— READER FALLS ASLEEP ON THEM
⊹₊⟡⋆ fem!reader x upper moon males ⊹₊⟡⋆
"you fall asleep on the upper moons, and none of them have the slightest idea what to do about it… or how to feel.”
The quiet in his study was absolute. Not even the ticking of a clock dared to exist there. Just the low hum of the gramophone spinning a slow, haunting melody that filled the dark room with a deceptive calm.
Muzan didn’t look up from his book when your head started to dip, though he’d noticed the way your posture kept slackening for several minutes now. Humans, he thought with quiet disdain, are endlessly fragile things.
He turned a page. You shifted.
And then, without ceremony, your head tilted and landed lightly against his shoulder.
The sound of the page stopped mid-turn.
Muzan’s crimson eyes flicked sideways, narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just done. His jaw tightened. “…You dare fall asleep on me?” he murmured, voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that could make even silence feel like a threat.
He stared down at you, expression unreadable. The nerve of you. The sheer audacity to lean against him, the progenitor of all demons, as though he were a pillow.
A faint scoff escaped him. “Foolish girl,” he muttered. “You’re so careless… I could kill you before you even woke.”
His voice carried the same flat detachment he used when dissecting someone’s weakness. Yet he didn’t move.
Your breathing slowed, warm against the fabric of his shirt. The faint rhythm of your heartbeat filled the quiet—fragile, human, alive.
Muzan’s gaze lingered despite himself. His eyes traced the curve of your face, softened by sleep. His lips parted slightly, as if to remind you aloud how stupid this was, but the words caught in his throat.
He clicked his tongue instead, shifting barely an inch as though to feign annoyance. “Pathetic,” he murmured, “falling asleep on a demon.” His fingers twitched once, resting against the couch. “Truly brainless…”
And yet, his shoulder didn’t move.
Your head fit there a little too easily. His shirt’s fabric absorbed your warmth, and the faint scent of you mixed with the polished wood and incense that filled the room.
Muzan leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing. “I should throw you off,” he whispered to himself. “I should.”
Minutes passed. The record looped back to the start, the same low melody drifting again through the room. He sat perfectly still, eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending to read the same paragraph for the fifth time.
Finally, his gaze dropped again, to you, still sound asleep, lips parted faintly, unaware of how close you were to danger.
“Utterly senseless,” he said quietly, but his voice had softened without his permission. “If I were anyone else, you’d be gone already.”
He studied you for another long, silent moment. Then his hand moved—slow, deliberate—brushing an escaped strand of hair from your face. He froze mid-gesture, realizing what he’d done, and drew back sharply, face blank again.
He exhaled through his nose, dismissive. “Ridiculous.”
But he didn’t push you off.
And when your body slumped slightly closer in your sleep, he stilled again—irritated, silent, unmoving. The kind of stillness that wasn’t restraint, but confusion.
In the dim light, Muzan’s expression didn’t change. His voice, low and almost bored, broke the quiet once more.
“…Stupid girl. If you only knew.”
The moon hung high above the forest, bathing the clearing in pale silver light. The air was still—too still—and the faint hum of crickets only deepened the quiet that surrounded you both.
Kokushibo sat with his back against a tree, sword laid neatly beside him, the hem of his kimono unstained despite the battle that had ended not long before. You sat near him, exhaustion written across your face. The fight had taken more out of you than you’d admit.
He noticed, of course. He noticed everything.
“You should rest,” he said finally, his tone even and distant, like a command rather than concern.
“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.
He hummed lowly, not replying. Your defiance meant nothing to him since the weakness of humans was inevitable. You’d close your eyes eventually, and you did. It started with your posture softening, your head drooping slightly, until your shoulder brushed his sleeve.
Kokushibo’s sixth eye twitched faintly. He turned his head slowly, gaze settling on you—your breathing slow, steady, unguarded.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
“…How reckless,” he muttered under his breath, his tone biting yet quiet enough that it dissolved into the night. “To sleep beside a demon as if he were a mere man.”
He should have moved away. The idea crossed his mind—to remind you of your place, of the difference between what he was and what you were. But he didn’t.
His expression didn’t change, yet his body stilled in an almost imperceptible way, as though he were afraid that any movement might disturb you.
“Foolish creature,” he murmured, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “Do you not value your life at all?”
You shifted slightly in your sleep, and your head—as if guided by instinct—rested lightly against his shoulder.
Kokushibo went utterly still, every muscle tensed, every sense heightened. He could feel the warmth of you through the layers of his uniform, the steady thrum of your pulse so close to his. He could end it in a blink—one strike, one thought—yet his hand didn’t move toward his blade.
Instead, it rested where it was, his fingers curling faintly against his knee.
“Pathetic,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge. “Utterly foolish.”
His words carried irritation, but there was something hollow behind them… a faint echo of something older, quieter.
He exhaled slowly, a sound caught somewhere between annoyance and something he refused to name.
You shifted again, unconsciously seeking more comfort, your body leaning closer until your head fit securely against his shoulder. He let out a quiet, low sound—not quite a sigh, not quite a growl—and stared down at you with all six eyes, silent.
Finally, after a long pause, he spoke, his voice steady but softer than before.
“If you were anyone else, I would have cut you down already.”
Hours passed. The night bled toward dawn, and the edges of his composure began to fray just slightly. He caught himself glancing down again and again, each time telling himself it was merely curiosity.
“Do not make a habit of this, girl.”
But his voice betrayed him—quiet, resigned, and faintly protective.
And though the night slipped away, he did not move until you stirred.
The temple was quiet for once, a rare and eerie kind of silence that even Douma didn’t try to fill. The air was cool, scented faintly with lotus petals and incense, the faint moonlight slipping through the cracks in the sliding doors.
He sat on the floor, legs crossed, idly flipping a decorative fan open and closed as he hummed tunelessly to himself. You sat nearby, head resting against one hand, watching the way his movements never seemed to stop—always smiling, always moving, always performing.
“Y’know,” he said suddenly, flashing you a grin, “most people can’t stand being around me when it’s this quiet. Don’t tell me you’re the rare exception, hm?”
You chuckled softly, exhaustion in your tone. “You talk too much,” you murmured, the words slurring slightly from fatigue.
He pouted dramatically. “Too much? Me? Impossible.”
But before he could make another joke, you shifted closer—too tired to care about boundaries, your body leaning naturally toward the nearest warm presence. His fan paused mid-snap.
Your head rested lightly against his shoulder.
For the first time all evening, Douma went completely still. His smile faltered—not gone, but thinner, confused.
He looked down at you, blinking once. Then twice. “Oh? Ohhh, my, my~” he said softly, voice lilting. “What’s this now? Falling asleep on me? How bold.”
His tone was teasing, but quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that carried more meaning than he wanted to admit.
He tilted his head, watching your face. Your eyes were closed, your expression peaceful. You weren’t trembling. You weren’t afraid.
“Humans are so silly,” he murmured, the smile returning, though softer now. “You must be exhausted to think I’m safe enough for this.”
He laughed under his breath—low, airy, almost tender. His hand lifted, hovering near your cheek. For a moment, it looked like he might move it away. Instead, his fingers brushed lightly through your hair, careful not to wake you.
“See, this is how I know you like me,” he whispered with mock delight. “You can’t help yourself.”
But even as he said it, his chest felt strange. It was too still, too tight. He looked down again, eyes narrowing faintly as if he didn’t recognize the feeling crawling beneath his ribs.
He could smell your heartbeat—warm, human, real—and it made something twist inside him that wasn’t hunger.
Your head shifted slightly, your body leaning more fully against him, and he exhaled sharply—a soft, amused sound that wasn’t really amusement at all.
“…You’ll ruin me if you keep doing things like this,” he whispered eventually, a half-smile ghosting across his lips. “And the worst part is, I think I’d let you.”
He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded, that same serene grin curling at his mouth, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He simply sat there, statue-still, letting your warmth press into his side. The demon who devoured love for centuries now holding something that felt alarmingly close to it.
The night was cool and quiet, broken only by the faint crackle of the campfire you’d built together. You sat across from Akaza at first, watching the flames flicker orange and gold across his skin.
He’d been unusually calm tonight. No lectures about strength, no gritted teeth about weakness. Just stillness. You could almost pretend he wasn’t a demon at all—just a man sitting under the stars, lost in thought.
When you yawned softly, he glanced over. “Tired already?” he asked, voice low but steady.
You gave a small nod. “Didn’t realize how much the day took out of me…”
He grunted lightly, eyes turning back toward the fire. “Humans burn out fast,” he said, but there wasn’t mockery in it. More like quiet acceptance.
The silence stretched again. The warmth from the fire mixed with the chill of the night, and before long, you were fighting to keep your eyes open. Your posture slumped, your hands folded loosely in your lap.
He noticed. He noticed everything.
“Don’t,” he muttered softly. “If you fall asleep out here, you’ll—”
But before he could finish, you’d already leaned forward, your head finding its way against his shoulder.
Every instinct told him to move—to pull away, to bark something sharp and cruel enough to break the moment. But he didn’t. His body, usually so quick to react, felt rooted to the spot.
He glanced down at you, his face unreadable, eyes flicking between your peaceful expression and the soft rise and fall of your chest.
“…You really are hopeless,” he whispered, his voice carrying the faintest tremor. “You’d fall asleep on a demon and call it peace.”
Your only answer was a quiet sigh as your fingers brushed lightly against his arm. The contact sent something strange through him—a pulse of warmth, discomfort, and something heavier that he couldn’t name.
He clenched his fists once, then relaxed them slowly. His gaze drifted toward the stars.
“I could kill you right now,” he said softly, almost as if he were reminding himself. “You’re defenseless… fragile.”
The words were hollow. Empty.
Because even as he said them, his body shifted slightly—just enough to make sure your head rested more comfortably against him. He didn’t even realize he’d done it.
He looked down again, his expression faintly pained. You were asleep, unaware, trusting him with the kind of innocence he’d long stopped believing in.
“Why…” he murmured, voice barely audible, “why do you make it so hard to hate you?”
The fire crackled softly, illuminating his face in waves of amber light. He could feel your warmth seeping through his arm, grounding him in a way nothing else did.
It was infuriating. And comforting.
He sighed quietly through his nose—a small, human sound that felt wrong coming from him. “Stupid girl,” he said, more to himself than to you. “You’re lucky I don’t have the heart to move you.”
He leaned back slightly, his head tilting toward the stars above. The faint sound of your breathing blended with the crackle of the flames, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, Akaza allowed himself to stop thinking about strength.
He just sat there… still, quiet, alive.
And when the fire finally dimmed to embers, he spoke once more, his voice so soft it was almost a prayer:
Because in that rare silence, with your head resting against him, Akaza could almost believe that peace was something he still deserved.
Thunder rolled low in the distance, mirroring the mood of the demon beside you.
Sekido sat stiffly on the engawa, arms crossed, the faint crackle of lightning flashing under his skin every few seconds. You’d long since stopped flinching at it. He was always angry—angry at the world, at his brothers, at himself—and tonight was no different.
You’d been sitting with him in silence, the rain whispering against the roof. You didn’t say anything; you knew words only made him explode faster. Instead, you just sat there, close enough that your knee brushed his.
It was late when your head finally drooped forward, the soft patter of rain and his distant grumbling lulling you to sleep.
When you slumped sideways, your head came to rest on his shoulder.
For a long moment, Sekido didn’t move. Lightning flickered across his temple, the air around him humming with restrained energy. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.
You didn’t respond, of course. Your breathing had already gone soft and steady.
He clenched his jaw. “Tch… humans.” He said it like a curse, but his voice was quieter than usual.. almost uncertain.
The frown that crossed his skin softened, dimming until it faded completely. He turned his head just slightly, enough to see the calm on your face. You looked peaceful. Unbothered. Like the chaos that burned inside him didn’t exist.
No one ever touched him without fear. No one ever got this close.
Something twisted painfully in his chest. He let out a slow, frustrated exhale and looked away. “You’re insane,” he muttered, though his tone had lost its bite.
When a particularly cold gust swept through, you shivered against him. Instinct moved faster than thought—his arm shifted, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you closer.
The movement made him scowl. “...Don’t read into it,” he whispered to himself.
The rain kept falling, the thunder faded, and the light beneath his skin finally went still.
For once, there was no storm. Just the sound of your breathing against his chest, and a demon who didn’t know what to do with the sudden quiet.
The forest was still, the only sounds were the hum of cicadas and the gentle rush of a nearby stream. You sat beside Karaku, both of you leaning against the wide trunk of a tree as twilight stretched across the sky. His fan rested lazily against his shoulder, the other hand draped casually over his knee.
He looked utterly at ease—like the chaos he was born from had finally quieted for a while.
“Humans always get tired so fast,” he muttered with a grin, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open. “You fall asleep and miss all the fun parts.”
You hummed sleepily, your head tipping slightly to the side until it found his shoulder. He froze for a second, blinking in surprise. The corners of his mouth twitched — a smug smirk threatening to form — but it softened instead.
“…You’re really doin’ it, huh? Just knockin’ out on a demon,” he whispered. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful than teasing.
Karaku shifted, careful not to wake you, letting your head rest more comfortably against him. He studied your face for a long moment—the slow rise and fall of your chest, the relaxed expression that came only with trust. It was strange to him, this calm. He didn’t know what to do with it.
The night breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of wisteria somewhere far off. He tilted his head back, gazing up through the branches, and for once, didn’t move away.
“Tch. You’re lucky you’re cute when you sleep,” he muttered under his breath. “Guess I’ll sit still for a bit.”
He wasn’t used to stillness. He liked the rush of wind, the thrill of fighting, the noise—anything that made him feel alive. But right now, he felt it in a different way. Quieter. Stranger. His gaze flicked back down to you, your lashes fluttering slightly as you dreamed.
When your body unconsciously leaned closer, his jaw tightened, then relaxed. “Unbelievable,” he mumbled with a quiet laugh. “You really trust me, huh?”
Karaku’s teasing grin had faded into something unreadable. He exhaled softly, eyes half-lidded as he whispered to no one in particular,
“Don’t make me get used to this, human.”
And though his words carried that familiar edge of mockery, his hand finally settled lightly against your back—not in possession, but in quiet, wordless protection.
The night sky stretched endlessly above, a canvas of stars scattered across velvet black. The wind was strong at this height, tugging through your hair and ruffling the feathers along Urogi’s arms as he glided effortlessly above the treeline.
“Hold on tight, human!” he laughed, voice carrying over the rush of air. His laughter was wild and bright—like the kind of sound that could scare off nightmares.
You clung to him at first, heart pounding, but after what felt like hours of flying and laughter and teasing, the rush of adrenaline melted into warmth. The beat of his wings grew rhythmic, steady… comforting.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me up here,” he called, glancing down with a grin that showed sharp teeth. But when he looked again, your head had slumped gently against his shoulder, your breathing slow and peaceful.
His laughter died in his throat.
For a moment, he just hovered there—wings spread wide against the moonlight, the forest glimmering below—trying to process it. You, a fragile human, asleep in the arms of a demon that could drop you at any second. And yet, you looked completely at peace.
He blinked, then let out a low whistle. “You really are fearless, huh?”
Urogi shifted his grip, one clawed hand sliding to support your back, the other cupping the back of your head to keep you steady. His feathers brushed your cheek, tickling lightly as the wind grew cooler.
“Guess I’ll take it easy for once,” he muttered, wings angling downward. The air whooshed softer now, carrying the scent of earth and pine as he descended toward a quiet cliff overlooking a stream.
He landed lightly, talons scraping against stone, then folded his wings around you like a blanket—the rustle of feathers drowning out the rest of the world. You stirred a little, mumbling his name before settling again, your face unconsciously nuzzling itself against his neck.
The movement made something in his chest tighten.
“Tch… You really trust too easily,” he said, though there was no bite in his voice this time. Just quiet wonder.
He shifted, sitting down with you still nestled in his lap. The weight of you against him was warm, grounding, strange for someone who spent most of his time in the air. He rested his chin atop your head, eyes flicking up toward the moon.
“Not bad,” he murmured softly. “You’re kinda nice to hold, you know that?”
A faint smile curved at his lips as his wings instinctively curled tighter around you, shielding you from the cold.
The rain hadn’t stopped all evening. It wasn’t heavy—just a constant drizzle, whispering through the leaves and dripping down from the eaves of the small abandoned shrine you’d both taken shelter under.
You sat close to the dim light of a lantern, watching the tiny flame flicker, while Aizetsu leaned against one of the old wooden beams, his long sleeves damp at the edges, his expression unreadable as always.
He rarely spoke, and when he did, his voice was soft—quiet enough that you sometimes had to lean in to hear. But tonight, even the air between you seemed to understand silence was safer than words.
You shivered slightly, pulling your knees close. He noticed, of course. His eyes—deep and distant, like rain-soaked glass—shifted to you. Without a word, he moved closer, draping a blanket lightly over your shoulders.
“Humans catch cold so easily,” he murmured, his tone even, but there was something faintly troubled behind it. “You shouldn’t stay out in the rain like this.”
You smiled tiredly. “I’ll be okay.”
He stared at you for a long moment, as if wanting to argue, but the words never came. Instead, he sighed—a slow, almost weary exhale—and sat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.
Aizetsu watched as your posture softened, your body tilting closer to him. He thought you were simply tired from the long day, but then your head gently rested against his arm.
He froze. His breath caught, not from fear, but confusion.
You were asleep. Just like that. Leaning against him as though the weight of the world didn’t matter, as though he wasn’t what he was.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. Rain pattered softly against the roof above. Your hair was damp, a few strands sticking to your cheek. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted a hand—fingers trembling slightly as he brushed them away.
“…You shouldn’t,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You shouldn’t trust something like me.”
His hand lingered near your face, hovering just above your skin. He wanted to move away, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked so peaceful. Not when your breathing was slow and steady, unafraid.
He lowered his gaze, eyes softening with something that almost looked like sorrow. “If only you knew how easily I could hurt you…”
But he didn’t move. He didn’t breathe too deeply, didn’t shift an inch—afraid that if he did, he might wake you, or worse, lose this fragile moment that felt too human to belong to him.
He tilted his head slightly, allowing your head to rest more comfortably against him, and whispered — barely, almost to himself.
“…I hope you dream of something better than this world.”
The night was tense with the crackle of distant thunder. Storm clouds rolled across the sky, heavy and dark, and every few moments lightning would flash, illuminating the temple ruins where you and Zohakuten had taken shelter.
He sat cross-legged beside one of the pillars, his expression sharp as ever, small hands gripping his weapons as if he were waiting for something to attack. His golden eyes flicked toward you every so often—suspicious, cautious, though he’d never admit it was out of concern.
You sat near him, damp from the rain, hugging your knees. “You really hate humans that much?” you asked softly, your voice carrying over the low rumble of thunder.
He shot you a glare, his tone clipped. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I just don’t like weak things getting in my way.”
You only smiled, unfazed, which somehow irritated him more. “Mhm. Sure.”
He scoffed and turned away, grumbling something about how infuriating humans could be. But then, when another flash of lightning tore across the sky, you flinched, barely, but he noticed.
His brows furrowed. “You’re scared of that? Pathetic.”
Still, his gaze lingered. He didn’t like the way you shivered when the thunder cracked again. He shifted closer, not enough for you to notice right away, but enough that his arm brushed lightly against yours. When the next flash came, your body instinctively leaned toward him.
Zohakuten froze. He opened his mouth—maybe to bark at you, maybe to tell you to move—but no words came. Your head had dropped gently against his shoulder, your body relaxing as sleep began to pull you under.
He stared down at you, disbelief flickering across his face. “Are you—? Unbelievable.”
You didn’t respond. Your breathing was already even, soft and calm, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.
Zohakuten gritted his teeth, cheeks faintly flushed. His jaw unclenched slowly, and with an annoyed sigh that didn’t match the softness in his movements, he shifted again, letting your head rest more comfortably against him.
“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, though it sounded more like an admission than an insult.
When your hand unconsciously brushed against his, his entire body went still. His heart—that strange, borrowed thing that still pulsed with Muzan’s essence—gave one quiet, unsteady beat.
Through the night, through the dripping rain and faint echo of thunder, the youngest of the clones sat in silence, glaring at the shadows, daring them to come closer… all while keeping a human girl tucked safely against his side.
“Pathetic… but I guess I don’t mind it.”
The district was quiet for once. The revelry, the lights, the laughter—all of it had faded into the late hours, leaving the alleys dim and empty. Moonlight spilled weakly across the rooftops, glinting against the faint scales of Gyutaro’s skin as he sat perched on a ledge, knees drawn up, arms crossed loosely over them.
You sat beside him, legs dangling over the edge, listening to the faint hum of the city below. It wasn’t often he let you sit this close. Most nights, he’d keep his distance, muttering something about “not wantin’ ya to get too comfortable.”
But tonight he was quiet. Almost thoughtful.
“You ain’t scared?” he asked finally, his voice a low rasp. “Sittin’ next to me like that. Humans usually don’t last that close.”
You smiled softly, glancing at him. “If I was scared, I wouldn’t be here.”
He scoffed and looked away, scratching absently at his arm, a habit he couldn’t quite shake. “Feh. You say that now.”
You didn’t hear him. Your head had dipped forward slightly, and a moment later, your shoulder brushed against his arm before you went still.
He stiffened instantly, eyes darting down. “Oi. Hey.” He nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Don’t fall asleep on me, ya dumb—”
But you didn’t move. Your breathing had already deepened, slow and steady, your head now resting gently against his arm.
He froze completely. His hands twitched at his side. For a long moment, he didn’t know what to do—didn’t know how to hold something so… gentle.
The world had always flinched from him. Women screamed at the sight of his face. Men laughed behind their hands. No one ever leaned in. No one ever trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him.
“…Idiot,” he muttered finally, but the word came out hoarse.
He shifted carefully, making sure you wouldn’t slip. His arm hovered awkwardly behind you for a moment before he let it rest, tentative but steady, against your back. Your body leaned instinctively closer, and he almost forgot how to breathe.
The city lights flickered below, and for the first time in years, Gyutaro didn’t feel ugly. He didn’t feel like a monster hiding in the dark.
His throat tightened, and his voice dropped to a whisper you weren’t meant to hear.
“Why’d you have to do that… fall asleep like I ain’t some freak…”
He swallowed hard, turning his head away. His hair fell over his eyes, hiding the expression that crossed his face, something raw and breaking.
“Guess I’ll let you stay there,” he muttered quietly. “Just this once.”
By the time the moon dipped low, Gyutaro sat unmoving, a quiet silhouette against the dying night—a demon who had never known peace, holding the one person who made him forget, if only for a few fleeting hours, what he was.
please do not copy my works.
