Please can I ask for mid but with a reader that just randomly grabbed the daemos by the horns as an intrusive thought and has no idea how it effects the daemos
[M.I.D] Daemos x Reader
Warnings: Fluff, Stupid blabbering
A/N: It's just a me thing but I HATE when people say intrusive thought when it's a Impulsive thought IM GOING TO VREUHWACUHNAWS AHEM! But ty for this request I hope it's alright, also I've been thinking I'm getting better with grammar and punctuation then from when I first started writing so i thank everyone who requests and those who read my book! <33
Summary: Reader that just randomly grabbed the Daemos by the horns as an impulsive thought and has no idea how it effects the daemos
There were plenty of things [Name] had learned not to do around the Daemos don’t touch the weapons stash, don’t sneak up during meditation, and definitely don’t give Noi sugar after dark.
But no one had ever said anything about the horns. So when the thought hit sudden, chaotic, and deeply impulsive when you were hanging out with him your hands reached out quickly with the thought that appeared in your mind "what if I just... grabbed one?" [Name] acted on instinct. No thought. No warning.
Your hand shot out and latched onto one of his horns. The room froze. A heavy silence settled over t like fog. He blinked, stiffened, and a flush slowly spread across his face. His jaw clenched, the tips of his ears tinged pink.
You stood there, hand still on the horn, like you'd just been caught reaching into Pandora’s box. You stared at the daemos whose horn you’d grabbedthat let out a slow breath, his voice rough and flustered
Asch
It happened too fast one moment, Prince Asch was in the middle of a very passionate very loud rant about the crumbling structure of Daemos realm politics. He was waving his hands dramatically, pacing back and forth, his cape fluttering behind him like he was the star of a stage play.
[Name] had both hands firmly wrapped around one of his horns time stopped. Asch’s whole body seized like someone had turned him to stone. His breath hitched in his throat, and a furious crimson began creeping up his neck, reaching the tips of his pointed ears. The Daemon prince stared at them with wide, almost offended eyes.
“U-UNHAND ME, PRISONER!” he sputtered, voice cracking as the color bloomed even darker across his face. You yelped and let go instantly, hands up like a caught criminal. “I-I’m so sorry! It was just an impulsive thought! I didn’t think-” before you could finish, Asch had grabbed your wrist not rough, not punishing, but enough to stop you from retreating or escaping the way you suddenly really wanted to.
“If you ever do that in public,” he hissed, flustered panic bubbling beneath his words, “you would’ve had an audience! Staring at me! At my name, beneath such a humiliating act-!” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale and groaned, raking a hand through his tousled dark hair.
“I am a prince,” he muttered, quieter now. “There is protocol.” There was a pause. He exhaled, long and tired. “It’s fine. Within my chambers. But…” Slowly, he turned back to you. The fire in his voice softened to embers, his golden eyes meeting yours again and now, you could see how deeply embarrassed he was. His blush was nearly glowing.
“Just… warn me next time, alright?” he added, his voice barely above a whisper and then, before you could respond, he moved in closer. Not to yell. Not to scold but to hide.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, a muffled huff of air brushing against your skin. Your breath caught as he pressed closer, arms gently wrapping around your waist, holding you there.
“Reminder…” he muttered, his voice low and half-lost against your neck, “only if the situation suits it, prisoner.” You could feel the warmth of his cheek on your skin, and left a small kiss onto your skin. A barely-there, secret, stolen kiss on the side of your neck that left your face just as red as his.
You blinked, stunned into silence, your heart thudding embarrassingly loud in your chest. His hand tightened slightly at your back, and you could practically hear the smugness fighting to surface beneath the embarrassment “You’re blushing,” he murmured teasingly.
You stammered, your voice caught somewhere between mortified and giddy. “You kissed me!” Asch finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his pride clearly patched back together albeit with a slightly crooked smirk. “Of course I did. It’s a princely privilege. And since you manhandled my horn, I believe I’m owed compensation.”
You laughed despite yourself, smacking his shoulder lightly. “You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.” “And you’re the most reckless,” he retorted, his smile softening. “But… I suppose I don’t mind it. Within reason. And within these walls.”
He cupped your cheek with one gloved hand, brushing his thumb over your skin. “Next time, though… maybe ask first?” You nodded, still pink-faced, but smiled. “Deal. But only if you stop calling me ‘prisoner’ every time you get flustered.” “No promises,” Asch grinned, leaning in again hiding his face in your shoulder "Do that again prisoner
Rhys
The room was peaceful, cast in the soft, golden hue of a bedside lamp. Dust particles floated lazily through the air, and the distant murmur of voices from the living room reminded you that the others were still awake but here, in Rhys’s room, it was quiet.
You were curled up at the edge of his bed, a cozy blanket tossed over your legs, and a well-worn book open in your hands. The paper smelled faintly like vanilla and old ink. Across from you, Rhys sat perfectly upright in his desk chair, one leg crossed over the other, reading something far more serious a book about Earth’s legal systems his coat was folded neatly over the chair’s back, his amulet glinting faintly under the warm light.
very so often, he adjusted his glasses with a thoughtful touch or turned a page with delicate precision. He looked so composed, so focused but your own attention had long since wandered specifically, to the sharp, elegant curve of his horns.
You’d been doing your best to behave. Really, you had. You weren’t some impulsive little gremlin well, not most of the time but your eyes kept flicking to those dark blue horns, curved inward like blades, polished with a soft sheen. They were just… there. Right in your line of sight.
Like some kind of forbidden fruit perched atop his head, taunting you. They looked solid. Heavy. Textured. Your brain started whispering stupid things quiet, chaotic thoughts like, “I bet they feel cool to the touch,” and “What would happen if I just grabbed it?” You tried to shake it off. Refocused on your book. Reread the same sentence for the fourth time. It didn’t help. Your curiosity just wouldn’t shut up. You peeked over the top of your book. Rhys was still reading, posture perfect, eyes scanning the page. Completely unaware.
Then… your hand moved.
One moment you were seated. The next, you were standing on the bed, leaning forward without any real plan, your brain static with nothing but panic and bad ideas. Before logic or dignity could intervene, your hand reached out and gently wrapped around the base of his horn.
Just like that your fingers curled around the smooth, ridged surface, thumb brushing the texture without thinking. It was like grabbing the hilt of a sword made out of heat and lightning. Rhys went completely still.
The book in his hands slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a quiet thump. His body locked up so fast you worried he might’ve been hit with a spell. His shoulders tensed, his breath caught, and his eyes wide and confused slowly turned toward you in utter disbelief. You stood there like a deer in headlights, hand still on his horn, and no excuse in the world forming fast enough to save you.
“…Why did you do that?” he asked, his voice a quiet, stunned rasp You froze. “I… I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” he repeated, eyebrows raising slowly. “It was an impulsive thought!” you blurted out, yanking your hand away as fast as humanly possible. “I wasn’t thinking! My brain said ‘do it’ and I didn’t think it’d like, do anything- oh my god, I’m sorry!”
Rhys inhaled deeply, slowly, like he was forcing himself not to combust on the spot. His entire face was red. Even the tips of his ears were turning a faint shade of purple. His hands, still resting on the arms of his chair, were trembling just slightly. He adjusted his glasses with more force than necessary, clearing his throat twice before he found the words.
“For Daemos,” he said carefully, “grabbing someone’s horn is... not done lightly. It’s considered an... intimate gesture.” You stared at him. “...WHAT.” “It’s... traditionally part of courtship,” he added, looking off to the side like he was seriously considering melting into the wall.
Your soul left your body. you collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, dragging the blanket over your head like it might protect you from the embarrassment threatening to kill you on the spot.
“Do I need to offer you ice cream or something to make up for it?” you mumbled into the blanket, mortified beyond repair. There was a pause. Then… a soft laugh.
Your head peeked out. Rhys composed, cool, always serious Rhys was smiling. Really smiling. The kind that reached his eyes. “That would be a start,” he said, still looking mildly flustered but far more amused now.
You sat up straighter, blinking in confusion. “Wait... are you not mad?” “No,” he said gently, his voice back to its usual calm rhythm. “I’m not mad. Surprised, yes. Flustered, absolutely. But... not angry.” You let out a relieved sigh and nodded. Then, in a moment of bravery (or residual stupidity), you murmured, “I really didn’t mean to flirt or anything.”
Rhys glanced at you sideways, fingers tapping the edge of his desk “…So if you had meant to?” he asked quietly You blinked. Your stomach did a very specific flip. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t looking at you directly, but there was a question buried deep in his tone honest curiosity, maybe even hope.
You swallowed, cheeks burning. “…I’d probably have used a spoon and asked to share your ice cream first.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He nodded once, slow and thoughtful.
“Noted.”
Pierce
The evening was quiet, the kind of calm that settled into the apartment only when the others were either occupied or finally too tired to cause chaos.
The soft hum of distant traffic filtered through the half-open window, the last light of sunset pouring in gold across the hardwood floor. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with your back against the couch, flipping lazily through a magazine you found in Ava’s bookshelf. Across the room, Pierce sat in silence, his massive frame hunched over slightly to accommodate his height in the too-small living room.
His claymore rested on his knees as he ran a soft cloth over the blade with smooth, practiced motions calm, efficient, silent. The ritual was oddly soothing to watch.
There was something peaceful about the way he moved, like cleaning the weapon was as natural to him as breathing. You’d seen him like this a few times quiet, focused, existing in the kind of stillness that seemed almost sacred.
His horns caught your eye. You weren’t proud of it. You weren’t even really thinking just looking. They curved upward from the sides of his head, strong and arched, shaded from deep blue at the base to a pale icy glow at the tips. You hadn’t touched them before. None of the Daemos really invited that sort of thing, and Pierce? He was definitely the last person you’d ever risk annoying.
Stoic, strong, terrifyingly tall, and always watching. But maybe that was why your curiosity whispered louder this time. He hadn’t said not to touch. No one had. And you’d spent just enough time around them now to know that most of the rules weren’t written they were found out the hard way.
You glanced at him again. He was still polishing the edge of his sword with that same quiet intensity. Not looking at you. Not expecting anything. The thought came uninvited. "What if I just… grabbed it?" A pause.
You didn’t even realize you were standing until you were behind him. You leaned in slightly just enough and before your better judgment could slam the brakes, your fingers gently wrapped around the curve of one of his horns. Solid. Cool. Smooth.
Pierce stopped moving and the cloth fell from his fingers. The entire room felt like it dropped ten degrees. You froze too, your hand still there, curled around the base of his horn. You stared at the back of his head, eyes wide in slow dawning horror. He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
His shoulders, broad and tense, rose only slightly with each shallow inhale. You watched as the muscles in his neck flexed just once. And then he turned slowly, deliberately his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.
You stepped back like you’d been burned. “I- I didn’t mean to- It was an impulse! I wasn’t thinking! I just- I thought- ‘What if I grabbed it?’ and then I did, and now I’m talking too much and I want to disappear into the floor-”
Pierce stared at you, blinking once. Then, finally, in his usual deep and quiet tone “…You touched my horn.” You nodded in shame. “Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I’ll go sit in a corner now.”
He said nothing for a moment, still looking at you like he was processing something very complicated. Then he picked up the cleaning cloth slowly, hands steady but his voice quieter than before. “…That means something to Daemos.” You blinked. “It does?”
He nodded once. “It’s personal. You only do that if you’re…” He trailed off, eyes flicking toward the floor, unsure. “...Very close. It means trust. Or... interest.” You went still. “Interest?” Pierce didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed low, his expression unreadable.
You exhaled. “I swear I wasn’t trying to send a message. I really didn’t know. I was just being a dumb Earthling with too much curiosity.” Another silence passed. Then, quietly, almost shyly: “But if you were sending one?”
Your heart tripped over itself. “I guess I’d be asking if I could stay next time. You know. Touch it again… on purpose.” That earned you a look not startled, not annoyed, but thoughtful. Soft. The kind of expression you weren’t sure Pierce had ever worn before. He returned to cleaning his sword, but his voice was lower, warmer now.
“…I wouldn’t stop you.”
Leif
The rooftop was quiet the kind of quiet that stretched on without pressure where the city lights blinked far below like stars grounded to pavement and time moved slower, softer.
You and Leif sat side by side with your backs to the low wall, legs drawn up or dangling over the edge, each settled in your own silence. There wasn’t much to say. You were used to that with him. Sometimes words felt too sharp for nights like this, when just existing beside him was enough.
He didn’t seem to mind it either. His eyes scanned the horizon, barely blinking, silver hair tousled by the occasional breeze, the pale green curve of his horns catching what little moonlight filtered through the clouds.
There was something almost calm about him in that moment leif, who was usually tension wrapped in flesh, claws behind grins, venom behind charm but tonight he was just... there. Breathing. Thinking. Quiet in a way that made you want to keep the peace intact.
And maybe that’s why it happened.
You weren’t trying to ruin it. You weren’t even really thinking. Your gaze had drifted again toward the curve of one of his horns, the way it glinted in the light, smooth and sharp and a little too elegant for someone like him. It looked... touchable.
Like the kind of thing your brain tagged with a warning sign you couldn’t help but ignore. Your hand moved before you could stop yourself. A soft, hesitant motion. You reached out and gently pressed your fingers against it not yanking, not holding, just brushing your fingertips along its surface in a light, almost curious touch. The reaction was immediate.
Leif froze every muscle in his body locked up, spine going stiff as if you’d struck him with something. The stillness in him was terrifying not the stillness of patience or observation, but the kind that meant danger. The kind that was always followed by a snap. His breath caught in his throat and the air around him shifted like pressure was building under his skin.
You could feel it like the city had gone still around just the two of you. Slowly, he turned his head toward you. His expression was unreadable. Too calm. Too still and when he spoke, his voice was like a knife drawn quietly from its sheath “What the hell… did you just do?”
You pulled your hand back instantly, heart stuttering. “I- I didn’t mean anything by it,” you blurted out, stumbling over your own words.
“It was just- your horn was right there, and my brain just… short-circuited. It was like one of those intrusive thoughts you’re not supposed to act on and then suddenly I did, and I swear I didn’t mean anything weird or disrespectful by it-” You realized how fast you were talking and clamped your mouth shut before you could dig yourself deeper. Your chest felt tight. You weren’t sure if it was fear or embarrassment or both.
Leif blinked once, slowly. His jaw flexed, lips pressed into a thin line. His ears twitched like even his body was trying to process the moment but he didn’t lash out. He didn’t snarl or vanish in a burst of smoke like you half-expected.
He just stared at the horizon again. “You don’t just touch a Daemos’ horn,” he said after a beat, voice quieter now but edged in something deeper- hurt, maybe. Frustration. “That’s not something people do. Not unless they’re your healer. Or your mate.” The breath left your lungs all at once. “Oh,” you said softly. “Oh no.”
He didn’t say anything. And for a while, neither did you. The silence felt heavier now, no longer soft. You looked at him at his jaw, tense but not clenched, the faintest flush of green brushing across his cheekbones. Not fury. Not rage.
It was something much more vulnerable than that. Shame, maybe. Or surprise. You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to cross a line,” you said gently. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”
Leif didn’t respond. He just sat there, his posture slowly loosening but still guarded. Then, almost like he was speaking to himself, he muttered, “…I didn’t kill you.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to laugh through the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “That’s… comforting?” you offered, though your voice shook a little.
He let out a short, rough exhale that might’ve been a laugh or something close to it. “Don’t thank me,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
You tilted your head toward him, watching his expression from the corner of your eye. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” you said quietly. “You just… weren’t expecting it. That’s my fault.” He didn’t look at you. Just ran a hand through his hair and shook his head once. “Yeah, well. You still did it.” His voice wasn’t bitter. Just blunt. But the anger never came. And when the silence returned, it was gentler this time.
“But I didn’t hate it,” he added after a long pause. His words fell between you like something delicate something fragile that he hated admitting even as he said it. Your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you whispered.
Leif shifted, rubbing the back of his neck as if he wished he could teleport off the rooftop and disappear. “Just… if there’s going to be a next time,” he muttered, “maybe warn me first. I almost jumped off the edge.”
You blinked. “There’s going to be a next time?” The question left your lips before you could even think about stopping it, and Leif turned to look at you again. Really look at you.
His expression was sharp, yes but there was something softer behind his eyes now. Something amused. Curious. Like he wasn’t sure if he was inviting danger or hoping for it. “Depends,” he said with the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You got the guts to try it again after what just happened?”
You couldn’t help it. The laugh that escaped your mouth was small, surprised, and very, very real. You looked away, cheeks warm, and shook your head and beside you, Leif let out a breath not a laugh, not exactly, but a huff that came close. His shoulders eased. His jaw unclenched and in the quiet that followed, you both sat there, not needing to fill the space with anything more than what had already been said.
Noi
One second, you were both sprawled across the floor of Ava’s living room, flipping through some random Earth magazines, trading snacks and jokes, and laughing at an ad for something called "noise-canceling yoga pants" which made Noi genuinely concerned about how loud pants could be.
The next second, your brain threw out one of those impulsive thoughts. One of those don’t do it, don’t do it, oh no you did it kind of thoughts. You reached up without thinking, without hesitation and gently, almost curiously, placed your hand on one of Noi’s horns.
The world stopped.
Noi’s entire body locked up in your peripheral vision, like someone had frozen time specifically around him. The magazine in his hand slowly fluttered to the floor like a feather. His ears twitched. His shoulders tensed. And then slowly, slowly he turned his head toward you.
His amber eyes were wide, pupils dilated in a way you’d never seen before. His mouth opened slightly like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Only a squeaky inhale. Then, in one catastrophic burst of noise, he squealed.
“Y-YOU TOUCHED MY HORN!!” he wailed, launching himself backward with enough force to knock over a lamp and nearly somersault over the back of the couch. He scrambled up, red-faced, flustered beyond reason, and practically vibrating like a kicked puppy. You blinked, frozen, your hand still slightly raised in the air where his horn had been. “I- Wait- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it!” you stammered. “It was just an impulsive thing! Like your horns are there and I just- my brain went grab.”
Noi covered his face with both hands, whining in mortified Daemonic. “You can’t just grab someone’s horns, that’s like- intimate! It’s like a daemos- I can't tell you!!” His voice cracked on the last word, and you watched as he crouched behind the couch, peeking over the edge with a face so red it was practically radioactive. “Now I’m gonna have to explain this! Rhys is gonna know! He always knows!”
You stared at him, processing. “Wait. Horns are… like romantic?” He groaned. “YES. It’s like… emotional touch territory! Most daemos only let their mate or a healer touch their horns you’re not supposed to just poke them like a button!!” He looked so genuinely distressed, you felt your guilt melt into something softer something warm. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you said gently, lowering your hand. “I seriously didn’t know. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”
There was a pause. A long, agonizing, silence-filled pause. Noi peeked up from behind the couch. “So… wait… if you did know... would you still have done it?” he asked, voice small and a little hopeful. That caught you off guard.
You tilted your head. “Maybe. Depends if I knew it’d make you blush like that,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. That earned you a muffled yelp and the sound of him thumping his head against the back of the couch in panic. “You’re evil…” he whimpered.
You walked over slowly, kneeling by where he was crouched. “Hey. Noi,” you said softly, reaching out but stopping just shy of touching him. “I didn’t mean to jump over some serious cultural boundary. But now that I know… I don’t want to pretend it didn’t mean something, either. Because I do care about you.” He lifted his head, face still pink but his expression was softer now. “Really?” he asked, voice cracking like his heart didn’t believe it could be true. You nodded. “Really. I didn’t mean to say it with my hands, but… yeah.”
He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other slowly shakily reached out toward yours. “Okay then,” he mumbled, still pink. “Just… if you’re gonna touch my horns again… can you maybe warn me first? Because otherwise I might scream so loud we break a window or something”
You smiled and gently laced your fingers through his. “Deal" and for the briefest, most precious second, he leaned forward, pressed his forehead lightly to your own his horns just brushing your hairline and whispered in a trembling voice, “Y-you can do it again. Later. If you still want to.” His hand squeezed yours shyly. “Just… just not when we're in a public space"
