Jinu loves to incorporate vibrators into your sex lives. Being stuck in eternal damnation for over 400 years wasn’t fun, for either of you. And when you found out that there was more to sex than just penetration and siring an heir (how it was when you were human). He was ecstatic.
•
The only sounds that could be heard were your all too excited screams, mixed with laughter that bordered psychotic. That and the buzzing that came from between your thighs. Squishing and squelching against your wet flesh, the buzzing, vibrating toy brought inexplicable pleasure to you. Jinu smirked and growled, fangs baring feeling how tight you get around him every time her flips the switch in that neat little toy.
The patterns that littered your body glowed at an unexplainably fast rate. Going from dull to as bright as the sun in the blink of an eye.
“Faster, Jinu! Faster!”
You were ecstatic hips reaching his in a matter of seconds. Jinu snarls gripping your hips with one clawed hand, changing the setting on the toy. You convulsed underneath him, clawing at his arms so hard they bleed, pulling him so close it was hard to differentiate whose body was whose, and he reveled in him. He fucked you harder, moving the toy against you, softly placing it lightly against your plump, sore clit. He groaned and growled in your ear egging you along.
“Fuck. Fuck. Jinu! Jinu!”
You thrashed against his rocking body, walls clamping down around him as you get closer and closer to the edge. One hard thrust and a particularly strong vibration from the toy and you’re done. You squirted all over him, soaking the silk sheets. God, it was dirty. He needed more.
He’s thrown the toy the side, it still vibrates pathetically on the side as Jinu is above you, breathing raggedly. He palms your hips watching the way your patterns flicker in the afterglow of your orgasm. His claws find their way around your neck and he’s moving again before you know it. You whine and hips wither as he speeds up. You go to protest but the hand around your throat shuts you up.
A/n: Dad!Constantine, Reader is a demon ( the two of you are in love )
Your apartment used to be quiet.
Then you married John Constantine.
Then you had magical children with John Constantine. Adorable children that he loved more than anything, children he would die for of course but now.
Now? Quiet is a fairy tale. And speaking of fairy tales—your toddler just popped into the living room out of thin air, holding half a packet of biscuits she’d stolen from the kitchen.
“John!” you called toward the bedroom, “Your daughter just teleported again!”
From the other room, John groaned like a man who’d been stabbed—mostly because he had been stabbed before, and apparently parenting was worse.
The man emerged in his wrinkled trench coat despite being indoors, cigarette dangling from his lips, looking every inch the weary father of magical chaos gremlins.
“How many bloody times do I have to tell you lot—” he began, before freezing mid-sentence.
Because there, floating two feet above the couch, was your baby.
Just… drifting like a chubby little helium balloon. Giggling.
John’s eyes went wide. “Oh, for—OI! You! Put yourself down! Gravity’s not a toy!”
The baby babbled happily, spinning in slow circles.
“He's six months old, John,” you deadpanned. “He doesn’t know what gravity is.”
“Well, he's learnin’ it now, innit?!” John barked, moving toward the couch like he was approaching a live bomb. “Right, you—back in the pram. No floatin’ in my bleedin’ house!”
Your toddler reappeared next to him in a puff of glittery smoke, looking smug. “Daddy said bad word.”
“I’ll say worse if you keep nickin’ biscuits through pocket dimensions!” John shot back. “I told you—no jumpin’ ‘round the flat unless there’s a fire or the taxman’s at the door!”
The baby giggled harder, now bobbing dangerously close to the ceiling fan.
John’s voice jumped an octave. “Oh, bloody—! Love, he’s gonna get pureed!”
You tried not to laugh as he dragged a dining chair across the room, clambering up like an exhausted exorcist who’d just been told he had to wrestle a ghost. He reached for the baby—
—only for him to lazily drift out of reach.
“Oh, don’t you float away from me, you cheeky little sod!” John growled, pointing at him like he was a demon he was mid-banishing. “I am your father, and you will come down this instant or so help me—”
POP.
He vanished.
Reappeared… on top of the kitchen counter.
John just stood there, staring. “Right. That’s it. No more magic toys, no more ‘practice spells,’ and no more levitatin’!”
Your toddler was giggling uncontrollably now. “Baby’s like a balloon!” she squealed, before promptly vanishing again.
From the hallway, her voice echoed faintly: “I’m on the roof!”
John’s hands shot into his hair. “I married you ‘cause I thought you were trouble, love. Turns out the spawn are worse!” Trouble you were but that didn't stop the fact he loved you, you were his soulmate, his love, his light!
You leaned back on the couch, trying not to grin. “You’re the one who wanted kids.”
“I wanted normal kids!” he protested.
“You married me, John,” you reminded him, smirking. “This is the most normal they’re gonna be.”
John groaned into his hands. Somewhere above you, a small voice shouted, “Mummy, can we have a pet dragon?”
“NO!” John roared toward the ceiling. “And if one of you summons one, I swear—!”
The morning after the “floating baby” incident, John woke up looking like he’d been through a war.
Well… technically he had—just the domestic kind.
Your toddler was teleporting between the fridge and the biscuit tin every thirty seconds. The baby was levitating herself out of the crib and into the dog bed. And you were halfway to Googling “boarding school for under-fives” when John announced:
“That’s it. I’m puttin’ wards on the flat.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Wards? Like… baby gates but magical?”
“Exactly,” he said, already rummaging through his trench coat like a madman. “No leavin’ rooms without my say-so, no floatin’ without permission, no summonin’ creatures from realms I’ve not bloody approved first.”
“You realize,” you said slowly, “if you trap them with magic, they’ll treat it like a challenge.”
“Not if I’m clever about it.”
Cue John on his hands and knees, chalking runes on the skirting boards while muttering in Latin. The toddler watched curiously, sucking jam off her fingers.
“What’s that say, Daddy?”
“It says, ‘Stay in your room, you little bugger,’ but in a language older than sin,” John muttered, finishing one symbol with a dramatic flourish.
“Cool,” she said, and promptly teleported to the opposite corner of the room—inside the half-finished ward.
John froze. “…Right. That’s… interestin’.”
“Maybe the runes need to, I don’t know, actually be closed?” you suggested.
“I’m gettin’ there, love,” he grumbled.
By the time the final chalk mark was done, John was sweating like a priest in a nightclub.
“Right, that’s it—go on, try it now,” he told the toddler smugly.
She grinned. POP. Disappeared.
Reappeared standing directly on top of the chalk rune.
John stared at her like she’d just pulled a knife on him. “You little… How did you—”
“I just… wanted to,” she said innocently.
Before John could lecture her, the baby—still in his onesie—slowly drifted into the room… upside-down.
The wards didn’t even flicker.
John let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “Alright. Plan B.”
“Which is?” you asked.
“Big bloody net.”
Five minutes later, your living room looked like a circus act gone wrong—ropes, nets, and a few dangling crystals that John swore were “mystical tripwires.” The toddler thought it was hilarious. The baby floated through one, batted a crystal with his hand, and John yelped as the entire net came down on him.
Your toddler clapped. “Daddy caught himself!”
John fought his way out, hair full of chalk dust, trench coat now smelling faintly of burnt sage. “You lot… are gonna be the death of me.”
You just leaned against the doorway, smirking. “You keep sayin’ that, but between you and them? My money’s on them.”
From the kitchen, your toddler’s voice called out, “Mummy, can we have TWO dragons?”
John’s shout could probably be heard three floors down.
John was pacing the living room, hair sticking up in at least six different directions, trench coat half-off like it had tried to escape his body in protest.
“That’s it,” he announced to no one in particular. “No more kids. Done. Finished. Shut the bloody factory down.”
He was still muttering under his breath when you strolled past the doorway.
Well… strolled wasn’t exactly the right word. More like glided — barefoot, wearing nothing but one of his old, wrinkled shirts, hem just barely skimming the tops of your thighs. Your human glamour was gone; magenta skin shimmered faintly in the lamplight, the sinuous twitch of your tail betraying your mood.
John froze mid-pace.
Your eyes caught his, slow smile curling. “One more can’t hurt.”
John nodded before his brain could intervene. “Two more sounds great—” His voice cracked embarrassingly halfway through.
Your tail swished lazily, brushing against his leg on your way past.
From the couch, your toddler’s voice piped up innocently: “Daddy! Can we have a hell hound puppy?”
John’s eyes were still fixed on you as you disappeared down the hall. “Whatever you want, poppet!” he called back, voice light and happy like a man who’d just been offered eternal salvation.
He followed you toward the bedroom, stupid grin plastered on his face.
Which is why he completely missed the sight in the corner of the living room—
—your toddler sitting cross-legged in the middle of a very precise summoning circle drawn entirely in red crayon, the dog’s food bowl sitting at the center like an offering plate.
Her grin was pure mischief. “Here, puppy puppy puppy…”
From the shadows above her, the air began to shimmer, the faint sound of claws clicking against stone echoing faintly.
Somewhere down the hall, John’s laugh trailed off, oblivious.
Ok…. Demon reader x rumi in her demon form? Where like she is still hiding her patterns and shit but reader isn’t hiding theirs at all and it turns her on? Maybe like a heat cycle I dunno. Your call <3
Kinda Jealous
|| Rumi x demon!reader
|| Warnings; insecurity about patterns, doubt, short drabble
|| Summary; when relaxing on the couch, Rumi can't help but admire reader.
Requests open!
Started; October 26th
Finished; October 27th
Tag List; @queriaumpastelagora @wreathedinantlers (comment if you would like to be added!)
Life recently took quite an unexpected turn. You and the Rumi had started dating. Only problem? You were a demon, which completely threw off the Huntrix group when they first met you. Taking their weapons out and everything. After much conversation and convincing, with Rumi's help, they calmed down about the idea. But still weren't entirely convinced about you. Yet... you made Rumi happy, and that's really what mattered to Zoey and Mira.
Today, you and Rumi had the penthouse to yourselves. Spending the afternoon relaxing on the couch. You had a simple tank top on, showing off your patterns while Rumi had her usual hoodie. Hiding her own patterns, even though it was just the two of you.
"You know, I'm kinda jealous," Rumi murmurs, her eyes landing on yours. You tilted your head, showing that you were listening," the patterns. You don't... have to hide them."
"You don't have to either." You reminded her, hand resting just beneath her chin. Thumb brushing against her jawline.
"I'm supposed to be a hunter, it's different for me." Rumi sighed, her head resting to your shoulder. Your arm instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her closer.
"But it doesn't have to be, if you just-" you'd started to say. Rumi cut you off.
"I can't. I don't want to lose them."
Them of course being Mira and Zoey.
Your gaze softened, fingers tracing slow motions against her skin.
"I get it. Believe me," you murmured.
"I'm just not ready yet... but I think it's really cool that you don't cover up." Rumi's hand squeezed yours and the two of you fell into silence after that. Your hand holding hers a little tighter.
Rumi shifted against you, trying to get a little more comfortable. In her eyes, you truly were amazing. You didn't hide who you were. She found it- God, she thought it was so hot.
♡！reader is gender neutral, that’s why there is female and male tags so this can be suited for any gender. There is no description of male or female anatomy. Reader is some random child Oliver found in a park and became friends over rocks.
literally being a demon who can’t come out into the sun sucks. Especially when they don’t know what they are. They’ve thrown rocks at before by some teenagers. They’ve gotten use to the pain, but what’s shocking is that one night when they can roam around, some purple boy that looks like their age had pants the same teenagers that threw rocks at them.
Their eyes sparkled seeing this, not even thinking. The pink eyed demon with hair that has flame-orange color at the tips. Humming loudly, the three kids jolted shock to see another kid out here. Oliver relaxed first as waved at them, they just stared at the purple hand before doing an eye closed smile and highfive him.
Oliver giggles, and that’s how you became his friend.
Sure he promised Debbie he wouldn’t sneak out no more… but his friend is out there in the cold! Who can’t even be in the sun. When Oliver seen their skin burned in the sun when he met them in day time. He panicked hearing their pained yelp, pulling them from the sun and into the shadows.
Never again is he letting you in the sun. But hey, he can always get you cloaks and steel his brother’s hoodies! They showed him that they can change their size. Oliver wouldn’t mind picking them up around in just a cloak looking like a blob as he flys around the city to show them things.
mark found out about the demon child when his mother informed him that his little brother snuck out again. Sighing as he flew around, he only hoped his little brother wasn’t causing much trouble.
There, he finally sees his brother.. but with some random kid with dyed hair and … pink eyes? Flying down, he had crossed arms staring at Oliver who looked shocked to see his brother. Oliver steps infront of his new friend.
“Mark!” He exclaimed, trying to keep his friend out of his sight. “What are you doing here?” Mark narrowed his eyes, “I should be asking you that. Oliver, you can’t just keep sneaking out. You’re worrying mom and myself.” He then leans to see the child staring at him. “Who’s that?” His stern demeanor disappeared to see those pink eyes stare at him gently. Oliver stepped aside, letting them walk forward.
“What’s your name kid?” Mark says, looking into their eyes before turning towards Oliver. “They can’t talk.” Oliver says, holding the mute’s hand. “So mute. Got it.. do they have a family?” Oliver shakes his head. “No family, can’t talk, can’t go out in Sun. But they’re cool! Watch this!” Oliver turned to you as mark raised a brow at the “can’t go out in the sun” part.
The child’s body started to shrink, looking like a toddler as Oliver picked them up and showed them off to mark whose jaw was dropped. That’s something… you don’t see unless it’s rae herself. “I..” “Can we keep them?!” Oliver said with excitement, the child gave off an eye closed smile. Their natural adorable face beaming at mark who stayed quiet.
“They’re not a pet Oliver, we can’t just keep a child.” “Not that like! Y/n isn’t a pet, they’re my friend.” Oliver glares at mark who held his hands up. “Okay then, what did you mean.” He places a hand into the purple boy’s shoulder. “Can we adopt them into our family… they can’t stay out in the sun. It… it hurts them!” His eyes held concern. “It could kill them. So, I thought that maybe mom and you can let them stay with us.. maybe forever?”
Mark looked at his half brother, and at the child demon who had puppy eyes that was definitely learnt from Oliver. Sighing and covering his face with one hand, he nodded. “We can try. But do you even know what they are?” Mark questions staring at you. Oliver groaned annoyed, “Does that even matter! Let’s go tell mom about them!” Oliver started to fly off with excitement. Mark could only sigh and follow his brother.
Welp, welcome to the family.
When meeting Debbie, it went kinda crazy with how mark finally persuaded her to let them stay. But Debbie soon felt calm with how you helped around. But when meeting the GDA, Cecil stared at the child weirdly. Pink eyes and natural orange flames tips hair? Sounds like trouble cause no one knows what they are.
Eve didn’t know how to express her feelings about the child. But she couldn’t help but coo at how affectionate they are. Always running to her when meeting the GDA and Guardians. Hugging around her waist, Eve smiled softly. They’re just a child that can’t handle their own problems.
If a ReAnimen were to try and beat onto mark, who the child immediately started being affectionate as well to. They’re getting their head kicked off. Rocking everyone in the room as they covered mark’s body. Imagine being saved by some demon. Crazy.
Mark gives them the reward of headpats, like keeping Oliver in check, helping him with patrols since they can clearly take care of themself.
If something were to ever try to harm Oliver, like you could try to be in disguise with Oliver when he would sneak out to help others.
Oliver and them always going out at night to specifically hang out. He even lets them meet those cool skating kids. He holds their hands when teaching them how to skate. Seeing their eyes sparkle up makes him feel proud to show them human things like this.
But oh boy, if it ever came to the point of where this small child or at least the same height as Oliver, were to smell blood. Then mark can understand why Cecil was suspicious of them. Seeing their body grow to look adultish or mature, body broad, pupils vertical. Mark didn’t expect to hold down a crazy blood thirsty demon. He talked the child he knew was inside them down, making them cry with apologies as their body shrank.
Next time, if the mission could possibly get bloody. He’s not letting them around the mission no more..
Them and Oliver playing footies, oh lord. Either they both are harming each other, or they simply can’t feel it. Mark has to stop that as the table was shaking.
Oliver always holding a small y/n around. Y/n doesn’t care, only for the fact that they like the body heat. Always sleeping. Oliver hates how y/n sleeps a lot, but at least it’s better than eating humans all day.
When they conquered the sun, oh boy Oliver was ecstatic! Immediately bringing them outside and playing tag, green light red light, maybe even catch! Oh boy he’s writing this all down as he kicks his feet happily. Finally, he can play games out but the day with them instead of night.
Don’t let the other marks see them. They never had a demon adopted sibling before, and they’re a man eating demon that can finally come out of the sun? Oh boy, this is a treat.
Oliver and y/n just always watching mark like Ducks. Like they follow mark like baby ducks and it’s so adorable to see baby vigilante/heroes following a known hero such as mark aka invincible.
Either less, Cecil doesn’t know if he can trust some man eating child demon that’s somehow “passive”. He’s seen how them can just grow and want to maul someone. They’re dangerous.
Summary: Reader tries to convince Wanda to take a shower with her
Warnings: Fluff, Possible broken phone, nothing else
Pt 1, Pt 2, Prequal
A/n: So I have been wanting to write this for a while and I thought that if I get back into writing this would be a fun little drabble. I got this from a tiktok audio that my Girlfriend sent me. Just thought it fit these two so well. Hopefully it isn't terrible.
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN
You run into the room skidding to a stop with two towels hanging from your tail. Wanda has to hold in a chuckle as she looks at you. “Baby!” You said excitedly.
Wanda hums in response, the book she was reading now lowered giving you her full attention. “We have to shower together.” You wave your hands around to express the urgency of this revelation.
“Detka I just took a shower.” Wanda lifts her book back up thinking that the conversation was over.
“No Wands, we have to shower together.” You pout.
“We’re not showering together.” Wanda tells you with a bit of a pointed look.
“There’s a water drought in Hell.” You tell her. Trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I’m telling you we have to reserve the water.”
Wanda gives you an amused smile. “Okay detka show me.”
You flail your arms as your tail whips back and forth still keeping the towels on it somehow. “Theres not enough water for everyone so we have to shower together!” You tug at Wanda’s hand to try and get her up off the couch. “It’s just something that happens.”
Wanda can’t help the chuckle that bubbles over. “Where did you learn that?”
You pull out your phone and hold it up. “From my phone. It’s right here.”
“Okay show me the proof.” Wanda tilts her head slightly. This gives you some slight panic knowing that the head tilt doesn’t mean anything good for anyone.
In a panic you throw your phone across the living room. It smashes into the wall and falls to the floor. “What phone?” You almost yell with a bewildered look on your face.
Wanda burst out laughing at your antics. “Alright my big bad demon. Let’s get your cute butt clean then.” She starts heading towards the bathroom smacking your ass as she walks by. “Also if that phone is broken I don’t want to hear anything about it since you decided to throw it at the wall.”
You’re left there shocked that Wanda was giving in and heading towards the bathroom. Your tail lightly flicks as your mouth hangs open slightly.
“Are you coming silly?” Wanda looks back at you with a smirk on her lips and a playful glint in her eyes. You’re not sure what you just got yourself into but you can’t wait to find out. You scramble after her in hopes of finding out.
wordcount: 3141
summary: Back then, you’d tried to warn Sam about Ruby’s intentions. Given how that story turned out, he clearly didn’t take your word for it. This is the aftermath.
warnings: mentions of blood, demons, drugs, violence, (basically anything supernatural themed) dean being a judgy bitch because Hell was hard to him, brotherly tension, eventual dean x reader, Crowley’s daughter reader– that’s it for now!!!
Dean Winchester coming back was weird– Sam noticed it the second he and Bobby appeared in his motel room. The same motel room Ruby had been sleeping in no more than an hour before their visit.
It wasn’t radically obvious– at least not at first. Dean still looked the same, with the same green eyes, same leather jacket, same stubborn twitch to his jaw whenever he was pissed off. But Hell had hollowed something out of him– his brother recognized it because something inside him had started hollowing too. Something dirtier and secret, but still.
“You gonna keep starin’ at me like that?” Dean muttered, throwing a duffel bag into Baby’s trunk.
Sam blinked, suddenly realizing he’d been staring for a while, deep in his own thoughts. “What?”
“You look guilty” The blonde huffs. Maybe it was because he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, or maybe it was just his older brother instincts telling him something was up. His words hit harder than they should’ve. Because somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he knew what he’d been doing was wrong– he knew that if Dean found out about him and Ruby’s little extracurricular activities, he wouldn’t look at him the same. Sure, he’d thought he was doing the right thing back then– greater good and all… But now that his older brother was back? He realized that was nothing more than a half-assed excuse to make himself feel less guilty. Dean watched him carefully for a second too long– it wasn’t judgmental. Worse. It was wariness, concern. “Sam” There it was again– that older brother tone that somehow managed to sound annoyed and protective at the same time. God, he’d missed it.
“I’m fine” Sam muttered automatically.
Dean scoffed, not buying his baby brother’s bullshit for a single second.. “Yeah, and ‘m the freakin’ tooth fairy” Bobby slammed the Impala’s door shut with a rough grunt, clearly deciding to give them space before the inevitable argument started. He always was a smart man. Dean stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “Somethin’ happened while I was gone?”
Sam felt his stomach tighten instantly. Images of Ruby, the blood, the lies. Her. That mysterious half-demon that visited him with her cryptic warnings. ‘You’re afraid I’m right’.
“Sammy?”
He blinked again. “What?”
Dean’s brows pulled together in a worried frown. “Dude, you keep zoning out”
“I said ‘m fine”
“And I said you’re a crappy liar” Before Sam could answer, something sharp and sulfuric brushed through the air– faint and barely there but enough to warn them. Dean went still instantly, hunter instincts fresh from Hell and razor sharp. “You smell that?” He asked quietly.
Sam’s pulse spiked hard enough to hurt. Because he did, he also recognized that same exact smell. Sweet perfume with sulfur underneath. Berry-like. Wrong. The eldest Winchester’s gaze slowly shifted toward the motel balcony above them… empty.
“We got company?” Bobby asked, hand already moving toward the gun tucked beneath his jacket.
Up in the balcony, there was nothing there– not anymore at least. Sam stayed quiet, too quiet. Dean noticed– of course he did– he knew his brother better than anyone else in the world. “You know somethin’ ” The eldest Winchester muttered, eyes narrowing and jaw tight.
“I don’t–”
“Sam” The warning in Dean’s voice hit sharper now, because they both know he’s not gonna play along to his lies when there’s an actual threat nearby. Sam swallowed hard, glancing once more toward the empty balcony above– the same feeling lingered. Someone watching, waiting. Then, a soft click echoed somewhere over them. Heels. The blonde’s head snapped up towards the sound. This time, there was someone there. Leaning lazily against the second-floor railing like she’d been there the entire time. Dark clothes, sharp eyes, completely unbothered by the three hunters staring directly at her. Dean felt his entire body tense automatically– demon. Had to be. He’d spent an eternity trapped downstairs, dealing with demons on the daily, he’d gotten pretty darn good at spotting them. But something about her felt… off? Wrong in a way he couldn’t place just yet.
Your gaze drifted past Bobby first, then Sam only to finally settle on Dean just to stay there. Something unreadable flickered across your expression for half a second. Maybe interest or recognition– maybe even relief. “Well…” You murmured softly. “Hell finally spit you back out– knew it wasn’t gonna last”
Dean’s grip tightened around the gun tucked beneath his jacket. “We met?”
A faint smile curved your lips. “Not personally” Your eyes dragged slowly over him once, almost assessing. “Though I’ve heard plenty”
Bobby raised his gun, not willing to risk losing either one of his boys right after he just got them back. “Careful, kid” Your smile widened just enough to become dangerous.
“Aw” You cooed– not quite mocking, but clearly not taking their threats seriously either. “And here I thought hunters liked surprises, bad propaganda”
The blonde squared his shoulders, jaw tight as he looked up at the balcony where you stood, only for you to appear right in front of them a second later. All three men tightening in reflex. “Who the Hell are you?”
For the first time since appearing, your expression shifted. Tiny– almost surprised. Your eyes flicked briefly toward Sam. “Interesting” You hummed with faux curiosity. “You didn’t tell him about me?”
Sam’s jaw tightened instantly. “There was nothing to tell” He hisses, clearly defensive. Something told you the whole Lillith-Ruby deal wasn’t exactly common knowledge around here. Your brows lifted slightly in something akin to interest.
“And here I thought we bonded” The sarcasm dripped from your every word like a second language.
“Sammy” Dean spoke slowly, eyes never leaving you. “Why does this demon know you?”
“She’s doesn’t–”
You smiled sharply. “Careful”
The youngest brother shot you a glare. “Don’t”
Dean’s expression darkened almost immediately at the exchange. Oh, he didn’t like this. Not one bit. It felt secret– they’d promised no more secrets. Much less secrets involving random demons that popped up out of nowhere just to taunt them.
“Okay” He shifts slightly in front of Sam without even realizing he was doing it– protective instincts in full swing. “Somebody wanna explain why spooky Spice Girl over here knows my brother?”
Your lips twitched. Now that’s the Winchester spark you were promised– not whatever guarded, quiet, brooding thing they had going on before. “Spooky Spice Girl?”
“You heard me” He retorts, jaw impossibly tight.
Bobby’s gun remained steadily aimed at your chest. (As if that would do anything) Seems like hunters forget all logic the moment their precious loved ones are even a millimeter near a possible threat. “Kid” He warned, voice gruff and tired. “Better start talkin’ before I decide manners ain’t worth all this fuss”
Your gaze flickered briefly toward the weapon, entirely unimpressed and clearly not threatened by it nor him. “Relax, papa bear” You waved a hand dismissively. “If I wanted one of your boys dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation”
Dean moved before the last word fully left your mouth– gun raised. Fast. Sharp. Not willing to risk it. “Try me” There it was, Hell. You saw it instantly in his eyes– the violence simmering too close beneath the surface, the exhaustion, the anger, the guilt… Freshly resurrected and already halfway feral. Interesting to say the least.
“Dean–” Sam started carefully.
“No” Dean snapped without looking away from you. “You don’t get to hide things from me anymore Sam, no more bullshit lies”
That hit harder than Sam expected. Guilt twisted sharply in his stomach, bile and the coppery taste of Ruby’s blood flooding his mouth before he forced it back down. Your expression softened slightly as your gaze flicked toward Dean again– not in pity– but in a quiet sense of understanding. “Hell really did a number on you, huh?” You murmured simply. The entire parking lot went still, like nobody believed you had actually just said that to the hunter’s face– after everything he’d just been through. Dean’s face hardened instantly.
“What’d you just say?” His voice is rough, sharp and ready to bite. His green eyes glued onto you standing there. A demon– out of all goddamn things– taunting his time in Hell? Sure, you hadn’t actually taunted him per se, but under his judgement you just might’ve. Your gaze didn’t waver despite the fury sharpening in Dean’s expression. Huh. Interesting. Hell hadn’t just changed him– it had sharpened all his already rough edges into weapons. “What’d you just say?” He insisted, voice low and dangerous.
You crossed your arms slowly. “You heard me” Bobby muttered a curse under his breath, his gun still firmly pointed at your chest.
Dean took another step closer. “Careful” He hissed between clenched teeth– barely restrained anger hidden behind his words.
“Or what?” You asked smoothly. “You’ll shoot me?”
The hunter cocked the gun instantly, biting the bait like some over-eager puppy at the word ‘treat’. “Wanna find out?”
Oh. There it was. That recklessness everyone had spent months talking about whenever he mentioned the legend that was the eldest Winchester. You tilted your head slightly, studying Dean with open curiosity now. “Y’know…” You hummed. “You’re taller than I expected– heard Sammy was the big one”
Dean stared at you like he genuinely couldn’t decide whether to shoot, slap, strangle you or all of the above. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose– he was tired and paranoid– this definitely wasn’t what he needed right now. “Can we maybe not do this?”
“No” His brother snapped immediately. Your lips twitched into an almost-smile, not even bothering to hide your amusement.
“Temper too? Adorable”
“Okay, that’s enough” Bobby cut in sharply.
“What?” You asked with faux, sweet innocence. “ ‘M being friendly, some appreciate it”
“Sweetheart–” Dean said flatly. “ –if this is your version of friendly, I’d hate to see hostile” Something dark flickered briefly behind your eyes at that. Fast enough that nobody would’ve caught it if they weren’t hunters but slow enough for all of them to sense the shift in them, no matter how brief it was. Whatever expression crossed your face hadn’t been playful– it’d been real. The blonde’s eyes sharpened immediately. “What was that?”
You blinked once, expression smoothing back into lazy amusement like nothing had happened. “What was what?”
“Don’t pull that crap with me”
“Touchy”
“Demon”
The word cracked through the parking lot sharp enough to cut. Sam tensed automatically– like he was expecting you to lash out at the comment. Your gaze slid toward Dean again, slower this time. More careful. “That’s not really the insult you think it is”
Dean barked out a short humorless laugh, bitter and sharp. “Yeah? Lemme know when ‘m supposed to start respectin’ the things that torture people for fun”
Ouch. That one had teeth. It’s the first time that your smile faded slightly around the edges. “You think I don’t know what happens down there?”
The hunter stepped forward in a flash. “You don’t get to talk about Hell like you understand it’s like for humans”
The air shifted– sharp, heavy, wrong. Your eyes darkened briefly—not black but worse– hurt.
“I grew up there” You said simply, cutting and simple. Then? Silence. Dean froze, Bobby lowered the gun half an inch out of pure confusion before quickly raising it back up, Sam’s stomach twisted hard– this was just another secret to add onto his already growing pile of secrets. Because suddenly the cambion thing made a lot more horrifying sense. Your arms crossed tighter over yourself unconsciously, irritation bleeding back into your voice like you regretted saying anything at all. “Think Hell is only Hell for humans?” You muttered bitterly.
Nobody answered, nobody could.
Dean stared at you differently now. Not softer– definitely not trusting– but less certain. Which somehow seemed to annoy him even more. “Sam” He spoke flatly, eyes still locked on you, waiting for the moment you did anything sketchy as an excuse to shoot. “Why she talkin’ like she’s a victim here?”
“Maybe not everything’s black and white…” Sam shot back before he could stop himself, murmured and under his breath but there nonetheless. His older brother’s head whipped toward him instantly. Oof. Definitely the wrong thing to say.
“You wanna repeat that for the class?” He asked dangerously.
“You should listen to your brother more often” You hum towards the eldest Winchester. That (like a hundred other things today) landed wrong. Dean’s expression hardened instantly.
“No” He spoke flatly. “I’m askin’a question n’ you just keep dodgin’ it”
You exhaled through your nose, unimpressed and not flinching under their scrutinizing gazes or their still raised guns. “Then ask it properly”
“Fine” The weapon didn’t lower– he simply moved it to point at you as to emphasize his argument. “What are you?” Silence stretched. You studied the three hunters for a long moment, weighing out your options. (Plus adding some dramatism– clearly drama ran in the family)
“You don’t actually want the answer to that”
Dean scoffed. “Try me”
“No” You corrected with more softness than you’d shown up until now. “You want something you can shoot” That made him pause, just for a fraction and then his jaw tightened harder.
“You think I care what you are? I care what you do”
The worst part is he actually believes that. “That’s the problem with hunters” You muttered under your breath. “You think intent makes you clean– holier than Thou”
Sam stepped in quickly. “Okay– can we just– nobody’s shooting anyone yet, alright?” He’s standing halfway between you and his brother by now, hands raised in a half-hearted attempt to de-escalate the situation. Dean didn’t look away, glaring at you over his younger brother’s shoulder. “Sam, stay out of this.”
“No–” Sam shot back, more forceful now. “ –I’m already in it, she came to me first”
That finally broke the rhythm. Dean’s head snapped toward him. “She what?” Silence again. Worse this time. Because this time? This time the silence was because Sam had said too much. Your eyes flicked to him briefly– something akin to amused interest at how much he’d said. Clearly you weren’t expecting it, even if you weren’t upset about it either. Like you’d been waiting for that exact mistake.
“Great” You murmured, rolling your eyes and uncrossing your arms– ready to go about this difficult conversation. “Now we’re doing this part”
Dean took a step toward his baby brother, voice low. “You been talkin’ to a demon n’ didn’t think to tell me?”
“It was before you came back” Sam snapped. Suddenly nervous and defensive after his very unfortunate mistake. Bobby muttered something under his breath, clearly regretting all of this. You watched them like it was starting to spiral exactly the way you expected. Then you sighed.
“Look” You said, cutting through them both. “If you’re done with this moving moment, it’s pretty simple. Big brother was gone and I decided to help Sammy out” You roll your eyes. “Not that he listened to me– but still– my intention’s what counts” Dean didn’t even look at his brother for a second. The shift was immediate. Sharp, predatory and protective. All that anger that had been aimed at his brother now snapped straight back onto you like a loaded gun finding its target.
“No” Dean said quietly, taking one step forward. “We’re not doin’ that” Bobby shifted slightly, tension rising again. Sam looked between them like he’d just made everything worse– which, to be fair, he kinda had. You sighed like you were expecting just that reaction out of him.
“We’re not doing what part?”
The blonde’s jaw clenched. “You don’t get to play ‘helpful mystery demon’ and drop in whenever you want, mess with my brother ‘n then act like I should thank you for it” That landed differently– not because it hurt– because it was close enough to the truth to be annoying.
You tilted your head. “I didn’t ask for thanks”
“Yeah? Then what do you want?”
Silence.
Your expression shifted slightly– like you were recalculating something. “I already told y’all” You spoke carefully. “To stop you from making a mistake”
Dean let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right, ‘cause demons are real big on charity work”
“I’m not a demon” You snapped before you could stop yourself. Something about the continuous reminder of the term they’d been throwing around since they first smelt faint sulfur beneath the sweetness of your scent. That made the air change again– they weren’t actually expecting you to react. You hadn’t done so the first hundred times.
“Then what are you?” You stood quiet for a second, jaw tight as you chewed over the words. “Yeah” Dean nodded simply, ignoring Sam’s block and stepping closer again. “That’s what I thought”
Sam (once again) tried to interfere and ease the ever growing tension. “Dean, look wait–”
“Don’t ‘Dean’ me” His brother cut him off without looking over. “She’s not walkin’ away from this”
Your eyes flicked briefly to Sam– not panicked or threatening. Just like this was exactly why you didn’t do this in the first place. “You hunters are all the same” You muttered. “Give you one missing piece and you’ll tear everything apart trying to force it into a shape that makes you comfortable” Dean stopped right in front of you now, close enough that the gun wasn’t even the main threat anymore but the closeness of his presence instead. Full Winchester warning without even needing words.
“Then make it make it make sense” He spoke between clenched teeth.
“Sam knows” You hum simply. Voice dripping with a hint of amusement– once again, the drama was part of your family traditions.
“I don’t like liars” Dean snaps– quick to defend his baby brother even if he doesn’t believe him himself. Something flickered behind your eyes again, quick and controlled. An idea sparking before you could second think it too much.
“Funny” You spoke softly. “Because you’re standing next to the biggest one in this conversation and you haven’t shot him yet”
That hit harder than intended. Sam actually tensed up– full on tight jaw and squared shoulders– the whole nine yards. “Don’t” The eldest Winchester warned lowly.
“Don’t what?”
A beat.
Then Dean’s voice dropped further.
“Don’t make this about him”
Silence stretched. Bobby muttered: “This is already about him” Nobody acknowledged it– too busy on the main issue unraveling before them. You let out a small breath, almost amused again– but not fully. “If it makes you feel better to know what I am, he can tell you” And you leave it at that. Before they can even try to retort, you’ve banished, only leaving behind that faint smell of berries, sulfur and the faint scratching of red paint from the soles of your shoes.
Castiel examines m!reader's fangs, and he couldn't be more fascinated by his beauty. (demon!male!reader, fluff, kisses and gentle biting<3 I've requested u b4, and u didn't disappoint ^_^!!!)
Stab The Voice~🪽
Socials | Masterlist | Intro | Rules ~💫🪽
Castiel x Male Demon!Reader | Ex lovers reunited, dialogue heavy, cocky reader, dominant Cas, biting, kisses, very minor injury, friendly teasing
Summary: It took you some time, but you finally found your old lover friend Castiel in hiding among humans. He doesn’t want to remember you…he thinks. Too bad he’s a sucker for you.
Note: LOVE this prompt! Sorry if it looks rushed though… Thanks for giving me the motivation to write male readers <3 (Big thanks for also being a recurring req, keep an eye out for a surprise in the future!)
You feel offended for being reduced to a random demon… At least, that’s what he thought you were. Castiel chose the lie that he could ‘hardly recognize you anymore’. The angel didn’t want to admit that somewhere in your eyes he knew that soul of yours was familiar.
And he knows those teeth.
Even in hell you had a figure that reeked of power; not many demons lean into the folklore-y cosmetics that you do. If you weren’t already a powerhouse in the spiritual sense, those signature double canines solidified your reputation, and enamored Castiel in some shamefully sick way.
You’d found his motel room by talking to a horde of hunters at the local bar; funny how much a man can stick out merely for wearing a trench coat. Even funnier how cooperative barmen are when you mention looking for an ex lover.
He's let himself go, you think. At least, his choice of motel could be better than this. Though you do understand the sacrifice that comes with accompanying the Winchesters: Sam being needy all the time, dealing with a violent and emotionally constipated brother. Dean's constant prayer for help only when it's convenient to himself and severe alcoholism never helped either. The only reason he's alive is because Castiel routinely fixes the hunter's liver with his 'angel mojo.' Word goes around fast when the name Winchester finds its way in. Now you’re seated on his tarnished bed. Castiel doesn’t sleep. Oh, Filthy angel.
The door creaks open. You flinch from excitement when he looks at you in an instant.
“Castiel.”
The angel shivers. “…Demon.” His eyes drift to your mouth where you shoot him a smile. The room is quiet, only with the breeze that knocks on the window and the motel neighbors talking amongst themselves.
“You remember me?”
“...” He smooths out the wrinkles on his trenchcoat.
“Cute.” You beam.
Castiel looks a bit irritated. “I forget how much time has passed since our previous exchange.”
“Not long enough if you’re looking at me like that without a proper hello.”
“You’re not the only one who looks like you do. I needed to confirm your identity.”
“Yeah, but I was the first. And really, who from this side of the sky actually cares to visit you?”
Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but not a word comes out. His eyebrows scrunch together in frustration.
“That’s what I thought.”
You run your tongue over your teeth, beckoning the angel who steps forth. It’s definitely you, the demon he’s known longer than anyone.
That same confirmation rattles around redundantly in Castiel’s skull, as if it’ll grant him permission to put his hands on your face just to take a closer look. Your legs part, a natural manspread to which the angel fills the gap, standing so his knees graze your inner thighs and his fingers beginning to trace your face.
You lean into it, tilting your head to feel the cold of his digits on your lips. The sudden clamp down on his thumb is no accident. He doesn’t flinch or pull back.
“We’ve discussed this before. I’m not a masochist,” the angel whispers. “Not like you.”
You wrap one leg around his waist to force his body closer. For the cherry on top, you put on a cheesy smile. “But you’re one hell of a sadist. You don’t need sharp teeth to bite back.”
Maybe he’s gone soft, Castiel. Too many nighttimes spent with the shared intimacy of a human being that a demon suddenly becomes too much to handle. It’s hard not to try though, and your bites start extending to his wrists and forearms.
“Agh…” Castiel groans. He can’t get himself to say your name— it’d be too much. Still it’s bothersome how he clumps you into the horde. So your other leg wraps around his waist to push his body on top of yours. No run-of-the-mill demon can give the Angel of Thursday what he needs. “Be gentle if you so indulge.”
Bedsheets start shifting, tangling, copper starts teasing your taste buds, and Castiel’s by extension when he begins to kiss you.
You pull away to search for discomfort on Cas. “Am I hurting you at all—?”
“Open your mouth.”
Your eyes flicker to black, instantly complacent. You shift on your back, neck propped uncomfortably on the headboard so Cas can slide his thumb across the canines. He’s straddling you like it’s the most natural way he could be sitting. One hand occupied with your mouth, the other rests on your unclothed chest: firm, powerful, and deeply masculine. Is it that hard for Castiel to say he missed you?
He begins to relax. Castiel’s head moves to your shoulders to imprint a soft bite back.
“That didn’t take a lot… I forgot you’re a man of few words,” you groan out a laugh.
“You’re a man of too many.” He retorts between slow kisses to your body. Fingers graze waistbands and lips seek out one another. Kisses or not, your mouth stays open for Castiel to examine his favorite part of you.
The night goes on and the rooms next door cease their conversation. The silence is isolating, chilling, exciting. Castiel’s been taking his time with you just as you have him. In between prying your mouth open like a doll he allows you to sink bite after bite on his body. Watching your artistry heal or turn a light purple is an exciting gamble, and Castiel doesn’t seem to mind either result. It gives you a reason to move around and explore more when the table side lamp is all that lights the room. Your hands stay firmly on Castiel’s stomach to traces the faint v-lines that lead to his belt buckle and happy trail. You have to resist tearing your face away from his hands just to take a bite.
Moments later Cas’s fingers leave your mouth to cup your chin, his piercing stare asking to hear your voice.
“…did you want a review?” You drool.
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Hm.” He presses his fingertips to your lips. “Don’t get rid of these.”
“Did I awaken something?” You can hear his heartbeat quicken. “Or do you just feel bad for mingling with the enemy?”
“I like them. That is all.”
“That’s all?”
“I’d appreciate it if you were to bite harder next time.”
It is lonely at the top, just the way he likes it. Other demons rarely have the guts to wander where he has made his presence known. Seeking out worthy opponents is a fruitless yet fun pastime of his. He assumes you must have at least a bit of strength to have come here, or at least a kind of personality worth his while. The most striking part of your external appearance turns out to be your hair, how interesting.
His own has grown rather lengthy as well, though not quite as long as yours. Still, no part of your looks comes up in your first shared conversations. He was not mistaken in assuming your character would be intriguing enough to soak up some of his time. What he did not anticipate, however, was that the amount of time would grow so great. Who would have guessed a chance encounter would lead to him forming the first proper bond he has had in centuries.
Prideful as ever, Kokushibo cares quite a bit about appearances. He takes good care of his own hair, though a demon's hair requires less maintenance. When it becomes clear that you are to be associated with him from now on, he ensures yours remains presentable as well. Even if you keep it pristine on your own, he does frequent check-ups on how well you are holding up its form. Transformations can confuse a lesser demon, but shabby shapeshifting is no excuse for you to not look the part of his partner.
Truth to be told, he only uses these checks as an excuse to get closer to you and touch the strands. Odds are that you have caught onto it as well, but he fully intends on keeping his pride. Although no matter how much he denies thinking of your hair in any special way, his hands always find their way to it one way or another. He pulls you closer with it, guides your movement with small tugs when he kisses you. Something about his demeanor is always demanding, and that applies to how he handles you as well.
He wields your hair as just another tool to keep control. His insecurities and inferiority complex are woven deep into his character. The thought of giving others any leeway tends to set off alarm bells in his head. Even so, he's rarely truly harsh in how he acts. Every part of him has always been devoted to proving himself, and now he subconsciously reflects that behavior towards you, regardless of whether you care about him being strong and capable or not.
Douma
At first he pays little to no mind to you, just another unlucky demon who stumbled onto his feeding grounds. Bored out of his mind, he decides to entertain your presence and grows shockingly fond of you as unlike other demons, you don't seem to mind his presence. He is quick to jump to toying with romance, ecstatic at the thought of getting to experience desire at last! When you accept his confession (delivered alongside a carefully arranged dinner of human flesh, tobacco, and a dance performance from his followers, how charming), he is over the moon! After securing your love, he wants to know absolutely everything about you- starting from the secrets of this gorgeous head of hair you have!
He often plays with the strands as he listens to his followers' woes. Ah, life is such a bore it's tragic, but at least you're here to brighten things up! The more he learns about your specific hair type, the more obsessed he grows with it. He wants to memorize every detail, from the way the texture changes as it descends from your scalp below your shoulders and even further down, to the way it reflects in different shades in cold moonlight compared to warm candlelight. If only he could touch your gorgeous face as the golden sunlight frames your hair!
Well, it's not as if he'd be totally averse to the burn of it- getting a little scorched never hurt anybody, right? Unfortunately, the demon blood in your veins prevents this. Although your pained face is almost as adorable as your pleased one, he wouldn't risk your safety for something as silly as a fleeting masterpiece like that. He does, however, intend on hurting anyone else who touches your hair, with or without permission. Tending to his lover is his privilege and his privilege alone; not one of these witless mortals knows what you need in the way that he does.
When he pulls you close, one of his hands tends to tangle into your hair. Scratching at your scalp with his claws, he relishes in any sounds he can draw from your lips as he pulls them to his own. As you mold together, he guides the kiss with light tugs, telling you where he wishes to go next. He falls far further in love if you return the gesture. Pull his hair as hard as you like, he can take it!
It often becomes a playful battle, and although you rank lower than him, he could not care less about who loses. Maybe your painful tugs pull a delighted smile into his blood red lips, setting life alight in his frosted heart. Then again, his hands working through your hair may bring a proud grin onto face, brand new expressions and sounds blessing him like the touch of something divine. He has truly grown to like these little exchanges, how thrilling this new dance of yours is! Every tiny bit of you is so precious he just wants to eat you up, devour every little detail he can discover about you!
Akaza
Ever the loner, Akaza could not care less about any random demon. Your long hair, no matter how beautiful does not faze him at all, or so he would like to say. It reminds him of something, something he would rather not remember. Still, that feeling makes him stick around. Curiosity gets the better of him, and the next thing he knows, he is engaging in longer conversations with you.
Truthfully, he has never found himself thinking about what kind of hairstyle he would prefer for his partner to have. However, something inside his heart tells him that long hair, especially tied up with a pin, has made him swoon before. One night in a moment of distant reminiscing, his tattooed hand reaches for the strands. The realization of what he just did makes him flinch back in embarrassment. Even so, you grant him permission to touch it, and he only hesitates for a moment before tracing the textures with his fingertips again.
As he realizes he has some experience with handling long hair, some ancient part of him grows oddly delighted. His life is filled with the violence and bloodshed that he relishes in, but he supposes this can be a pleasant pastime for the moments where he cannot indulge himself. When daylight floods the world and he cannot hunt, he busies his hands within your hair. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you are quiet, but either way, those moments put him at ease.
Some moments, however, see that peace disturbed. He swallows hard when an accidental tug pulls a sharp, breathy gasp from your lips. This feels inappropriate, like something that should be saved until after marriage. Wait, he's a demon. He cannot get married. Why would he even care about engagements even if he could?
When you kiss him, he gently brushes his fingers against your scalp. The sensation grounds him, comforts him. Whatever haunts the back of his mind can go away, dissolve into the shoddy mist that it should be at most. Regardless of what kind of dormant feelings you stir up inside of him, he would prefer to take things slow. There is much he wishes to discover with you, old and new- but recovery from some things takes time, and he hopes you'll understand whenever he gets overwhelmed and steps away.
Gyutaro
When Daki found you, neither one of the siblings held any expectations for you. Lower ranked demons were always easily chased out of their territory. However, unlike most demons, you set your pride aside and asked to make a deal. Daki's job made it difficult for the siblings to leave the entertainment district, and your weak constitution made you an easy target for demon slayers. So, if Upper Six were to offer you protection from demon slayers, you would use your sharp senses to bring forth marechi-blooded humans for them to devour. Although the pair had their doubts, Daki decided to entertain the idea due to all the flattery you showered her with, and so the deal was made.
He remains grumpy and reclusive for a long while before revealing himself. Watching as you thread your fingers through his sister's hair, he can tell you know what you are doing. Your own hair must be the cause of this, abnormally long even for a demon, almost glowing as it shifts with your movements. He scowls in his usual hiding spot, curling into himself in bitter jealousy. With such beautiful hair, you must have been drowning in suitors, the kind willing to throw all sorts of treasures just to have you.
Months pass before he feels the need to show himself in front of you. He separates from his sister and finds you alone, movements clunky as always when he sits down to speak to you one on one. The reason for his presence gets masked in thinly veiled threats for you to keep your loyalty to them. Truthfully, his pride prevents him from admitting that he has grown to be curious about you, said curiosity growing into fondness as you share more and more evenings together. Your confession comes to him as an utter shock- his breath catches in his throat as he wonders if this is some sort of cruel joke on his behalf- but when he is assured of your feelings, he intends on never letting go.
Only after confirming your relationship does he let as much as a fingertip graze the curves of your hair. He isn't much for playing with it or styling it. Although he plays off his insecurities as disinterest, the truth is that his heart catches in his throat at the thought of ruining it. What a stupid thought, even if he did mess it up, you're a demon and could just force it to grow back! Still, his doubts about his inelegant nature hold him back in all aspects of the relationship, including helping you with self-care.
He rarely initiates contact, only in the heat of the moment or when you ask him to. At most, he admires your hair and other parts of you from a distance, frowning as he wonders what you could see in him aside from power. In spite of his thoughts, he knows there is more as you look at him with such unmistakable devotion. Nothing can take that away from him, he decides as greed swells in his heart, tugging you closer. His rough lips scratch against yours as teeth bite into them, leaving a mark.
He grins at the cute sound you let out, tangling his claws into your hair. Somehow, against all odds, you have grown to love a hollow tree like him. He may prefer silent admiration, but sometimes even he must pay what's due when the time comes. His debt to you is one of love, one of worship. For once he, the collector, will be the one to give.
Daki
Beautiful demons are not of any specific use to her, but she can appreciate having one around. If she is to share her territory or tolerate the presence of someone for longer than a few mere seconds, being appealing on the eyes is mandatory. Her appearance will not be tainted by having someone ugly tail behind. Although your looks and strength are subpar compared to hers, she can admit they are sufficient for someone of your level. Your cunning nature and charisma make up for it in a satisfactory manner. You did manage to convince her to take you under her wing, after all.
Even so, she will not tolerate anything less than excellence from her subordinates. That lengthy hair of yours must be maintained well, she reminds you time and time again. As months pass by, however, Daki grows convinced of your abilities. You gain the honor of tending to her own long hair as well. Be grateful and flattered, worm, she has recognized your skill.
It takes a while for her to set her pride aside enough to touch your hair instead. That is, in terms of actual affection. Of course she tugs on it whenever she feels like it, using any small shortcoming of yours as an excuse to do so. Something about the texture and the pure mass of it just keeps pulling her attention back to it. The need to give attention to someone else bothers her, and she tends to take that out on you by continuing to be her harsh self, acting as if she has not warmed up to you at all.
One day she grows sick of waiting and tells you to sit down in front of her. With the reason of pulling something out of your hair or checking on its quality, she traces over the strands. She allows them to slip past her long, manicured claws. Before long she has allowed herself to relax into the mundane activity. For whatever reason, the weight of her life seems much less now.
She marvels over the texture for a good while. Eventually, her thoughts circle back to all she is meant to be. She is Warabihime, she is Daki- untouchable, above all else, as gorgeous and powerful as a god. What is she doing, pampering someone else? This may be a question she often asks herself, but she cannot bring herself to stop. Perhaps she enjoys having you around; a competent servant deserves a treat every now and again. Her emotions are as complex as she is, but regardless of what exact name they should be given, Daki has decided not to let you go.
