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dcxdpdabbles · 1 year

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Passion for Fashion Part 4

A loud ding-dong echoes through the house. Danny sits up from where he was lying, inches from a radio playing falling water.

He found it in the garbage a few days after the whole kidnapping of Fiesco- the police got all the models to safety while the Bats were able to rescue Tim Drake, but the primary muscle, some guy named Waylon, got away. - but the station it could pick up was a natural sound effects station.

Danny had been tinkering with it, trying to figure out how to get it to connect to the local radio mostly successfully for days now. He leaned back to look past the randomly hung clothes that Dan had been stringing across their house.

Fabrics still littered the place, and it's become less of a home and more of a fabric storage.

Danny has forgotten the color of the walls, so used to just seeing clothes everywhere. It was a bit embarrassing to be so messy but it's not like they had guests in this dimension.

Which meant the door ringing even stranger.

Ding Dong.

"Dan?"

His counterpart grunts from somewhere behind the blue and green fabrics. "What?"

"Nothing," Danny calls back, side-stepping fabrics and pushing aside some mannequins. Who was on the other side of the door if Dan was in the living room turned studio?

Ding Dong.

They should really think about installing some cameras or even a peephole. Danny hesitates for only a moment before he carefully turns the knob and opens the door slightly, only enough so his eye can see through the crack.

An EverBurning Lizardman stands on his doorstep. That's....not confusing at all. Maybe the ghost was sent by Clockwork? Oh, perhaps the time Ghost was sending them back up?

"Hello?" Danny asks, swinging it open. "Can I help you?"

The Lizardman squints at him. "Dan Fenton?"

"No. I'm Danny Fenton. Dan is my twin brother."

"Right. I'm Killer Croc," The EverBurning says, straightening out his back to tower over Danny in what he thinks is supposed to be menacing. To Danny, it just looks like someone standing to attention, a lot of the ghosts do that when he is crowed.

"Nice to meet you, Killer. Cool jean jacket by the way." Danny responds. He crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe, tilting his head like a bird. Killer Croc seems taken aback by his nonchalant mannerism. "Do you want me to get Dan?"

The EverBruning lips pull back, showcasing all of his teeth. Danny is impressed by how sharp and white they are. He must use a whiting paste. He'll have to ask for the secret later. A model needed a pearl-white smile, after all. "I would like to speak to you both."

Danny considered the request before nodding his chin to his house. "Come on in. Sorry about the mess; we weren't expecting guests."

As the significant being of rippling scales and muscles made its way inside, Danny shut the door and held out his hand towards Killer.

The Lizardman blinked down at him. "What?"

"Can I take your coat?" Danny asked, so used to offering guests back at home that he forgot big city folk may not do that.

Killer's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Alright." Accepting the denial Danny rocked on his heels, pushing a large indego piece of fabric out of his face. It reveals the slight path to the kitchen. "Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, water, soda....heated ectoplasm?"

"...Water is fine." Killer settles on staring at Danny like he is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Not surprising. Those from the Elemenal Sector of the Infinite Releams don't see human-shaped beings often. He had plenty of young Yeti children surround him when he visited because they had never seen someone who looked like Danny before.

"Hot or Cold?"

"....Cold."

Huh. An EverBurning who did not take their water boiling? Danny would ask him about it, but he didn't want to seem like he was playing into stereotypes.

"I'll bring it out in a minute. Please make yourself at home." Danny gestures to a corner of the room. "I think the couch is somewhere in that direction. "

He doesn't wait for the Lizardman to reply instead he turns to the last place he heard his counterpart shout. "Dan! Come out here, you have a visitor!"

"No! Tell whoever they are to piss off." Dan screams back. Danny's face twitches. He hates that guy so much sometimes.

"Don't be rude! Come out here!"

Dan makes a loud obnoxious sigh, pushing the fabrics out of his way. He's still wearing the same pair of sweatpants and stain t-shirt grey oversized shirt. His hair has obviously not been comb and there are slight bags under his eyes from where he refused to get some sleep the last few days.

In short, he looks like a right mess.

"Who the hell is even bothering us..." Dan's voice trails off, face paling when he sees Killer uncomfortably trying to sit. Dan glances down at his body and then screams in mortification, warping his arms around himself. He sprints further into the house before they can get a word in. "Don't look at me! I have to get dressed! I normally look hot, I swear!"

Danny blinks. "Well....I'll get you that water while Dan gets dressed."

Killer looks far more confused than before. "Sure, kid."

Now, Danny has always been an alley of the FarFrozen. Not only was FrostBite his doctor, his ice mentor, and his general instructor for the Infinite Realms, but he was also his friend.

Nearly as close as Sam and Tucker- FrostBite had become someone he sought companionship with, which went for all of FarFrozen. Danny spent more time in the winter wonderland than in his home. This meant he knew all about their rivals- the EverBurning.

The EverBurning were a tribe of Lizardmen in hot volcanic lands to the south of the FarFrozen. They were very similar to the FarFrozen in culture and civilization, with a bit more emphasis on arts than science.

Although they were polar opposites, FarFrozen and EverBurning had no abysmal relationship. Their meet-ups reminded Danny of rival high school sports teams at most.

Danny was just an alley to the FarFrozen first.

When he returned to the living room, he arrived with Killer looking highly uncomfortable as Dan sat awful close to him now dressed a looking....well looking like what the locals called "E-Boy" sexy.

Not to be confused with Goth. Danny didn't know what the difference was, but Dan almost bit his head off the last time he pointed it out. Apparently, the fashions were completely different.

"So, Papi. why were you looking for me?" Dan all but purs. Killer shudders and quickly stands up, causing Dan to fall onto the couch cushions.

"I came here to apologize." The Lizardman starts but is cut off by his slight jump as Danny appears at his elbow, holding out the tray. He needs to remember to make noise when he moves.

"Apologize for what?" Danny asks, observing his guest take the glass cup in a scaly hand. He seemed to do so carefully, but surprisingly not uncurling his claws away- does he not know how?

"For almost trafficking you. I ugh...I sell drugs, not people. I wasn't aware those idiots were doing that when I accepted the job to kidnap Tim Drake for a few hours. I have to eat somehow, you know?" Killer shrugs at the twin stare of surprise. "I'm an ugly son of bitch, but I'm not much of a monster."

"Papi, you are gorgeous-" Dan starts, placing one hand behind the couch seat and giving a flirtatious little smirk up at the Lizardman, but Killer cuts him off.

"Okay, seriously, kid you're starting to freak me out. Not that I'm not flattered. You're the first and only one ever interested in me, but I'm twenty-eight. You're way too young for me."

Dan frowns in confusion. "I'm twenty-six. Two years isn't that much of a difference."

Killer gestures at him. "You are fifteen at the least, kid."

Dan's face ripples through various emotions before he leans back and stares at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. He whispers to them in a hushed tone of angst. "I'm seventeen."

Right.

Danny clears his throat. "It's alright, Killer. We weren't sold, and neither were any of the other models. So, no harm was done. Apology accepted."

Killer Croc seems more thrown off balance than when Danny first opens the door. Poor guy. It must have been the ice water. Danny shouldn't have made it that cold. "Just like that?"

"Just like-"

Someone breaks through his living room window. The Fentons let out cries of surprise as Killer quickly grabbed them both and rolled the ground, using his large body to shield them from the shattering glass. The intruder was likely unaware of the strung-up fabrics, for they stumble into the tied strings and quickly become entangled.

They fall to the ground in heap as the strong wire wraps around them. Danny knew he shouldn't have allowed Dan to use metal wire for his heavier pieces- especially one that taught, but Dan had been so persuasive.

(He put them up anyway, and Danny was too lazy to take them down)

"Ah man, I liked that window," Danny whines as he peaks over Killer's shoulder.

"We have windows?"

"Killer Croc! Unhand the hostages!" The person on the ground screams, shimmering around until the clothes fall away, and Danny finally gets a good look at some guy in a red and black costume?

Dan points at the stranger "Who is that-"

"Red Robin" Killer all but snares, suddenly far more violent than usual. Dan takes one look at the EverBurning before he, too, is standing at the ready for a fight- it makes his outfit look really out of place, but Danny can't say much when he's still in his own sweats.

Maybe he should have changed too?

"Should we kill him?" Dan asks, and Red Robin stops, seemingly shocked that the fashion designer would ever suggest that.

"Woah woah woah," Danny says, stepping between the two groups. He has his hands up attempting to appease the ghosts first- for all Dan looked and had been human, he spent far more years as a full-time ghost so he was more ghost than human.

Killer claws have sharpened, and he just knows it's going to be a pain and a half to get them to stop. Thinking quickly, Danny crouched down to place a kiss on the frozen- no pun intended- human on the cheek. "There is no need for a fight. I asked him out on a date and sort of forgot what time he was picking me up."

Killer stared at him like he had grown a second head, but Dan dropped his raised fists. "Oh yeah? Have fun on your date brat."

"Thanks, Dan."

He hurled Red Robin to his feet and practically pushed him out into the street before the other could get his wits about him. Once they were safely out of Dan's hearing range, Danny crossed his arms, raising an unimpressed brow to the dressed-up stranger.

"Alright, who are you supposed to be, and why did you break through my window?"

"I-"

"Danny!" Dan shouts from the broken window. He waves around a duffle bag that he quickly throws at the confused teenager. "You can go on a date dress like that! I have a reputation as a fashion designer to keep. Put that on!"

Danny rolls his eyes, turning back to the other teenager- is he a teenager? Danny can't really tell with the mask but he sort of looks like it. "Do you mind waiting for me to get ready? I'll pay for pizza."

"W-wait what-no I'm here to rescue-are you serious about the date?"

"Yeah, why not? I dated a dead biker before and his crazy girlfriend. Sides, you're pretty cute."

"Are you aware that Killer Croc is in your house?"

"Killer? Yeah, my brother is trying to seduce him."

"......why?" Red Robin whispered in horror, "Why would he do that?"

"Why does Dan do anything?" Danny grins with a shrug. "I get it, though; Killer is a good-looking EverBurning."

"EverBurning?"

"A tribe in the Infinite Realms."

There is a spark of recognition in Red Robin's body language. Now, why does this stranger know about Danny's kingdom?

Red Robin's mouth opens and closes before slowly reaching up and pressing his ear. Danny realizes only after a moment that he's using a communicator as the other says, "I'm going offline for a bit. Got a date with someone from Constitine's Infinite Realms."

Hmmm, does that sound like a problem Danny should be dealking with? Nah, as long as Red Robin's not connected to Batman, he should be fine.

(Meanwhile, Dan is pouting as Waylon slips out the back door once again regretting his offer of going on their own date. Just his luck Clockwork's little twin idea is going to make dating a nightmare. There went the best tail he's ever seen)

Master Post Link

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Fashion for Passion #Part 4 #Onesided Dan/Waylon #Dead tired #Danny is sort of rolling with things #Waylon came to say sorry and left confused out of his mind.#He likely thinks he was drugged #The bats are in fact screaming to NOT GO ON THAT DATE TIM OMF

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spacedace · 1 year

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Reluctant War AU Part 2

Part One

...I ended up writing more for that Reluctant War AU...Like. Wrote this before work and started on part 3 with plans for part 4 more.

this was supposed to just be a brain worm what happened (also thank you @catastrophic-crow for the AU name <3 <3 <3 Also, also: welcome to the cult of Ancient of the Speedforce Elle! Membership includes nonsense, shenanigans and chaos haha)

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Every corner haunted by death and tragedy.

Every street stained red at least once in its many years.

Every dark shadow holding the faint shadows and shades of the dead.

Gotham was, before all else, a grave yard.

Jason had known that his entire life. Every kid born and raised in the Alley did. Death came fast to Gotham’s streets. Especially for those the rest of the city turned its back on. He did his best to lighten the reaper’s load when it came to the people that called Crime Alley home. Well, mostly. He’d certainly added names to old Death’s list before, when the occasion called.

When the armies of the dead descended upon Gotham, the only surprise Jason could feel was that those white wearing pieces of shit had dared to try and hunker down in his city.

It was a sentiment shared by most of Gotham’s fine citizens. By the city itself - herself? Something to ask later, if there was a later - even if the impossible, living shadow that rose up out of Gotham’s many dark corners was anything to go by. He knew, almost instinctively, that the entity - skin of cracked pavement, mouth a bridge suspended too wide across the face, eyes of CCTV camera lenses and body built brick by grimy, bloody brick of the sharp skyline - was Gotham. Not a ghost but something bigger, greater. Something awfully, terribly alive in all its horrible, noble glory. His city, manifest in the shape almost human beneath the green glow of the torn apart sky above.

Phantom’s armies arrived without warning as they had everywhere else, and their enemies poured out in unforgivably unmarred white suits to meet them. Horrible and garish against the Gotham streets. How they’d ever managed to slink by unnoticed while being so blatantly, clearly not of Gotham Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

If either side thought this would be like the battles they fought before, they were mistaken.

Gotham was a place for Ghosts.

A place the dead piled up, lingered well beyond their deaths. A place where the rules were different from everywhere else in the world. Where crime was rampant and chaos reigned but at the end of the day people said their thanks that they were born to this hellhole and not so cursed to call anywhere else in the world home.

The dead came to fight

And Gotham, a thing so alive it was sickening to look upon, rose up to fight right along side them all.

The agents were ready and prepared for the incursion of the dead. It’d been two weeks since the first volley of attacks. Two weeks spent shoring up defenses and ramping up weapons and strategizing ways to kill what was already dead. They were, as best as they were able to be considering how endless the armies that came for them, prepared.

They weren’t prepared for Gotham.

Weren’t prepared for the city itself to rise up and take spectral, eldritch shape. Jagged building spire and shattered glass teeth bared in a snarl that spanned miles. Screaming rage in a voice made of gunfire and the concussive boom of explosions and the shrieks of a furious crowd.

Weren’t prepared for its people to ignore the gentle ushering of the dead trying to push them away to safety and instead press forward to fight shoulder to shoulder with the ghostly armies.

Weren’t prepared to have brick and bottles and trash and debris rain down upon them from the jeering living. Weren’t prepared for dirty faced children with hard eyes to light up rags stuffed into chipped beer bottles filled with gas and kerosene and throw them with more speed an accuracy than any professional baseball player. Weren’t ready for Gotham’s motley crew of terrifying Rogues to band together with the citizens they so often accosted and worried and bring down wave after wave of chaos and Goons.

Weren’t prepared for Red Hood to swap out his rubber bullets for the real deal and start mowing the fuckers in white down, his own crew at his back, the rest of the Outlaws on their way.

The Justice League was trying to find a peaceful resolution. Trying to play go between to the US Government and the infinite dead. Too wound up in US politics to side with the dead outright, too disgusted by what the American government had done to ever want to stand with them. All it had gotten them was spun wheels and confusion and the slow creeping realization that the time to try and play negotiators had well passed.

Red Hood wasn’t a member of the Justice League.

He had no obligation to try and find a way to talk things out.

What he had was a grave he’d dug his way out of, enough ammunition to arm a sizable country, and a burning need to make things right.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts, and Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

Haunting the streets he’d survived as a child, the city he protected as Robin, the family he’d loved and lost a thousand and one times before and after his death.

The sky cracked open above his home, and it was not an invading army that came rushing out but a native one. Friends, neighbors, strangers on the street you caught from the corner of your eye. The people of Gotham knew their own and fought for them. Only Gotham was allowed to fucked with Gotham and they’d been screwed over enough by the government themselves to know what side they were on.

He lifted his guns and fired, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction beneath his helmet as white was splattered bright red.

A hissing electric whine of a weapon, a flash of green from the edge of his vision.

“Down!”

He was thrown bodily to the cracked and ruined street beneath him, the body shielding him warm and living as one of the agent’s weapon fired a blast of energy right where he’d been a second before. He’d seen that same weapon reduce one of the raging dead to dripping green and screams of agony the dead should not be capable of making.

Before he could shove himself up and respond in kind, the body above him was in motion and the air above him cracking with the snapping-popping-roar of a gun of a much higher power than even what he had. The fucker in white that had shot at him dissolved into a mist of red viscera, body seizing and shuttering in the briefest moment it had before it was obliterated completely.

“Watch yourself.” He looked up - and up - and wondered at the lovely, fierce face he found staring down at him. “Even without shooting at them you’re Liminal enough to trip their sensors.”

She was tall enough to be an amazon, six inches in height on him at least. Body strong beneath the pitch black armor she work - as deep and dark as the depths of space, etched with starlight, a familiar crest upon her chest in the dizzying burst of a supernova - she held herself with confidence. Strands of hair the color of a warning sunrise escaped out from beneath the helm she wore, bright against her pale skin, warming the glass-sharp teal eyes that had pinned him in place.

The hand not holding the gun she’d just used to delete the asshole that had just tried to shoot him - a strange, impossible thing that made him taste lightning at the back of his throat to look at it - stretched out to help him up.

He accepted it.

Something pulsed to life in his chest. A piece forgotten where it’d been left behind, half buried in grave dirt and broken pieces of a casket he’d clawed his way out of. It burned like a hot coal in his chest, froze him with the same aching cold of a blizzard, crackled his nerves to life with lightning even as his brain popped and fried with the same sizzling energy.

On his feet, hair on end and body and Core pulsing with the need to fight, to rend and tear and scream for all done to him, his people, his home, he met the eyes of the woman before him. Her cool gaze softened, just a moment, just a second as she seemed to realize what had happened. Her hand, lighter than the armor she wore should allow it to be, tightened on his just a moment, mouth tilting from determined frown to soft understanding.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

---

Part Three

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #jason todd #jazz fenton #GIW #reluctant war au #ghost zone goes to war #ghost king danny #liminal jazz #halfa jason #sorta kinda #he's waking up alright #anger management #if you squint but if i do end up writing even more of this it'll be a thing lol #spirit of gotham #gotham spirit #eldritch gotham spirit #tw death #tw violence #implied gore #gothamites take one look at the GIW and are like: yup time to fuck some bitches up #the entire city has been itching for a chance to fight the US government after all the times they got cut off after a disaster #ghosts are trying to evacuate them and they're like: Nah we're good #Gotham Girl Scouts get badges for making molotov cocktails and knife fighting you can't convince me otherwise #Outlaws are gonna show up to find Jason has somehow collected yet another tall red head that can kick his ass #They're convinced he has the world's most specific meta ability with how many he ends up running around with #Bruce in mid convo w/ Waller trying not to kill her suddenly has his *one of my kids is Up To Something* senses go off

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sinfullyrosey · 1 year

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Pushing Your Buttons

Lilia Vanrouge X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Oral, Semi-Public, Misuse of Magic

Got like three people in my inbox asking for more General Lilia, but I don’t do requests and this fic has been sitting unfinished for months now. So, no general fae, but current papa bat using phantom magic to mess with his favorite little, magicless human.~

I just realized I have written a male reader, gn reader, and now fem reader for this old fart. The triangle of smut is complete.

Also, I apologize in advance for my terrible text speech skills. I personally don’t type like that normally and struggle to do so for fic purposes.

You were slowly going insane. Absolutely bonkers. Throw you in a padded cell and lock away the key levels of mad. Couldn’t even concentrate on the simple tasks given to you by that aggravating crow without your mind immediately buzzing from the searing hot sensation between your nether regions.

Simply ignoring it had become impossible by this point. It has been nearly an hour now since it all started and nearly an hour have you suffered at the hands of that old bat. Running all over campus, delivering papers and whatnot, all the while your pussy is being played with like some handheld controller!

Another whine slipped past your clenched teeth once more as a particular spike of pleasure shot through you and made your stomach twist even tighter. You faltered, almost tripping on nothing along the pathway, and decided to stop and steady yourself as those fingers worked at your wet folds.

You heaved a shaky sigh and began to rummage through your school bag for your phone. Pulling it out, your knees buckling when you felt yourself growing wetter, the feeling of something dripping causing you to panic. So far you had been good to keep yourself together and, surprisingly, the fingers had been rather merciful, only occasionally grazing along your slit or palming at your mounds for only a few seconds.

But now they had just gotten bolder and more persistent, lingering longer against your folds, spreading your lips and pressing around your entrance. Sharpened nails playfully raking along your thighs or pinching your skin. At one point they even groped at the spot where your thighs and butt cheeks meet and suddenly squeezed them, making you yelp and startle the hallway full of confused students.

Thankfully, you were in a more secluded place on campus right now, free from the leering eyes of male students as they watched you slowly fall apart.

With trembling hands, you tapped on your messaging app to type up a response to the culprit behind your cruel torment.

‘Lilia plz knock it off’

You waited patiently for a reply. With some relief, you felt the hands temporarily release themselves from you, presumably to type a response back. A break that was short lived, however, as the moment your phone dinged from the incoming reply, you once again felt the hands begin to rub at you. This time, much rougher, and with purpose.

‘Now, why ever would I do that little one? The fun part has just begun.~’

As soon as you finished reading his text, you suddenly let out a pitched moan when you felt his thumb gently press down on your previously neglected clit. Your walls tightened as he rolled the sensitive nub in circles, fingers spreading your pussy open to play with the folds as your whole body shook.

You could definitely feel yourself dripping now, clear slick running down your thighs and soaking the top part of your thigh highs socks. You clutched the helm of your skirt, trying to pull it down and cover more of your front in embarrassment. You were really hating that he had removed your panties earlier on when he first started to tease you. Being so exposed an unable to keep from soaking yourself in your own mess was making everything so much worse.

You typed frantically the best you could while trying to ignore the sensation of his skilled fingers

‘U and ur stupid magic fantom hand thingys are drivin me crazy!!1’

You could only muffle your squeals and moans the best you could, looking around to make sure you were still alone as you stumbled over to somewhere with a bit more privacy. With the insistent prodding and palming of your pussy, you could only find a bench to sit down on to prevent yourself from falling and hurting yourself.

‘Oh, I just love to push your buttons dear! And this little one of yours is my absolute favorite to push and play with! So small. So cute. Just like you!~’

You let out a needy whine as he playfully pinched the puffy bud between his fingers, gently tweaking it and making your body tense up from the delicious sensation.

‘And it elicits such adorable sounds from you too.~’

Your legs trembled and shook as you spread them out more, giving him better access to your needy hole that was just dripping in anticipation for him. Two of his fingers easily slipped past your entrance, pumping themselves inside you at a leisurely pace. Waves of euphoria were crashing down onto you as your vision grew hazy from the pleasure.

The wooden bench was stained from your juices as you continued to leak from where you sat. you clutched onto the bench ends the more that coil twisted and tightened under his ministries. You were panting and moaning as his fingers found that special, spongey spot in you and began to abuse it with each pump.

All your previous responsibilities were long forgotten as Lilia fingered you with his magickly-produced phantom hands. His thumb still pressing and circling your overly sensitive clit as he worked you towards an orgasm.

Your toes were curling in your shoes, head thrown back as you felt yourself slowly approach your much anticipated release. Your body was impatiently bouncing slightly in the seat, moving to meet his own thrusts and pounding harder into your G spot. Your eyes closed tightly, vision blurring, and breath quickening when you felt yourself on the edge of pure euphoria.

And all at once, it suddenly stopped.

The phantom hands ceased their movements, slipping out of your warm hole, leaving your walls to clench along nothing. The coil was left to relax and simmer down, but still tight from the brink of release that was stolen from it. You blinked blurrily, vision still spotty as your head came to the conclusion of what just happened. Your pussy fluttering and still leaking, but empty and unsatisfied.

“Wah-?!” You slurred.

You quickly looked down, lifting up your skirt to see that the hands had completely disappeared. Your stomach dropped, panic rising as you stumbled to reach for your phone that you had tossed aside when you first sat down. Your eyes scanned to see if he had left anymore texts or if he was in the process of typing, only to see it completely silent. Your fingers quickly tapped away in desperation as anger flared within you at this cheeky old bastard.

‘Lilia wat the fuck?!1!’

You seethed as you saw the bubble with three little dots appear, indicating he was typing and very much still around, hands available, yet not putting them to good use. Like giving you that much deserved orgasm!

‘Oh my, just a few minutes ago you were telling me to “knock it off” and leave you be?’

‘Lilia Im literally going to explode’

You could just hear him chuckling at your response from wherever he was right now. You let out a huff, rubbing your thighs together to get some sort of relief, but to no avail, so you gave up. You were just about ready to call him to give him a piece of your mind when another text popped into chat.

‘Best be on your way and finish your errands. Don’t want to keep you waiting any longer now, dear.’

To end off his text and further punctuate his point, he used the phantom hand again to promptly flick your reddened clit, sharp nail scraping against it and sending a sudden shock wave of pleasure bolting to your core and causing you to double over. Your cunt clenched around nothing and you let out a desperate keen.

You glared angrily at his text, a few tears building up from frustration as you aggressively tapped away on your phone. You may be too pissed to call this irritating fae to yell his ear off, but you weren’t angry enough not to send him a few choice words.

‘plz plz plz PLEASE just let me cum already Vanrouge!!1 im horny im stressed and im about ready to make my way to diasomnia and whoop ur old creaky ass you fae fuck!1!!’

You continued to glare at your phone screen, waiting for your annoyingly charming fae lover to respond to your rather childish, but justified outburst via text.

‘Alright, if you insist.~’

Success.

You grin in victory, spreading your legs in anticipation of his hands lavishing you once more and finally rewarding you with the well-deserved orgasm. You felt the phantom hands on your thighs once more, spreading you further.

And then you felt the sensation of something warm and wet slowly lapping over your slit, spreading your folds and grazing over your sensitive clit. You let out a loud gasp, body tensing at the realization of what he was doing.

Your eyes widened as his phantom tongue began its torturous pattern of slowly lapping along your folds, before reaching your clit and sucking on it briefly, then starting all over again. You could feel your juices leaking out of you once more with each suck and lick, your phone dinging with incoming texts.

‘You taste absolutely divine, my dear. Still just as sweet and juicy as last time.~’

He made a point to dip his tip into your clenching cunt, lapping up your slick, then sucking up your release messily. You let out soft moans as your body convulsed under his touch.

‘In fact, I think I’ll enjoy this meal for a little while.~’

It was the sharp sensation of a pair of fangs gently nibbling on your poor clit that finally had you losing your mind as your moans grew louder and body helplessly approaching your orgasm once more. But every time you reached that edge, he would slow down or stop briefly until you settled down once more.

‘After all, you never clarified when to make you cum.~’

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Smut #TWST Smut #Lilia Vanrouge Smut #Lilia Vanrouge X Reader #Fem!Reader #'Are ya winning Lilia?!'#Answer: /YES/

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wxywardsun · 2 months

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My favorite thing in red dead redemption and red dead online is how the characters are HUMAN! Not just in the way they are,but in their appearances too! They have wrinkles,they have scars and smile lines and gray hair,the works. Sean is missing a tooth (albeit through a painful situation),one of Molly’s teeth in the front is slightly bigger than the other,Dutch has forehead wrinkles,Maggie in red dead online has a blind eye and a huge burn scar,a lot of the characters have crows feet too! They’re all SO human and I love red dead for that!! It’s a beautiful game with details that are still being found all these years later but the details in the characters by far are my favorite

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azsazz · 9 months

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Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

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Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake.

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on.

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing.

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger.

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns.

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name.

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin.

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good.

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck.

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out.

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff.

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood.

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can.

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at.

He leaves.

#vampire!azriel #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #vampire!az #vampire au

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memepds · 2 years

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feeling a strange sense of malaise, a slight unease as a set of wet "cacaws" fill the air? that may be the doing of the Crow with Human Teeth (it/he). this strange, sticky, sickly beast's origins are unknown, but wherever he goes, a disaster may follow...

this character's artwork was drawn by Doctor Venuz.. :)

#meme drabbles #memeoc masterlist #friends art!#oc #original character #creepy #ickbound #crow with human teeth

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callooopie · 2 months

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The night, she calls me.. // Vampire!HOTD men

Come with me to the other side. Make the girl in black your bride — The Night // Aurelio Voltaire

It took all my willpower to not make this like a What We Do in the Shadows bit. No one asked for this either.. so that’s why I’m writing it. Is this gonna be a series of headcannons? No… no. No no… no no nono. I’ve started tooooo many writing projects I cannot… or can I 😏 (I actually can’t I have too many requests I need to lock in on)

Did you know what land you were walking on? Did you see the figure watching you from the top floor window? Was that a shadow you saw out the corner of your eye?

Davos Blackwood // Bloody Lord of Raventree Hall

A manor buried in the dark forests of Blackwood Vale, an urban legend surrounded the woods and the semi-ghost town beside it. Locals would talk of a figure that walked the empty streets at night, and the older residents would sometimes speak of an old estate once owned by a wealthy family that could be found in the heart of the forest. But no one has seen this place, or perhaps no one has ever returned alive to tell the tale.

The ever playful lord of Raventree Hall likes toying with his victims before they meet their bloody demise. If a fool ever gets lost on his land, Davos will follow them around in the form of a raven, acting as if he was leading them to the help they desperately called out for. Some would fall for it; the ‘guiding’ corvid that had brought them to this dusty manor. Little did they know, they wouldn’t be leaving that place.

He’s the type to make Raventree Hall look appealing and safe to the unwitting person, sometimes even playing the part of a humble boy who lives in his family’s old home. He’d learn all about a person as he feeds them food, bloody meat cooked to perfection for any human. Eat up, Davos would say, it’s a good cut of meat.. he’d hate for it to go to waste. Oh? The red wine tastes metallic? Strange.. perhaps a bottle gone bad?

He’d keep his lover human, not out of admiration of their humanity—but as more of a ‘pet’. The only reason Davos would turn a human into a vampire would be for his own entertainment purposes. It’s more fun when you can handle him and not pass out every time he does something. Plus, he wants the security of knowing you won’t be leaving him anytime soon. Forever stuck by his side, living forever in a world of night and pleasure by his doing and his doing alone.

Before you become his lovely lady, perhaps you’re one of those lost souls who stumble upon the estate. Either by poor luck or poorer fortunes, you catch the attention of Davos. He scares you from the shadows, setting candles alight with just a gust of wind, slamming doors and sending phantasms to spook you with howls and haunting steps, sending ravens and crows to caw and peck at you. It’s only when you get to the main atrium of the manor does he strike. A sinister smile on his pale face as he lunges at you from out of nowhere, teeth sinking into the skin of your neck as hands travel up and down your torso.

A master of shadows and tricks, Davos isn’t one to meet his adversaries head on. He doesn’t think they deserve his attention. He can deal with vampire hunters and celebrity ghost hunters with a wave of his hand from his bed chambers at the very top of the manor. He can make it as if ghouls are chasing around those idiots, birds seemingly attacking them on sight, if he’s feeling funny he might summon a demon or two. Why does he have the title of bloody lord? Well, he’s just a messy eater, and the corpses he leaves behind are unrecognizable from what they once were.

Jacaerys Velaryon // Draconic Prince of the Night

The picturesque village that the castle of Dragonstone sits next to has gained a plethora of tourists. However, no one has ever been allowed inside. From a mixture of local superstition, and simply because the wooden gates and doors will not open. Nothing can break, or even burn, the wood. Cursed or blessed, many have stayed away from that castle said to have been forged by dragon fire.. if local legends are to be believed.

Local legends also speak of how beautiful women are kidnapped from their homes and beds, never to be seen ever again. As a tourist, you believe you’re safe.. and you don’t really believe in those tales.. at least you don’t believe them until you awaken in a bed that’s not the hostel’s.

Jacaerys is a vampire who is easily bored. He wants someone who’ll keep up with him. A pretty princess to take care of and to simply sit like a doll, but also one who has a bit of wit and brain to them. Someone to go hunting with, or to fly around in the dead of night together. Someone to chase, someone to have intellectual conversation with.

A little more serious than a certain bloodthirsty lord, Jacaerys will turn his lover almost immediately. What’s the use in keeping you human and mortal? There is no use! Now you’re just like him, and you two can bond and be merry together in that lonesome stone castle. All the others he had spirited away were awfully dull, perhaps you will be different?

Like a dragon, he hoards his treasures. He’ll keep you close, too close almost. Jacaerys will hand feed you blood, lifting someone’s arm up to your mouth and praising you for dining on the thick liquid and flesh. He’ll hover near you, you two are royalty after all. It’s good for a prince like him to check up on his princess. He’ll dress you in gold and red fabrics, or maybe nothing at all! Jacaerys does like it when you’re only clad in gold and gems, sit yourself down on his mountains of treasure and make your nest; he’ll show he’s a good dragon who takes care of his mate.

A scholar of dragon magic, the only thing that can destroy his castle is what made it in the first place. Dragon fire. And dragons died out long long ago sweet thing (or never existed at all…). He’s perhaps the only one that remains! Believe whatever you will, Jacaerys will happily prove to you that dragons are real. And you believe it as you watch him transform into one to deal with trespassers who had somehow broken into the castle. Sure there’s ways in if your crafty enough, but what people don’t say is that there’s no way out once you’re in. The charred piles of bones that litter the treasure room are a testament to that.

Cregan Stark // Vampiric King in the North

Perhaps the only one out of the trio to be semi-normal. An urban legend surrounds the snowy mountains of a large wolf that leads lost wanderers to an empty yet warm and alive stone keep. It’s said if you stay for one night and leave the next day, you’ll find your way back to civilization. However, overstay your welcome and you won’t be heard from ever again…

Your car had broke down, and you hadn’t expected such a large snowstorm to sweep through. You’re on the brink of hypothermia, however you spot something in the distance. The howl of a wolf reaching your ears as the wild beast walks toward you. It almost seems to gesture toward you with its head, beckoning for you to follow. You’ve heard this legend, and so when you find yourself in the safety and warmth of a stone fortress you do your best to remain courteous and respectful. The plan was to leave in the morning, however when you try to open the large wooden door to leave—it slams shut on you before locking tightly.

Cregan likes your humanity, wishing only to learn from you. He would not covet you like a prize, nor would he treat you like a pet. To turn you without your consent? Unfathomable. If you wish to be turned, he would gladly do so at your request. Although he would tell you what you’ll miss, what you will be letting go of in exchange for this eternal life of coldness and blood. Perhaps it’ll all be worth it in the face of his love and companionship?

Teach him everything about you, and he’ll teach you all he knows. Cregan’s an old soul who’s lived more lifetimes than he can remember. He’s powerful, ancient; that uppity prince and cocky lord answer to him! He’s their overlord, they are his mere sons subordinates. All that aside, Cregan has vast collections of knowledge from throughout the ages. Although do remember, he scratches your back, and you will scratch his. Or he’ll show you what happens to those who’ve forgotten such an important lesson.

Unlike his underlings, Cregan can control his appetite for blood. He’s learned, and so he keeps a stockpile of it. Some of it ages like wine in a cellar, other bottles he keeps near and close. A special cabinet is reserved for special blood of course. What? You’ve never tried the blood of a priest? It’s heavenly.

Unlike the other two, Cregan lives more on red meats. Which he can get from almost anything. Although due to the coldness of the region, not many animals venture out. For a special occasion, you’ll find your plate full of fresh organs and fatty raw meat. A glass of thick red liquid right next to your plate. Cheers and eat your fill, it’s fresher than fresh. And who knows when an unsuspecting person will come up these mountains again?

#davos blackwood x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #cregan stark x reader #hotd x reader #hotd season 2 #hotd cregan #davos blackwood #jacaerys velaryon #house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood

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diejager · 3 months

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More crow! Reader please for 141. I just love the idea of an eldritch being choosing and staying deliberately with a pack of monsters below their caliber for the sake of fondness

Crow Pt. 2

Pairing: Monster COD x Eldritch horror!reader

Cw: cannibalism, human meat, weird Eldritch horror thing, hive mind, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.7k Note: I wrote this over a few months, and I haven’t proofread it so a few parts might not connect.

With the knowledge they now held in their hands, they didn’t know how to react. You were, for all they knew, an ancient being, primordial even, and you were dangerous, much more than the unpredictability of König’s ire or the wildness of Ghost’s darkness. They didn’t know how to deal with the weight on their shoulder when your eyes landed on them, or how to react when they heard you speak to them with that low and raspy voice that you so rarely used.

After that day in Russia, the saw you more often, rather than finding you at night around your murder of crows, in the darkness of your room or standing beside Price, they would find you in their rec room, sitting beside the open window while petting the body of a bird; you’d meet them in the gym, watching them train and sometimes join them; or you would occasionally sit beside them. You opened up to them, letting the men see what laid under your mask. Price encouraged them to reach out, to ask you questions and to quell their curiosity by speaking to you.

Soap and Gaz were the first to jump to the occasion, their wide eyes gleaming with innocent curiosity threatening to spill over the edge. In the privacy of their personal space, they swarmed you with enthusiasm, Gaz standing to your left and Soap to your right. Ghost was fortunate to be in the room that day, drinking tea from the table while Alejandro and Rudy shared the couch. König and Horangi were deployed off to some remote village to help another company detain their target, and Price was slaving off in his office signing off paperwork.

While the two threw question after question at you, Soap being oblivious of his wagging tail and Gaz literally glowing with how much you spoke, the three men listened in, as interested in you as the two were. They learned a lot, their minds filled with everything they were given, clinging onto the sound of your voice, that soft rasp from under your mask.

When Soap, the ever-hungry pup he was, asked what you ate, a question that clouded everyone’s mind. They never saw you eat nor had they seen you at the mess hall. Your answer was soft and blunt, empty of fear and hesitance.

“Meat, human.”

You weren’t so different from Ghost and König after all, consuming humans as your means of subsistence. Yet none of them had ever caught a whiff of human blood or meat from your scent, only the strange and sterile musk from your body. Perhaps that explained why you sometimes went dark during deployments, Price only sent you out alone, believing you invulnerable (you somewhat were, old and powerful), you closed off all and any signal to gorge on human flesh.

What did your mouth look like? Could your mouth open up like those alien-like creatures, where your lower jaw was separated in the middle, breaking open into a terrifying maw filled with rows of teeth? Or were you more human looking, with a small mouth like theirs and sharp teeth like the shifters of their TF? It was a nagging thought that one would have to ask one day, or see if they were fortunate enough to catch you eating.

Gaz was mostly interested about the birds that swarmed you, the hundreds of corvid that followed you whether it knew you or not, from country to country you always had a feathery companion by your side. Mostly crows and ravens, the black feathers glistening under the light and squawking at him, a hybrid of the same genus as it.

“I can feel and see through their eyes.”

It was similar to a hive mind, a connection between you and every bird from the same family as crows. You closed your eyes and had the magpie in your hand fly around, its eye moving from one hybrid to the other with an intelligent gleam, a dark and monstrous haze that came from you. You were looking at them from the magpie’s dark orbs. It landed on Gazwho - with a joyful grin - brushed its luscious feathers. You could reach out to corvidae birds, seeking help from them through their sight and ears, using their senses to navigate the world.

“I can see, hear and feel every bird,” you drawled, hand reaching out of the window for a landing rook. “I feel them as much as they feel me.”

“An extension of ye, aye?”

“An extension of my being.”

Alejandro and Rudy would sometimes chime in, throwing a question from their seat, mostly about your hobbies and preferences. What did you do when you were free? You just sat outside, admiring the weather with a few cooing birds being fed from the seeds in your hands, little round pebbles that you offered from your palm. You also liked reading, dabbing into human and hybrid literature in an attempt to familiarise yourself with their culture and behaviours or watching people conduct themselves through the eyes of your little companions.

That’s how you came to join the army, the odd behaviour and unusual attitude of most soldiers were excused by their harrowing experience and near-death meetings. You could blend in easier while keeping a slight uncanniness to your being, not necessarily perfect or impossibly broken. You were knowledgeable of military tactics and human suspicion, you were - essentially - a being of madness and chaos, you could sense the swirling tornadoes of malicious suspicion and the violent storms that promised a chaotic end.

“What did you do then?” This was Ghost’s first question, his slow, yet intrigued tone rising in tone as was his want to know you won over his contained curiosity.

Faking your deaths every time and laying low for the next decade or so had assured your safety from human cults and pagenistic beliefs who wanted to believe in something greater and deranged. Under different names - none were your true name - you enrolled in the British military and other countries, rotating between the Navy, the Army and the Air Force. Your last enrolment was the British Air Force, under another alias for the past decade until the UN made it mandatory to accept any demands from hybrids and monsters to join their ranks.

When Soap asked how you met Price, you grew pensive, blinking at the question he shot. Then you stared at him, telling him that you couldn’t tell him that story without Price’s consent. You only mentioned him working under you before without divulging to the five men any more information. They’d have to bring it up with the dragon if they wanted to know anything. Gaz and Soap groaned, pouting and whining at the limit you put down on the amount of information they could get from you.

Then they wanted to know if you dreamed, if Eldritch creatures dreamed in their slumber. If you did, would your dreams be stalked by madness? That dark and dangerous madness that loomed over any person. A creation of human and hybrid minds when they couldn’t understand anything, when reality was outside of their reach. Or, if you did, would they be filled with memories? As often as people re-lived their memories in their sleep, replaying the what ifs that the mind concocted during stressful moments in their lives.

You shook your head, you could neither dream, nor need sleep. Although it wasn’t a need like mortal beings, you enjoyed sleeping from time to time, on days where the night seemed to stretch so far into time that it seemed unending from your seat on the roof. When you slept, you confessed to them that you couldn’t see, feel or ear, it was an endless plane of darkness who reached into the farthest point of your long life, the watery floor reflected back your human - or sometimes monstrous - appearance and the place would be eerily silent except for the echoing drip from an unknown source; perhaps the ticking seconds of your eternity.

They’d all seen the good and bad in humanity, the horrors that greed and corruption could lead to, but they had less than half a century of experience while you had a millennia of living. Rather than seeing the disgust of their current time, you’d seen the world rise as fast as it crumbled, burned to ash by greed, corruption and selfishness. How could you even stand living around humans? How could you stay so patient towards humans? How could you work and dedicate your last century to them?

“It was easier,” you hummed, staring off at the setting sun, the warm caress of the sun smoothing the darkness in your eyes. “Time changed, it made humans less susceptible to hysteria and superstition. Eating, hunting and catching became harder, scientific advancement made them less… naive, so I adapted. Inherently, I am a creation of humanity’s fear of death and madness. I cannot die without the other disappearing.”

Soap managed to coax you into joining them, sitting between him and Horangi while Ghost and König sparred, their strength and prowess usually better suited to fight something of similar capabilities. Ghost was deadly if he let himself go too far, his vitriol taking away his ability to see and think clearly, making his powers lash out. It could eat and corrode, break things down to the bones without consuming anything, it felt like a curse at times and a blessing at others. It was a reason why he kept himself covered, from letting a piece of himself wander too far, to let himself grow too comfortable that he might suddenly crack and hurt the people he cared for.

Ghost guessed it was the same for König, married to his sniper veil - or a big t-shirt at times - and his form-covering clothes, it stopped him from doing something irreparable. He had anxiety, a product of his life-long social reclusivenessfrom bullying. Maybe he would’ve turned worse if his mother hadn’t been so supportive of him, a caring and loving figure in his life when his father was never in the picture. König was a lumbering beast in humans clothes, but an impulsive and instinctual monster when shifted, following his needs and instincts.

Rare monsters on their own, they spared together only, afraid of accidentally hurting one of theirs. You’d seen them fight, the bloodlust-leading adrenaline that coursed through their bodies while they terre through the field, not only these two but the whole Task Force, beasts within beasts. The power, the accuracy, the teamwork and the trust between them was mesmerising, even to you, a creature who lived to seam discord into the world; it was breathtaking.

You watched them exchange blows, König pouncing on Ghost, pressing his whole weight on the block the wraith had built up against him. König was tall and broad, but Ghost was broader, his body in a shape of undying and unchanging physique, at its peak with human strength. He could withstand the force of König’s hits, blocking them with his forearms and palms, and returning them with a hit when he broke the Austrian’s stand.

Horangi was counting their matches, voicing the scores when one of them tapped three times, forfeiting the match. Soap piped up left, right and centre, a flurry of words in Scottish that others would usually ignore or not understand, but with you, he liked going off in Scott. Thank the lucky star you understood him, he practically beamed the day he swore at the sky with jargons that everyone but you asked for a translation.

It was comfortable, Soap spoke enough for the three of you, Horangi was purring softly beside you and you were simply taking everything in, finding comfort between two of your teammates. You nod and shake your head at most questions, words slipping through your lips on rare occasions where Soap asked something that simple motions couldn’t answer. You liked listening to them talk, it filled the silence you were used to with joyful laughter. You were content with simply listening without talking, yet Soap was an enthusiastic wolf, eyes narrowing with a sly gleam.

“Ye spar, Crow?”

You shook your head, gazing at him from the corner of your eyes, blinking owlishly. You had your reservations as well, more so for the safety of others than yours. Granted, you had a milenia to learn and draw a limit for yourself, to restrain your powers to a tenth of your strength to protect those you grew to care about.

“Aw, why naw?”

“Too dangerous, Soap.”

That caught Horangi’s attention, his eyes and ears straying from the spar to listen to your conversation, not that it bothered you.

“Can’t be that bad, can it?”

At this point, König and Ghost were brought out of their haze, shoulders raising and skin coated in a sheen of sweat, they breathed heavily as they strained an ear to Soap’s encouragement. Limbs untangling from one another, they leaned on the flexible cords of the ring, amused eyes staring at you three.

“It can be.”

“Why not give it a shot, yeah?” Ghost piped up, head tilted with his nose pointing up, an amusingly smug grin stretching his scarred lips.

“If not Soap, Ghost or I could fight you, nh?” König continued, who - unlike Ghost - had his head down, blinking lazily at you with squinted eyes, a smile hidden under the shirt he used as a veil.

You were hesitant, staring at them while you mulled over your choices: to either fold and appease their curiosity or to hold strong and reject the offer. But where was the fun in that? They looked giddy and excited, like pups finding out that they were getting treats. Soap was riddled with enthusiasm, leg jumping as fast as his wagging tail, the repetitive soft thuds from his tail hitting against the bench showed how much he expected you to say yes, how much he wanted to see you fight one of theirs.

You truly wanted to decline, to tell them that you wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt them, knowing that your restraint was practised with ease, but they didn’t know that. You truly did, but with Horangi’s swaying and thrilled tail, König’swide and happy eyes, and Ghost’s soft rumble, groundingly affirmative, adding to Soap’s eagerness, you found it difficult to brush off by their wishes.

Soap burst with joy when you nodded, pushing himself and Horangi closer to the ring. You jumped over the big cables and into the ring as Ghost moved out, it seemed that the two decided the order even before you agreed. You shrugged off your jacket, you tight shirt riding up your stomach, the soft fabric the same shade as your dark blue jacket. Hanging it on a pole, you turned to face a thrilled König, his body vibrating as he peered down at you.

It was almost ridiculous how different you were to him. You were neither board nor tall as König and Ghost, you weren’t insanely big and buff like any of them either. You were normal, an average person surrounded with big hybrids. You wouldn’t fault anyone for believing that you were the weakest out of the bunch, seemingly too small and human like to be the strongest, but they knew, most monsters and hybrids had this instinctual fear - ingrained into them for as long as they existed - for monsters that looked too human.

Horangi was once again nominated as the referee, he repeated the rules, anything went as long as the opposite party’s aware of the three taps for yielding. Hybrids were tougher and more resilient than human bodies, so most restrictions put in place for humans were lifted in hybrid spars, especially in this Task Force.

At the end of the count, König charged you, his big body pouncing on your smaller and nimbler one. You moved and bowed when he lunged, feet dancing around his loud stomps. He growled, jabbing at you with his right hand and lunging with a left hook when you blocked his hit with your forearm. It was a back and forth motion, he took the offensive position while you stayed on the defensive, taking hits leg and right. After a right hook, you expected a jab, but Königbowed down and kicked out his leg, aiming at sweeping you off your feet. It was a great change in tactic, surprising you with his quick movement.

You kicked up, hands firmly placed on his shoulder as you flipped over him. Soap whooped at your acrobatic move, moving and jumping around like a dancer - a gymnastic chorus - while König rushed frenziedly, strong hits and wide kicks, his body giving him a wider range than your shorter one. König growled, twisting in a crouch to tackle you down, his body was a weapon by itself. You landed with a grunt, wrapping your legs around him, one under his arm and the other around his neck. His hand latched to the arm you used to guard your throat while wrestling with his other one.

He cackled in your guard, voice rumbling out his chest as you choked him, lean legs hooking by the ankle to hold his chest down. His legs kicked, kneeling down uncomfortably, choking down a loud snarl. König tried breaking your hold, but you held strongly, using your monstrous strength to keep him down. He tapped your thigh, three soft taps that made you loosen your lock. König rose first, panting loudly with a satisfied purr as he sat, arched forward. Standing before him, you waved your hand to him, giving him help to stand on his feet.

Ghost had already joined you when you pulled König up, patting the giant’s back as he chuckled lowly, eyes squinted in amazement.

“Yer awright, König?” Soap asked, still standing beside a clapping Horangi, both tails moving excitedly.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

Unlike König, you were as winded or tired as he was, your metabolism working slowly and efficiently to survive for so long. It was a good show of power for König, to see what fought on his side rather than against him, but he doubted that you were the only Eldritch being working in the forefront, killing, consuming and hide in plain sight of other human and hybrids.

“That was Brazilian Jiu-jitsus, wasn’t it,” it was more of an affirmation than a question, Horangi knew well the technique you used against König.

He’d mentioned it in passing within the few drunken nights where you joined them at the bar, spewing his history of gambling on boxer in the ring, betting who would win for a few pennies to fill his pockets. You rarely used your hive mind on them i their leisure time, respecting their need for privacy and secrecy when you were away —they’d won your trust after a few Ops and proud and boisterous praises from Price. You shook away any lingering thoughts as you watched Ghost slip under the highest cord, entering the ring with tight fists and a mean stare, determined to get you once before he forfeited. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that Soap forced you to watch with both him and Horangi, you - despite your tendency for your quiet corner and solace in darkness - enjoyed this team activity.

You were regretting letting Gaz and Rudy pull you to the Mess Hall, insisting that you’d be left alone in their corner of the cafeteria. People rarely engaged them when they all sat together, whispers of them being too menacing, too dangerous, or too scary for human minds. You weren’t fond of cold and stored meat, the cold destroying any semblance of freshness that recently killed meat brought. It tasted stagnant, blank of any fulfilling aspect your kills had : from the lack of warm blood still leaking from every veins and arteries, to the suppleness of the flesh, it’s soft and flexible texture cutting easily under your teeth.

You nearly gagged at the first whiff of it, locked under expectant eyes of both your teammates and curious eyes of others who’ve never seen you step a foot in the room. Your first bite was horrendous, your mouth washed with the revolting flavour of cold and stale meat. It was levels under your usual meal —not that you needed to eat, you’d recently eaten a few days ago on a shorter run in Argentina, but where was the harm in tasting military-provided meat when König and Ghost ate it without a second thought. Or so you thought, they’d simply gone numb, not having the luxury to be picky with the taste of their meal. Unlike you, they hadn’t spent centuries hunting for themselves, born into a restrictive world when monsters and creatures ran wild but hidden.

But you still hunted, it was a ritual that even the world’s government couldn’t stop you, no one would fight one of the personalisation of chaos and madness, many having decided to abide by your word simply out of fear while very few respected your history and culture.

“How is it?” Alejandro finally join your table, sweat still glistening from his brows as he cut into his steak with gentle and skillful slices.

“Stale,” you blinked, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick the red stains on your face, long and serpentine, another aspect of your more reptilian body.

They snickered, knowing full well how repulsive it was, sharing their little quips and jabs about the quality of food everyone on base got. A few lines about the chefs being lazy, others of them being awful and some about them being talentless, followed by shared laughter around you, shaking shoulders and bright smiles before the table exploded in chatter, guilefully ignoring the world outside the safety of their bubble.

Maybe… just maybe sitting - you’d never lay a single finger on these provided meals - with them when they ate would lighten up your world slightly, bring some flavourful warmth if it made them happy that you joined them. You refrained from saying anything, simply nodding at them and giving a small smile that seemed to brighten up their faces, restraining your interaction to a few gesture to stop yourself from feeling overwhelmed with the suddenness of emotions. Th last one who’d stirred your hearts so vividly was years ago, watching over a still learning John Price.

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oceaneyesinla · 4 months

Text

Fabric and Feelings

I've been thinking about Sanemi and how he ended up confronting Madea. This is my idea on how it might have come about

Content warning: brief mentions of harassment

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Sanemi couldn’t say he particularly liked being paired up with the new recruits, but sometimes there just wasn’t another choice. He grudgingly accepted that they were useful for gathering information, especially if they were still bright eyed and eager, friendly and approachable in a way Sanemi himself hadn’t been since childhood. So, despite the fact the quality of their members was dropping with every passing year, they still had some small uses.

The demon he was tracking at the moment was proving elusive, a fact that had already put him in a foul mood even before he had to call in support from one of the new Mizunoto, barely a month out of Final Selection. He figured you would be just another poor excuse for a Slayer, still shaking in your boots at the thought of a demon.

He met you just outside the village, and the first thing he noticed was your uniform. It was hard to miss; with a skirt that barely covered the tops of your thighs and a shirt that hardly deserved to be regarded as such. A slit down the middle revealed the swell of your breasts, and he imagined it was only the single small button at the top of your white undershirt which kept everything even slightly covered. It wouldn’t do a thing to defend you against sharp claws and bared teeth, which was the whole point of the fabric it was made from. It was supposed to give new Slayers like you a vague chance of surviving past the first week without being maimed by the low level demons you were sent after.

Was this really what Demon Slayers were being given these days? Well, he couldn’t really judge, taking a look down at his own uniform, jacket and shirt unbuttoned to reveal muscle built and scars gained from years of fighting for survival.

His eyes landed on yours as you stopped in front of him, and you were quick to look away with a slight flush in your cheeks and a hand fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Great - one of those. The Slayers with stars in their eyes and fantasies of having lives and families and the ones who treated the Hashira like they hung the moon and stars. Stupid idiots never realised that the Hashira were just as painfully human as the rest of them - what separated them was the will to destroy; the bone deep desire to see every demon eradicated, no matter the personal cost. Sanemi had learned over the years that their own death wasn’t the worst thing a human could experience.

“Shinazugawa-san. My crow told me to meet you here. What’s our mission?” Your cheeks were still red, but your voice was steady as you addressed him, eyes already scoping out the area around you both. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete waste of time after all.

“Come on.” He didn’t wait to see if you were following, taking off in the opposite direction. It wasn’t his responsibility to babysit you.

***********

Your mission was proving successful, and Sanemi almost felt bad about his initial assessment of you. As expected, people looked at him with guarded concern, but as soon as you opened your mouth, they were at ease, chattering as if you had lived in this village all your life. It reminded him of Masachika, and Kanae, and he pointedly ignored the way his heart clenched at the thought. That attitude could never last, not in the Corps. Masachika’s blood, a permanent invisible brand on his skin, and the memory of the dead look in the younger Kocho’s eyes at Kanae’s funeral were stark reminders of that.

You just had a way with people, and he had to admire that. He knew he was hard on the new recruits (and for good reason) but he wasn't too proud to acknowledge when someone proved themselves useful to the Corps.

That natural charisma was starting to work on him too, though he would rather eat glass than admit it. A few days after your reconnaissance began, he found himself watching as you regaled a couple of old ladies with an animated tale, your hands moving as you told your story. They were enchanted, as everyone else had been thus far, and as they walked away, Sanemi heard them comment on how you were ‘such a nice young girl’.

You seemed more relaxed than you had been when he first met up with you, and by the time you split off from him to chase leads on opposite ends of the village, his opinion of you had improved drastically. He still hadn’t seen you fight, which was the make or break factor of any Demon Slayer, but he was impressed with your perception, and the way you kept up with him - seamlessly following his lead even when he didn’t bother to tell you what he was planning.

He also liked the way you called him out afterwards. It was almost amusing to watch you grumble and bitch about his impulsive actions before you suddenly realised you were badmouthing a Hashira and your jaw snapped shut, a pretty red flush covering the apple of your cheeks. Usually, he would have the guts of any lower rank Slayer who mouthed off to him for garters but something held him back in this case. It had been a long time since someone actually gave him a hard time - usually too busy being terrified of his reputation or his attitude to even consider it.

His solo questioning went well, and he finally felt like he was cornering the demon prowling this area. Hopefully, your exploration had been just as fruitful. As he walked towards the centre of the village to meet back up with you, he barely paid any mind to the sound of raised voices - not an uncommon occurrence, and never usually worth getting involved in.

That was until he got closer and realised he recognised one of those voices. His lips pulled into a frown as he rounded the corner and found you facing off with a civilian, eyes flashing with anger as you argued with the man. Great. The Corps struggled enough with its reputation as it was - the last thing they needed was random recruits having it out with civilians in the street. He didn’t bother to focus on what you were so pissy about as he stalked over, more concerned with ending this little spat and drawing attention away from you both, “Oi, Y/L/N! What the hell are you doing?!”

You whirled around to face him, mouth opening but he just held up a hand to cut you off, “I’m sorry about her, sir. She needs to keep her temper in check. I’ll handle it.” More than a little hypocritical, coming from him, but soothing the guy’s ego was probably the quickest way to end this little drama. Sanemi was familiar with men like this; they didn’t like women to stand up to them, or to fight back, and the last thing he needed was this guy feeling belittled and raising a hand to you.

Thankfully, the man accepted his apology and walked away, casting one nasty glare back at you before he did so. Sanemi took a breath to centre himself before wrapping a hand around your upper arm and dragging you away from the scene, careful not to grip too tightly; he would never want to hurt a woman, no matter how pissed off he might be.

He shoved you onto a deserted side street, turning you to face him, “What are you doing, picking fights with the locals? I leave you alone for a couple of hours and you start causing trouble.”

You scanned his face, studying his expression and he couldn’t say he liked the guarded look that grew in your eyes as you did so. Jerking your arm out of his hold, you stiffly briefed him on what you had learned in your time apart, succinct and to the point. He wanted to assume you were angry with him, but something about the way you held yourself just didn’t fit that. Your shoulders were hunched in, as if you were trying to hide away, to make yourself smaller, and you wouldn’t meet his eye even as the pair of you planned to meet up just after sunset, near the border of the village. Your intel matched, and Sanemi was certain this was the night the demon would fall to his blade.

As soon as the plan was set, you turned on your heel and stormed away. Sanemi just shook his head - whatever was going on, hopefully you would get over it before tonight. You both had a job to do.

*************************

The wait for the demons to appear was awkward, to say the least. You hadn’t said a word to him since you met up at sunset, and you were pointedly avoiding looking at him, feigning interest in a nearby tree. Part of him wanted to say something - now he had cooled off, he felt a little bad about not hearing you out. He made an assumption based on past experience with hot-headed Slayers, but that didn’t quite fit with what he had seen of you so far, nor with how you had closed yourself off after he confronted you.

Before he could broach the subject, rustling from beyond the bushes caught both of your attentions, and for the first time that night, you met his eyes, silently agreeing a plan. Sanemi unsheathed his sword and watched as you did the same before gesturing towards the clearing ahead of you - time to end this.

*********************

His sword slashed through the demon’s neck, and a thud signalled the end of his fight. Immediately, Sanemi scanned the area, finding you standing across the clearing, a demon of your own at your feet, its head rolling towards the treeline. He straightened up and flicked the blood of his sword, hissing as the movement pulled the new gash in his arm. Self-inflicted, of course, but still hurting like a bitch.

He was impressed - you held your own. Before this, he was convinced he would have to step in and save your ass like he usually did with new Mizunoto. However, you took on the weaker of the two demons like you had been a Slayer for years. However, you hadn’t escaped unscathed, which wasn’t surprising given the amount of exposed skin on display. After all, the uniform was supposed to protect against low level demons like this. A particularly nasty set of claw marks was dripping blood down your leg, and he could see the pain lining your face no matter how hard you were trying to hide it as you limped over to him.

He called out to his crow, “Get a couple of Kakushi here. She needs to get to the Butterfly Mansion.”

“No. I’ll get there myself.” Your face was pale with blood loss, and you already looked a little unsteady on your feet even as you argued. The throbbing of the wound on his arm made him a little quicker to anger, and he couldn’t help the rush of frustration flowing through him as he was reminded of just how little protection you had from the uniform you wore. Yes, his uniform was exposing, but he wasn’t fresh out of Final Selection and prone to catching a demon’s claws during fights.

There was no way you could get to the Mansion in your condition, and he told you as much, watching as your face scrunched up in frustration, “That thing you’re calling a uniform didn’t do shit to protect you. Shut up and wait for the Kakushi.”

He saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes, but before he could apologise, it morphed into anger as you squared up to him, “I know it doesn’t protect me, okay?! I know it’s revealing - I see the way people look at me. Men treat me like a doll to stare at and play with. I spoke to Madea when I got my uniform, and I begged for a new one, but I was told it wasn’t allowed. So I make do with what I’ve got. Your judgement isn’t needed or appreciated. I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong.”

Rage burned in your eyes, but he could see tears welling up on your lash line, face flushing a blotchy red with emotion. Your voice stayed steady despite all that, just as it had the first time you met. Was this how you felt then, too, when his gaze found your clothing before anything else?

“Goodbye, Shinazugawa-san. I trust you can report to the Master alone.” Somehow, you managed to make the honorific tacked onto the end of his name sound anything but respectful as you stalked off, gait remarkably even despite your injuries. You didn’t even give him time to respond to your outburst, which he honestly couldn’t blame you for. Guilt began to curl in his gut, and anger wasn’t far behind. You had mentioned one Kakushi in particular - Madea - who was responsible for the design of your uniform. Once Sanemi had reported his - your - success, he would pay the man a visit. The piece of shit was abusing his position to objectify the Slayers his uniforms were supposed to be protecting, and Sanemi wasn't about to let that go unpunished.

*************************

A few days after your mission, you were still feeling more than a little bitter about the Wind Hashira. You really thought you were getting on well - after that initial eyeing of your uniform when you first met, he had been nothing but respectful. His eyes never wandered below your face and he never once commented on the too short skirt or the uncomfortably revealing shirt. For that, you were grateful - you were all too aware of just how scandalous the uniform was, and you couldn’t shake the discomfort you felt every time you had to put it on. It made you feel vulnerable and exposed - a horrible combination when your job was to fight man eating demons.

You thought the Wind Hashira was different, and even had plans to ask him to spar once your mission was over; maybe even become his friend, over time. His reputation preceded him, and you had spent the whole journey to the mission site fretting over how best to make a good impression, and not earn his ire before you had even begun. Over the course of your mission together, though, your opinion had changed. More than once, you had caught him watching you, eyes studying you with curious concentration, and you felt your cheeks heat up at the memory. The last month had made you hesitant to find yourself under the gaze of others, but something about the way he looked at you made butterflies flutter in your tummy.

Then he walked in on a man harassing you in the street and still decided you were the one causing trouble. At first, you thought it an act - playing along to get the man away from you. As he chewed you out in that alley, you came to the realisation that there was no act at all.

His comment after your fight with the demons just solidified your opinion. He was just like the others; judgemental, making assumptions about you just because of the clothes you were forced to wear. You had managed to hold your tongue after the incident with the civilian - you knew it would do you no good to get into a fight with a Hashira. However, the pain in your thigh and the humiliation burning through you made something snap, and you lashed out, hurt that he would judge you so easily, without even a chance to explain why you continued to wear such a degrading uniform.

Despite your lack of regrets around telling him off and storming away, you were still a little worried about potential repercussions - he was a Hashira, and you were just a Mizunoto. That worry is what made you jump at the sound of a knock on the door of the private room you were staying in at the Butterfly Mansion.

“Come in!” You were hoping it was one of Shinobu's little girls - they were so sweet, and always willing to keep you company as you recovered. The smile you wore for them quickly fell into a frown as instead, Shinazugawa stepped into the room, “What do you want?” Your cold attitude probably wasn't the best way to avoid punishment for disrespecting a Hashira, but you couldn't help it. You still felt a flood of humiliation every time you thought back on that night.

He didn't speak, walking forward silently to deposit the stack of cloth he was holding on the end of your bed and folding his thick arms over his chest. You looked up at him curiously, but he refused to meet your eye, choosing instead to feign interest in the bed frame.

You reached out for the bundle, lifting up the item on top. As you unfolded it, your eyes widened; it was a uniform jacket, and as you held it up by the shoulders, you noted silver buttons neatly fastened all the way down. It … would cover everything. No more scandalous slit revealing the swell of your breasts, and no more wandering eyes lingering on exposed skin. Your hands were shaking a little as you looked through the rest of Shinazugawa's gift - skirts, still the same style but now long enough to protect your modesty, and shirts, designed to fasten properly and leave nothing on display.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you picked up the final item - socks. You had assumed he wasn't listening to you, when you complained to him one night in the Wisteria House, about how the boots you preferred to wear would rub at your leg. Looking at these now, you just knew they would rise to just above where your boots sat.

You blinked up at him, trying to clear away the building tears, “Why?”

He looked up then, locking eyes with you and you could tell he didn't know what to do with the tears pooling in your eyes. He cleared his throat, a brush of red colouring his cheeks as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I … was an ass.” A surprisingly honest confession, and one you weren’t expecting. You stayed quiet, giving him space to speak his mind. This was a side of the Wind Hashira you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing during your mission, and you found that you liked it, “You didn’t deserve me giving you shit, especially for something you were forced into. You’re … alright. For a newbie.” He folded his arms back across his chest, muscles flexing with the movement, “I went and spoke to Madea. He should think twice before he tries this with anyone else.”

The growing smirk on his face made you think it was a hell of a lot more than a polite conversation, and you were grateful, but the double standard kind of pissed you off, “So you’re allowed to confront him, but when I call someone out for groping me in the street, I’m ‘causing trouble’?”

“That guy did fuckin’ what?” To his credit, Sanemi seemed genuinely outraged on your behalf, “Why did you not …” His rant stopped abruptly, and the anger faded as quickly as it came on, replaced with shame instead, “Shit. I never gave you a chance to say anything, did I?”

You could have held it over him; stayed angry, or thrown hurtful words his way. You didn’t really want to though. Remorse was obvious in the way he was staring at you, and he had more than proven that he was a good man. Even your Cultivator hadn’t confronted Madea about your uniform, and Shinazugawa had done it without hesitation. Holding grudges was never your strong suit anyway, and you always were a sucker for a pretty face. You felt a smile tugging at your lips, “No, you didn’t, Shinazugawa-san. I could consider forgiving you … if you promise me a sparring match once I’ve healed up.”

The wicked grin you got in response lit up his face, and you just knew this would be the beginning of something great.

#rox writes #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #shinazugawa sanemi x reader #kny fanfic #demon slayer #kny

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ghost-bxrd · 8 months

Note

Do you have more fae!Dick headcanons, but from the batfam or his friends pov? 🥺

Check out this awesome post for a phenomenal addition to the Fae verse!

But in case you wanna stick with only Dick being fae, here’s some more headcanons for you, hehe ✨ I can never say no to doing more 👏

I don’t know enough about Dick’s friends to do a good pov for them, but here’s Bruce and Jason for now 💚

Bruce

Bruce knew something was other about Dick from the moment he started screaming when his parents fell and every single animal inside the circus went wild

Dick is a strange child. he never lies, but he’s got this uncanny ability to maneuver around the truth and make it bend to his will. It comes in handy during his Robin days, but Bruce will be the first to admit it creeps him out a bit. Even thinks that sound like a lie on surface level and up being truthful. To the letter.

Contracts. During their time as Batman and Robin, Bruce unknowingly enters into multiple little deals with Dick without being aware of it. Dick never takes advantage, but there’s one instance where Bruce finally realizes how important it is to leave absolutely no loopholes in orders or wordings when Dick nearly kills someone and it still falls into the terms of their agreement

The manor. Things have never been completely normal about the ancestral home, but with Dick around the walls seem to breathe. There’s always a light on behind some window even when it’s late and Alfred is long asleep. At night something scratches along the walls and the scent of rain and mushrooms lingers in the air. Neither Bruce or Alfred ever find its source. Hallways become long and winding when you’re half asleep. The walk to the restroom ends up being at least ten minutes.

Bruce yells at Dick and uses his full name for the first time and Dick just— folds. It’s not his true name, but he treats it as such. And Bruce is horrified at the way Dick’s entire form seems to warp and gain new joints and twist itself outside the human imagination. But then he blinks and it’s just Dick again, glaring balefully, hissing at Bruce not to use his name in anger. Ever. Bruce is too startled to do anything but promise he won’t.

Promises. Dick uses them sparingly, but when he does he upholds them with a vengeance. Bruce learns to never, ever make Dick promise something that will endanger him. Because dick would still follow through on it blindly.

Promises made by other people. Dick becomes vindictive if he thinks someone isn’t upholding their end of the bargain. The first time it happens, a simple thing about being home in time for dinner, Bruce got assaulted by rabid deer with curiously sharp teeth on his way to the car. In the middle of Gotham City. Bruce and Dick have a serious talk afterwards.

Jason

Dick is less than thrilled when Jason is declared Robin. Fae are possessive. That’s his name Bruce gave away. That’s his family Jason is infiltrating. Dick wants Jason gone. (Bruce barely manages to stop the murder of crows from shoving Jason off a roof)

Jason doesn’t realize there’s a pissed off fae out for blood. Bruce has a hard time rallying Dick, but he manages. Ergo; Jason thinks the manor is the best thing since sliced bread and he’s super excited about meeting Dick. He joins Alfred in making Dick’s favorite meal for his official visit and unknowingly ends up winning Dick over with it. An offering of favored food to fae creatures goes a long way in earning their favor. And Dick is no different. It helps that the food is genuinely delicious and Jason jumps at the chance to refill his plate. Jason unknowingly dodged a bullet there.

Dick becomes protective of Jason. Jason is his now in the same way Bruce and Alfred are. They’re human. He’s fae. They’re so very vulnerable and susceptible to injury and manipulation.

Jason avoids wandering the halls of Wayne manor alone for the longest time because he always feels there are eyes following him. (They are.)

The manor, reacting to Dick’s inherent magic, shortens each of Jason’s routes. It creeps Jason out even more

Sometimes there are feathers at the foot of Jason’s bed. He doesn’t know what kind of bird they could be from. When he shows them to Bruce the man just sighs

Jason has a temper tantrum and retreats into the woods behind the manor. He can’t find his way back until he calls out for Dick and suddenly the manor looms behind the next tree

#fae dick grayson #faerie folk #pagan folklore #the things that live in the woods #I’m not going with traditional fae I’m going with the creatures my family told me about #they undoubtedly are fae #just not the ones usually portrayed in media #it’s the old folklore handed down through generations #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #robin #headcanons #ghost talks

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