your lips has Hotch’s mind reeling. You’ve been seeing each other for several months now and he’s almost sure that you haven’t stepped foot in your own apartment for at least a month. You’ve taken up half of his dresser, most of his closet space, and the entirety of the counter space in the bathroom with your multi-colored serums and skincare tools that don’t work no matter what you claim.

He follows you around the store, dutifully pushing the grocery cart, as you mentally go through your checklist on all the toiletries you’re almost out of. Which is why he finds himself in the cosmetics aisle when you exclaim “Oh, I forgot about tomatoes for taco Tuesday!” and scamper off before he could say there were plenty of tomatoes from last time in the fridge because Jack has suddenly decided he doesn’t like them anymore.

He's content to wait, maybe check his emails on his phone, when he spots the familiar label of his face wash out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a brand that Haley had recommended for him when they were in college and Hotch knew absolutely nothing about skincare then, so he just continued buying it. He’s gone through countless bottles over the years, having used it nearly every day, yet Hotch finds himself frowning as he stares at the bright orange bottle.

The large bold letters advertise the cleanser being able to effectively combat oiliness, but Hotch distinctly remembers you offhandedly mentioning how lucky he was to have dry skin and not a combination like you.

Honestly, he had no idea, but it would make sense with how you were constantly slathering him in lotions and creams any chance you got.

He browses through the available cleansers, keeping an eye out for those that treat dry skin, when you sidle up next to him with a bag of tomatoes that were undoubtedly not going to get eaten. He can hear the hesitation in your voice when you ask “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something different.”

“Oh yeah? I knew I was wearing you down, Hotchner. Soon, you’re going to be begging me to take you to Sephora.” You’re joking but Hotch can detect the underlying seriousness in your voice.

He continues as if he didn’t hear you. “I’ve been using the wrong face wash for my skin so I’m looking for a different one. I probably haven’t been doing my skin any favors all these years.”

A pause. And then, incredulously, you say “Who taught you that?”

Finding one that was a good size and affordable enough to try, Hotch grabs it and throws it into the cart. When he meets your eyes, you’re staring up at him with a disbelieving smile.

“You did.” And it’s true—Hotch would’ve never thought about the long-term benefits of having a humidifier in the bedroom or the importance of sunscreen everyday if it weren’t for you. Taking care of your appearance was clearly important to you, which meant it was now important to him.

You stare at him, lips parted as if you’re at a loss for words. Your skin is glowing even under the harsh fluorescent grocery store lighting. “You’re such a sweet talker, you know that?”

You toss the tomatoes in the cart, making him wince, and loop your arm through his to tug him along the aisle. You smell sugary sweet with maybe a hint of his cologne from where you had slept in one of his old shirts last night. Hotch remembers how he had felt lightheaded, fondness flooding his chest, when he woke to you laying on his chest this morning. He tugs you closer into his side.

“Does this mean that you’ll try that new light therapy mask that I bought?”

“One step at a time, honey.”

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #mine #aaron hotchner

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daddydixonscrossbow · 2 days ago

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⭒ 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚡𝚘𝚗 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 ⭒

⭒ Things I can literally picture Daryl doing [with the scenario(s) to prove my reasoning] - set in Alexandria

●☆● ☆● ☆● ☆●☆● ☆● ☆● ☆●☆● ☆●

⭒ Daryl would always make sure you are okay first

Once the dusts of the fight settled, Daryl looked for you, getting to you a quick as he can, “Y’okay? Hey, look at me.” He lifts your face to him, his hands running down checking for any bullet wounds.” You grab his hands, “Daryl, Daryl. I’m fine. I’m good.” You nod, “I’m good.” His eyes search your face, nodding as he reaches out to gently pinch your chin, “A’right.”

⭒ Pinching your chin would be something that Daryl would do all the time

When you first wake up and roll over, his fingers find their way to your chin. He gives you a gruff, “Mornin’” before planting his lips on yours. When you get ready to go out on a run without him, he’ll pinch your chin, thumb rubbing over it gently, “good luck, be safe.” He nods, “Y’hear me?” When you nod, he smirks, “A’right. Give’em hell.” He’d do it even if you’re just sitting around, hanging out. He would admire how someone like you could love someone like him. Oh, and he would always do it when he kisses your forehead.

⭒ Daryl would fully allow all hell to break loose if something happened to you

If word got out that you got hurt, he would be the first one to you, asking you what happened. Who did this to you. He would blame everyone for not keeping you safe. He would get in their faces, yelling and bitching. If word got out that you were captured, Daryl would leave right then and there, with or without anyone, and he wouldn’t stop until he found you. If someone wouldn’t tell him anything, he’d didn’t care about their life. He only cared about yours in that moment.

⭒ Daryl would always make a comment about Dog potentially liking you more than him

Dog took a liking to you right away, and ever since then, it seemed like Daryl had some sort of jealousy towards it, but he covered it up with humor, mumbling something along the lines of, “The hell, m’the one who rescued ya, not her” or “yeah, I like her better than you, too” you would always laugh, joking back by telling him to “be nice” and he would scoff with a half smirk while shaking his head, silently loving how you shower Dog in love.

⭒ Daryl would let you handle your own battles within the community, but the minute someone turns disrespectful towards you, that’s when he steps in

He would keep a fair enough distance while still listening in. He would smirk when you would bring out the attitude, glancing over to watch you stand your ground. He loved when you put people in their place, he found it attractive that you could hold your own, “I don’t give a fuck what Rick said, if he has a problem with it, he can come talk to me like a big boy..“ the guy speaks up, “Rick has bigger things to deal with right now, and your bitchy ass isn’t at the top of his list.” Daryl immediately stands up and starts walking over. You watch the guys face change as he steps back. Daryl walks up, “Don’t talk t’her like that.” He nods, “Go get Rick, tell’em I need to talk to him.”

⭒ Daryl would absolutely stay awake after you’ve fallen asleep, just holding you and taking in the moment

As you’re asleep, cuddled up against Daryl’s chest, he was awake. His hand gently running up and down your back as his other rests on your shoulder. He would listen to your breathing, taking in the smell of your shampoo, because it was a rare smell to have nowadays. He would just take it all in, enjoy every minute of you being there with him. Every time you moved or made a noise, he would look down, making sure you were alright. He was partly scared to have someone so close to him, knowing that it could all disappear in a split second, but that makes him even more grateful. Out of everyone, you picked him. He didn’t know why, but what he did know, is that he would do anything for you.

⭒ When he’s out on a run, if he sees something that he thinks you’d like, he’ll pick it up for you

You made your way towards the gate as you heard it being opened. You smile as you heard the rev of his motorcycle growing louder the closer it got. As soon as he stops and turns off his bike, he gets off, walking up to you. He would try to be nonchalant about it, but once he seen how much you light up when he gives you gifts, he can’t help but turn into a bashful idiot himself. He was already fighting back a smile as he handed you the necklace, “S’not much, but.. here y’go, darlin’.” You smirked as you took it, examining the small jewel in your hand before looking up at him, “God, I love you more and more, Daryl Dixon.” You lean in, pecking his lips and he bats the air, “Yeah, well. I love you, too.”

⭒ Daryl would definitely check your weapons and make sure they’re good before you even thought about going out

You would come downstairs to see Daryl sitting on the couch, your knife in his hand. You would walk up to him, leaning over, “Whatcha doin’?” He would shake his head slightly, “Jus’checkin’ out your weapons, makin’ sure they’re good.” He would spin the blade, “Ya sharpen these recently?” He looks over as you sit down and you nod, “Last night.” He smirks, nodding as he leans forward to set the knife on the table, “That’s good.” You lean over to him, informing him that he doesn’t always need to worry about you, but he brushes it off, “Can’t help it, jus’love ya, too much.”

I can’t think of anymore but if I do, I’ll make a new post.

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’ 💋

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eiralunaire · 2 days ago

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The scent of flowers mingled with the warm breeze of the royal garden, a sweet and subtle perfume that permeated the air with its deceptive tranquility. Damian Wayne stood a few steps away from the princess, his posture straight as a stone wall, observing every corner with a calculating gaze. His senses were alert; even in such an idyllic space, danger was never entirely absent.

“Damian,” the princess’s voice interrupted his vigil, as soft as silk, but with the assurance of someone who did not accept “no” for an answer.

Damian did not answer immediately, but he turned his head slightly in her direction. He knew what would come next.

“Kneel,” she requested, holding a small white flower between her delicate fingers.

He suppressed a sigh. It was not an order. The princess rarely gave him orders, but her requests were impossible to refuse. Not out of obligation, but because she… was her.

Without a word, Damian dropped to one knee in the grass, bending his head just enough for her to reach his hair. He felt the princess's fingers brushing back a few stray locks, gently placing the flower among the dark strands.

It was a childish gesture, a childhood prank she refused to let go of. And yet, Damian didn't stop it. He couldn't.

The warm brush of lips on the top of his head took him by surprise, as always. Brief, light… but enough to make his heart skip an uneasy beat in his chest. He mustn't react. He mustn't allow himself to feel anything at such a simple touch.

He was no ordinary man, nor did he have the right to yearn for things beyond his duty. His life was devoted to the protection of the princess, his loyalty unwavering, his existence reduced to being her guardian.

And yet, as the princess walked away with a satisfied smile, Damian reached up to her hair, barely brushing the small flower that now rested among her locks.

Damian stood up with the same precision with which he would draw his sword: without hesitation, without hesitation. The princess had already returned to her flower gathering, moving through the bushes and vines with a natural grace, as if the world around her existed only for her to explore.

He must not be distracted. He must not let his guard down. But her hand remained at his side, her fingers barely brushing the handle of his sword… and the phantom sensation of that flower in her hair.

“Why do you always have such a serious expression, Damian?” the princess asked suddenly without turning, as if she had read his thoughts.

It took him a moment to answer.

“It is my duty to be alert for any threat, Your Highness.”

She sighed and turned to him with a flower in her hand. One more.

“Even here? In our own garden, surrounded by castle walls, with guards at every corner.” Even here you worry?

Damian held her gaze. It wasn't the first time they'd talked about this, but it wouldn't be the last, either.

"Especially here," he said, with the certainty of someone who'd lived through too many betrayals.

The princess watched him for a moment longer, as if trying to find a crack in his armor. Then, with the same gentleness with which she gathered her flowers, she came closer again. Damian already knew what was coming, but he still felt a pang of something he couldn't name when she reached out and touched his hair again.

"So, if you're always so tense, I'll have to remind you that there are beautiful things even in the midst of danger," she said with a soft smile.

Damian felt the light pressure of another flower placed next to the first. And then, as if it were a sacred ritual, the brush of her lips on the top of his head.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. But something in his chest twisted, something that had nothing to do with obligation or loyalty. Something that shouldn't be there.

And yet, when the princess walked away again, he let his fingers brush through her hair once more, making sure the flowers were still there.

Just for an instant. Just to make sure.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #dcu #dc comics #damian wayne x reader

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courtofjade · 3 days ago

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Star Crossed

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’sSister!Reader

Plot- A series of events leading to Eris Vanserra falling in love with the princess of the Night Court.(also lowkey Azriel pining but what’s new)

Warning! Alludes to smut but no actual

“I need to go freshen up. I’ll be right back.” Y/n spoke to Azriel. She began to walk away before he gently grabbed her wrist.

“Here I’ll escort you.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’ve been to plenty of these parties before. I do not need escorting.” He smiled at her softly.

“Yes but this is a party of the Autumn court. You need to be careful around here.” He spoke lowly. Y/n took a step closer to him. Leaning into his ear to whisper to him.

“I know Rhysand put you in charge of watching me tonight and you can tell him to shove it. I’m a big girl I can handle myself.” She smiled and patted his chest before turning away from him- taking a beat to notice the red that had adorned his cheeks and the way he tensed when she leaned close to him.

She made her way down a corridor- eyes scanning the halls. As she continued her search, a deep voice nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Well well, what do we have here? The princess of the Night Court all by her lonesome?” Eris teased. “Your guard dogs off duty tonight?” Y/n rolled her eyes- flaring her wings and tilting her chin up at him.

“Is being a royal asshole a family trait or is that just you and daddy?” She spat.

“Fiery little thing aren’t you?” He smirked. “I don’t believe I’ve ever formally introduced myself. Eris Vanserra- heir of Autumn.” She glanced down as he extended his hand to hers.

“Y/n.” She allowed him to take her hand. She stared into his amber eyes as he brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss onto it. She looked up at him curiously as he pushed a piece of her dark hair out of her face. Her heart stuttered a bit when a smirk donned his face. He opened his mouth to speak again- stopping after noticing a swirl of shadows walking down the corridor towards him.

“It appears we’ll have to continue this another time. Save me a dance, princess.” Azriel arrived in time to hear the end of Eris’s sentence, his shadows swirling protectively around Y/n.

“She will do no such thing.” He growled. “Keep your hands off of her.” He grabbed onto her hand, pulling her back to the ballroom. She spared a glance back to where he stood, catching his eyes already staring at her retreating form with something in his eyes she couldn’t put her finger on.

———————————————————————————

Y/n stood stoically to the left of Amarantha’s throne as Rhysand sat next to the red head on his own, slightly smaller, a bored look sat on his face. Beneath the facade, Y/n was beyond terrified of what the day entailed. Just an hour before - Nuala and Cerridwen had come to dress her in a particularly skimpy outfit, informing her that the Queen had something special planned for her. The dress, if you could even call it that, was even more revealing than the normal clothes she was forced to wear being Amarantha’s “pet”. Being the “gift” faes were given when they pleased their Queen.

She regained her focus, feeling something inside of her telling her to look to the entrance of the throne room. Not too soon after, the Vanserra family arrived. Her heart skipped a beat when seeing the eldest son. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling. Eris’s eyes locked with hers. Normally he would tease her, send her a smirk or a wink of some sorts, but his gaze held a tense feeling she couldn’t place. The High Lord and heir made their way to the dais, breaking off the brothers who chose to mingle with the other faes of the court.

“You called, my Queen.” Beron said as they bowed to the redhead in the throne.

“I’ve been very pleased with the work you have been doing for my court.” She purred. “In appreciation for the loyalty you have shown- I have decided to bestow a gift to your heir.” This made Rhysand sit taller, causing and evil smirk to fall onto Amarantha’s lips. Y/n tried to catch his gaze from the corner of her eyes. She put her hands behind her back to hide their trembling.

“Y/n, my darling.” The queen drawled. “Your new position in this court will be to please the Lord’s eldest son. You are to stay with him in his chambers.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her chest. She tried to look to Rhysand for comfort but his eyes remained forward. His jaw locked tight, in attempt to not lash out and make matters worse.

Do not show your fear. She heard in her head from Rhysand. Keep your chin up. I promise you I will not let him hurt you.

Y/n looked forward to Eris, raising her chin ever so slightly, replacing the look of concern with a look of seduction. She descended the dais with a swing in her hips and allowed Eris to wrap an arm around her. He looked from her to Amarantha with a smug look on his face.

“What a lovely gift, my Lady. Have no doubt that she will be of good use.” He finished with a nod and began to direct her to his chambers. They made their way through the halls to where he resided. Past the many rooms she had been forced to spend the night as Amarantha’s personal prostitute. He guided her gently through the door to his room, with a hand grazing her bare back. He turned to shut the door, leaning on it for a brief moment.

Y/n made her way towards the bed. She huffed turning to look at the red head male.

“How would you like me, my lord.” She uttered in a bored tone. Eris turned from the closed door with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Do you really think that low of me?” He breathed with a snarl. “Do you truly believe I think of you so little?”

She flinched- taken aback by his words.

“Well after what you did to my cousin I’m not quite sure how you suppose I see you.”

“You know nothing, girl.” He seethed. “You do not know to the extent of what my father could have done had I helped her that day.”

“Oh it all boils down to daddy, huh?” She laughed lowly. “How am I supposed to know you’re not just like him?” Eris strode up to her, towering over her short figure. He breathed heavily, anger flowing through him like the fire in his veins. The fire she could feel radiating off of him. He raised a pointed finger at her, preparing to go off on a tangent, when Y/n winced as if to prepare for him to hurt her.

He lowered his hand, eyebrows creasing in concern. A frown replaced the snarl that had previously dawned his face.

“She has harmed you.” Eris whispered. Tears began to glisten in her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter.” She said simply, sniffling away the tears that threatened to spill. Something inside Eris twinged. A pull of some sort. A need to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. But also a need to incinerate that red headed bitch who laid his hands on her. He gently placed a hand on her cheek, gazing into her eyes.

“I will not let her hurt you again.” She stared up at him. Into his amber eyes. The eyes that looked down at her longingly. Longing for something he should not want and he could not have.

Y/n suddenly surged forward, kissing Eris like her life depended on it. Eris kissed back just as fervently, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him closely. Her arms slithered up to wrap around his neck and her hands tangled into his hair.

“No.” He breathed as he pulled away with a smack. “I do not need you to please me.” Y/n jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Eris caught her with ease, keeping his hands on her waist respectfully.

“I need this. A distraction.” Y/n breathed. “I need you.” Eris prayed to the mother before laying her down onto the bed and attaching their lips once more.

———————————————————————————

Y/n sat to Rhysand’s left, Feyre to his right, at the table of the High Lord’s meeting. Next to her sat Azriel who currently sat brooding at Eris across from them. Eris sat smirking, unbothered by the Shadowsinger’s glare. She sat directly across from him, glowering while holding his gaze.

“Pity the other sister couldn’t come. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

Y/n felt a pang in her chest. The corner of her mouth turning down ever so slightly. Of course not going unnoticed by Azriel who looked to her curiously.

Thankfully, Mor stepped in replying smoothly. “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things never change over the centuries.” Eris’s eyes broke away from Y/n, lips curling into a smile.

“Good to know that after 500 years you still dress like a slut.” Azriel moved to stand before Y/n placed her hand on his shoulder, sitting him down while simultaneously standing up harshly.

“You’re a bastard.” She spit harshly, slamming her hands onto the table. Cassian let out a low whistle from a couple seats down. “You are a selfish, arrogant, sorry excuse of person.”

“Easy now, little fox.” He spoke calmly. Holding her gaze with an amused look. He knew the real reason behind her anger wasn’t necessarily the words he had spoken to Mor. Well a good part of it was that. But the other part? That was jealousy. Jealous at the words he had spoken about Elain. And part of it was anger. Anger at the fact that this was the first time she had seen him in a long while.

It was true, he had been neglecting his “duties” as a distraction for Y/n. Most of it had been for good reason. With everything going on with Hybern, he hardly had time to breathe let alone find time to bed the princess of Night. But the truth was, he could’ve found time. Gods he wanted to find time. But that was the problem. He had been finding himself wanting to see the dark haired beauty. And not just for the sex, though that was a good incentive. He had been wanting, craving, to hear her laughter, see her smile, look into those beautiful violet eyes. He had longed for the feeling of her touch. To feel her hands running along his chest and through his hair as he kissed her in all the places he could. And that-that was a problem. That could not happen between the sister of the High Lord of Night and the heir of Autumn. So he began to push her away. And now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

“You are nothing but a coward. A-a cruel little weasel whose own head is shoved so far up his own ass he wears it like a hat.” She continued to ramble, feeling her power begin to bubble up in her chest. Rhysand could feel the power radiating off of her- eyeing Azriel to step in. Before he could, Y/n gasped, cutting herself off while holding her chest.

Rhysand stood up when he watched his sister lean over gripping her chest, her eyes wide with shock.

“Y/n? Is everything alright?” He whispered. He moved to comfort her when she whipped her head to him, stopping him from touching her.

“I’m fine.” She huffed. She quickly excused herself from the room, rushing out but not before sparing Eris a second glance. Eris who looked like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Though everyone else had been too focused on Y/n to notice, Nesta had been the only one to witness the twitch in Eris’s face when she had gasped. Her gaze pierced into him as she watched him glance towards Y/n’s retreating figure- quickly running his hand over his aching chest nonchalantly.

———————————————————————————

Eris Vanserra for once in his life was left speechless. He paced his room back and forth, absentmindedly burning a trail into the carpet where his feet had stepped.

Admittedly, he had always felt something for the Illyrian girl. Some sort of pull he couldn’t quite place. Though he always chalked it up to something relevant to lust. Not something as deep as a mating bond. And for it to have snapped at the High Lords meeting of all places. Luckily his father was not focused on him at the time. Didn’t see the slight flinch in his normally nonchalant face. And Eris was thankful for that- not wanting to know what would’ve happened if he had found out.

The feeling he had felt before it had snapped had been akin to a crush. Frequently having her on his mind. Thinking about her beautiful violet eyes, her smile, the lips he couldn’t seem to pull away from no matter how hard he tried, the body he couldn’t keep his hands off of even though he knew it was wrong. Now that the bond had snapped, it was so much worse. He couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. Not when the bond sang for her. Craved her like a drug he couldn’t quite kick.

His thoughts were put on hold when a knock sounded at his door. He marched towards it, swinging it open harshly.

“Yes?” He exasperated to the servant. She eyed him with concern- noting his disheveled hair and the deep bags under his eyes. She handed a letter to him cautiously before bowing and turning back down the hall.

Eris scanned the letter. The dark purple wax seal could only mean one thing.

Not soon after, he arrived at the cozy cabin just on the outskirts of the Night Court, residing in Day. One he had frequented quite a few times after returning from under the mountain. He had been in practically every room in that place. He had taken her in practically every room in that place.

He stood at the front door, knocking gently. It was opened quite fast, revealing the striking violet eyes that made his heart quicken its pace. She stepped aside letting him enter. He leaned against the table in the kitchen, waiting for her to address what he knew she wanted him here to say. For once, not choosing to make a snarky remark or arrogant comment.

She took a moment to turn around from closing the door. Taking a deep breath as to regain her stability, and to also resist the urge to turn around and let him bend her over the dining table. Again.

“Does your father know?” She questioned. Choosing to stay a good distance away from the male.

He shook his head. “What about your clan? Do any of them suspect anything?”

“Just Nesta. But I’ve been adamantly trying to convince her that I think you’re a disgusting and vile person who I would wish to never make physical contact with.” She uttered, which made him let out a chuckle. “Which I’ve honestly been trying to convince myself the same for a while.”

Eris sighed. “I know my comments don’t really make you think I’m a great guy. But I assure you I don’t wish anything bad upon your family or friends and I have no qualms against them. If my father thought I had any sort of alliance with any of you…. I do not know what he would do to me.”

This made Y/n’s eyes soften, knowing the things his father had put him through. He continued, pushing off the table and walking closer to her.

“And although I know that the mother was cruel for doing this. For fating us together when there are so many reasons we should not want each other. I also know that I cannot stop thinking about you. And I have not been able to stop since I laid my eyes on you at the ball all those years ago. You, little fox, have been the bane of my existence. You have tormented my mind and my soul. And I know that if I spend another second denying this bond, I might burst into flames.”

Y/n sucked in a breath before closing the distance between them. She placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his amber eyes with a longing she once tried so hard to push away.

“If Rhysand finds out, I garuntee he will kill you. And if he doesn’t Azriel will most definitely.” Eris chuckled, moving his hands up to her face, like he once did so long ago under the mountain. But this time it was so different. “We cant do anything right now. Not with Hybern and your father and-and..”

He cut her off with a kiss, gentle and full of love. “We can worry about all that later.” Y/n trembled on weak knees.

“Maybe there’s one thing we can worry about right now.” She moved towards the table, perching herself onto it. She slowly leaned back, letting her legs part showing off the lacey bottoms she knew he loved.

Eris smirked, gripping her legs and using them to pull her hips towards him.

“Oh I would love to worry about that.”

———————————————————————————

A harsh tug on the bond pulled Eris out of the trance he was held in, working on important business of the Autum Court. The feeling wasn’t something totally abnormal. On many occasions, Y/n would send something down the bond. Whether that be feelings of affection, a gentle caress to calm his stress, or a mental imagine of her in a particular risky position. Though normally, her pulls on the bond were not this harsh.

He shrugged it off, chalking it up to her toying with him, probably having sensed he was up late again. Something she often reprimanded him for while rubbing his temples or stroking the creases that have made permanent residence on his forehead. So like normal, he tugged back.

Not even a minute later, he felt another tug. This time though seemed more urgent. The pull was rough and a feeling of urgency, panic, and pain came with it. He stood up abruptly, eyes creasing in concern.

Y/n? Is everything alright dear? He sent down the bond. Though no word back. Panic reverberated through his body. Something was wrong. Though he wasn’t sure it was the best answer, Eris winnowed to the border of Night and Day.

Rhysand halted from his pacing, eyes shooting to Cassian , who sat with his head in his hands.

“Someone got through the barrier.” Immediately after, a harsh knock sounded from the door of the townhouse.

The door opened for Eris revealing a confused and disheveled Feyre Archeron.

“Y/n. Where’s Y/n?” He huffed frantically, pushing through the door and into the main room. This made Nesta, who had been sitting on a lounge chair in the corner, raise an eyebrow. It had appeared her suspicion had been confirmed.

Rhysand stormed into the sitting room, power radiating off of him. Though his power normally flowed strong and with intention, this time it seemed sporadic. Like the panic that flowed through him was affecting him in more ways than one.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here right now.” He spat. His power pushed Eris into a nearby wall, which caused his brows to furrow. Rhysand was normally pretty hotheaded towards Eris. They’ve always threw petty banter at each other. But he has rarely ever used his power against him. “I have never once questioned the mother for her choices. But this? This I can’t seem to get behind.”

“What are you talking about?” Eris huffed.

“Oh don’t act foolish.” Rhysand got in his face. “I know you’re mates.” How he had found out was beyond him. They were always extremely careful when going to see each other and always used their magic to mask the scent of the mating bond. If Rhysand knew- something really must’ve happened.

“Listen, I know something is wrong. All I can feel from her is panic and- and pain. I just-“ he let out a broken sigh, “I just need to see her. I need to see her.”

“Like hell.” Rhysand growled. Feyre approached him, putting a hand on his chest and guiding him away from the redhead.

“Rhys,” she spoke softly. “You and I both know what it is like being kept apart from your mate. Let him see her.” Rhysand looked at his mate and remembered the time she had been in the Spring Court with Tamlin. Remembered how awful it had been to feel the pain she had felt, the terror, and not be able to do anything about it. He let out a defeated sigh.

“Madja is just finishing up now. She um-they,”Rhysand’s voice broke before he could finish the sentence. “They took her wings.” Eris’s heart dropped. His beauty. His little fox. He didn’t know who did it but whoever they were- they were going to pay.

Rhysand began to walk in the direction of Y/n’s room, gesturing Eris to follow him. Nesta shook her head in disbelief before looking at Feyre knowingly.

“Is it an inappropriate time to say I told you so?”

Madja placed 2 containers on the nightstand next to Y/n’s bed before looking at Azriel who sat in a chair next to her. Though having been attended to by Madja for his wounds already, still looking mentally affected by what had occurred.

“This one is to be taken for pain and swelling and this one is to be applied to the wounds twice a day. Once in the morning and once before going to bed.” She then turned to Rhysand who appeared in the doorway. “If she needs more or if you have any concerns just send for me, dear.” She then bowed and made her way out the door.

Rhysand entered, giving Azriel a warning look before Eris stepped in hesitantly. The shadow singer stood abruptly, shooting a glare to Rhysand before looking harshly to the heir. But Eris paid no mind. He couldn’t really. Not when he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his mate, who lay on her stomach, a permanent look of pain etched onto her face.

“What is he doing here?” Azriel hissed at his High Lord. “He has no right to be here.”

“Spare me the dramatics, Shadowsinger.” Eris snarled. “It is no fault of mine that the mother didn’t choose you as her mate.” That struck a nerve in Azriel, who had pined after the princess for many years. Hoping that one day the bond he hoped to feel with her would snap into place. Whose heart had shred into a million pieces when he smelled the bond on her as she had let her guard down during those moments that her wings were being hacked off. Who had only hoped that it was unrequited.

“Fuck you.” Azriel spat. “She deserves more than the likes of you.” He took a step closer to Eris. The boys basically nose to nose huffing in anger. Rhysand, noticing Y/n stirring, pulled Azriel back and sent him a mental message to cool it for the sake of his sister. Azriel looked between Rhysand and Eris with a fury in his eyes before pushing his way out of the room.

Rhysand moved to kneel beside Y/n while Eris chose to stay behind, letting the siblings have their time together. Y/n blinked her eyes open and attempted to move before a pain radiated through her, making her wince.

Rhysand shot forward. “Don’t move too fast, sissy.” He helped Y/n move to her side. His emotions got the best of him for a moment. How could he let this happen? His baby sister, the only family he has left. She reached a hand up and rested it on his cheek, which he then reciprocated.

“I’ll be okay Rhysie.” She whispered, wiping a stray tear from his eye. She let her eyes drift behind him, noticing the all too familiar fiery red hair she had grown to love. Her eyes softened for a moment before they almost popped out of their sockets when she realized what him being here had entailed. She had remembered reaching out to him right before it had happened. Right before Hybern’s men had hacked into her wing, severing it from her body. She had also remembered that right before she passed out from the pain and from the blood loss, she had been too worn to mask the scent of her bond any longer.

“Yeah we’ll talk about that later.” Rhysand teased. He leant forward and placed a kiss on her forehead before turning out of the room and giving her and Eris time alone. Not before shooting him a warning glare. Eris smiled at his mate softly, walking towards her pulling the chair closer to her bed.

“Hello, little fox.” He spoke gently, grabbing her hand and lifting it to his lips. “Quite a scare you gave me, darling.” Though his attempt at teasing did make the corner of her lips lift up slightly, they began to tremble as the weight of the situation hit her full force.

“My wings,” she choked out. “They- they took my wings. They’re gone.” By the time she finished her sentence she had begun full out sobbing. Eris moved to her- maneuvering her the best he could without hurting her so that she could lean onto him while he held her. He stroked her hair, shushing her as she sobbed into his arms.

“I’m never going to fly again. I’ll never have races with my brother, I’ll never feel the wind in my hair, I will forever be grounded.” She cried.

“I know, my dear, I know.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, his free one reaching to wipe the tears off of her face. “I am so sorry I could not protect you.”

“It is not your fault.” Y/n stated, turning her head to look into his eyes.

“Perhaps not,” he started. “But I will forever wish I could have done something.” She gave him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his lips. She leaned her head onto his shoulders as they fell into a comfortable silence.

“Rhys didn’t hurt you did he?” She whispered a couple minutes later.

Eris chuckled. “Almost.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well I’m glad it didn’t end in a fight.”

“I’d fight armies for you, my darling.” He said dramatically. She giggled lightly, softly swatting his chest. He leaned his cheek onto the top of her head, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “I love you.”

She whipped her head to look at him. A look of awe dawned her face.

“Say it again.” She whispered. Eris smiled grabbing her chin and placing a deep kiss onto her lips.

“Y/n, princess of the Night Court, my darling mate, I love you. And even though I couldn’t admit it, I have loved you from the moment I saw you. From the moment you gave me a snarky remark and glared those beautiful violet eyes into mine. And one day, when all of this is over, we will have a wonderful ceremony, and I will make you my High Lady.” A gasp left Y/n’s lips. “And we will have beautiful babies. We wi have a happy life. And I will love you till my last breath.”

He waited a beat.“If that’s what you would like, of course.”

“I would love nothing more.”

#acotar #azriel acotar #eris acotar #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader

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darkmarkmarauder · 2 days ago

Text

Call me and I’ll come - S.S.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x you

You should have known better by now.

Should’ve known that getting your feelings hurt was just part of the deal when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

Because he never promised you anything, did he? He never said he was yours, never whispered I love you when his hands were all over you, hot against your skin, when he fucked you like he actually meant it.

Sebastian Sallow was not a good person.

That was fine, though, because neither were you.

Whatever this was between you—this thing—that was built on the kind of pleasure that left bruises and bite marks and bad decisions. It was never meant to be sweet. Never meant to be kind.

And yet, there he was. Playing at chivalry, walking Poppy Sweeting back to her dorm like she was something to be protected. Like she hadn’t spent the past seven years getting under your skin, all sunshine smiles and Holier Than Thou bullshit.

You weren’t sure why you even followed them. Maybe it was the way Poppy's laugh rang through the corridor, soft and sweet, like she wasn’t the most insufferable person on the planet. Maybe it was the way Sebastian looked at her—really looked at her—as if she were saying something worth listening to. The thought made your stomach churn. You had him first. Had him beneath you, above you, inside you. You should’ve been the only thing occupying that wicked little mind of his.

But no. He was escorting her back to her fucking Hufflepuff common room like some noble gentleman. Heart-of-gold-ass-bitch. God, you hated her.

So you had a little fun.

Just a little.

Legilimency was easy when your target was oblivious. You slipped into her mind without so much as a whisper, poking at her thoughts, nudging her attention away from whatever painfully dull story she was telling him. Watching her stumble through sentences, lose her train of thought, look almost dizzy with confusion. Sebastian’s brows furrowed as she trailed off mid-sentence, blinking rapidly.

“You alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. That made your teeth grind. So concerned for little Miss Perfect.

Poppy nodded quickly, but she was uneasy now. You could feel her nerves, the confusion settling deep. You kept at it—poking, prying, twisting little intrusive thoughts through the cracks of her consciousness.

Poppy winced, pressing a hand to her temple. “I… I don’t know. I just feel a little—”

You rolled your eyes. Pathetic. You got bored of that real quick. Whispering under your breath you sent a nauseating little hex and she was doubled over, face paling, gagging.

Sebastian stepped back, startled. “Poppy?”

“Uh, I think—I think I need to go lie down,” she groaned, turning away hastily.

You strolled up behind Sebastian just as Poppy stumbled off, pouting mockingly. "Aw, hope she feels better."

You barely kept the smirk off your face as Poppy disappeared into her common room, her face pale as she clutched her stomach. Whatever. She’d be fine. Maybe next time, she’d learn not to bat her pretty little lashes at your Sebastian.

Not that he was yours.

Sebastian turned to you the moment she disappeared, a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes were anything but.

"Yeah, okay, princess, we’re really gonna pretend?"

You folded your arms, feigning innocence. "Not sure what you mean, Sallow."

"Cut the shit," he scoffed, stepping closer, the scent of fresh pine, something unmistakably him filling the space between you. "The second she started looking like she might kneel over, I knew you were up to something. And then—what? you just coincidentally show up the moment she leaves? Please."

You rolled your eyes. "Please," you mimicked, voice dripping with mockery. "What, am I not allowed to take a little evening stroll?"

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you, of all people, just love late-night walks around the Hufflepuff dorms. Admit it, you’re jealous."

That word. Jealous. You bristled at it, anger flashing hot through your veins.

"Of what, exactly?" You sneered. "Little Miss I-Save-Orphaned-Dragons? Please. You think I’m worried about you wasting your time with a boring little goody-two-shoes like her?"

His jaw tensed, and fuck, you loved getting under his skin.

"You’re so full of shit," he muttered, voice dropping an octave. "What was it? You didn’t like seeing me with her? Didn’t like the thought of me walking her back? Maybe—" he took another step closer, and you refused to move back, even as your breath caught in your throat— "maybe you didn’t like knowing she actually enjoys my company without having to spread her legs first."

The words hit like a slap. You felt them crack through your ribs, shatter through your lungs. But you weren’t about to let him see it.

"Wow," you let out a sharp laugh, masking the ache blooming in your chest. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t seem to keep his hands off me."

Sebastian tilted his head, brown eyes dark and unreadable. "Yeah?" he mused, his tone almost taunting. "Maybe I should try. Since it’s not like you’re anything special."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fuck you," you spat.

Sebastian smirked, slow and lazy, his words venomous. "You already did. And if I recall, you come crawling back every single time."

Your vision blurred red. Your nails dug into your palms, the sting barely grounding you. You wanted to hex him. Wanted to make him hurt the way his words made your chest feel like it was caving in.

But instead, you took a step back.

"Go fuck yourself, Sallow."

And then you turned on your heel walking away, fists clenched, heart pounding, body burning with fury and something you weren’t ready to name. Jealousy.

Behind you, Sebastian let out a sharp exhale.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

You were drunk when you called him.

Drunk and pissed off and reckless.

You’d heard about it from Imelda—how Sebastian had actually taken Poppy on a date, how he’d sat with her at The Three Broomsticks, bought her a drink, showed her a good time. How they sat together at dinner.

You refused to look at him for the rest of the day. You ignored him in class, in the halls, in the library. You ignored him even when he tried to get your attention, knocking his knee against yours under the desk, whispering your name when the professor wasn’t looking. You ignored him all the way up until tonight.

Right up until the moment you floo-called him from your room.

The moment he picked up, his voice came through the flames, exasperated but familiar. “What do you want?”

“Come over.” You softly demanded.

He sighed. “I’m busy.”

You leaned in, let your voice drop lower, silkier. “Didn’t ask if you were busy, Sallow. I said come over.”

A pause. He wasn’t even pretending to think about it—the sound of him moving, the clink of his belt as he got dressed . “Give me ten.”

You grinned.

Of course he’d come. He always did.

It didn’t matter how much he flirted with Poppy, how much he tried to pretend there was something there. It didn’t matter if she was sweet and kind and everything you weren’t.

Because at the end of the day, when you called—he answered.

Always.

Not even a minute later, there he was, disheveled, eyes swirling with something that looked like relief. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened like he had rushed here.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re such a fucking piece of work, you know that?”

You didn't bother responding as his dark eyes bore into yours. Tilting your head slightly, biting your lip before yanking him inside, fingers wrapped around this tie as the door slammed shut behind him.

Yeah. Poppy Sweeting didn't stand a fucking chance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: raw, next question.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

#sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy sebastian #poppy sweeting #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy oc

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larluce · 2 days ago

Text

Merlin arrives with a baby in Camelot AU

(co-writing with @roxineedstosleep )

BASED ON THIS PROMPT >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

Chapter 2: A Baby's Call (Part 2)

In Gaius' chambers.

Merlin: (sits down, holding the baby to feed her)

Gaius: Here (gives him a baby bottle)

Merlin: Thanks. (takes the bottle and starts feeding her. Then looks around, spots some broken things and laughs) I see the baby got you a bit of trouble too.

Gaius: She was upset when you weren't around indeed. But she calmed down eventually. (serves Merlin his food on the table) Do you want some vegetables with that?

Merlin: (snorts) I know you're still angry with me.

Gaius: Your mother asked me to look after you both. What she didn't tell me is that I'd have to look after two babies instead of one.

Merlin: I got it. I was stupid.

Gaius: (softens his expression as he looks Merlin feeding the baby, murmuring to himself) In a way, you are a baby looking after a baby.

Merlin: Uh?

Gaius: (outloud) What did your mother say to you about your gifts?

Merlin: That I'm special.

Gaius: You are both special. The likes of which I have never seen before. But it seems you are not the same kind of especial.

Merlin: (lifts his head, confused) What do you mean?

Gaius: Well, magic requires incantations, spells. It takes years to study. What you both do is elemental, instinctive. However, while your eyes glow gold when you do magic, the baby's stays the same.

Merlin: Which means...?

Gaius: I don't know. You both are a question that has never been posed before.

Merlin: Did you ever study magic?

Gaius: (pauses, hesitant) Uther banned all such work twenty years ago.

Merlin: (thinking) That's not what I asked... (says) Why?

Gaius: People used magic for the wrong end at that time. It threw the natural order into chaos. Uther made it his mission to destroy everything from back then, even the dragons.

Merlin: (surprised) What? All of them?

Gaius: There was one dragon he chose not to kill, kept it as an example. He imprisoned it in a cave deep beneath the castle where no one can free it.

Baby: (falls asleep) 😴

Merlin: (stands up and walks to the improvised crib they made for the baby and puts her there carefuly)

Gaius: Now, eat up. You can stay with the baby this time. I'll take Lady Helen the preparation for her voice.

Merlin: (smiles) Thank you (sits to eat, thinking) If the king managed to kill almost all the dragons. Then we can't stay here for long. I hope Gaius can contact the druids soon.

Time skip. In the Lower Town. Merlin looking for somewhere to buy milk when he encounters Arthur and his gang.

Merlin: (just passes by, ignoring them, thinking) Don't talk to me, don't talk to me, don't talk to me.

Arthur: How's your knee-walking coming along?

Merlin: (thinking) Shit... (keeps walking, ignoring them)

Arthur: (mocking) Oh, don't run away!

Merlin: (stops) From you?

Arthur: (sighs) Thank God. I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.

Merlin: (turning) Look, I've told you you're an ass- (cuts himself, not wanting to be send to the dungeons and be taken apart from his baby again) And I apologise for that.

Arthur: (surprised) Really?

Merlin: No, but I can't exactly speak my mind without being sent to the dungeons again, can I? (smiles forcely and bows in mockery) Your Higness. Please, go bother someone else.

Arthur: (amused And curious) And if I allowed you to speak your mind?

Merlin: Will I be sent to the dungeons after that?

Arthur: No.

Merlin: The stocks?

Arthur: You have my word no harm will come to you.

Merlin: Alright. (takes a deep breath) You are a spoiled, selfish royal prat. An ungrateful little shit, blind to the suffering of those who keep you fed, clothed, and alive. Do you even know what it is to work? To bleed? To starve?

Arthur: (his smirk falls) Hold on-

Merlin: And how do you repay the people who serves you? With cruelty and mockery. You think yourself noble because of the blood in your veins, but there is nothing noble about you. You are a leech, feeding off the labor of others while contributing nothing!

People around: (gasp)

Merlin: (bows) My lord.

Arthur: (angry) How dare you. I have fought for my people since a very young age, went to dignitary visits to maintain peace between kingdoms. So yes I do know what is to bleed and to work. But of course an ignorant peasant like you wouldn't know that.

Merlin: And yet you act like an idiot, using people as targets just for fun!

Arthur: Don't pretend you know me.

Merlin: I don't NEED to know you and I don't WANT to know you. Just. Leave me. Alone.

Knights: (wait for Arthur to tell them what do)

Arthur: (furious, his jaw tensed, but shows a serious blank face) I'm a man of my word, so I will let you leave. But if I see you again I'll have you flogged.

Merlin: (with a very fake smile) Thank you so much your highness, you are so kind. (bows in mockery again and leaves)

Time skip. In Gaius' chambers.

Gaius: (enters) How could you be so foolish?!

Merlin: (changing the baby's diapers) I don't know what you're talking about.

Gaius: Don't take me for a fool! Everyone is talking about how you humilliated the prince!

Merlin: (grins) Really?

Gaius: It's not funny. You could have gotten yourself in the dungeons again!

Merlin: He was the one who gave me permission to speak my mind! So I spoke my mind. I wouldn't have done it if he hadn't and he needed someone to tell him his truths. It's not my fault he can't handle them. (finishes to change the diapers) There you are! �� (lifts her)

Baby: (babbles adorably)

Gaius: (sighs) I guess I should be glad you weren't idiotic enough to get into another fight with him or use magic to toss him around.

Merlin: Oh, I was tempted. A lot. (looks at the baby fondly) But, as you said, I can't afford acting like an idiot. I have a lot more to lose if I'm discovered. (his face turns sad) You don't know why we are like this, do you?

Gaius: (shakes his head sadly) No. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't possess that knowledge.

Merlin: (pauses) You know, I used to think I was a monster. For being the way I am. For so long I asked myself, why am I like this? Why would the Gods give me so much magic if I can't use it? What is my purpose in this world that rejects everything I am? Everytime my questions came without answers, I felt like dying.

Gaius: And now?

Merlin: (smiles fondly at the baby again) I'm holding the answers in my arms.

Time skip. In the Dragon's Cave. A deprived sleep Merlin enters.

Kilgharrah: Merlin! Until you finally answered my calls.

Merlin: (looks around for the owner of the voice, exhausted) Where are you?

Kilgharrah: (flies to land in front of Merlin) I'm here! How small you are for such a great-

Merlin: Oh, so you are the one who has been talking in my head in the middle of the night.

Kilgharrah: Indeed. As I was saying-

Merlin: I don't care what you have to say! 😡 You know how many hours I've been able to sleep these past few days?

Kilgharrah: (taken aback) Ehm...

Merlin: 3 HOURS! I can only sleep 3 hours a day, because if the baby is not crying, she is making some stuff fly or break! And if she is not making some stuff fly or break, she needs changing or cleaning! But it's okay because I have my 3 hours of sleep, my precious and sacred 3 hours of sleep. And when I finally, FINALLY find some time for my myself to have my fucking 3 hours of sleep, YOU! (points at Kilgharrah with a savage expression) INTERRUPT MY FUCKING SLEEP! 😤

Kilgharrah: ...

Merlin: So don't ever interrupt my beautiful 3 hours of sleep again or I'll make sure you are with the rest of the dragons very soon. (turns and leaves)

Kilgharrah: (watches as Merlin leaves in shock and then thinks) So there is a magic baby too? Interesting. Though I couldn't sense her (closes his eyes feeling the magic around him) And I still can't sense her. Interesting indeed.

Time skip. Next day. In Merlin's room.

Gaius: (enters Merlin's messy chamber and gathers his clothes) Oi!

Merlin: (wakes up) AH! The baby! (quickly turns to see the crib and relaxes once he sees the baby is fine)

Gaius: Have you seen the state of this room?

Merlin: (rubs his face, tired) It just happens.

Gaius: By magic? Or are you going to tell me it's the baby's fault?

Merlin: Well... (points the baby's crib where everything seems to float or move near it)

Gaius: ... It's the baby's fault.

Merlin: Yes. (yawns) And I haven't had time.

Gaius: Yeah. Well, I'll give you some time to clear it up (warns) without magic. And then I want you to get me some herbs: henbane, wormwood, and sorrel. And deliver this to Morgana. (gives him a small bag with a vial) The poor girl's suffering from nightmares, she can't hardly sleep... (gets a better look at Merlin) Although I think at this rate I'll have to make something for you too. You look terrible. (tosses some more clothes at Merlin and leaves)

Merlin: Mmm, can't hardly sleep? I know the feeling.

Time skip. In Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin: (enters the open door, eyes not really focus on anything, very sleep deprived)

Morgana: (as she walks behind her changing screen, looking just as exhausted as Merlin, but entertained by the conversation) You know, I've been thinking about Arthur. (yawns) I wouldn't touch him with a lance pole. Pass me that dress, will you Gwen?

Merlin: (pauses uncertainly before fetching the dress)

Morgana: (begins undressing) I mean, the man's a total jouster. And just because I'm the King's ward, that doesn't mean I have to accompany him to the feast, does it? (yawns trying to hide it)

Merlin: (yawns too, as quietly as he can, and places the gown on the screen with slow movements, not really paying attention cause he's so SO tired)

Morgana: Well, does it?

Merlin: (manages a high pitched yawn)

Morgana: I mean, If he wants me to go... Oh, Gwen, don't tell me I'm spreading you my yawns?

Merlin: (tries to figure a way out of this situation, but he yawns louder instead)

Morgana: I thought so. Well, as I was saying- (looks over the screen, spots Merlin and covers herself quickly, screaming) AAAAH!

Merlin: (blushes furiously, very embarrased, not knowing what to do or say) Uhm... 😳

Morgana: ... You are not Gwen.

Merlin: No. 😅

Gwen: (enters) I'm here.

Merlin: (turns to her)

Gwen: Are you here to drop off Lady Morgana's medicine?

Merlin: Yes! That's exactly why I'm here. I didn't mean to- (yawns) spy or-

Gwen: (smiles) It's fine. Leave it there. (points to a small table in the entryway) Thank you, although I think you should get some rest.

Merlin: (leaves the vial where Gwen indicated and turns to Morgana, head hung in shame) I'm so sorry. (leaves quickly)

Gwen: (helps Morgana behind the screen)

Morgana: (comes out from behind the screen in a new dress) Who was that?

Gwen: A new servant it seems, my lady. And a really tired one.

Time skip. In the Banquet Hall at night. Court members gather.

Gaius: (stands on one of the walls closest to the servants' door, looking around and grabbing some snacks to put in his pockets for Merlin)

Arthur: (joking around and laughing with his companions)

Morgana: (enters with her breathtaking dress, making every men stare at her)

Arthur: (Cursing internally) Gods have mercy. (goes to her)

Morgana: (smiles at him, inocently) Hi, Arthur.

Arthur: (protective brother mode) What is it that you are wearing?

Morgana: It's called a dress. You should try it some time.

Arthur: You know what I mean. Change it.

Morgana: Why?

Arthur: It's... too revealing!

Morgana: (laughs) Who are you to tell me what to wear?

Arthur: I'm the prince!

Morgana: A prince that got humiliated by a peasant boy yesterday.

Arthur: (Taken aback) Who...who told you that?

Morgana: Everyone is talking about it. And if you keep bothering me, I'll make sure no one forgets it. (passes him)

Arthur: (fumes, but lets her be)

Merlin: (appears through the servants' door, completely in a hurry and looking for Gaius in the crowd)

Gaius: (spots him) Merlin! (approaches) I thought you were with the baby? What happened?

Merlin: (very worried parent mode) She just fell asleep, but she hasn't stopped crying! It's not her diaper or her food or a bump, I checked. Maybe is a cold. Or worst! She could be dying-

Gaius: Calm down! It's probably just colic, it happens frequently to babies that age. I have several vials labeled for that in my cabinet. (checks that the prince hasn't seen Merlin, not wanting Merlin to get into trouble again) Now, leave before-

Celebratory horns signal King Uther's entrance and everyone present falls silent and still as they notice the king passing them. The servants' entrance is blocked by all the maidservants and manservants trying to leave so as not to interrupt the king.

Merlin: (stands still next to Gaius. Unable to leave)

Uther: We have enjoyed twenty years of peace and prosperity. It has brought the kingdom and myself many pleasures, but few can compare with the honour of introducing Lady Helen of Mora.

Applause. The music begins and Uther and the court take their seats. Merlin takes the opportunity to move through the servants who move to serve again, trying to remain unnoticed. However as he passes and Helen starts singing, Merlin notices the members of the court begin to fall asleep. Merlin covers his ears with his hands as cobwebs begin to form over the enchanted sleepers.

Merlin: (thinking, confused and scared) What... what is happening?

Lady Helen: (stares at Arthur as she walks forward and then pulls a dagger from her sleeve)

Merlin: (thinking) Wait... She wants to kill the idiot! 😱 I get the feeling, but it's wrong! Oh, what do I do, what do I do... (spots the chandelier) That's it! (magically drops the chandelier on her as she raises her arm to throw the dagger)

Court members: (wake and pull the cobwebs off, muttering, confused)

Uther and Arthur: (just as confused, stand up to see Lady Helen, now Mary Collins, lying on the floor)

Merlin: (thinking) Oh, shit. Did I kill her?

Mary Collins: (suddenly raises herself up enough to throw the dagger at Arthur)

Merlin: (slows down time instinctively to reach Arthur and pull him out of harm's way)

The dagger slices into Arthur's chair as Arthur and Merlin fall to the floor.

Mary Collins: (gives her last breath and dies)

Arthur and Merlin: (stand up)

Arthur: (thinking) What the hell is he doing here?

Uther: You saved my boy's life. A debt must be repaid.

Merlin: Oh, well. I don't really need-

Uther: Don't be so modest. You shall be rewarded.

Merlin: No, honestly, you don't have to, Your Majesty. (tries to leave)

Uther: (stops him by the arm) No, absolutely. This merits something quite special.

Merlin: Well, if you insist. (thinking) I guess some money wouldn't hurt to buy some things for the baby. Just, please hurry, she'll wake up at any moment!

Uther: You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant.

The Court: (applauds)

Arthur: (complains in a whisper) Father!

Uther: (ignores him)

Gaius: (tries to approach, but the number of people standing up and approaching the King and the young men is such that it is impossible for him to even object from his position)

Gwen: (claps with a pitying smile on her face, knowing what awaits Merlin at his new job)

Arthur and Merlin: (look away from each other, completely irritated)

Time skip. In Merlin's room. The baby seems not to have woken up, but everything that is close to her levitates. Merlin, completely exhausted, tries to put everything back in its place, but again some things float or start to roll.

Gaius: (knocks on the door and enters) You seem to be a hero.

Merlin: With a shitty reward. (gives up on putting the things back to place and sighs) Can I resign?

Gaius: No. Once Uther has something in mind it's impossible for anyone to oppose him. His word is law, remember?

Merlin: But... We had not planned for me to stay.

Gaius: And now, it seems you'll be here for an unlimited time. And even if I find a camp right now, it's unlikely I'll be able to get you and the baby accepted. I wouldn't worry too much though. It's a relatively easy job to do. And a short term one too.

Merlin: What do you mean?

Gaius: Servants who are dedicated to the prince's care don't usually last very long. He'll probably sack you soon. All you have to do is avoid getting into trouble with the prince and serve him-

Merlin: (worried) Oh no! I can't do that!

Gaius: Be with the prince? It's just following him around all day… (realises) oh, the baby.

Merlin: (sighs) I can't leave her alone, but I can't have her with me all the time either. Or can I?

Gaius: It's been a long time since anyone had a baby in the castle. And almost all the children are already teenagers of the servants or maids. Don't worry, I'll help you with her. (hands Merlin a book wrapped in a cloth) This book was given to me when I was your age, but I have a feeling it will be of more use to you than it was to me.

Merlin: (opens it and looks inside) This is a book of magic! I thought the king had destroyed everything related to magic.

Gaius: He kept a dragon alive, a magic book that pretends to be an herbalist's book won't kill anyone. Not if you are careful that is. Keep it hidden and then take it with you when you go with the baby to the druid camp.

Merlin: (smiles) Thank you, Gaius. I will study every word.

Guard: (knocks from outside, pretending not to notice the baby bottles in the room) Merlin, Prince Arthur needs you immediately.

Gaius: Well, you'd better find out what he wants.

BASED ON THIS PROMPT >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

...

So Arthur and Merlin had an even rockier start this time. How do you think this will affect their relationship?

Tagging @chaosofbelievers , @blackgigglypuff , @stressed-but-chill , @nocheaseforyougoodsir , @thedragonlies , @evedaser , @lolazoel , @sammythetoaster , @caraspud , @g00pygunkyguy , @bertoliosis35-blog , @purpuraffe , @lordemryspendragon , @herstarlight , @justaz , @myalchemicalgnomace , @haunted-glassesgurl , @exmintha , @dumbdemjin , @a-line-drawn , @itsjustmeandmyanxiety , @beebsnas , @rem-the-moth , @tmarauder101

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #merthur #merlin prompt #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merthur prompt #merthur fic #Merlin arrives with a baby in Camelot AU

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sheerfreesia007 · 15 hours ago

Text

Love Touched

Pairing: Jeongin x Reader

Word count: 2,254

Content warnings: Soft smut, MDNI, Fluff, insecurities

Summary: Jeongin wasn’t known for liking skinship and he’s always wondered if that bothers you since you’re dating him. One night at a party he gets his answer and decides to show you how grateful he is for you.

A/N: Divider was created by @enchanthings-a, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

The party is loud and chaotic as soon as the two of you walk into the large suite, Jeongin guides you into the suite with a steady hand resting on your lower back and you smile up at him over your shoulder. He had been invited to the party by Chaeryeong last week and had asked her if it would be alright to bring you as his date, which had earned him some well intentioned teasing from the woman which he had taken in stride but she had agreed that it would great to have you come as well. He had hoped to spend some time with you at the party just dancing and enjoying being with each other which he is excited to do. He grins down at you before hearing Changbin call out both of your names, turning his head to his hyung he feels your eyes following his movement before you turn to look at Changbin with a bright smile on your face.

”You guys were able to make it!” Changbin cried out as he walked over with Chaeryeong who was rolling her eyes at him scolding him for trying to be the host when that was her job. Jeongin watches as Chaeryeong excitedly embraces you in a tight hug before a loud squeal fills the air and soon the rest of the members of Itzy are embracing you in a welcoming hug. Lia turns to Jeongin with a soft smile and hopeful eyes as she wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Innie, you don’t mind if we steal your girl for a little bit do you?” she asks sweetly and the rest of the girls all look at him hopefully. You frown softly from next to Lia and you begin to open your mouth to say something about it but Jeongin smiles widely at the girls before shaking his head.

“Of course not. As long as you bring her back to me later.” he says teasingly and your eyes connect with his worriedly but he smiles at you softly and shyly. “If you get bored you can always come find me.” he tells you and you smile brightly at him before reaching out and grabbing his hand gently and squeezing it quickly.

“As if she’d get bored of us.” Yuna gripes out and you laugh happily at your friends.

“You’d be surprised.” you tease her and Changbin bursts out laughing along with Jeongin as the girls pull you away from them arguing that you could never get bored of them and that it wasn’t allowed. Jeongin silently watches as you walk further into the party before Changbin nudges him gently with his shoulder.

“She’ll be fine with the girls. C’mon let’s go over to the boys. I think Seungmin is getting on Chan’s nerves and he’s about to blow up on our pup.” Changbin says knowingly and Jeongin grins while nodding his head at his hyung before darting his eyes in the direction that you had disappeared. He knew that his desire for spending time with you would have to wait, which was disappointing but he couldn’t monopolize your time. It had been a busy week this past week and he hadn’t been able to get his fill of you on his off hours but he knew he would have you for the rest of tonight even if you didn’t get a lot of time together at the party. But he figured he would be able to get more time with you later on, he was happy to give you time with your girlfriends if that meant you would wind up at his side later and he would be able to get at least one dance with you.

As he and Changbin moved through the party Jeongin started to notice a bunch of different couples wrapped up in each other and he wondered if you noticed them too while here. He knew that it had been a shock to you when you first started dating that he wasn’t a big fan of skinship and didn’t cuddle with you a lot of the time. But after dating you for almost a whole year he liked to think that he had softened up to you and enjoying being close to you when you were together and you hadn’t ever rushed or pressured him for more than what he was willing to give you which made him love you all the more and was grateful for your patience with him. As his eyes stayed glued to a couple where the guy had an arm wrapped low around his girlfriend’s waist and was pressing kisses into the skin of her neck lazily, Jeongin wondered if he’d ever be comfortable to do something like that out in public with you.

Just as he was silently slipping further into his head someone grabbed his arm causing him to frown softly at the person before turning his head to see Seungmin staring at him with wide eyes. Jeongin darted his eyes behind his best friend and saw Chan scowling at the younger man.

“You have to help me. Channie hyung is being unreasonable.” Seungmin pleaded and Jeongin chuckled at his best friend before nodding his head at him.

It’s an hour later and Jeongin looks around the party with a slight frown on his face, you hadn’t come to find him at all since you both arrived at the party and he was starting to feel upset by that fact. The boys are still hanging out together but Jeongin only wants to be with you right now. So standing from his seat on the couch next to Hyunjin, who whines softly at the disruption, he starts looking around the party to see if he could find you.

“Uh-oh, it looks like the Maknae wants to be with his girl now.” Felix teases softly and Jeongin scoffs at him as Jisung cries out loudly in an offended tone.

“Are we not good enough for you?!” he calls out and Jeongin looks at him with a disgusted look on his face.

“Of course you’re not.” Jeongin snips out, making the boys all laugh loudly as Jisung pouts at him. “I’ll be back.” he says over his shoulder before he starts walking through the party looking for you.It takes him a little bit of time to find you but he finally does in a corner of the suite with the members of Itzy. He’s standing behind the couch that you’re sitting on with Yuna and Chaeryeong chatting when he overhears Chaeryeong’s question to you.

“So is it hard to be dating someone who doesn’t like skinship as much as you?” Chaeryeong asks and Jeongin freezes as dread fills his stomach. He knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping but there’s a curiosity deep within him that wants to know if you regret dating him because of this issue. He watches silently as you look over at Chaeryeong with a pensive look on your face for a brief moment before you tilt your head to the side and open your mouth to answer her.

“At first it was difficult because I’m used to having a decent amount of skinship between me and others. And when I started dating Innie he didn’t like it so that was hard.” you admit as your eyebrows furrow slightly and Jeongin feels a pit form in his stomach. He didn’t want to be difficult to date and would be devastated if you ever decided to break up with him over it, as a feeling of sorrow began to wash over him you surprised him and caught his attention by speaking up again. “But I love him and I’m willing to wait for however long it takes him to grow comfortable enough with me to like skinship. And since we’ve started dating he has grown more comfortable with me and does like cuddling when we’re together. It’s not very often but it does happen and I like to think that’s what makes it more special for me. It’s showing me that he cares for me more and more each time he does ask for hugs and cuddles.” you tell them and Jeongin feels the pit suddenly dissolve in his stomach and his heart thuds rapidly in his chest while his whole body melts at your confession. “He loves me in his own way and shows me that in other ways than touching.” you say with a soft adoring smile on your face. “I miss him. I’m going to go find him.” you tell the girls and suddenly stand from the couch as they whine and groan about you leaving them. You scoff softly at them with a soft smirk on your face. “I need to go find my boyfriend and give him a kiss.” you tell them dismissively before turning to walk past the couch. When you look up your eyes widen as they spot him and Jeongin steps forward grabbing onto your hand and dragging you away from your friends.

The two of you are silent as he weaves in and out of the crowd of people until he finds a small bathroom far from the middle of the suite. He pulls you in and closes the door behind you before he’s pressing you against it and crowding you in his arms. He grinds his hips up against yours as your back is pressed up against the door and you moan softly at his actions. His lips capture yours in a hot messy kiss that’s all hot wet tongue and teeth that nip at your pretty lips. Jeongin feels absolutely feral for you after your confession to the girls, he feels the all consuming need to show you that he loves you just as much as you love him and that he’s grateful for you and your patience with him.

Suddenly your leg shifts and your thigh grazes his crotch causing Jeongin to let out a wild cry against your mouth. One of his hands slides down the bathroom door where he had been pressing his hand into the wood to cage you in before hooking underneath your knee and hiking your leg up over his hip. With the new position he’s able to slot his body between your open thighs and you whimper into his mouth when you feel how hard he’s gotten for you. Your cute little skirt falls up towards your hips and Jeongin pulls away from your mouth to look down at your underwear and groans loudly as he sees that you’re wearing his favorite lacy soft green pair with all the lace flowers on it.

Consumed with his desire for you Jeongin quickly undoes his jeans just enough to slip himself out of them. The sigh of himself laying bare against your lace underwear nearly makes him cum but he manages to calm himself slightly before his fingers are slipping your panties to the side and he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He looks up at you and stares into your eyes feeling too far gone for any words, when he sees you nod at him as your hands pull him in for another heated kiss he groans into it while slipping inside of you.

His pace is frantic and oh so desperate as he bucks and thrusts against you. The feeling of your wet walls sucking him in is heaven to him and he knows he’ll never grow tired of the feeling. He’s panting into your open mouth as his orgasm begins to build and build within him. Your hands move to card through his messy hair and he stares into your eyes with a clouded wild gaze. He’s whining loudly as he continues to drive the two of you towards your highs.

Your head falls back against the door as you let out a delicious sultry moan after a particularly hard thrust from him and Jeongin starts to feel your walls clamping down on him. His eyes focus long enough on yours as you stare at him while resting your head and you quickly nod your head.

“I know Innie. I love you too baby. I can wait no matter how long.” you coo at him and Jeongin slams his hips up into you while whining loudly as his mouth hangs open. Your walls clamp down on him like a vice and Jeongin is lost to the pleasure of your body, his release filling you with delicious heat as he buries himself inside of you.

When he comes down from his high he slowly slips out of you and helps you clean yourself before righting your clothes. He stands in front of you still crowding you against the door as his eyes stare into yours imploringly. You cup his face and pull him in for a sweet soft loving kiss that he eagerly reciprocates with a hungry one of his own.

“I love you and I am so grateful and thankful for you.” he says softly to you and your eyes crinkle with delight and love as you beam up at him. He wraps his arms around you tightly burying his face in your neck and kissing the sweaty skin there before licking a wide stripe up to your ear which makes you squeal. “Can we go home now? I want to cuddle.” he asks you and you happily nod your head at him before leading him out of the bathroom to say goodbye to all of your friends.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek

#my writing #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz smut #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin #jeongin #i.n. x reader #i.n.

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smallestapplin · 17 hours ago

Note

Can we please get some more con harem fluff when you have the chance???

I struggled thinking of a scenario, so this is kinda set in the Prime continuity. Mostly with Dreadwing, Arachnid, Soundwave, and implied Megatron (and the rest of the ship-)

Dreadwing looks at you with mild confusion on his features as you climb up his shoulder, settling down swiftly and cuddling close to his helm. True at first he found the decepticons having a shared human on the ship was…odd, but who was he to argue with Megatron? Though he learned why quickly with how you seemed to have charmed him.

“Little one, while I enjoy your company, what is the meaning of this?”

“What, am I not allowed to spend time with you?”

Though your voice was light and teasing, he can’t help but sigh and shake his helm.

“Stay as long as you wish, but I must get these reports done.”

You kiss his cheek trying to scoot even closer and lean into him, such warmth of your smaller body was always welcomed. Off the corner of his optic he can see you pull out your phone and scroll along it, simply just wanting to bask in his presence. His spark swells at the idea, you merely just wanting to spend time with him is making his wings twitch, trying to flutter behind him but he fights it.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, though only filled with the occasional sound of you chucking and his engine softly purring as you kiss him again and again. Such a sweet beloved he has, you know how to make the boring parts of his job entertaining.

He blinks his optics once, twice, then a few more times as he realized he feels like he’s being watched, there is another in his office and it’s not just you. You hum in confusion as Dreadwing brings a servo up and grabs you, holding you protectively to his chassis.

If he opened it his spark would be easy to attack, but if he didn’t and held you here he’d be down a servo to fight.

“You know, I know you guys don’t usually get along, but Aracnid please don’t drop.”

Dreadwing looks up, following your gaze and sure enough the purple optics of the spider femme bot stare back at him. She sighs, mockingly so.

“Oh sweetspark, must you ruin the fun? I was just coming to see how our little human was doing.”

Dreadwing glares at her, holding you even closer and covering you with his other servo.

“Our human is fine, they are content sitting with me.”

Arachnid hums not at all caring of his words, “yes yes, that’s all well and good, but Lord Megatron wishes to have his pet.”

Dreadwing makes no move as he refuses to trust her word, he does not feel safe lending you to her even if was technically also one of you ‘consorts’ as Megatron called them. Arachnid isn’t to be trusted with a human, must less one of your importance.

“Dreadwing, I would hate to traumatize the cutie in your servos, but I will if you don’t hand them over to me.” Her voice growing agitated as more of her legs move from the ceiling above, and grow pointed ready to attack him.

You sigh, this isn’t really something you can stop, but you know who can. You unlock your phone once more and make a call, and sweetly asking for a little help. And just in time too, as dozens of cables move com the walls, wrapping both Dreadwing and Arachnid up and away from each other.

And one taking you from Dreadwing’s grasp, much to his displeasure, and taking you to the black and purple con standing just at the doorway. You smile up at his screen.

“Thank you, Soundwave, but you didn’t need to do all that. Your help is appreciated though.”

The black screen of his faceplate statics for a moment before emoting a little heart. Walking away, he drops Dreadwing and tosses Arachnid out of the room, uncaring what they do now, as he has his little human. You fit so perfectly in his servos, he can’t help but hold you up and nuzzle his screen against you, another heart emoting as you place a few kisses to his face.

He cares not for the arguing around him, or the two cons yelling at him from down the hallway demanding you back.

He has his human, that’s all that matters.

Until he hears Megatron return to the ship and a sad face appears on his screen. He just got you, he doesn’t want to hand you over just yet, how cruel.

#transformers x reader #tfp x reader #transformers dreadwing #transformers Dreadwing x reader #transformers prime x reader #tfp dreadwing #tfp Dreadwing x reader #tfp Soundwave x reader #transformers x human #transformers harem au

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phyx-m · 3 days ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 37: Liminality

"What’s the King of Curses like?"

Walking beside your mare, leading her by the reins, you incline your head toward the small boy, then to the girl perched in your saddle atop Ayana.

It had taken some effort to get her to accept the strangers. Considering how skittish she is—and the fact that you’d just ridden her into battle—you couldn’t blame her.

"What’s he like?" You pause, considering the question, sifting through the many words you could use to describe him. Too many. Unkind ones. And most not meant for their ears.

"He’s…"

Your gaze drifts, following the others walking quietly beside you on the dirt-packed road. After leaving Sukuna behind at the eastern village and heading south, you came across a few survivors. Fifteen of them.

Fifteen out of nearly one hundred and fifty.

That was all that remained.

From what you gathered, their community had been large, built around rice cultivation. Now, it’s nothing. Reduced to just two numbers that hold the weight of your failures.

"Why does he wear a piece of wood on his face?"

Eyes wet, the boy’s voice pulls you from your dark thoughts. Your focus moves back to his rambling. You start to answer, but a sharp throb in your jaw stops you—the ache of the impact you took earlier, the bruise that you feel sitting there. Your tongue glides against the cut inside your mouth, where old coppery blood still clings.

"I hear he’s got a second mouth right here." He points to his stomach, eyes eager and round. "I heard it also has enormous teeth and a slimy tongue and everything."

"Gross." The girl behind him wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"He does," you admit, though you wouldn’t say you find it disgusting. Maybe once you did.

The boy nods excitedly at your response. And that’s when it reminds you, how little people actually know about Ryomen Sukuna beyond his strength, appetite and the strange nature of his body. To them, he’s just an anomaly.

"I heard he stuffs people inside and tears their skin away to slurp it all up." The boy hesitates before his next question. "Is he gonna do that to us?"

The reins gripped tightly between your gloved hands tighten. Fuck. In your exhaustion, you hadn’t even considered that. All you’d thought about was getting them to shelter. And now, here you are, leading a group of survivors directly to the shrine.

"No," you say firmly. "He won’t eat you."

You won’t allow it. You’d fight him first. Or, more likely, attempt to do so, given how drained you are. Though, truthfully, you’re more concerned about arriving and convincing Uraume. Without Sukuna there, and after already leaving the shrine once, your return will be… confusing.

"Does the second mouth talk?" the boy asks. "Oh! Does he talk to the other mouth?” He leans forward toward Ayana’s curving neck, wide-eyed and curious. “Can he have full conversations with it?"

"I bet he spreads it open like this." Your attention falls on the girl again as she presses her hands against her soot-stained robe, dragging her fingers across her stomach as if prying open an invisible mouth.

"That makes no sense!"

Their voices grow louder and more animated as they discuss their wild speculation, and Ayana lets out a weary whine. You think about asking them to quiet down for your mare’s sake but decide against it. They’ve just lost their home, and if this conversation keeps them from dwelling on the horrors and the dead they left behind, you won’t take it from them.

With the villagers travelling on foot, the trek back takes longer. And by the time the sun dips behind the clouds and sinks lower, the world darkens. A queasy feeling emerges as the top of the shrine’s edifice begins to peek through the thinning trees, their bare branches reaching into the fading light.

Back again so soon.

Guiding Ayana onto the temple’s grounds, you notice the children have gone quiet, their earlier curiosity beaten by the journey. Slowing your steps, you reach up to help the girl down from the saddle. She slides off easily, small feet landing with a soft thud before you turn to the boy, lifting him with little effort.

"There," you murmur.

He says nothing after that, only glancing toward the shrine before taking the girl’s hand. The two of them, along with the thirteen others, stay close as you guide Ayana toward the stables.

Inside, the familiar scent of hay and musk greets you. Sukuna’s obsidian mounts shift with interest in their stalls, dark smudges against the evening light.

Leading your mare into her stall, you give her a soft pat before tucking her away. She exhales heavily, eager for rest. As you step back, your fingers brush against the letters tucked beneath her saddle, and without a second thought, you retrieve them.

Stepping out, your gaze momentarily falls to the floor—to the space where your tantō had fallen, where it had sat at your departure.

But now there’s nothing. Only empty straw.

Back outside, with the villagers, you guide them up the shrine’s steps. At the doors, you lift your hand to knock, knuckles poised, but they peel open before you have the chance to strike wood.

White hair. White robes stand on the other side.

“Uraume.” Respectfully, you bow your head.

When you lift it, their severe expression is already settling into place.

They stare at you.

“What is this?” Their focus passes over from you then to the fifteen at your back, scanning each face.

“The attack in the east,” you begin, “these are some of the people who survived. They—”

“I can see that,” they interrupt.

A breeze drifts through, cool against your skin. You resist the urge to shift, and step between them and Uraume’s assessing eyes.

“Why are you here?” Their focus returns, narrowing on you.

Ah. There’s the question.

“Lord Sukuna, we—” Found each other again? “He told me to return. There have been some… complications.”

Both implicated and once again bound together as two unwilling conspirators.

Stuck.

“Complications,” they repeat. “As in, you are the complication.”

It isn’t a threat, but their tone is unfamiliar, peaked with something you don’t quite recognize. Suppose things change. Your hands curl into fists. Their gaze glides downward before a look of interest ghosts across their face, and you wonder—are they thinking about fighting you?

“If that’s how you wish to see it, then yes. And if you want to challenge me, then you can,” you say, and they tilt their head, watching you. “I will fight you, and I’ll probably lose to you anyway.”

It frightens you how easily the demand leaves your mouth. You don’t want to fight Uraume, not truly. But then again, you’re tired of thinking you’re anything less than what you are.

“I’ll say this,” you continue, swallowing, and behind them, attendants gather at the end of the long passage—Ren among them. Your eyes meet before you pull them away. “Just allow them to stay for one night. That’s all I ask. When Lord Sukuna returns, I’ll deal with the consequences.”

And convince him not to devour them.

"Even if I allowed it,” Uraume exhales slowly. “Provisions are already stretched thin. We cannot offer them food."

Their words drop into your stomach.

“Please.” You step closer. “Just one night.”

Uraume blinks at you, and after a moment, they lift a hand, motioning to the attendants. One steps forward, gesturing to the villagers to follow and slowly, one by one, they move inside the shrine, and are led down the corridors toward the central hall.

You follow, watching carefully. At the mouth of the great doors, a few hesitate, hands hovering at their sides, reluctant to settle in a place that belongs to a monster. Ren and the other attendants step in, offering what little reassurances they can offer. With gentle hands, they guide the wary in.

A woman kneels beside a man, blood soaking the front of his robe. A pair of twins curl into each other, foreheads touching, feet dirty. Some clutch what little they managed to salvage, bundles of cloth, a single heirloom wrapped tight in their arms.

Still, silently, they draw close, allowing themselves to grieve together. A few families. Friends. Lovers… Siblings.

You should find pleasure in seeing this. But you can’t feel anything, only the hot press as a lump of feeling works its way deep into your throat. You need to be alone, need to find comfort in something familiar, even if it’s just four walls, a narrow window, and a floor.

Taking one last look at the embraces and avoiding Uraume’s eyes, you retreat from the central hall.

Moving down the corridors, your breaths grow shallow, lungs tightening and tightening, your feet soundless as you turn left, then right, then left again, spilling into the passage that holds only your and Sukuna’s rooms.

Yours?

Was this room still yours?

So much had changed. It felt like you had lived two different lives in the fragile hours between dawn and dusk—one spent as you were, the other as something else entirely. A day of loss and gain, of being emptied of something beautiful. Something brave.

Trembling gloved fingers brush the panelling as you slide the door to the chambers open.

Nothing.

The futon is gone. The fabric partition. The low table. The chair. The brazier. The tatami mats. As if no one ever lived here.

A shell. Lonely. Empty.

What did you expect?

Unwanted in two places at once. Here—and if it’s true, which it cannot be—with your sister.

Stepping inside, you quietly close the door. The weight in your hands registers belatedly, the stack of letters, held tight, creased into your grip. You hadn’t even realized you were still clutching them. Without thinking, you place them down on the floor, on nothing, because there is nothing left to hold them. The gloves come off next, ripped from your hands and tossed aside.

Bare hands clenching into fists, you take a step, and it comes, the first tear slips out.

Then another.

And another.

It’s too much.

Fighting the urge to curl up into yourself, you simply sink to the floor because there’s nowhere to sit or to find even the smallest comfort. The rest come. And when they do, they crash over you in one great, sickening flood.

“Fuck…” you breathe through the shaking. “Fuck.”

Tears splatter from your chin to the floor, small, quiet sounds that feel too loud in the hollow space.

“You’re okay… this… everything will be okay…”

Lies never seem to taste good on your tongue, they’re just bitter falsehoods.

Fingers digging into your arms, holding tight, you hug yourself as if it will keep you together. As if you weren’t supposed to feel this exposed and fragile. But who were you kidding? It didn’t matter. You were both.

All the tender bits peeled back, raw and bare. All the emotions that made the tears fall faster.

Drip.

Knock, knock, knock.

You suck in a breath, furiously wiping your eyes before turning toward the door and scrambling to your feet.

“Yes?” The word trembles as you force yourself to steady. “What is it?”

Calm.

The door slides open. Ren stands there, a pile of fresh garments in her hands. Behind her, two attendants carry a folded futon between them, keeping it from touching the ground.

“We thought…” She glances at the space, adjusting the fabric in her arms. “You’ll need somewhere to sleep, so we—” Her voice trails off as her eyes settle on your blood- and soot-stained kimono, then lift to your face.

One look at her, the softness, the guilt, the regret that’s there, and your chest constricts.

Don’t.

Salted tears crowd your vision.

“I—” The words won’t come. Your mind is water.

“Give us a moment,” Ren murmurs, worry in her voice. The attendants bow and leave as she steps inside, shutting the door.

The moment it closes, you think you might fall, your limbs and body so heavy that you sink back to your knees again. This time, it doesn’t stop. You let it happen, unburden yourself and cry.

Fabrics rustle as they fall to the ground, followed by two clipped steps and the swish of robes. Ren kneels. Then, gentle hands settle on your shoulders. The smallest kindness. Kinder than the way your sister held you at the harvest festival.

It’s this touch that breaks you apart.

“I don’t know what’s happening anymore.” Your voice barely carries, muffled by your palms pressing into your eyes.

That young village girl, mouth agape with blood in her teeth and screams in her chest, shudders against your eyelids.

You can’t breathe.

“What happened?” Ren asks softly, squeezing your shoulders.

“I—”

You can’t think straight, can’t see straight.

“I don’t know—”

Anything.

I don’t know anything anymore.

“I don’t recognize myself,” your voice wavers as you fist your hands into the fabric of your kimono. “I’m confused, and—”

Lost.

Trapped between anger and the betrayal that still clings to this place—between the people here, the implications and the fucking monster you can’t seem to sever from your life. No matter how hard you push and pull against each other, you can’t seem to be separated.

“I killed so many people today.”

And I enjoyed it.

Tainted.

Tears drop onto your hands as you look down, away from her face.

“Everything feels out of control. Everything is spiralling. I want it to stop.” The droplets race faster down your cheeks, reaching your chin. “I want—”

To stop living as two different people.

“I want to go home.” You fight against a swallow that stings your throat, and her hands tighten on your shoulders. “But I have no home to return to.”

Ren says nothing, and you don’t look up at her. Not that you could, with your vision clouded and heavy with tears.

But there’s a pause. Her hands shift from your shoulders to your back, pulling you close and then the embrace.

You almost freeze. She hates being in others' spaces, yet here she is, holding you like she means it. Like she understands. And it’s what you didn’t realize you needed. Someone to keep you close, to hold you long enough for you to finally, simply, let go.

Her grip on you is a shell, and you bury your face into her shoulder, tears soaking into her garment.

Gods knew how long you stay like this, only that it feels like weight after weight, two months of it, years of it, sliding off you. Gone. Until all that remains is an empty numbness, a good, quiet kind of empty.

“I didn’t have the chance to say this before.” Ren swallows at her words, and you hear it in her voice—the breaking. “I thought you were gone for good… and I was a coward.”

Another swallow. Her body tenses.

“But… I’m so sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the apology until she gently leans away and brushes your hair from your face. You’re not ready to acknowledge her words. Not yet.

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, and you peek up at her, at her eyes shining before she wipes at them, only to grip your arms again.

Leaning back, a wet, broken laugh escapes your throat.

“I am. But I also think”—hands sweeping outward, you gesture to the entire room—“this is all a fucking mess.”

Her brow dips as if she’s fighting a laugh, and a moment later, she lets it go.

"That's true," she says lightly, not dismissive, just honest, like saying it out loud might make it easier to bear. And it’s the softness in her voice, the quiet acceptance of everything that led to this moment, that nearly undoes you again. You suck in a stuttering breath, willing another sob to disappear.

Hesitantly, Ren’s hands move toward your forearms, skim past your wrists, carefully avoiding your hands before retreating to her lap.

You stare at her tightly clasped fingers before you whisper, “I don’t know why I’m here.”

But you do. And it still hurts.

Ren takes a breath.

“He told you to come back… didn’t he?”

Sighing, you rub your forehead in an attempt to ease the throb settling there, and her gaze softens.

“Yes.”

She nods. The faintest nudge at the corner of her mouth says enough.

“Curious,” she hums.

Is it?

She doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she rises and turns toward the door, sliding it open just enough to call the attendants back inside. They step in quietly, setting the futon down and smoothing out the blankets. Neither of them speaks their task quick as if sensing the fragile state of the room.

Once they finish, they bow in unison. Ren nods, dismissing them for the evening, and the door slides shut behind them before turning back to you.

“Meals,” you mumble, scratching at a dry piece of blood on your kimono. “Where should I take those from now on?”

Ren’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“You can have them with us,” she offers, “if you like.”

You nod softly.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” You shake your head, then dip your chin. “I’ll be fine.”

She bows before gathering the fresh garments she brought, spreading them neatly onto the futon.

“These are for you.” Among them is a simple robe, a yukata, and other pieces to keep you warm as the weather continues to cool. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate. Just ask me. And… I’ll figure out how to refurnish everything in here, to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Inside your chest, something tugs.

“Thank you,” you say before she steps silently from the room.

Shrugging off your crusted kimono and hakama, you take in the streaks of blood and soot. It’s everywhere, and it stinks. Tossing the stiff fabric aside, you pull on the fresh yukata provided and sink under the bedding.

The moment your head touches the pillow, your red, sore, tender eyes have already fallen shut.

* * * * *

Sleep doesn’t come.

Even hours later, though you feel lighter, every time you close your eyes, it’s the same.

You see the young girl screaming as you fail to reach her. You see the faces of dying men at your feet. You see the wall of arrows, the darkness giving way as the pile of bodies buries you. And you see yourself, back bowing under the heat of the branding iron’s descent.

A descent into too many impossibilities.

Traitor.

Blinking back swollen lids, you roll over.

Betrayer.

Arms folding across your chest, you dip your chin for comfort and shut your eyes.

Drip, drip, drip—

Your eyes snap open.

Finally.

Lying in the dark, the noise drags itself down the corridor. Thick, heel-heavy footsteps have your attention swinging to the door. They pass slowly, and they sound… wet. Dripping wet, soft, and warm.

Staring into the dark, you continue listening as Sukuna’s feet kiss the floorboards, a faint, slick suction accompanying every lift. For whatever reason, it turns your stomach.

Eventually, when he passes, you note how he takes his time to move down toward his chambers. His presence, usually a weight in the air, feels strangely absent; energy, which should flood your senses, is… muted.

Odd.

Pushing the bedding aside, you slide out of the futon and move to the door quietly. Through the tiny crack in the panel, you smell it.

Blood. Hot, fresh, rancid.

The door slides open, and you step into the passage, eyes trailing the smooth wooden floor. Copper coats your tongue. One foot out, and you drop into a crouch. A slick, ink-like path glistens in the dim light, winding down the corridor—leading to Sukuna’s chambers. You glance up, your eyes adjusting to the dark, but what little light spills from his room illuminates the doors, slightly ajar.

You look back down at the mess. Gods, the smell. It makes you sick.

Blaming some twisted sense of curiosity, you follow it to his room and peer inside. The ghostly blue light of the moon and the unlit brazier in the corner leaves the space colder than what it was last night. Your gaze drags further, and there—sprawled in the low chair by the garden door—Sukuna sits, head tipped back, four eyes closed, not a muscle moving. He looks peaceful, like he’s resting.

Until you see it.

Through the loose panels of his kimono, the mangled flesh of his chest gapes open like a black void.

He is… injured. Vulnerable in a way, he never is.

How? When you parted, he was unharmed. Now, he looks awful.

Swallowing, you clear your throat, then slip inside, pressing your feet firmly to the floor to stay silent. The fabric of your yukata hisses with each movement.

He doesn’t stir.

You move to stand beside the chair, where his legs stretch straight out, occupying too much space. In the dark, you can see the long, bleeding trail that rolled from his naked chest down to his bare feet, which are soaked and glistening.

At your side, your hand twitches. You could reach out, press two fingers to his throat, and feel for the pulse that should be there. But considering he never wants you to touch him again…

“Lord Sukuna?” you mumble, inhaling the heavy scent of iron.

Silence.

He doesn’t move, body slack, four arms draped over the chair’s edges.

Boneless.

“Have you finally blessed us and died?”

The words crawl from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you wince.

Despite everything you feel about this man—which confuses you more than it should—he saved you today. Saved you and offered to make you stronger. To him, that likely carries more weight than you can fully grasp. And now, he’s your only real ally in navigating this underbelly until you find the answers you need. Trusting the King of Curses will be necessary. Difficult, but necessary.

Staring at him, still, he doesn’t move.

Your mouth twists.

Curse him.

Carefully, you lean forward, fingers hovering just shy of his thick, corded throat. Even from here, you feel the heat that pulses from the open wound.

If he were anyone else, this would have killed him. And unlike him, you wouldn’t have even had a chance to recover. You would be dead.

Middle and pointer fingers extending, you lower your hand toward the carotid artery buried beneath all that muscle and—

His upper left hand snaps around your wrist, holding you in place.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, the bottom pair of his eyes peeling open, cutting through the dark.

So, not dead.

Your mouth pushes into a thin line.

“What does it look like?” Your brow folds. “You’re hurt.”

The words come out wrong, your voice rising in a way that sounds like concern.

Sukuna’s top pair of eyes open into slits, pinning you under the full weight of all four reds. He stares—not just to uncover your intentions, but as if you're swinging around a particularly sharp weapon. Then, just as suddenly, he releases you, skepticism clear in the slow curl of his fingers.

Silence.

You stare at each other. Two stubborn, skeptical creatures circling the other but unmoving.

It’s maddening, this limbo.

With a lazy shift, Sukuna reaches to his right, pushing open the shoji door to the garden. It rustles aside, and moonlight spills in, washing over the floor. Your gaze follows it, moving up his figure until it catches on the hole in his chest. His skin, usually sun-kissed, is pale and drained. Blood clots at the wound’s thick, ropy edges, the pulpy flesh inflamed and raw.

“And somehow that requires you to touch me?” His voice is low as he cocks his head, settling back into the chair in a way that looks anything but comfortable.

“I was seeing if you were dead.” Your eyes trace the bloodstains, obscuring the thick tattoos draped over his shoulders and chest before settling on his face.

“And after what you said about this situation pulling us together, I thought I would…” You trail off. This distrust between you, resentment, this push and pull. You’re tired of it.

“You thought you would what?”

“Your wounds.” Your throat clears, leaving the rest unsaid. “They should have healed by now. Why haven’t they? What did Zen’in—”

Sukuna flicks a finger at you from where his hand rests, cutting you off with a low grunt.

You sigh. This fragile alliance will be harder to manage than you thought.

“Are you in any pain?”

Somehow, you don’t remember moving, but you find yourself standing between his spread legs, knees almost touching the seat of his chair. You’re unsure why you ask and his mouth twitches, eyes opening, glaring at you as if wondering the same.

“No,” he grumbles before tipping his head back and shutting his eyes again. “Now, get the fuck out.”

Fuck you—that’s what you want to say, with nothing but the barest touch of your fingertips.

But—

“You’re an insufferable ass.” Comes out as you turn away, and you catch it just before you leave—the amused baring of his fangs.

Then you're gone from his chambers.

Only to return moments later.

As you walk back, your focus slides to the raised futon, the place you woke up this morning. It’s bare. The sheets gone. The blue, luxurious quilt you swamped yourself in is also gone, like he couldn’t rid himself of what had happened last night fast enough. Like the way your body melted into his, and how he lost himself in you never happened.

You hope the scent of you lingers anyway. Like a rotting stain.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna shifts in the chair, pushing a fist against his left cheek, eyes moving from you, to your face, to the objects in your hands.

Reaching him, you nudge apart his legs with your knee, ignoring his question as you slip between them and kneel. The basin of water meets the floor with a hollow knock, the bundle of cloth set beside it. Tucking your feet up underneath the fabric of your yukata, your face burns, but you keep your head down, already knowing the expression he wears. Instead, you sink your hands into the cool water, wringing the fresh cloth until droplets trail down your fingers, soaking the edges of your garment. Pushing to your knees, you shift closer where your hand settles on his thigh, pressing over the fabric of his hakama—a silent reassurance, I’m not going to touch your skin, monster. His muscles flex beneath your fingertips, a subtle reminder, I will never entirely trust you, snake.

Then, the damp cloth moves to his burning flesh, and you apply just a little more pressure than necessary, forcing the wound to bleed.

“Woman,” he growls.

“Oh, shut up.” Your eyes flick up to his. “I know it doesn’t hurt.”

Slouched back, Sukuna stares at you, nostrils flaring, the cloth squelches in the silence, and his lip curls slightly—disapproval in its purest form.

Your mouth fights a grin.

Glancing down, you carefully begin to clean the injury, and for once, you tend to his wounds instead of the other way around.

Silence settles between you. Quiet.

This close, you feel the heat radiating from the blood that seeps loose, pooling in the deep grooves where a blade must have pierced through, twisted, and then torn its way out. With each pass, the rag darkens, fresh layers of wet crimson giving way to raw tissue beneath. Slowly, Sukuna’s body relaxes. The rise and fall of his bare chest deepens, the jagged edges of the gash stretching with every breath.

Your attention drifts lower, over the ridges of his muscles, slipping toward the open maw of his stomach, but something is missing. The tongue, usually lolling or twitching, is absent.

“Your stomach mouth… thing,” you murmur, eyes darting to his face. “The tongue. It’s gone.”

Sukuna glances down, unbothered.

“What of it?” he grumbles, shifting his enormous legs on either side of you. “It will heal.”

Your hands slow. Again, that stubborn silence creeps into the space, just the damp fabric, the open door, the night.

“What really happened?” you ask, voice tentative as you drag the cloth across his pectorals. “After I left.”

Sukuna watches you through a slitted gaze, his lower eyes following your hand while the upper pair remain locked on your face.

“Nothing.”

Nothing.

“It’s not nothing if you look like this,” you say bitterly, gesturing to the rawness of his wounds, the sheer amount of it. “I can hardly sense your energy.”

The King of Curses’ body twitches once before he tosses back his head, and a deep laugh reverberates from his chest.

“To someone like me, it’s nothing. But to others—” His head lowers, and in an instant, every trace of emotion locks down tight, leaving almost nothing behind. “—to others who are weak, I suppose it does look like something.”

Others, meaning me.

Jaw tightening, you don’t respond. Instead, you pat the area dry, set the rag aside and retrieve the other longer piece of cloth.

“Remove your kimono and come forward,” you instruct, tapping a hand on the edge of his knee.

He doesn’t move.

You press a knuckle into him.

“You’re going to wrap it?” he scoffs, dragging his leg away from your prodding touch.

You glare at him in silence, perfectly fine with letting him bleed all over the place until, after a drawn-out breath, he finally shifts. With a tug, he shrugs off his charcoal-grey kimono, letting it slip from his shoulders and fall into a mess on the floor. Then, peeling himself from the chair’s back just enough, he allows you to reach around him.

Bracing yourself between his outstretched thighs, you step closer and work the cloth beneath his second pair of arms.

The soft, dry drag of linen unspooling is the only sound between you, and with careful fingers, you dip your head around his upper right shoulder.

Swift, glancing heat tickles against your temple—his breath. There’s blood in it. The iron scent is thick, but it doesn’t mask the rest. Raw meat, torn sinew, the faint, sweet tang of torn skin, still warm.

And you wonder who he ate after you left the village.

Disturbingly, the thought brings a sense of satisfaction after what was done to the people there.

And you…

“You’ve been crying.”

Sukuna’s low voice rumbles right beside your cheek. Your eyes jump to him. His mask comes into view, his scarlet gaze flaring like four burning coals.

"What?" You look away, concentrating on wrapping the cloth over his massive frame. With a firm tug, it comes back around to the front. One pass done, just a few more, and for whatever it’s worth, you can at least say you tried to bridge this terrible divide.

"Your eyes." In your periphery, Sukuna nudges his chin toward you. "They're red. You've been crying."

The remark sinks in, leaving you strangely heartsick and irritated that he noticed, even in this light.

"That makes three times now that you've seen the remnants of it. Does that make me weak too?" you bite out. A misstep.

"Four," Sukuna replies smoothly.

Your brow furrows.

"Excuse me?"

Your hands push around his torso, fingers dancing gently into the cloth, making the second pass. From the corner of your eye, you see him watching you.

"Four times," he repeats, then falls quiet, leaving you wondering and waiting.

"The first was after you killed your mother."

Beneath his thick limbs, your hands still. You blink down at the curves and lines of his torso, at the way his body—never meant for this world—barely fits into the chair, spilling over its edges, at the way the space around him seems to shrink.

It takes three heartbeats for the words to land.

"You—" Your breath falters. You recoil, pulling back from the underside of his arm. You look at him, grip tightening around the cloth, and a quiet sound dies in your throat. The fabric crushes between your fingers until energy—your energy—seeps out, pooling into bruised knuckles.

Everything that’s happened, the chaos, the urgency, the way events have hurtled you forward, has left no time to stop and think about that night.

About the fact that he was there. That he saw.

He saw the aftermath of the lowest point in your life. He saw you losing and taking something vital in the same breath.

You remember when he made you tell him about your dream, when all along, he already knew what was haunting you. And now he sits here, reminding you.

Trapped in some state of suspended motion, your mouth keeps opening and opening as if widening it enough will force any words to come out.

But they don’t, and Sukuna speaks first.

"There’s too much softness in you." He leans in, his face hovering above yours, his expression slipping toward something pitying as his eyes fall to your hands, tangled and frozen around the cloth.

"It makes you vulnerable."

When his upper right hand moves forward, you flinch, instinctively pushing back—but his second pair grips your hips, holding you in place. His palm brushes over the rise of your breast, pressing lightly.

"This, right here," he states, tapping once. "This makes you weak."

Your eyes drop to his massive fingers, swallowing the space over your chest.

A soft heart.

"You're clever." Another tap. His hands lift from your hips. "But your heart drowns out your mind."

As he draws his arm back, fresh blood seeps through, staining the cloth wrapped around him.

One more tap, then he withdraws entirely.

"Bringing a group of villagers here"—he chuckles, and your eyes snap to his—"that was stupid."

You step forward again.

"They had nowhere to go," you say, voice steady. "Let them stay one night. That's all I ask."

Sukuna watches you for a moment.

Soft heart.

"They’ll leave at dawn," he says flatly. "And you’ll be the one to tell them. Or"—he pauses—"they’ll make a nice addition to my dwindling storehouse. Flesh seems difficult to come by these days."

His gaze settles on your face, studying your reaction, while his lower eyes drift, tracing the angle of your jaw.

"You wanted to play the benevolent saviour. So finish the role properly."

"Fine."

Gripping the cloth again, you yank it tighter, pressing down until blood beads against the weave.

"I will.” You see yourself as anything but benevolent.

“And maybe I should just smother it.” Another yank. “Every shred of softness. Is that the answer you want to hear, my Lord?"

He smacks his lips together in annoyance.

You pause.

"Seeing you fight without your emotions choking you would be a sight worth seeing." Sukuna drags a thumb over his lower lip, lost in the way of studying you. "You’d be far stronger for it. Maybe even strong enough to be worth fighting me again."

Heat sears through you. The suggestion angers you. The idea of forgetting a fundamental part of yourself angers you.

And yet, a small part of you wonders if he’s right, to let your heart darken, become a monster.

Still.

"Well," you hum sarcastically, sidestepping the weight of his words, "That’s—" Yank. "Not—" Yank. "Happening."

A final pull. His body tenses.

Blowing out a breath, you tip your head, preparing for another pass, but his attention swings to your jaw again, this time, it lingers. A moment too long.

Without warning, he leans forward in the chair, upper right hand grabbing your chin harshly and bringing you to him.

"Who did this?" he growls, his features tightening.

You freeze, stop what you’re doing as he lifts it, forcing you to lean into him and the moonlight creeping into the room. Red eyes narrow, falling to the throbbing bruise planted there.

"Why?" you whisper, tonguing the spot where your teeth had cut into the muscle.

"Why?" His thumb gently traces the outline of the welt, and his other fingers smooth up, curling around the hinge of your jaw, holding you in place.

"Because.” Sukuna’s voice drops to something dangerously soft. The touch drifts upward to your temple, into your hairline, where there’s a slide of heat. And inside, you fight against the intimacy of his touch, the quiet way his fingers follow the contour of your skin.

"Seeing aches painting your body has always made me wonder if whoever hurt you is dead."

Always?

The word snags in your mind, rubbing raw. And you can’t help but ask yourself if he knows he’s giving himself away. Again.

"It was from today,” you say, meeting his half-lidded gaze. “Someone was faster than me. And yes, he’s dead. I killed him and enjoyed it… watching him rot."

A slow, dark grin spreads across his mouth.

"Did you now?" he purrs as his frustrating charisma returns.

"I did." Your fingers drag over the cloth in your hand, tracing its texture.

His thumb glides along your jaw, slowly mapping over the bruise once more before he lets you go.

"And how did it feel?" He stretches out like a lumbering predator, sinking back deeper into the chair.

And you know what he's asking.

"I've killed before,” you say. “But this was different… I enjoyed watching him underestimate me. Only for him to die moments later under my touch."

Sukuna’s smirk is chilling. Amused. All canines.

"It seems that softness of yours has teeth after all." Shifting, he leans in, the blood from his chest wound seeping through the bandages. "Becoming more a carnivorous flower, perhaps."

The scarlet spills sluggishly, darkening the fabric in uneven patches before trickling lower, slipping past the final layers of bandages and trailing toward his hip bones, where his hakama sits low against his skin, the dark fabric soaking up the rest.

You only watch.

So does he.

Easing forward onto your knees, you pick up the wet cloth again, wipe it away, and resume the bandaging. But your mind drifts, turning over the pieces of today—how the fuck everything went so wrong. How you’d been accused of instigating a fucking coup. How your sister has taken her place as the Kasai clan’s head. How—

"When will you start telling me the truth?" You tighten the third wrap, pressing into him to secure the final one.

“When you’re ready.” He leans forward, allowing you to slip under his arms.

“When I’m ready,” you echo into his ear as your faces pass side by side. “or when you’re ready?”

His eyes dart to yours. You pull back. He doesn’t answer, and a breath huffs out of you.

With his torso finally wrapped, you drag the cloth around and come to his front, smoothing your hands over the bandages stretched across his massive chest. Feeling him like this, he tenses.

There’s a pause.

You eye him, trying to decide how to say this.

“I want to speak with my sister.”

“No,” he snaps.

Your teeth click together.

“Why?” you hiss, gripping the end of the cloth. “Stop making this difficult, and just tell me.”

Despite the sharpness in your voice, your hands remain careful, tucking the fabric securely into place.

“Please,” you add.

Begging. Pathetic.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you’re not ready,” Sukuna growls, his hands moving, engulfing your wrists, pulling them away from him. “So no, I won’t just tell you.” His voice tilts mockingly, tossing your own words back at you before he slumps into the chair, ending the conversation.

Mouth twitching, you yank your wrists free from his grip and settle back on your knees.

And still, the question knocks around inside your mind—

“Why are you really doing this?” you ask, searching his face. He once called it purpose. Everything had one. But slowly, you learned the difference. And now, you’re not waiting for an answer.

“Today, when I was restrained and about to be branded, I felt it.”

You lean forward again, lifting off your heels and closing the small space where you sit between his outstretched legs.

“The rage pouring off you. The anger. Is this some kind of atonement?”

At this, the muscles in his jaw clench and pulse.

You keep going.

“When will you finally be done clinging to your pride and ready to admit it?” Coming forward, you mimic him—the way he spoke about your weaknesses. Your heart. “Because I’ve seen the way you war with yourself,” you continue quietly, your finger hovering over the bandaged cloth, which won’t last. He’ll heal, like always. No wounds. No scabs. No scars.

“Since the day I arrived, it hasn’t stopped.”

Your voice barely rises as your finger slowly descends toward his heart, pressing lightly against the fabric’s soft weave.

“Especially after everything, after drowning yourself in me just to understand, now you feel something.”

There it is.

The magic of liminality. The sum of all the shitty experiences that made you brave again in a single day. Or impulsive. Spoken in the heat of the moment, when silence should have taken hold, and your stubborn mouth refuses to stop.

“And you hate that it’s me.”

He doesn’t move. He simply watches you as if, once again, you’ve become a creature he can’t quite comprehend. And perhaps you are only this brave because you know he won't cut you into a thousand tiny pieces.

“You hate that it’s the daughter of someone you despise. The one who did something to you that no one else but you can understand.”

Don’t do it.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow.

Don’t say it.

“The one who makes you feel when all the others, their warmth, their flesh, their power, fail so miserably to compare.”

What the hell are you doing?

“That’s why you keep hurting me. Because you enjoy it. And because it’s easier than admitting what I am to you.”

Sukuna’s brow splits.

Inside your chest, your pulse screams.

“And for whatever reason, you refuse to let me go. Even when you want to so badly.”

Stop. Talking.

Under the pad of your finger, his heart throbs, a rushing beat, the only sign of movement in him.

“So, say it.”

Your throat tightens.

“Just, once…”

Your eyes find each other.

“Tell me.”

This is it. This is how you finally die, from tearing open a wound in front of him and demanding that he look.

Gods, you feel sick.

Three unkind seconds pass, and he doesn’t answer.

Outside the open door, the wind rattles through the wilting garden while the shrine’s old bones settle around you with a low creak, and still, you wait.

Down at your outstretched finger, the King of Curses takes a pitying glance, like he’s deciding how best to flick his wrist and slice it off.

“Tell you…” he finally mutters under his breath, four eyes dragging to your face as his upper right hand engulfs your wrist and yanks it away from his chest.

“You think this is about pride?” Suddenly, he sits up, towering over you, and your heart slams behind your ribs. “You think I need to atone for anything?” Loud, cruel laughter rips from his chest. “It’s almost amusing how you keep trying to shape me into something I’ve never been. While you stumble around, blind, desperate for any reason, someone might love you, because deep down—” His grip tightens just enough to make your wrist ache, “you hate yourself.”

The barb strikes deep, lodging in right next to the hurt.

Was that true? Do you hate yourself? Or is this just another way for him to deflect from the horrible truth standing right in front of him, staring him down?

“And I don’t care,” he spits, flashing his teeth. “Not in the way you wish I did. If anything, I’ll admit you are an annoying scratch that won't heal.”

A scratch? The woman the King of Curses has seemed to have been obsessed with for years—a scratch.

“I don’t need you to care or atone in the way you think I want.” You hiss, freeing your hand and snatching the damp cloth from the floor. “I want you to stop pretending because it’s starting to get tiresome.”

You toss the bloody fabric into his lap. He frowns at it.

“Eventually, as you said, I’ll leave and live as something else entirely. And that will be as far from here and from you as possible.”

Sukuna’s slitted eyebrow pulls inward.

Before he can react, you grab the water basin and rise smoothly to your feet. Still, you hesitate, waiting to see if he’ll admit something. Anything.

He doesn’t.

Deep down, you already know. You nearly scoff, but what’s the point of dragging it out of a creature like him?

“Goodnight, my Lord,” you say sweetly, gracing him with an exaggerated bow. Emotions be damned. “I hope you have a wonderful—” Your eyes shoot to the empty, barren raised futon, and his follow yours. “Sleep.”

Pressing your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you restrain yourself, resisting the temptation to say something truly petty as you straighten, stepping carefully around the smears of blood on the floor and walking away.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he grumbles behind you, irritation picking through every word. “A fool for even saying something so stupid, wi—”

His words break off.

You still, half-turning, one eyebrow lifting.

There are only two things he could have called you—wife or winter flower—but he stops himself. Pausing in the doorway, you listen, wondering if he’ll slip and call you either just hours after the boundaries were set.

“Leave,” Sukuna mutters, sliding a hand through his hair as he stands out of the chair. Moving to the garden door, he shuts it, casting the room into darkness once more.

“Get that rest you so desperately lamented about.”

With his upper hands, he reaches behind his back, dragging them through the bandages, unravelling your work. The strips peel away, drifting to the floor, revealing freshly healed skin, streaked and ruddy.

As if nothing had been there at all.

“Tomorrow, we learn what’s under all that skin and blood of yours,” he says lowly over one inked shoulder, his eyes trying to hold yours.

But you’re already walking away, the words he couldn’t bring himself to say left unsaid.

#beneath the silk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #heian sukuna #dark content #true form sukuna #jjk fanfic #dark fantasy #sukuna fanfic #sukuna smut #jujustu kaisen fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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thelonestarinthesky · 3 days ago

Text

⁷. ᵍᵒᵒᵈᵇʸᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒʷ

⁺₊✦₊　

pairing: senku x f!reader

chapter 7 of 2/2- i.senku

cw: implied nudity and sex (no smut yet sadly)

a/n: next chapter will be the last of Senku's memories of reader. like I said on ao3, reader reminds me of the dead wife haunting the narrative, always brought up but not present.

masterlist / playlist

⁺₊✦₊　　

Senku woke up from the best sleep he'd ever had. Was he maybe exaggerating? Probably.

His hand was softly holding onto something soft and warm. He couldn't help but smile from just remembering what happened last night.

Wanting to keep sleeping with the girl in his arms, burying his face back in her hair. He let out a groan when [Name] moved slightly to turn and look up at him, forcing his hand to hold onto her hip instead.

He opens one eye to look down at her, only to blush slightly and close his eyes again.

"....stop looking at me with those eyes." He says muffled, clearly flustered by the way she stared up at him.

"You dazzle me, what can I say?"

She giggles at this, burying her face in his chest. "...now you're embarrassed, but the way you were last night was totally different." [Name] says teasingly. "Was it really Senku doing all those things, or was it a mimic?"

She lets out a squeal as she feels his lips bite down on her shoulder, his fingers tickling her side as she tries to get away from him.

"...you think if Byakuya was here, would he storm into your room without knocking and find us like this?" [Name] asked, sitting up to stretch only to curl back into his arms.

Senku hums quietly. "10 billion percent he would scold us for not using protection." He says, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Scold you, maybe; he has a soft spot for me." He rolls his eyes when she says this while grinning at him happily, poking his cheek playfully.

"Someone's too proud to admit he's jealous." The girl lets out a laugh as he pushes her hand away before setting down again.

Sighing peacefully, she closes her eyes. "I was thinking of finishing my education at your school." She confesses. "It would be nice if I experienced high school life before becoming an adult."

Senku thinks that ever since she came back and stayed over 3 years ago, she didn't return to school and instead went back to homeschooling due to her illness. "You are taking your medicine, right? I don't want you to go back to the hospital for serious treatment again." He says, scolding her as he pinches her cheek, making her whine in protest.

"You need to get better," he says quietly.

After putting on some clothes, Senku pulled [Name] to his science room, hands intertwined tightly. The room was still filled with many science things, but the one thing that never changed or moved was the telescope in front of the window and the little robot Senku sitting on the frame of the window.

[Name] walked up to it, "You still have this?" She asked, poking it. She couldn't help but wonder why he even kept a clearly poor-built robot she did when she was a kid.

"Obviously, it was the first gift you gave me besides your allowance card." He says plainly as he walks over to a box on his desk.

[Name] was too busy examining the old robot, looking it over as an idea came to her, smiling at it.

Senku stood behind her, holding something in his hands. Clearing his throat, she turns around only to be met with a bouquet of blue roses; she's in awe.

"It's for you." He says, flustered, a blush on his cheeks as [Name] happily accepts the flowers.

"They're so beautiful." She says bashfully, looking down at them, smiling.

His heart skips a beat at this, seeing his girl look so happy to receive anything he gives her.

"Well, of course, it's nothing special. Just roses soaking up blue food coloring dye." He says, talking [Name]'s ear off. The girl just smiled even more at this, watching as he spoke about the science behind it.

Normally, Senku, when he's nervous, would talk and talk, which she found cute. He wasn't a very expressive person, but he could separate his feelings and logic so she could read him easily.

With Senku being too shy, his gaze averted to the side, she took this opportunity. Gently settling down the bouquet of the blue roses on his desk, she quietly goes back over to him and hugs him tightly.

He relaxes as soon as she does so, her face buried in his chest. "Thank you." She says as his arms wrap around her waist.

Leaning up, she gives him a kiss before pulling back as soon as he tries to deepen it. "I wonder how you're not sick of me yet." [Name] teases, giving him a grin before letting a muffled squeal as Senku cuts her off, smashing his lips against hers.

After making out for minutes, he pulls back, panting heavily, grinning down at her. "You can't just tease me like that when you're only wearing my shirt."

[Name] flushes red at this and feels one of his hands sliding down to cup her ass as the kiss deepens once more.

Letting a surprised gasp as she feels Senku gently lead her to the floor, blushing furiously. "Seriously?! In here?" She says, embarrassed. He gives her a wicked grin, making her heart beat rapidly.

"Yeah, in here." He says, leaning in once more.

࿐⸻༺ ෆ ༻⸻࿐

[Name] sat beside him, Yuzuriha, and Taiju in front of them. The four were in a cafe; the girls were busy eating their sweets while Taiju was debating on which one to eat, and Senku was scrolling on his phone.

[Name] was set to graduate in a couple of months, plus their anniversary was coming up soon, and he never failed to at least gift her something he'd make with his hands and science.

Like him, she keeps all the gifts he makes for her in her closet, specifically for his gifts. Rich people...

Scrolling on his phone, he looks up upon noticing [Name], holding out a fork with a piece of cake for him. Leaning in and eating it, she smiles before continuing to talk to Yuzuriha, who clearly wants to do the same with Taiju but is too shy to do so.

His brows furrow up in seeing an article, getting [Name]'s attention; she leans on his shoulder to see what he's looking at.

Her expression changes slightly, and he notices. "I'll tell you in private." She mouths to him before kissing his cheek to make sure Yuzuriha and Taiju don't notice her mood change completely.

After studying and chatting, the couple waved at their friends as they went their separate ways.

"Rumors are going around about my position as the heir. I'm sure you remember back at my 15th birthday party, the son of the Nanami Conglomerate." She says sternly, despite being carefree and like any teenager her age. She still had her serious moments when involving her connection to the business world.

"He proposed marriage between us once I turned 18. Saying it would benefit mine and his family, which is true to some degree." Senku sees that distant look in her eyes again and takes her hand, intertwining their fingers softly.

"But that article, it said the [L/n] company is being involved in a highly classified project," she held up her hand that he wasn't holding.

"... someone must have leaked it..."

"I've seen it once when my father took me to where they're working on it." She says. "It's shaped like...."

She thinks for a bit before talking again. "A trefoil knot." Senku raises a brow at this. Such a strange design for this? He wonders why.

"It's really small, maybe like the palm of your hand." She raises his hand so she can replicate what she's talking about. "It's strange, though. Why would my father take place in this project? Normally, he would invest in the next big technology; making sentient robots is what he's trying to do. Why work on something so small?" She ponders before something catches her eye.

Quickly looking to the side, where she saw a flicker of light, she didn't find anything out of the ordinary.

"Anyways, I want you to keep this between us. If it's this serious, I'll tell you once I learn more." She promises. "I do have a good memory, remember?" Teasing him a bit.

He nods, "Let's go home. We have school tomorrow."

The two walk home, playfully arguing between themselves, but Senku can't help but feel like someone is watching them.

࿐⸻༺ ෆ ༻⸻࿐

[Name] was acting strange days before the accident, often looking around, almost paranoid but never said anything to him. Clearly, he did not want to worry him.

And that's what he regrets the most in the modern world. If he had tried to at least convince [Name] to stay at his house instead of letting her go to a business meeting with her dad.

The car accident wouldn't have happened, which would have led to [Name] staying in the hospital for days.

Only to receive heart-retching news from Byakuya, who held a box in his hands, breaking the news to Senku.

"[Name] told me to give this to you." He spoke very softly to the white-green-haired boy, who blinked slowly; Senku was getting ready to go see [Name] like he'd done since she'd been admitted to the hospital.

Confused, Senku grabs the box only to flinch when he feels how heavy it is. "What the hell is it?" He says. "No way [Name] carried this heavy thing around."

Opening the box, he peeks inside to find what looks like a minimized-sized doll that shares [Name]'s appearance.

"A doll?" He mumbles even more confused. Only to be speechless when the doll slowly opened its eyes to look up at him.

"Leek." It says proudly, which makes Senku's eye twitch. This thing is one billion percent made by [Name]. He thinks to himself.

Byakuya places a hand on his head, which makes the red-eyed boy look at him confused.

It was February 2nd when [Name] had fallen in a coma.

taglist- @frootloopscos @itsnotsh1v4n1 @lovingyeet @kazuubaby @awwwia @foulbreadpaenut @verysanebsdfan @the-wild-tomato @copycat-namjesus @arimakanav @cchuisme

#thelonestarinthesky #senku x reader #dr stone #dr stone senku #dr stone x reader #ishigami senku #senku #senku x y/n #x reader #drst x reader #2/2 i.senku series

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pupdoc0916 · 2 days ago

Text

Atonement

The monitor beeped its high pitched and rhythmic tone, the only consistent sound in the room aside from soft snores and gentle shifts as bodies moved in sleep. Maddie had explained that the chirp from the small machine in the corner of the room was monitoring Tom’s heart, indicating that the man was still alive, that he was alright.

It set Knuckles’ teeth on edge.

He sat in the far corner of the small, cramped room, knelt on his toes, his back leaning into the bend of the wall. His arms rested on his knees, hands folded in front of him as his tired eyes scanned the room.

Maddie sat at the edge of Tom’s bed, her back facing him. She had her head laying on the bed, cradled in her arms. Her breaths were soft and even as she caught a few hours of sleep. His baby brother had maneuvered onto the bed of the hospital and tucked himself gently next to their father figure, little arms wrapped around the man’s unmoving upper limb.

And Sonic. His middle brother. The brother that broke the vow. The brother that let rage consume him. The brother that found redemption and saved the world. The brother who he had seen himself in - the anger, the uncertainty, the fear - and had allowed him to find his own way, just as Sonic had allowed him to find his. The brother he had already forgiven. He lay on bed, enveloped around Tom’s other side, desperately grasping at the thin hospital gown that adorned the hedgehog's father.

They all slept. Maybe not an easy sleep. Maybe not a sure sleep. But they had found rest. And he was glad for it.

But Knuckles could find no rest and no peace.

The beep continued on, ringing through his ears as he crouched away from his family and tried not to allow his exhaustion to consume him. The pain in his muscles and the burn in his back was a good thing. It kept him on edge, from getting to comfortable.

From failing.

Because he did, didn’t he? He had failed to keep Tom safe, just as he had failed his own father. He had sworn himself the family protector, had sworn to himself that he would never allow harm to come to any family, ever again.

And he had failed.

Knuckles sat, close to the door, isolated from the rest of his family. He was fatigued beyond measure, he and his brothers only arriving from their mission hours before. But he would not rest. He could not rest. He would not fail again. He could not fail again.

And so he sat. Ever still. Ever focused. Ever vigilant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maddie sighed as she dried her aching hands with the dish rag, letting the fabric massage against each finger before slinging it over the faucet. She stared at the empty sink, all dishes moved to the dishwasher or drying rack. She placed her hands on the edge of the counter and leaned forward, her tired eyes closing softly. She allowed a moment to take a breath, then forced her eyes to flutter back open to her present.

“Mom!”

“Yes, honey?”

“Dad needs a new ice pack!”

“……Are your legs broken?”

“……No…..”

A whoosh through the kitchen, a brief glance of blue as he stopped just long enough to dig through the freezer to find a fresh pack, then another whoosh and she was once again alone within her space.

A hint of a smile hit her lips as her hair settled back on her shoulders with the fading breeze caused by her son’s speed. She stretched her shoulders back, feeling the tension and stress pull up her neck.

They had been home from the hospital for a few weeks and taking care of three boys and her recovering husband had been anything but easy.

They arrived back to Green Hills by ring a few weeks ago. The boys had somehow made it back home after their gut-wrenching escape from the cannon. Their bruised and exhausted bodies had landed in a field near home, one that Knuckles had been able to picture clearly due to familiarity. They told her how they had walked toward home, an overall short but painstaking journey, and were able to grab a few more rings before returning to London to see their dad.

Maddie clutched the edge of the counter as she remembered her overwhelming relief when her three boys came, hesitantly and timidly, through the hospital door. The tears of relief as she swept each one into her arms. How her heart had clenched as the boys saw their father, still unconscious in the hospital bed.

Her whole, sweet, beautiful little family had not escaped without their injuries. She had spent time wrapping and binding the burns, scrapes, and bruises of her three boys. The beautiful children who she adored had once again risked their lives to save the world but did not escape without the wear and tear of heroes.

And her husband, a mortal among super powers and and alien strength, had been grievously injured. But he had made it. They all had made it. And they continued to recover from the harrowing journey day by day, happy to once again be home.

“Maddie?”

She was pulled from her thoughts by the deep voice as it carried through the kitchen.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are you alright? Is there anything I can assist with?”

Maddie’s smile faltered as she turned her gaze to her oldest son. He had materialized just behind her, his penetrating purple eyes looking up toward hers. His bandages had been removed weeks ago but she could still see the healing lacerations over his arms and legs, and could picture the hidden scrapes and bruises still healing over his back from what Tails had described as a terrifying fall to the earth.

She tried to pull a carefree smile back to her lips worried it was more like a grimace. She knelt to his level, taking one of his large gloved hands in hers.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” she started, squeezing his hand within hers. “You’re already doing too much.” She pulled her hand up to his cheek and gently brushed her hand over his muzzle, her thumb running under the dark bag below his eye. “Why don’t you try and rest. We have everything taken care of for the rest of the evening.”

She swallowed hard and tried not to frown as he stiffened at her suggestion and took a step back, breaking the contact of her gentle touch. His eyes hardened under her scrutiny.

“I do not need rest. If I cannot assist you here I will run another perimeter check.” He softened his eyes. “Please, Maddie, you appear tired. I insist that you raise you feet and spend time with the others. I will ensure the home’s safety.”

Her eyes began to burn as she watched his features harden in determination. He took another few steps away from her, pulling his hand from hers. Without another word he turned on his heal and left her sight. She heard the front door open and close, a tear leaving her eye as she felt him pull farther away.

Everyone seemed to be healing. Everyone seemed to be moving on one day at a time. Everyone except him.

He wasn’t sleeping again.

It was a problem they had dealt with at the beginning. When he had first moved in he had struggled to feel safe. He had been through so much before making it to their home. So much loss, so much trauma, so much pain. But they had worked through it. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month.

It caused her pain to see him revert back to the uncertain, traumatized child that he had been before. Their heart-rending task of saving the world for the second time had some how stripped him of his confidence and safety, leaving this poor exhausted shell that haunted the hallways night after night.

Maddie pursed her lips together and pulled her pressed hands to her lips in a silent prayer. Her eyes fell closed and she swallowed down the burn in her throat.

She needed to help him. She had to.

But how do you stop a flickering light bulb from burning out?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her arms were wrapped around her body, hands running up and down her sleeves to create warmth as she stepped from the comfort of the house. She turned to her right, her eyes falling on the moon lit figure that sat alone on the porch swing, the breeze pushing the swing gently in the cool air.

She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, then made her way to him slowly, one step at time.

Maddie took a gentle seat next to him, causing the porch swing to rock back, disturbing the tranquility. His eyes flicked toward her at the movement.

She kept her eyes forward, gazing into the darkening night. The soft pitter patter of the rain struck the porch overhang creating a soothing percussive ambience. The precipitation ran down the shelter above their heads and slid off the edge creating a soft waterfall that became more mesmerizing the longer you stared.

They sat silently together, almost afraid to look at each other lest they break the calm brought by the falling rain.

She sniffed lightly, the first sound either of them had made since she took her seat. It was an almost involuntary reflex against the cool moist air, but it was enough to cause the red child next to her to turn, eyes reflecting the minute halo of the moon. She froze, almost like someone approaching a frightened animal, afraid she would break their tranquil truce.

They watched each other, eyes coming together in a stream of purple to brown. His gaze could be so piercing. It could make even the strongest person feel small. But she withstood his observant stare, giving him a practiced one of her own.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he shifted his eyes back forward to the falling rain. The softest sigh escaped his lips.

“I know why you are here.” his deep voice cut through the ambience.

She couldn’t help the hint of the smile that crossed her lips. She would expect nothing less from him.

“And why is that?” she asked softly.

He sighed and turned his gaze away from her so all she could see were his disheveled quills and slumped shoulders.

“You worry for me.” he said softly. “But you needn’t bother.”

She frowned.

“Honey,” she reached out and placed a comforting hand on his back allowing her thumb to gently run over his fur. “I am the matriarch, as you say. It’s my job to worry for my family and to make sure they’re alright.”

“I understand.”

She continued. “And it is my job to take care of my family, especially my children.” He glanced back at her use of the word, almost as if he was perplexed. She frowned but pushed on. “And it’s ok to not be ok after an experience like that.”

His shoulders tensed and his eyes turned back away from her at her mention of the mission.

It was still a very sore spot for all of her boys. Sonic was working through his guilt for Tom getting hurt (not his fault and she will continue to remind him of that) and breaking the vow of his brothers. He had been frightened with how easy it had been to lose himself and abandon his family and it haunted him.

And her sweet baby, Tails. Though he hid it well, Sonic leaving him behind had hurt and frightened him. His deep fears of abandonment coming to the forefront when his brother and hero had left him behind in the wake of anger. His need to cling to Sonic’s side and be close to his family had increased in the few weeks since the mission. And she was helping him through that too.

But Knuckles had been pulling away from them. He had been almost too helpful, insisting that he assist her and the family with anything he possibly could. And when there was nothing that needed his attention, he would patrol the home almost obsessively. When they invited him to sit with them for movie night, he resisted. He would only sit with them to eat a small meal before leaving most of his food behind and excusing himself to other tasks. It was almost as if he was separate, taking on a more servant role then one of family. And they were all worried for him.

“Sweetie, you’re not sleeping again…” he turned further away almost as if to hid his exhaustion. “You are barely eating. You refuse to rest. You are patrolling constantly.” She bit her lip with worry, continuing to allow her hand to make soft contact.

“I am protecting the family.” he answered simply. “Is that not my role?”

She frowned and let out a soft sigh.

“No, honey…it’s not.”

He turned back toward her slowly, his eyes dark and hard.

“It has always been my role. Since the day you allowed me to stay within your residence it has always been my role to protect those that I…” he paused and swallowed thickly, “…that I harmed.”

Her chest tightened at his choice of words, only confirming her fear that he was punishing himself. She startled when he continued.

“I…I forgot that role. I became complacent and comfortable. Because of this I…”

His voice broke almost imperceptibly, but not unnoticed by her. She remained tense and quiet, allowing him a moment to finish.

He took a deep breath. “…I almost lost another father.”

Her breath hitched and the burn of tears pricked her eyes. He called Tom father. He had never called either of them a parental name. It was implied, the way he interacted with them, especially her, but he had never voiced it. This admission should be a cause of elation and joy, but now it only brought her pain with the heaviness of his voice.

“Honey…”

“No. I will not hear coddling or excuses.” he leveled his stare, expression tight. “I have heard that before. But I will not rest until I ensure the family’s safety…until i have atoned for my failure.”

“Atoned?” Her voice was soft, sad. “Baby you haven’t committed a sin or crime.”

“Have I not?” he bit back, voice like stone. “My failures lead to Tom getting hurt. My mistakes lead to my brothers almost…” He stopped, pulling his feet up and tucking his knees to his chest, making him look small.

She let out a soft sigh and leaned toward him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, baby, you need to realize that not everything that happens is in your control.”

His muscles stiffened at her words.

“I know.” He said, voice shaking. “But I could have done more…”

She squeezed him harder. “Tom went after the key on his own. You could not have known he would get hurt. You were helping me and your brothers. You can’t be in two places at once. You can’t protect us all the time.”

“I…”

She shook her head. “Things in life will happen. There is no predicting it. There is nothing you can do to stop it. It will just…happen.”

He turned his head and his wide purple eyes met hers. Lost was the fierce gaze from before, replaced with a soft fear.

“But…” he started, eyes not leaving hers. “…that is terrifying.”

She smiled softly at him, bringing her hand up to stroke the soft spot underneath his quills. “I know.” she whispered.

He suddenly tore his eyes from her and began vehemently shaking his head, lips tight.

“No. No I do not accept this.”

“Oh, honey. You must.”

He clenched his eyes shut, almost as if trying to block out the world.

“How can accept this? If I cannot control, then how can I ensure that you all will remain safe? That I won’t lose you like so many others?”

She pulled him closer continuing to gently massage her fingers over his fur. “And that’s the thing.” she started, keeping her eyes trained on him. “That is the thing us protectors must accept.”

At her words his eyes lifted back to hers and she could see the sheen of tears gathered at the bottom of his eyes. She ran a thumb underneath, pushing away the forming moisture.

“We can’t control everything. We can’t ensure safety all the time. All we can do is control what we can and all else must be left to luck and chance.”

She took a deep breath through her nose, allowing the soft smell of rain to permeate. Then released the air slowly through her mouth.

“When I was in that hospital room, when you boys had gone off to save the world…I couldn’t protect you. You were far from me, too far to save you, even if I could. And the one thing I could control, to reassure you boys before the ambulance left, I failed at…so miserably.”

A lump began to rise in her throat, burning and suffocating as she remembered their lost stares, almost begging her for a reaction. Begging her for anything. And she gave them nothing. She left them there, scared and unsure. And then the explosion, so high above Earth. The explosion that saved the world. The explosion so large she could feel the tremor in the hospital room. The explosion that she knew her boys were apart of. Not knowing if they had survived. If she would ever see them again. Out of her control. Oh she knew how Knuckles felt.

She swallowed down her own guilt and fear as it found its way back forward. She would not let it consume her. Not now. This was not about her.

He shook his head again and dropped his gaze. No words came but she could see his struggle. She moved her slender fingers under his soft chin and pulled his head up.

“But what you could control…in those terrible following hours… Knuckles…you did so well.”

He looked her, almost questioningly as he hung on her words like a lifeline. “I do not understand.”

“Sweetie…Sonic and Tails told me everything. About breaking the vow. How you stood up to and for your own family, but in the final moments you chose to protect and trust, even when it meant you couldn’t follow. When Sonic left, you remained with Tails and stayed strong for him. Despite the betrayal that you must have felt when Sonic took the Emerald, you and Tails stayed with him, continuing to find ways to help. And when Sonic fell, when Tails didn’t quite make it, who came to their rescue? Who shielded them? Who saved their life?”

“I did what I must.” He said softly.

“You did great, Knuckles.” Maddie said, running a finger down his cheek. “I am so proud of you.”

The hint of a smile crossed his lips at the praise and she moved her finger to push gently and playfully on his nose causing it to twitch. But the smile drifted away as subtly as it had started.

“But Tom…”

“Tom is going to be alright.” she said softly. “What happened was something out of our control. But he is going to be OK.”

He took a long, deep breath through his nose then released it, slow and steady. He once again met her eyes, but there was something new there. Something stronger.

“Thank you…mother.” he said, the word hanging on his tongue like a snowflake. Her throat once again began to burn, tears welling in her eyes as a loving grin spread across her lips.

“You’re welcome, baby.” She rubbed her finger across his soft cheek once again, causing his eyes to close at the gentle touch. “Will you come in and get some rest?”

“May I stay out for a while longer?”

She huffed as she stood, wrapping her arms around her frame to make up the lost warmth from his body being held close. “As long as you promise to get some rest.”

“I promise.”

She smiled. And with that she made her way back inside, heart lighter as she increased the space between them. As she went through the door she turned to look at him. His eyes were drawn up to the moon, his body more relaxed than she had seen in weeks. And with that she made her way toward the soft snores of her sleeping family and to bed.

@year-of-the-echidna

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles wachowski #maddie wachowski #year of the echidna #atonement

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gingernut1314 · 1 day ago

Text

Playing House ch. 7

Summary: Toji has been away for three days, and on the fourth he comes back

Content: female reader, pre-star plasma vessel, reader is the cousin of Mamaugro, reader is Tsumiki's mom, Tsumiki and Magumi are cousins, gendered terms, grief/mourning, definition of a toxic relationship, flirty Toji, Toji interacting with Tsumiki

Word Count: 3.3K

Tag list: @needsleep3000 @onebatch--twobatch @heeknow

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Three days.

Toji had been gone for three days.

Three whole days you spent wondering if he had just used this mysterious job of his as an excuse to run away.

You had been surprised, with the way he’d hardly seemed to care for his son, that he had stayed for as long as he had. Surprised he’d allowed you to boss him around and demand things of him…but you supposed it was only to keep you from seeing the plans he was making to leave.

The only thing that kept the smallest bit of faith lit in your mind that he would come back was the fact he had left his number on the fridge. You weren’t so sure people who made it a habit to run away left numbers…your cousin sure as hell hadn’t left any new number when she’d left and you didn’t blame her for it.

But Toji?

You stared at that number for hours on morning number one of Toji being away. Had reluctantly plugged it into your contacts and tried to shove it out of your mind. To shove his being gone out of your mind, of which you failed miserably.

You used this time to complete your task of cleaning the rest of the townhome. You cleaned the bathrooms, the living room. You sweeped, mopped, and vacuumed the floors. You wanted to tackle that room full of boxes but…you found yourself not able to even open the door, knowing the boxes were full of things that might only hurt you.

So you went downstairs and washed the pile clothes Toji’d left in one of the armchairs. While they had dried on the clothesline outside, you braved going into the master bedroom.

Tsumiki was hot on your heels and so you enlisted her in helping you move one of the side tables from in this room all the way downstairs. She mainly helped keep the drawers shut while you did all the heavy lifting, but you two managed to get it downstairs and set up in the living room.

It didn’t match any of the future down here, but if Toji was insistent on using it as his bedroom, his clothes needed to go somewhere that was not in a pile. You even found a basket in one of the clothes you put his blankets and pillow in.

And on the dawn of the fourth day, Toji was still gone and you started to stare long and hard at the number in your phone.

Would he even answer if you texted him? Called him?

You were sure contact was on an emergency based need but…the townhome was so clean now. You found yourself wanting to rub it into Toji's face. You made breakfast and you found yourself waiting to snap at him for trying to grab a bite.

What the hell was wrong with you? You’re mind hissed and you found yourself agreeing, shoving your phone into your back pocket and going about collecting your children to head for the store again.

You needed a stroller and car seat for Megumi, things you couldn’t for the life of you find within the townhome and knew in your gut probably had been tossed or left to rust somewhere by Toji.

The trip didn’t take too long, and soon Megumi was chilling in the cheapest stroller money could buy, car seat set up in your car, and Tsumiki nibbling on a cup of jagariko as you walked back home. The weather was nice enough, despite the coming winter, so you didn’t make a rush to get back to that stuffy townhome.

You had just snagged a potato stick from Tsumiki’s cup, your daughter happy to share, when you caught sight of the girl from across the street. She was walking with a woman you assumed just off first glance, was her mother.

“You mean the daughter of that nagging bitch?” Toji’s words rang through your head.

She looked nice enough…Toji just disliked other people.

“Hi, Ms. Fushiguro!” The girl, Emi, waved your way. You waved and greeted her back, hoping that would be the end of the interaction, but to your disappointment her mother started crossing the street over to you. Emi gave a tight smile at this too, but followed.

The woman introduced herself as Emi’s mother, before turning her eyes onto Megumi and Tsumiki. “Such beautiful children.” She praised, giving Tsumiki a small wave she shied at.

“Thank you.” You smiled as best you could, Tsumiki glancing at the woman, then to Emi before rushing off around the stroller to hold Megumi’s chubby little hand. “She’s a bit shy.” You explained.

“I understand. Emi was just as shy.” Emi seemed a bit annoyed at this but gave a pleasant little chuckle. “What a shame it was, what happened to the little one's mother.” Your heart froze at the mention of your cousin.

“Uh--yeah.” You swallowed. “I hav--”

“And you must be her sister then? You look so much like her--well…your complexion is a bit different…nose too.” She continued, giving you no time to speak or even think of an excuse to leave.

“She’s my--was my cousin.” The correction only made that hurt swell in your chest like some fucked up ballon. She gave a slow nod as if that cleared up her nitpicking of your features.

“So kind of you then, to come here for the little one.” Her eyes found yours again. Kindness looked oh so fake in them. “She got so sick so quick, your cousin. I tried my best to help, oh but that brute wouldn’t let anyone see her towards the end. Kept her locked in that house. No visitors. No doctors.” She gave a pathetically fake saddened shake of her head.

You didn’t even know how to begin to process what she was saying to you. Why she would be saying this to you.

How much of it was real? How much of the truth was twisted? How much was really real?

“That man is bad news, dear. No sense of respect. Your cousin was so kind. Always said hello and spoke with me. Not a good match, if I may say so. She had so much potential.” Emi gave a warning to her mother but already you felt the tips of your fingers grown ice cold. Felt your stomach fall and jolt like you might throw up.

Because suddenly you were back in that kitchen in your former home, surrounded by your mother and aunts and grandmothers and other family that had no right to talk to you about your beloved cousin.

“She was a slut. It’s no surprise she ran off with him. Throwing her life away like that, what a shame.”

Speak no evil.

Don’t challenge their truths. Don’t defend her. Don’t speak and you would save yourself the verbal lashing.

Tsumiki must have come to your aid because she was tugging at your hand as if to pull you away but--you wanted to run away. You wanted to defend your cousin but--but you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t unclench your jaw.

“If you need help, dear, just--”

“Help with what?” A smoothly deep voice gruffed in your ear.

Toji. That was Toji’s unbothered voice.

He was back and yet you couldn’t even turn to look at his face.

Speak no evil.

“Oh…Toji. I was just telling her how I noticed you had left her all on her lonesome. Was just offering up my help with those sweet babies if she needed it.” Emi’s mother said in an almost-hidden sneer towards Toji.

“Slut. Whore.”

“He’s in a gang. She must have joined too.”

“Monster. Beast of a man.”

Don’t speak a word. Keep quiet. Maybe they’ll stop.

“Nah. You’re kids been helpin’ out.” Toji said. Tsumiki yanked at you arm again, trying to get you to move but--cruel, burning eyes bore holes into your skull and you couldn't stop them.

“Yes…I’m just surprised you're back, is all. Did any of the animals you bet on win this time?” Toji gave a huff in amusement.

“Haven't been in a minute. I’ll be sure to have your husband tell ya…hell maybe that old bastard and I’ll go in on a bet together.” Emi’s mother’s thin lips pressed even thinner.

“Horrible.” Was all she said before storming off. Emi gave you a quick apology before rushing off too.

“Told ya she was a nagging bitch.” Toji gruffed. You saw him come into view then as he started for the townhome just down the street and yet--

You were still stuck.

Still stuck there, in that kitchen.

Stuck feeling utterly powerless.

Tsumiki called for you, but when you didn’t respond, she knew something was wrong. She remembered when you weren’t feeling good like this before. Remembered she had to go find help because nothing Tsumiki had done had done anything.

Tsumiki gave a small whimper as her eyes looked toward Megumi’s dad, hands in pockets and walking off.

He was not nice. He said mean things to you and had tried to hurt you…but he was the only one Tsumiki knew and the new babysitter was too far away.

So, just how she had to be brave when it came to comforting Megumi, she had to be brave and help her mom now.

She let go of your hand and rushed off toward Megumi’s dad. She grabbed at his arm and pulled as hard as she could to get him to stop.

When he looked down at Tsumiki, she felt goosebumps prick over her arms.

He looked scary. Like some monster. Like a bad guy…but you needed him.

“Shit kid--what the hell is up with you?” He asked, pulling his hand from his pocket to yank Tsumiki off of him. But Tsumiki was determined. She jumped as high as she could and grabbed for his hand.

“Mama she--” His eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn’t pull away from her again. “Mama’s not feeling good.” He looked away from Tsumiki to look at you. To find you hadn’t moved a muscle. Saw you looked ashen and too tense.

Megumi’s dad pulled from her hold again but he walked back towards you, instantly making Tsumiki feel okay. She was quick to follow after.

Toji said your name.

You hadn’t even realized he knew what your name was, but here he was using it.

“First your damn kid and now you, huh? Somethin’ happen while I was gone?” Toji asked, coming to a stop before you. He watched you as you fought to say something back, only a choked noise bubbling in your throat. “That old hag really got under your skin. Shit.” He sighed, giving his head a scratch as he assessed the situation. “I’ll push this, you just walk.” He moved around you as he spoke.

Rough hands peeled your own hands from the stroller handle. You watched through tunneled vision as one hand grabbed to push the stroller and the other grabbed for your upper arm, pulling you along.

“So you’re not gonna welcome me back?” Toji asked as Tsumiki jogged a bit ahead, brown eyes watching you in sharp worry and fear.

“Y-you--” You had to all but wrestle with your tongue and lips and teeth to answer. “Really a-are a dog.” Toji gave a sharp laugh at your words.

“Shit. You’re frozen as hell and you’re still up my ass.” You felt your body slowly release its hold on you. Slowly feel your vision widen and shallow breath even out.

“If I don’t, who will?” You said in a rush of breath.

“I'd finally get some peace and quiet if you didn’t.” You became painfully aware of his hand on your arm. Of the warmth it radiated through your skin--of the calluses and scars that roughened it.

You didn’t push him away, as you might normally do. Not when you were still coming down from the horrors your mind conjured up and resurrected. When, despite your better sense, him being back around you had your body easing.

Not when his guiding hand felt too good. Made you all but forget about the flash freeze that had taken hold of you.

You all came to the townhome and he let go of you then, but you were finally feeling okay again so you didn’t mind. You went about grabbing Megumi from his stroller and tried to manhandle the strolling down, but Toji cut in when you nearly toppled over it. He made quick work of folding it down and even went as far as to carry it inside.

The change was--startling. The help without a fight.

You…enjoyed it. Enjoyed it even when you knew it wasn’t something to get used to.

Tsumiki grabbed your hand and you two went into the house together.

“You get rid of my things?” Was what Toji greeted you with as you closed the door behind you. He stood in the small entrance way, looking over the picked-up living room.

“No, but it was an eyesore. It’s all in there. Everything’s clean.” Green eyes found yours, distrust high in them.

“What’s the catch?” Toji asked as you moved past him.

“What, I couldn’t just do it out of the goodness of my heart?” You made your way into the living room to grab Megumi's play mat. You laid it out and placed him stomach down. Megumi gave a huff. You knew he wasn’t the type to particularly like tummy time, but he needed it.

Toji gave a huffed laugh, “Hell no. You want something.” You settled yourself down on the ground before Megumi, legs criss-crossing before you reached for his downstairs toys you kept in a basket under the coffee table.

“I have no problem playing house if you keep working.” You shrugged, picking a collection of connected multi-colored rings from the basket to dangle Megumi’s way. He huffed again, cubby hand reaching for the rings but just missing.

“Playin’ house.” Toji repeated. You heard him begin walking around, come to a stop, and then the airy swoosh of the fridge door opening. Glass rattled and you knew he was grabbing for one of the beers you had bought for him while he had been away. “That what we’re doin’ here?”

“I guess it is.” You said. Megumi reached for the colored rings again and captured one between his fingers, non-existent brows furrowing in concentration as he tugged at them.

“Juice?” You heard Tsumiki ask timidly. You looked around to find her standing just before the line where carpeted floor turned into the tile of the kitchen. She wasn’t looking your way, but Toji’s.

It--surprised you. Had you holding your breath to see what would happen. Tsumiki had been so scared of him this whole time…so quick to rush and hide away from him so…what had changed?

Toji gave her an annoyed look, brows furrowed and one raised. “You askin’ me for juice?” He gruffed, fridge door still open.

“Please?” You saw her put on her biggest puppy dog eyes. A look that almost always broke down your defenses and had you giving into whatever she was asking for.

Toji stared right back as if the two were having their own battle of wills.

“God--where the hell is it then?” Tsumiki was quick to skip into the kitchen, disappearing from view behind the counter. Toji leaning down, reaching into the fridge for one of the juice boxes at its back.

“Here--what? You can’t open it yourself--geez. Shit--give it here.” Toji stood to his full height and you found the green juice box in his hand, thick fingers making quick work of getting the plastic straw out of its wrapper and stabbing it through the foil-covered hole at its top.

You really couldn’t get used to this. Shouldn’t even let his actions today make you feel--at ease. Shouldn’t let them trick your mind into seeing what your cousin saw in him but…he was making it very hard today.

He seemed…better. Like going back to work had helped lighten him a bit. Like getting out of the house, doing something other than drowning his sorrows away, had been greatly needed.

Your daughter came bounding over, juice box in hand and a pleased little look on her face. She patted your shoulder in passing before crouching next to Megumi, whose head wobbled a bit as he turned to look at her drinking her juice.

“When’d you get wine?” Toji asked, still having not left the kitchen. Green eyes found yours again and you felt your stomach give a flopping jolt.

“While you were gone.”

“Yours?”

“Yes, so don't even think about drinking it.” Toji held his free hand up in surrender.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” His eyes scanned over your features slowly. Too slowly. So slowly you began to feel too hot. “Want a glass?”

Drink with him?

That felt…too comfortable. Like having a drink with him was the equivalent to giving in to--to whatever the hell was going on.

“No.” Toji raised a brow.

“Thought we’re playin’ house. The mommy and daddy drink together.” Humor laced his every word.

“Well the mommy still has to make dinner.” That wolfish grin pulled over his lips as you spoke. Like he really enjoyed you playing along.

Not that you could disagree. You’d come to miss the fighting--the teasing and back and forth as psychotic as you felt feeling like that.

You were letting him win you over and you didn’t know how to stop.

“And wash the babies, put them to bed, and get ready for my first day of work tomorrow.” You finished, turning away from Toji then, finding you couldn’t look at him for any longer then you had.

“Party pooper.” You gave a small shake of your head as the fridge door shut. You heard the pop of he opened his beer and then his footsteps coming into the living room.

Something fell into your lap, making you jump slightly and Tsumiki squeeze her juice box a little too tight, liquid falling to the floor.

It was a white envelope. Thick. Like a brick.

“What is this?” You questioned, grabbing up the heavy envelope. You eyed Toji up as he moved around the babies before flopping down on the couch with a great grunt.

“Take a look.” You hesitated, mind racing a mile a minute as you thought over endless possibilities as to what it was.

Green filled your vision.

Green upon green upon green.

Money. And lots of it.

“You said my role as daddy was to pay the rent. That should cover about three months.” Your eyes found his wolfish ones as he took a long swig of his beer. Eyes that tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple as he drank deeply--as some spilled over his lips and down his sharp jaw.

The sight made you all fidgety.

“Are you in a gang?” You asked bluntly. Toji gave a barking laugh, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Gang? That’s the best you could come up with?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“This money, it’s--drugs then?” Toji shook his head as he reached for the remote on the coffee table.

“Nope.” He clicked the tv on. “I thought you didn’t care where I worked as long as the bills were paid.”

Emerald green eyes found yours again. Dark, dangerous eyes that had your heart freezing. Had a shiver run sharply down your spine and spread through your thighs.

“I don’t.”

“Then take the money,” He got comfy on the couch, finger lazily clicking through the channels. “And don’t ask questions.”

Speak no evil.

Don’t question it. Save yourself the trouble. The hurt.

Speak no evil…

“Put on channel 200. I want to watch my show.” You found yourself saying. Toji gruffed at this request, but still did as you asked.

“It better not be some love-sick shit.”

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 day ago

Text

For the first time in years, Ser Criston Cole is not guarding his Queen. Alicent has sent him on a covert mission to retrieve her wayward daughter, who has fled from the prospect of marrying her twin brother. It was supposed to be simple, but he quickly finds that the girl he thought to be so like her elder half-sister is in fact quite different.

Author's Note: We are absolutely, uneqivicolly, without a doubt not mentioning that this was planned to be a part of my 2023 12 Days of Smuff. The muses are fickle bitches and I'm a natural procrastinator, what can I say? It's also late for the second writing event it's a part of so maybe just start expecting it at this point.

Pairing: Ser Criston Cole x Aegon's Twin!Reader (3rd person)

Warnings: accidental stimulation

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

This work is also part of the @hotd-bigbang House of the Dragon Ships Month for Trope Week!

My Masterlist

Ser Criston Cole held his charge close against his chest as his horse slowed, knowing her legs were likely numb after riding for half the day. Queen Alicent would not be pleased if he let her eldest daughter topple into the mud. She would not be happy that he was taking her to this decrepit little town, either, but they were still more than a full day’s travel away from King’s Landing, and the princess needed rest.

Indeed, she groaned with relief as they approached the inn, with its ramshackle walls and crooked sign. “Thank the gods,” she mumbled. “I thought you were going to make me sleep on the horse. Or in the woods.”

He had considered it. They were more likely to be discovered in a town. But it would be far easier to protect her if she was within solid—or at least, mostly solid—walls. They would be out in the open in the woods, too exposed. He would not only be looking out for men who would harm her but the beasts of the forest as well. And if she were to somehow escape him, it would be far easier for her to hide in the forest. Far easier for her to get herself killed.

Yes, the town was better. Even if it was as seedy as Flea Bottom and as filthy as a stable. It certainly smelled like a stable.

Criston guided his horse to the side of the inn, dismounting and hitching it before he turned back to the princess. “Pull your hood tighter,” he instructed, “do not let it fall.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, but she obeyed, pulling her hood tighter than was truly necessary, the same petulant show of dramatics Criston had come to expect of her and her twin brother. And her half-sister, he thought with a twinge.

The gods must be punishing him for that transgression for him to again be tasked with chaperoning a girl so like the one he had broken his oath for. It was well-deserved. But he was determined to bear it with as much dignity as he could muster. He stood at the horse’s side and raised his hands to the Princess’ waist.

“I can do it myself,” she snapped.

He knew she could not. Could see the tightening of her jaw as she tried to swing her leg over, only to find it would not move at all. On any other day, he would let her struggle until she wore herself out and asked for his help.

Today, however, he did not have the time. He needed to get her inside and safe as quickly as possible so they could set out all the earlier the following morning. So, he took hold of her, ignoring her yelps of protest and her fists pounding against his shoulders, and lifted her off the horse.

The moment she was on the ground, she wobbled dangerously, and the arms that had been attempting to push him away held tightly to him. He let her steady herself for a moment. “Are you able to walk?”

She glared at him but then looked down to frown at her legs. “I think so.”

“Hold to my arm and stay close.” Criston moved slowly as they rounded the corner of the building, allowing her to find her footing before they entered the inn.

The princess paused at the door, eyes narrowing as she took in the broken sign dangling from the wall. “I thought inns were supposed to be cozy.”

“Some are,” he answered, tugging at her arm to pull her forward, “not this one.”

“Can we not find one that is?”

With a sigh, he faced her, leaning down to meet her eye. “Do you wish to get back on the horse, princess?” She blanched and shook her head. “Then this is it.”

She clung to him as they entered the inn and paid the keeper a gold dragon for his best room, never allowing even a hair’s breadth between his arm and hers.

The inn’s ‘best room’ put half of Flea Bottom to shame.

The floor was crooked. The glass of the single window was spiderwebbed with a thousand tiny cracks. And the bed—the one, small bed—rested on wood blocks rather than proper legs. It was not a place where a princess should sleep. It was hardly a place where anyone should sleep. But it was already dark out, and he would not risk the princess just because he did not want to sleep in such a hovel.

“Do you need to visit the washbasin? Or the privy?” Criston asked the princess, not looking at her eyes. In his periphery, he saw her blush and shake her head. “Good. Get in bed.”

He released the princess’ arm and locked the door behind them, then shoved his dagger into the gap by the hinges as an extra precautionary measure.

When he turned back, he was surprised to see the princess had obeyed his order without protest. It was unlike her. Like her half-sister, she had always fought back against his every command. But not now. It was strange in a way he could neither understand nor explain, yet it made him want to smile.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked. He finally looked at her and found her visibly nervous—her eyes wide, darting about, and hands clutching tightly to the blanket. When he said nothing, she bit her lip and turned away.

She was afraid. Not of returning home and facing her mother or the brother she was to marry, but of the place they were in and what may happen to them. Though it was good to be afraid—it would make her more alert and aware—he could not help his desire to reassure her.

“I will sleep on the floor,” he said as he removed his cloak to bundle for his pillow. “Between you and the door.”

“Will it not be too uncomfortable?”

Criston shrugged. “I slept in more discomfort when I was a soldier.”

“But that was when you were young.”

He froze. “When I was ‘young?’ Are you suggesting that I am old?”

She blushed again, ducking her head to hide her slight smile. “I did not say that.”

Rhaenyra once smiled at him in the same way. Damn. The thought only served to make him angry, even if he knew it was not the princess’ fault that she resembled her half-sister in certain lights. He bunched up his cloak and threw it to the ground. “I am not old.”

“You were a man grown when I was born, were you not?”

She was turning it into a game, masking her own fear by taunting him. Criston knew it, and yet he took the bait. If it helped her to feel safe and sleep, he would play the fool. “I was.”

Her smile brightened. “And I am now a woman grown, about to be married. That makes you, my dear Ser Criston, old.” She was giddy and giggling as she lay on the bed and buried herself beneath the stack of threadbare quilts. “Now get in the bed. You are of no use as my protector if you are too stiff to raise your sword.”

His heart sank. Not for the commentary on his age—he would admit that her logic there was sound—but for the fact that to lay in bed with her was a dangerous thing. A temptation that echoed his lowest moment.

The gods were not punishing him. They were testing him.

Another Targaryen princess. Another innocent game. Another opportunity to break his oath and sully his honor.

“What would your future husband think?” Both a refusal and a reminder of why he had followed her halfway to Duskendale to bring her back to King’s Landing. And if she were trying to coax him, as Rhaenyra did, perhaps it would make her angry enough to abandon the effort.

As expected, her smile immediately fell, and the playfulness vanished from her eyes. “Aegon spends every night on the Street of Silk. What right has he to judge me for simply ensuring the comfort of my escort?”

Again, Criston could not fault her logic. Still, he had to argue, “He is to be your husband and king.”

“Of that, I am all too aware,” she whispered. But she did not snipe back at him. She did not smile, nor frown. All the fight seemed to leave her in a single moment, along with her energy. Sighing, she closed her eyes and turned to face the wall. “Get in the bed or do not. I no longer care.”

He did not quite know how to respond to that, to her seemingly… giving up. In all her life, he had never seen her do that. Rhaenyra certainly had never done so.

Then again, Rhaenyra was never forced to marry her fool of a twin brother.

When the betrothal had been announced, Criston had pitied her. At every event where she was forced to sit next to Aegon while he drank himself silly and groped at serving girls and ladies alike, he had pitied her. When he and Queen Alicent had happened upon her in the Grand Sept, where she begged the gods to deliver her from the marriage, he pitied her. Yet, when she fled, and the king commanded him to track her down and bring her home, he did not hesitate to obey.

For the first time since he found her trying to trade one of her earrings for a new pair of shoes in the common room of the Old Stone Bridge, he felt guilty for what he was doing.

No matter how much he pitied her and wished he could aid her in some other way, he served the king, and the king had commanded him to bring the princess home. He could not disobey, but he could give her this one small concession.

So, Criston laid on the bed beside her, atop the blankets despite the cold, and as far away as he could manage without falling off the edge. He would not be able to sleep like this, but at least the princess could.

After a while, he was sure she had fallen asleep. Until she grumbled, “You are cold, Ser Criston.”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, princess.”

She huffed. “I truly am not allowed to be concerned for you?”

“No, you are not.”

Once again, she fell silent.

Then, just when Criston thought she might have fallen asleep again, “Am I allowed to complain that your shivering is keeping me awake?”

Damn the girl.

Criston rearranged himself under the blankets and turned away from the princess. If she were Rhaenyra, she would likely ask that he hold her to keep her warm.

But she was not Rhaenyra, and soon, her breathing softened and steadied.

With that settled, Criston closed his eyes, even if he would not fall asleep.

Criston fell asleep.

He must have, for he found himself startling awake with a soft moan and the mortifying realization that his cock was hard.

Gods, he would never forgive himself for this. He was sharing a bed with the young princess, and he was hard. No better than a young boy after catching his first glimpse of a woman’s bare leg if he reacted like this, even with the space between them. Except…

There was no space between them.

Not anymore. The princess now lay flush against him, her back pressed to his chest, her head resting on one of his arms while her waist was safely cradled in the other, and her… rear pressed against his traitorous, treasonous, troublesome cock.

The gods truly, deeply hated him, for she was dreaming. Actively.

Every movement brought a light, teasing, agonizingly wonderful pressure. It took every bit of his will not to follow her rhythm, to not press back against her. Instinct warred with oath, and Criston was caught in the crossfire with no escape.

He could not disentangle himself from her without waking her. If she woke, she would feel him against her. Perhaps with her younger sister, he could be confident that she would not realize what it meant, but with a twin such as Aegon, he had no doubt she would know.

But if he did not, if he allowed her to continue her movements, he would soon find himself in an even more embarrassing situation that he would not be able to conceal when she woke in the morning.

That was the decision made.

Slowly removing his hand from around her waist, Criston pulled his hips as far away as he could. Only when he felt there was no chance of her feeling his predicament did he press against her shoulder and whisper, “Princess, wake up.”

He should have gotten out of the bed.

The Princess startled, spinning around to face him, draping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. She moved so fast that he could do nothing to stop her legs from entangling with his, her thigh pressing between his legs and forcing a gasping groan from him.

Her eyes grew wide as she felt his hardness against her, but when she again faced him, they changed. The violet of her eyes faded, overtaken by growing blackness, her eyelids heavy with sleep and something that heated Criston’s blood when it should chill it. Yet even as those eyes fell to his mouth, they held no trace of the mischief he had seen the last time he was so close to a Targaryen princess.

She wanted him but made no move to take him.

It only made him want to kiss her more.

But he could not do that. The gods had given him this chance at redemption and he refused to fail again.

Criston shoved the princess away and rolled out of the bed, crossing the room in two strides to rest his forehead against the rough wood of the door, willing his heart, his blood, and his cock to calm.

Voices, laughter, and music from a very poorly tuned fiddle still bled through the gaps in the doorframe. But no light came through the window, not even from the slight sliver of the moon that had begun to rise when they arrived. Night, but perhaps still early within it? The hour of the eel?

Whatever it was, it meant it would be some time yet before he could resume taking the princess back to King’s Landing.

“Did I…” Her voice trembled slightly. Was she simply cold? Or was she hurt by him pushing her away? “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he had to take a moment to catch his breath. Perhaps he was getting old. “No. I have done you wrong, princess. I am deeply sorry.”

When they returned to the Red Keep, he would confess his sins to both the gods and his queen. She had mercy on him all those years ago, she could forgive him again, absolve him of his repeated shame.

But this was not Rhaenyra, her erstwhile friend turned stepdaughter and rival. This was her daughter, her second-born child. When she and Aegon were born, Criston had held them before their father did. He had played with them, taught them. Tried to guide them as best he could so they would not feel the absence of their father.

And now, he had come so close to defiling her.

No, his queen would not forgive him for this. He would not forgive himself.

“There is nothing to apologize for, Ser Criston.”

He turned to look at her in bewilderment. ‘Nothing to apologize for?’ According to law, he should be gelded or killed. Two times over. “Yes, there is, my princess. I have dishonored you, myself, and my oath.”

She stood, the blanket draped over her shoulders like a cloak. “No, there is not.”

“Princess – ”

“No, it was my fault!” Her uncharacteristic anger – petulance was more characteristic of her than true anger – was enough to stun him into silence. He only hoped none in the common room heard the slight outburst. But there was no pause in the din nor the truly awful fiddling. “I am the one who tried… I wanted to kiss you, but I should not have done that. I just thought…”

Even knowing that she wanted him, hearing her say it sent a strange feeling of warmth through Criston’s body. “What did you think, princess?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked steadfastly at her feet. “I thought you might want to kiss me, too.”

Gods forgive him. He had wanted to kiss her and still wanted to. But he could not tell her that for his own sake and hers. “What we want is not always possible,” he said. It felt cruel to tell her, even though she must know. It felt like crushing the hopes of the little girl he had known for so long as if it were nothing more than the hollow shell of an egg. “I have sworn an oath that forbids me from… such things. And you are to be married.”

Her face hardened, and for a moment, Criston could see the fierceness of a Targaryen queen in her eyes as she spat, “That didn’t stop you with Rhaenyra.”

His heart turned to lead, its weight enough to pull him through the floor and the earth itself. “Whatever you heard –”

“Rhaenyra told me herself.” She sank back onto the bed, her body drawing in on herself as if she were being scolded rather than exposing the truth of his sins. “Back when she still talked to us. I believe she thought I was too young to understand or remember what she said. She did that a lot, actually.”

Her eyes grew distant, lost in the memory of a sister who was her sister no more, but her enemy. Indeed, her small, sweet smile quickly gave way to a pained grimace. “I do not remember everything she told me, but I remember that. It was a while before I truly understood it, but I remembered. I think… because it was about you.”

“I wish you did not,” he said. “Remember. It is a shame I have long sought to forget myself.”

Silence fell over them like heavy rain, interrupted only by the occasional shouting from the common room. Criston thanked the gods many times over when he was finally able to rid himself of his lust. It was, perhaps, not entirely vanished, but enough so his body finally calmed.

Pity and guilt washed in to replace it. Pity for the poor girl he cared so deeply for who wanted only the one thing he could not – would not – give. Guilt for nevertheless wanting to give it, guilt for the hapless life he was delivering her to, and guilt for the fact that it was his wrongdoings that had led her here.

“Did you love her?”

The answer came easily, instinctually. “No.”

He had never admitted to loving Rhaenyra, but he had never denied it. After all, if he had loved her, was the sin not lessened? Love was the greatest virtue of the gods, so even if it could not erase the stain on his honor and soul, could it not at least redeem him from damnation?

But he did not love Rhaenyra.

“It was not love,” he declared to himself, the princess, and the gods. “I once believed it was, but in truth, it was no more than a foolish infatuation.”

That was what he was – a fool. On that night and now.

The princess’ voice was so soft Criston nearly could hardly hear it over the murmurings of the busy inn. “I do not love Aegon.”

He knew. Still, “I am sorry, princess.”

“I do not want to marry someone I do not love.” She picked absentmindedly at the skin around her nails. “And I do not want to be queen.”

But she must. It was her duty, and that was not something anyone could escape – not even a Targaryen. Criston certainly had not been able to. Yet he could not bring himself to say so. Instead, he asked, “What do you want?”

“What I want – what I was going to do before you found me,” she gave a humorless laugh. “I was going to find a ship to take me across the Narrow Sea to Lys. My great aunt Saera said she would take me in while I figured out what to do after that.”

Criston’s eyes widened at the name. “Princess Saera? The Old King’s daughter?”

She nodded, jutting her chin out in defiance of the reproach that was surely coming, even as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I have been corresponding with her for the better part of a year.”

“In secret?” She nodded again, and his body began to feel as if it were made of molten lead.

A year. She had been planning this escape for nearly a year. It was not, as he had assumed, just an impulsive, rebellious notion but a proper plan. A plan she had risked all her hopes and dreams and happiness upon. A plan he had foiled in mere days, and with such dismissive contempt for her in his heart.

The weight of his guilt became so heavy he could not bear it, and he fell to his knees before her. Of all the sins he committed since Rhaenyra had shackled him with his white cloak, this was the worst—a step too far, even for him.

This lovely princess, a future queen, was good. Sweet and pure and full of hope in a hopeless world. When he looked at her, he no longer saw the impish young girl who so happily followed Aegon in his mischief, but the beautiful, kind woman she had grown into.

He could not condemn that woman to the misery that surely awaited her should she marry Aegon. Whether it damned his soul or cost him his life, he could not.

So, he enveloped her hands in his and gazed up at her eyes. A softer shade of violet than Rhaenyra’s, and all the more beautiful. All the sounds and smells of the awful inn faded away as he looked into those eyes. “If you would allow me, princess,” he swallowed the slight lump in his throat, torn between grief and elation at the prospect of her saying yes, “I would be honored to accompany you on your journey.”

The princess smiled, and as he basked in its radiant glow, Criston realized that what the gods offered by bringing him to her was not temptation or redemption but the chance at a new beginning. A new life. With her.

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#criston cole x reader #criston cole x oc #criston cole fanfic #ser criston cole #criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x oc #ser criston cole fanfic #criston cole fanfiction #ser criston cole fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #exitpursuedbyavulcan #vbbships

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tiredofthehumanlife · 7 hours ago

Text

how to get bitches 101

Barbie dolls: tokoyami x gn!bird quirk! reader

word: 1.7k

summary: Tokoyami reels you in accidentally by falling victim to his genetics (two birds have a mating ritual minus the sex)

warnings: mostly just funny-cute, mentions of mating season, you read now, preening mentioned, kirishima has a lot of shenanigans, you throw pillows

Tokoyami wasn't particularly one for bright colors. His closet and dresser were stuffed full of black fabrics. Truly the only color he ever wore was his red choker and school uniform.

As much as he hated admitting that his bird attributes went further than appearances, he couldn't deny the feelings that grew up as spring slowly approached. He yearned more for physical affection and soft love. Tokoyami wanted to press his beak against someone's face and breathe in their comforting smell. He got hot and needed to take more showers, lowering the temperature. It had always been a distanced thing, someone, not anyone specific. Then, of course, that all changed when you joined 1-A.

The only other person he met with a bird quirk was Hawks but you were actually his age. You had wings in a similar fashion to Hawks. Your wings were inky black and you squeezed them close to you behind your back. Tokoyami had seen them in their full length and they were a little intimidating. Mina once measured them with her body and learned they were about one and a half Minas long. You kept them close to your body most of the time, making sure they didn't knock against anyone. He liked it a lot when you’d finally get out of the halls and away from people you'd shake out your wings and stretch them out to their full length. The relaxed smile that came after that always made him sigh through his nose.

When this spring rolled around he realized his yearning was amplified and more specific. He didn't want just anyone he wanted you. Maybe even needed. Tokoyami hated how slowly as more flowers sprouted, the more his chest ached for your approval.

Tokoyami focused on the cup in his hand, blowing at the steam. Kirishima sat down at the table near him, opening the homework due the next class day. It was a weekend so the day was a slow start, each student rising at their own speed. The weekend meant they were allowed out of their uniform, wearing the clothes that actually fit their personalities. Kirishima paused and looked up from his work, staring at Tokoyami’s shirt.

It wasn't really black. It was as if a black T-shirt had been bleached with just a sprinkle of the chemical. It was the darkest gray Kirishima had ever seen. Kirishima dropped his pencil.

“Tokoyami?” Tokoyami looked up from his tea, meeting Kirishima’s eyes. “Are you wearing…gray?” Kirishima asked. A few heads turned at that, fact-checking. Tokoyami was indeed wearing gray, an extremely dark shade of it but still gray. Tokoyami gave a one-shouldered shrug like it was something simple.

“Yeah,” Tokoyami muttered, bringing his straw to his mouth. You entered the common area soon after. You were in a relaxed outfit, still rubbing your eyes to wipe away the sleep. You covered your mouth as you yawned and headed for the kitchen, walking past Tokoyami. You paused just as you had passed him, backpedaling to look him up and down.

“Fumikage, breaking out the spring colors I see. They look…” you paused, dragging your eyes over him again. Your wings shuttered, fluttering and shaking out an inch further out from where they started. A few black feathers floated away from them to the floor, drifting towards the ground like a ship slipping into the storm. “really good on you.” you finished, walking away from him before he could respond. Tokoyami froze, staring ahead. A shiver passed over him and his feathers puffed up, making him look impossibly fluffy. Tokoyami quickly set his tea down, smoothing his feathers down with his hands.

“Ah. I get it.” Kirishima muttered, returning to his work. Tokoyami ignored him, picking up his tea again.

Tokoyami didn't even notice that he had started taking actions without thinking of them. Before he realized it he was bringing you handfuls of sparkly items and string. You found it adorable. He didn't even say anything he just approached you with his hands cupped together and dumped the strings and sparkles in your palms. Tokoyami nodded at you before turning around and stalking away. You thanked him, though you doubted he heard you. You kept his gifts, placing his sparkling rocks and random shiny bottle caps on your bookshelf. You weren't entirely sure what to do with the string so you left it in a small braid next to his shinys.

Tokoyami started letting out low and melodic whistles around you, small tunes that changed each time you saw him. You smiled and praised him, earning nothing but a small nod. You didn't mind, they were nice tunes that you sometimes hummed to yourself when you were alone.

It truly didn't click what was happening until the day Tokoyami made a scene in the common area. It was mostly empty, only Kirishima, Denki, and you. The other's were probably training but you didn't mind. You were reading your book on the couch, tuning out the conversation Kirishima and Denki were having. They were surprisingly quiet, either to respect your hobby or because they didn't have much to talk about you weren't sure.

You paused when you heard the door open. You looked up to see Tokoyami and a small Dark Shadow at the light switch. You smiled at them, though confusion flooded you. Tokoyami stared at you while Dark Shadow watched you from over Tokoyami's shoulder.

“Hello Tokoyami,” Kirishima said, seemingly just as put off as you.

“Hi, Fumikage. What are you doing?” you asked, slipping your bookmark into your book and closing it. Tokoyami flicked the switch turning the lights off except for the few lamps. The room was quite dark, it was darker than Tokoyami’s actual bedroom. You could still see his outline. You could find where Dark Shadow was, the dark looked just a little off but it wasn't anything specific.

You froze when Tokoyami started moving in calculated moves. His arms swung this way and that, head bobbing around. He tilted his head back, letting out a squak before continuing. You smiled, growing a little warm at the sentiment. It was quite cute, wasn't it? Your wings sputtered out lightly wrapping around you loosely. Tokoyami moved until he was breathing a little unevenly and you had dropped your book entirely.

You shook your head out of the trance as Dark Shadow flicked the lights back on. Tokoyami was staring at you with his arms still in the air, chest rising and falling. You smiled brightly and nodded.

“Cute, Fumi,” you muttered, watching him smile very briefly and head towards the door. Dark Shadow slipped past him, diving towards you. Dark Shadow rubbed their beak against your cheek, cooing at you. You gently pet their head, shooing them away. Tokoyami called after them, dragging them away from the common area. Once they both left you slowly looked at the other two, finding looks of quiet shock and confusion. Denki’s mouth was still open and hanging. Kirishima was staring at the door like Tokoyami would come back.

“Did he just perform a dance number?” Denki whispered to Kirishima. Kirishima nodded. He leaned towards Denki's ear, trying to whisper quietly.

“I think it's mating season.” You flung a throw pillow at his head, returning to your book. He wasn't wrong of course but it was still a topic of conversation you weren't exactly happy to approach.

Soon after Tokoyami started sitting next to you at lunch and dropping bits of his food onto your plate. You thanked him each time and scooted a little closer to him. He always swallowed and turned his head away from you, his feathers fluffed up.

He was cute, you liked him. Eventually, his gray clothes got a little lighter and his shiny offerings got more frequent.

You found him on the couch reading a poetry book. You sat next to him exclusively because you wanted to be next to him, with no other ulterior motive. You watched him read, eyes dragging over his profile. You paused when you noticed his feathers were a little misshapen. You reached forward and dragged your pinched fingers over his feathers, beginning to preen his feathers. Tokoyami paused, his eye darting out in your direction. You paused, pulling your hand away.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” You muttered, leaning back from him. Tokoyami shook his head.

“No. I like it. Continue please.” Tokoyami said. You hummed, burying your hands in his feathers again. You spent plenty of time with your hands preening his feathers.

Eventually, you finished and your hands left him, stretching as you decided what to do next. As you moved to stand up, you felt something touching your wing. You glanced back, finding Tokoyami’s hand on your wing. He stared up at you, waiting patiently. You slowly sat back down, back turned towards him. You sat like that for a while as Tokoyami slowly made his way through your feathers. When he finally finished, his hands lingered and gently pet the feathers down.

You glanced over your shoulder, watching him closely. He noticed your eyes, looking up and dropping his hands from your wings. You turned and faced him again. You didn't say anything and just stared at him for a moment.

Your hand held the bottom of his beak. Tokoyami froze, his shoulders tensing. You slowly leaned forward, giving Tokoyami plenty of time to pull away. He scooted closer, leg pressing flush against yours. You pushed down your smile, finally gently pressing your lips to the curve of his beak. You hummed, pulling away.

Tokoyami’s feathers fluttered, puffing up so large you reached forward to pet them down. Tokoyami leaned forward, nuzzling his beak against your neck. Kirishima walked through the common room door, pausing when he saw you two. He sighed and pressed a hand to his chest.

“They mate so fast,” Kirishima muttered nostalgically. You groaned, reaching for the pillow next to you. Kirishima held his hands up in surrender, protecting his face. You dropped the pillow back to the couch and leaned your cheek against Tokoyami’s head.

“Nestlings just leave the nest so fast these days,” Kirishima added, earning a loud groan from you. He ducked behind an armchair as you reached for the pillow.

“You really put the throw in the throw pillow, you know that?” Kirishima joked from behind the armchair. You hummed, petting the black feathers on the side of Tokoyami’s face.

#tokoyami x reader #fumikage tokoyami #mha tokoyami #bnha tokoyami #bnha fumikage #mha fumikage #fumikage tokoyami x reader #dark Shadow #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha x gender neutral reader #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha #mha

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