#phighting! x reader

[pearlescentparade]

I FINALY DREW CHARACTER X READER ART CHEER FOR ME

i got a little too invested in rendering the apple and horns dont mind them 💔💔

[floofiekins]

TW: MILDLY SUGGESTIVE??? SCYTHE IS SITTING NEAR YOUR FACE

i like them very much.... save a horse, ride a cowboy :)

[phighter-kisser]

been feeling like shit today so imagine your favorite character comforting you in their own way

chance not-so-subtly panicking, trying to figure out how to comfort you and it ends with you two cuddling on the couch under a blanket

1x1x1x1 laying on top of you like a weighed blanket while john doe plays with your hair

medkit sighing and pulling you into a hug before making you some hot chocolate while you dry your tears

sword practically tripping over his own two feet trying to figure out what happened and reassure you all at the same time

[gutznteef]

BARTOP YEARNING

Sword x (GN) Reader || Content / Warnings: Fluffy. Drunken confessions. Whipped Sword.

Summary— Sword and reader go out for drinks! Drunken confessions ensue.

Words— 1.7k

|| (A/N) Sword! Everyone’s favorite shonen protag phighter. I love silly losers. Sorry for continuously making phighters cry but I love a little vulnerability. This one is a little bit lazier. I don't think I did Sword enough justice.💔

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉ ୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

It’s late into the day when Sword and you decide to get drinks.

A successful phight, a successful week, and with little desire to need more of a reason to party for the night.

Sword is thrilled. A live wire raring to go. You half believe it’s the adrenaline from the battle, but another part of you thinks he’s just happy to have an excuse to spend time with you. You’re more or less the same. These days, with Venomshank putting Sword to work on training, and with you having your own responsibilities, it’s difficult to find any leisure time.

Wordlessly, the two of you seem to agree to force it. The moment the two of you retired for the day you grabbed one another–arm in arm–and decided to head off to the nearest place with drinks you could find. A shitty dive with shitty drinks is affordable and easy enough for you two to settle for.

In the middle of some rambling conversation with one another, you step through the door. The atmosphere hangs loose over the place. Warm, low lighting and smooth music. Sitting yourselves down at a scratched up wooden table, you take in the feeling.

The two of you order up a drink–and some shitty appetizer to share–and the night kicks itself off from there.

୨♡୧

Three or five drinks in, Sword stares at you. His eyes are half hazed and lidded, looking at you in his drunken stupor like you’re some pristine baroque painting that’s captivated not just him, but the world itself. His gaze lingers on your face, or more aptly, your lips.

“Woah…” it’s a raspy little sigh that pulls from his lips. He’s had a bit too much to drink at this point. The subtle slur in his words and sluggishness in the movements he makes is indication enough. Not that you supposed you needed any. He’s got a blush going from his ears to his chest, you’re sure, positively hot to the touch.

“You always look so…so…” He trails off, as if no words could ever really do justice to the way he feels deep in the pit of his stomach.

So, he takes a different approach. Slumping against your side, Sword lazily brings an arm around your middle, with fingers brushing over the hem of your shirt to toy with. The alcohol burns his throat, but not nearly as much as you do to his heart.

If he can’t get his words out, he might as well take you in. In a normal, friendly way, of course. Sword was already a fairly touchy guy. He liked having people close to him. You, especially.

Something about the way you carried yourself, maybe. The way your skin felt against his. Sometimes, Sword felt like all he could be was his namesake. Callouses and scars, fumbling against the world to prove himself. Right now, none of those things mattered. The pursuit of someone much greater than any of that could snap him out of his mission a thousand times over.

“…um.” He hums, as if snapping himself out of his thoughts. A moment later, he backtracks to his previous one. “So hot.”

Oops. That was an inside thought, wasn’t it?

It’s hard not to focus on the way you light up just a bit at that, though. Even if it is out of embarrassment. Sword isn’t typically known to be the most eloquent of inphernals. He says what’s on his mind, in all its earnest glory.

“Huh–?”

“That was weird. Sorry. Sorry, I’m…I’m serious.” Sword slurs against the fabric of your shirt. He’s still wearing that stupid, clunky armor of his. It bumps up against your side, the metal clanging awkwardly together when two pieces of metal meet.

“You’re just, like…so unfairly everything.” He sighs out. “Hot, ‘n cool, a…and I like the way you make my stomach feel all hot. Like if…Sisyphus were fluttering all up over…in my guts.”

Dumb, awkward comparisons are about the only thing he’s sure he’s capable of like this. He feels choked up, nearly. Overwhelmed with the emotions you bring out in him.

A squeeze in his throat, a flutter in his stomach, he’s near tears and it’s humbling. Slumped against your arm, Sword is fighting back the urge to cry sweet nothings against your shirt. Rocket would never let him live this down if he were here. He’d point out how pathetic he’s acting and force him to get ahold of himself.

Rocket isn’t here right now. So, logically, Sword has every right to be a pathetic mess. This was you we were talking about, after all. Staring at him right now with big, wide eyes, and a cute little patient–if sheepish grin. Obviously you were confused, Sword knew he wasn’t making much sense right now, but how could he help it when you looked like that?

“I could write…make poetry about the things you make me feel.” He sighs ever so dramatically against you.

“A million lines about how you look like you were carved outta some sort of marble, or…or something?” Sword fumbles with the hem of your shirt. Hand pressed to the meat of your stomach, he groans. “Maybe a flower? That’s…dumb.”

You’re frozen in place. Not quite as tossed as Sword to completely disregard your own filter, you’re at a loss for words. He’s spilling his guts out to you, and you can only sit there like a fool while he babbles.

“What are you talking about?” You play dumb.

Admittedly, you’re mostly confused. It’s not like he’s totally sound right now. There has to be some sort of sway to the way he’s speaking. It’s just the alcohol, you try to convince yourself.

“I love you.” Sword downright whines his confession. A pitchy, pitiful little sound that tugs from his throat.

Tears gather at the corner of his eyes. There’s a flush running down to his chest where his heart beats quick as a rabbits’. It’s an apt enough comparison for him for the moment. He feels skittish, like he could dive his head away in a burrow and hide there for a few hundred years minimum.

His fingers tremble against your skin, half hiked up your warm shirt. The subtle shake in his shoulders brings your stunned attention straight to his face again. Fat, hot tears slide down the curve of his cheeks, soaking into the fabric of your top. Sword loves you, and he’s crying about it.

“You’re serious?” You can’t help but ask.

His hand squeezes your skin, never hovering high enough to bring you the need to push him away. The alcohol has melted away his filter like acid–but the core of Sword is still a respectful dork.

A pitiful nod. “I’m so, so serious. You have any thought–idea how much I think about you? Rocket makes fun of me!”

He can imagine the smirk on his face if he saw him like this. A blubbering, blushing idiot pressed against the side of his crush. It’s difficult to find much of a reason to care at this point. You’re just so warm and sweet!

“And, I mean, I probably deserve it,” Sword sniffles, wiping his tears away with the heel of his palm. “But I lay awake at night…w–wondering if I can pull something cool enough to make you want to kiss me.”

He’s cringing at his own admissions, but the floodgates have already been opened. “And I really want to kiss you. Like, soooo bad it hurts my chest.”

You’re still stunned. Stunned and maybe a little bit flattered. It wasn’t like you’ve never thought about it. Sword is so vehemently good that it makes it just a little bit difficult not to imagine what it would be like to hang off of his arm at all times.

Feathers puff up at his cheeks, leaving Sword to his ultimate failsafe. He buries his face in his hands, sniffling apologies under his breath for being all too honest with you.

“You want me to kiss you?” You push a little further, hanging your head forward in a pointless attempt to meet his gaze behind his fingers.

“More than anything…” He grumbles. The sound comes muffled from behind his gloved hands.

It takes you a moment of deliberation. Are you tipsy enough to ignore your own hesitancy? You’re wavering. It’s impossible to acknowledge how much you’ve wanted to do this, and the little ache in your chest that just wants to make Sword smile again. Poor thing is wearing his heart on his pauldrons, and you’re at too much of a loss to really say anything that would properly comfort him.

Sliding your fingers over his wrists, you gently wrap your hands around his. Prying them away from his face takes a tiny bit of effort, and he’s still sulking when you finally get a good look at him.

And when you manage to get him to look back up at you, bleary eyed and resembling a kicked puppy, you can’t help but scoff. A soft, flustered little laugh leaves your lips. Sword bristles in protest.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t lau–”

Your lips press together clumsily. Molding yours against his, you pull him into a deep, sloppy kiss.

Sword is taken aback. Feathers puff up on his face, and he’s awkwardly clamoring to cup your cheeks. Your face is hot to the touch, and he’s desperate. Desperate to kiss bruises onto your lips for him to stare at the rest of the night if you’d let him.

He leans back up straight, kissing you properly. One hand curls to cup the back of your neck, ruffling the hairs at your nape and tugging you impossibly closer. With his tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, you both fall deeper. You taste like alcohol and citrus.

That doubt in his brain crawls back someplace to die with the rest of his thoughts when he finally drags his tongue against yours. This moment, right here with you clinging to each other isn’t anything short of perfection in his starry eyes.

By the time you pull back—breathless and dazed, the dopiest of smiles has painted his face. Lidded eyes and kiss swollen lips, and Sword can’t help but cheer. “Heh…Yay!” He coos.

Rolling your eyes, you squeeze his hand. “Don’t say yay after you kiss me.”

Sword lights up, leaning back in. A giddy noise leaves him this time. “Okay. Let me try again…”

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

[l00kingatthem00n]

━━ KEEP FALLING IN LOVE.

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence [i also used a lot of crude metaphors], lmk if there's anything else.

love language headcanons with subspace and hyperlaser.

SUBSPACE.

giving.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: - Even without the pretext of romance, Subspace is casual about skinship. By himself, as Blackrock's most infamous scientist, it's not comforting that someone so twisted and rotted would so casually sling an arm around another. It's unsettling. To know that someone so highly regarded and so highly feared asserts themselves so closely, acts so intimately despite the blood that so proudly soaks their hands. It's uneasy. It's terrifying. It's dangerous.

- To you, however, it is anything but. It is tender. It is reassuring. It is secure. He calls you "his" to affirm that he dares not crush you beneath his heel like he does all the rest. You may have to thoroughly remind him, but he'll understand if you're not savvy about his physical affections. If not for the general discomfort of lingering so close to someone whose very presence is poisoning, then it'd be for all other reasons, such as personal space or boundaries. Swords, he can understand. He remembers those lowly colleagues of his trying to get him to cozy up to them.

- Though if you are completely fine with his means of love, it's almost as if you've given him the opportunity to be close to you in ways you couldn’t fathom. You’ve given him the chance to be beneath your skin and bone, laying near the fragility of your heart as a sign of love. In other words, he's all over you. Maybe to a bothersome degree. Those casual affections only become sickeningly sweet when he's around you. After all, you are just about everything to him. Other than his devotion to Blackrock and its progress.

- But, again, his hands will seldom be away from you. An arm will lazily but securely drape around your waist, occasionally squeezing your sides to remind you of his presence. An unexpected embrace and he'll bury his head into the crevice where neck and shoulder meet. And if you'd let him, he'll kiss you as much as you please. His lips will find whatever skin that they can reach, softly nipping and kissing as he were revering you like he reveres himself. There's so much that Subspace does and would do to have you; All of you.

receiving.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION - The Head of the Robotics Division, Blackrock's greatest scientist, there are a multitude of titles and names that revere Subspace for his absolute brilliance and talent. However, whatever sweet praise they may have for him, it is utterly nothing when he hears your honeyed words upon his ears.

- If it wasn't apparent, you're what matters most to him other than the success of Blackrock. How others perceive him means nothing, whether they fear him or respect him; as long as you love him, then all other beliefs are practically worthless. After all, what does it matter if his exasperating colleagues tell him that he's a genius? He has you. Those words mean infinitely more when you briefly and blissfully kiss his cheek, praising him for his endless erudition.

- Though for your sake, it'd be wise not to mention that near-feverish flushing of his cheeks. It'd also be wise not to mention the near-worrying dilation and shaking of his pupils. Lastly, it'd be best not to mention the faint tremors of his body. Somehow, someway, a cruel and cunning scientist like him acts like a skittering student whose crush had just complimented them.

- If you do end up mentioning his dopey bashfulness, then expect for Subspace to impulsively chastise you. He's an inphernal with a reputation to uphold. And as much as he'll try to dull his usually sharp words, he'll slip to his old habits when it comes to being vulnerable with you. Of course, he'll apologize in his own way.

- Eventually. ^^'

GIFTS: - For his most illustrious position at Blackrock, there are many luxuries that are easily accessible to him. The finest and comfiest clothes can be tailored at a moment's notice if he should ask, the most decadent meals can be made if he ever wanted them, and the most expensive gifts or commodities can be bought without even worrying about the numbers. Subspace follows such sentiments and practices as a reminder of what his brilliance has brought for him.

- By that logic, it wouldn't be wrong to assume that Subspace would only want gifts that satisfied his standards. He wants the most beneficial tools, the most opulent clothes, everything else of the sort. Yet, truthfully, Subspace adores whatever gifts you have to offer him. From costly presents to hand-made goods, Subspace cherishes each one- Not that he'd ever openly express such sentiments.

- You believed your first gift to him would be met with reluctance. Maybe he'd politely smile at you for your extravagant present before casting it aside somewhere where no one and not even himself could find it. However, to your surprise, he had gazed at it with a fondness that, at the time, you didn't know he was capable of. And later on, you'd find it proudly displayed on his desk. An almost entire spot dedicated to your craftsmanship.

- Subspace wouldn't have told you, at least not yet, that he always holds and looks over whatever gifts you give to him. Sometimes, it's to pass the bleak time in his laboratory or office. Other times, it's to remind himself of the love that you so eagerly give to him. No matter what, whether you consider them "half-assed" or "gaudy," he looks at each gift completely mesmerized.

HYPERLASER.

giving.

ACTS OF SERVICE: - Some part of him used to be ashamed that he doesn't love as extravagantly and grandiosely as others. Unlike other inphernals, who could so easily embrace or cherish their partners with ease, Hyperlaser almost acts as if you're a complete stranger to him despite your being your lover.

- Too many times, he's "messed" everything up. He tries to offer you sweet praise, but his words are choppy and mumbled. They're curt and blunt, almost as if he's referring to you like a colleague rather than a partner. Then, he tries to offer you his physical affection, and they're clumsy too. It's either he handles you stiffly, like he's never held anyone in his life, That, or he handles you roughly, like he would anyone in a phight. You reassure him that there's no need to apologize for his inexperience, but he feels the guilt in his gut every time.

- Hyperlaser tries to make up for his awkwardness by making your day-to-day life less stressful. It'll be simple things. Maybe he's just opening and holding the door for you as often as he can. Maybe he's accompanying you on your errands. Or maybe he's smoothing the creases in your outfit. It's simple stuff he hopes you'll think is sweet; It's simple stuff he thinks you'll like.

- Over time, they're less and less simple, but he still believes his involvement in otherwise "insignificant" chores is nothing. He'll insist on cooking for you, whether that be in the rising dawn or the latest nights; It's a tender notion. Sometimes, you'll come home to the procrastinated pile of laundry done and neatly folded on your bed, courtesy of Hyperlaser. And when he feels his safest with you, he'll occasionally join you in the shower to do something like wash your hair for you.

- It is everything to you. It is everything that Hyperlaser is so persistently by your side. If not because of what he does to help you, then it's because he listens to each word of yours. He hangs onto each fleeting thought, complaint and comment of yours. He carries them onto the day in the hopes to make everything easier for you. It takes Hyperlaser time to realize that he has always been tender, soft, and loving the way that he believed fit. And so, through all of this, he learns that he doesn't need to change anything about himself or how he loves; He already loves as extravagantly and as grandiosely as he's seen.

receiving.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: - It's foreign to him. He's to used to being met with the violence and cruelty of skin ship, returning it with the same sentiments. Hyperlaser has known cracked ribs, swelling bruises, stinging cuts, and debris lodged in his limbs that he almost is unsure of what to do when its anything but. He nearly retreats from each gentle and innocent touch you offer him.

- It was bad the first time. You had unexpectedly touched his shoulder from behind, and so, he reflexively had spun his heel and nearly swung at you. Forgive him. So much of his younger days were spent on learning drill commands, firing through a sniper rifle, and learning how to kill. Hyperlaser had felt so guilty when he realized what he could've done. Spent an entire week trying to make it up to you despite your reassurances that "It was fine!" and that "It was an accident!"

- It takes time; Everything takes time. Hyperlaser allows himself the vulnerability that is letting his rigid guard down, if just with you. Only then, does Hyperlasser realize that he wholly adores your touch. He loves you. He loves to feel you. He loves to have you feel him. It's safe and secure to him, something that is so fleeting to him sometimes with his life as Blackrock Mercenary.

- Nevertheless, he greedily accepts whatever affection you lavish him with even if he does not openly express such. So lean against him, rest your head on his shoulder or on his helmet and trust him as he does to you. So hold his hand, intertwine your fingers with his own calloused ones. And most importantly, take off his helmet and take his scarred visage in your hands. Whisper your honeyed nothings and handle him like he is not the hardened mercenary he has become. Tell him, through your touch, that he is everything to you as you are to him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! yes i am writing out the requests, don't worry. i'm mainly posting this so i can get a feel for how i want to format my writing posts and i wrote this a long time ago...so with some revisions, here we go!! but yes, i am churning out requests :]

[purpleamethystsblog]

😈Demon and Demon⁉️

PHIGHTING! x Demon!Y/n (Crossover fanfic : [Roblox] PHIGHTING! x Demon Slayer)

Warning : OOC!Character / Violence / Blood / Gore / Demon!Y/N / Female!Y/N (Sorry, but I comfortable with this) / Major character dead and reincarnated later / Gun / Drug Dealer / Swearing 🤬 / Some character might turn into Yandere later.

Pairing : Various Yandere!Phighting character x Demon!Y/N

Note:

Okay… I know, I know. Yandere!Medkit x Human!Reader isn’t completely finished yet, but it's really, really close! I just have a little more content to adjust and add, and I’m currently studying the PHIGHTING! Wiki to make sure the characters’ personalities are as accurate as possible. The same goes for Houseki no Kuni x PHIGHTING!

I also want to apologize for making the main character female. The simple reason I chose a female reader is because it’s more convenient for me, and it’s what I personally prefer. I’m sorry to readers who would have preferred He/Him or They/Them.

(Although, I do get a little frustrated when some readers complain about the main character’s gender. I think this should simply be a matter of the author’s preference and convenience. I’m the one writing the story, and this is how I want to write it. If you don’t like it, you can simply scroll past it, it’s really not that difficult. I’ve also seen plenty of stories where authors make the main character a gender other than female, especially on AO3. There are tons of them.)

And here are the headcanons before you start reading:

Every Inphernal has Marechi Blood because their physically is stronger than humans.

Demon!Y/N is an ordinary demon with the basic abilities that normal demon possess. However, Y/N will become stronger over time. (Y/N is already quite powerful from the beginning, and strong enough to fight an Inphernal one-on-one. However, if she gets ganged up, she will inevitably lose. But she can't die. Only play dead just to regenerate her body back.)

Demon!Y/N can be killed in four ways: being executed by a Nichirin Sword, being burned by sunlight (although Y/N will overcome this weakness later), wisteria flower poison, and Muzan’s curse.

However, because Demon!Y/N is transported into PHIGHTING! universe, sunlight will be the only way to kill her. Y/N will eventually overcome this weakness later.

Some characters from PHIGHTING! may eventually become Yanderes… but not every character will become a Yandere. (Or maybe they might? Just… at a relatively safe level, I guess?)

At the beginning of the story, the characters will have some communication difficulties because they speak different languages. However, Y/N will eventually learn their language and will definitely be able to communicate with the Inphernals.

______________________________________

Prologue

You were pretty sure you were doing your absolute best to look like a peaceful visitor. Someone who had absolutely no intention of picking a fight with anyone.

Or was it because of your blood-red eyes, their pupils narrowed into thin slits like those of a beast, combined with your long fangs that became impossible to miss whenever you opened your mouth or flashed a wide grin?

Or perhaps it was because you weren't exactly a creature that was supposed to exist on this planet in the first place?

Maybe that's why he just wouldn't stop following you.

The creature was tall and massive, with thick muscles undercover by his clothes, a pretty clear indication that he was probably quite strong. He had no hair, with a pair of horns in its place, one orange and the other light blue.

And then there was that scent.

A scent so intoxicating that it made you want to lunge forward, tear into his flesh, and ravenously drink his blood.

Marechi Blood.

The distance between him and you never exceeded five meters. Not by much, either. That meant the scent of his blood remained unbearably strong and consistent, until you finally couldn't take it anymore. You raised a hand and pinched your nose shut.

It wasn't because you were disgusted.

You were just afraid you might lose control and go berserk.

“@+##-฿&฿-#&#_#&#”

And thanks to the abilities that came with being a Demon, your hearing was pretty damn good... Or, to put it simply, your sense of hearing was several times better than an ordinary human. (Assuming there were even humans on this planet, anyway.)

You could hear him talking... saying something behind you. And judging by the volume, it was obvious that he was deliberately speaking loud enough for you to hear.

The problem was...

You couldn't understand a damn thing he was saying. You didn't even know what language he was speaking! All you could do was guess that he might be telling you to stop, or perhaps trying to ask what the hell you were.

And honestly, you wanted to ask him the exact same thing. But you figured that he wouldn't understand a word you said, either...

So how the hell did everything end up like this?

Why did it feel as though you weren't even on your original world anymore?

Well...

That was because, just a few hours ago, you had died after finding out something you were never supposed to know. And the people who wanted you dead had followed you all the way to your apartment.

.

.

.

.

.

Today had been just another day of working a part-time job to earn enough money to put yourself through school.

It wasn't because your family was poor. Your parents hadn't divorced, and you certainly hadn't grown up in some kind of messed-up household.

Quite the opposite.

Your parents simply believed that you needed to learn how to live on your own. They wanted you to earn your own money, figure out how to take care of yourself, and learn how to survive in a world full of competition.

It wasn't because they didn't love you.

They wanted you to grow up and become capable of living in this harsh, competitive world on your own. And if things ever became too much, you could always talk to them or ask them for advice.

After finishing your shift, you headed home by taxi.

Unfortunately, the taxi couldn't take you all the way to your apartment, so you had to continue the rest of the journey on foot.

And that's when you happened to see something you absolutely should not have seen.

A drug deal.

A major dealer was in the middle of exchanging drugs along the route back to your apartment. And, of course, they happened to notice you just as you finished paying the taxi fare.

You noticed them, too. All you could do was keep your head down and walk. You didn't reach for your phone or any other communication device. You made it painfully obvious that you weren't interested, weren't involved, and had absolutely no intention of sticking your nose into their business.

You simply chose to walk as far away from them as possible. At that point, you were practically walking into the woods along the roadside.

You could feel their eyes on you. The pressure. The murderous intent.

The unmistakable feeling that a bullet could be put through your skull at any moment if you try something funny.

So you started walking faster. Or, hell, you might as well have been running.

Anything to get back to your apartment as quickly as possible.

Once you got inside, you shut the windows, closed the doors, and locked every single thing you could. And the very next thing you did was immediately message your parents and tell them everything you'd seen.

[If anything happens to me... please help me. Or at least try to find my body.]

You typed that final sentence with tears streaming down your face, terrified beyond words.

You had no idea that those would be your final words.

Your last message.

Your final goodbye.

Before the executioner came knocking at your door.

“I didn't wanna do this either... but the boss gave me the order. Forgive me, kid...”

The bullet pierced straight through your forehead in the dead of night. It ended your life quietly, without even giving you time to feel the pain.

Your body collapsed in front of the door. Your eyes remained wide open in shock.

And after that...

You knew nothing.

.

.

.

Or so you thought.

.

.

.

You jolted awake.

There was no vision of some divine temple waiting for you. Or no dramatic awakening in Hell, either. It was more like you'd simply fallen into a dreamless sleep for a while... And then woken up somewhere completely unfamiliar.

You looked around.

From what you could tell, you were in a city. And you were lying beneath a tree, which appeared to be some kind of public tree planted.

You slowly scanned your surroundings. The darkness wasn't an obstacle to your vision at all. In fact, you could see far better than you should have been able to.

That alone was enough to make you slightly suspicious. Your vision was unnaturally sharp. If you stared at or focused on something for a few seconds, your eyes would automatically magnify the target and sharpen the image on their own.

And then there was something else.

A faint scent.

A strangely enticing scent that made you feel something warm and wet gathering at the corners of your mouth. You quickly wiped away your drool with both hands.

And that's when you noticed them.

Your hands.

Your skin looked paler than usual.

Your fingernails had grown noticeably longer.

And they were sharp enough to be called claws.

“What the fuck is this?”

The words escaped your mouth before you could stop them. The shock of seeing what had happened to your body immediately changed your priorities.

Forget exploring the area. You needed to find a mirror. Or anything that could reflect your appearance.

You needed to know exactly what the hell you'd become.

“Is there... a puddle around here or something?”

You looked left. Then right.

Nothing but concrete walls and a chaotic mess of air-conditioning exhaust fans. You figured you'd probably woken up behind some building.

“Paler skin... claws... fuck... can I even retract these?”

You spent some time trying to retract your claws back into your fingers. And, surprisingly enough, it worked.

Meanwhile, your brain was finally starting to piece things together.

You had a pretty good idea of what you'd become. But you still needed a mirror. Or anything that could show you your own reflection.

You needed proof.

Because if you couldn't see it for yourself, you didn't want to accept it. Even if, deep down, you already knew.

You decided to wander around and explore, while doing your best to stay out of sight of the bald, horned creatures.

You suspected that you'd died... And been reincarnated into an anime world name Demon Slayer… But after taking a closer look at the city around you, you weren't so sure anymore.

The city was fairly modern, not quite on the level of the 2020s, but definitely far too advanced to be the world of Demon Slayer.

And the biggest reason you were convinced this probably wasn't the Demon Slayer world?

You kept seeing strange creatures wandering around the city. They looked vaguely human, except they had no hair and had horns growing from their heads instead and they were also ridiculously tall and muscular.

There was no way ordinary humans could be built that big, right?

You kept wandering until you finally decided to dig through a trash bin, it was humiliating as hell. But at least you had a better chance of finding a piece of glass to use as a mirror than wandering around looking for a puddle.

And before long... You found one.

A cracked mirror, that's enough.

Normal human eyes couldn't naturally be red, unless you had albinism. And even then, the eyes weren't actually red. The red appearance came from light reflecting off the blood vessels in the retina because of the lack of melanin in the iris.

But your eyes were Blood-red. They even seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. And your pupils had become narrow, vertical slits, resembling those of predators such as tigers or cats.

Your skin was noticeably paler, too.

And then there were those large, elongated fangs that became especially prominent whenever you smiled or opened your mouth.

You stared at your reflection for a moment.

“Okay... I've figured it out.” You paused.

“I'm a fucking Demon from that famous anime, Demon Slayer!!!”

And now came the next question. Where the hell were you?

Because you doubted the Hashira would be particularly thrilled to see some strange creature casually wandering around during both day and night. That was why you continued exploring while keeping yourself hidden from all strange creature's eyes.

Thankfully, it was nighttime… If you'd woken up during the day, there was a very good chance you'd have been discovered within the first few minutes.

You were still stuck beneath the shade of a tree, after all. And if you tried to leave that shade...

The sunlight would probably burn you alive.

The lives of these mysterious two-legged creatures with demonic horns were surprisingly similar to humans. They went to night club… they hung out and laughed together at restaurants… they walked along the sidewalks… they carried work bags home… or even went on walks with their friends.

In almost every way that mattered, they lived their lives and went about their daily activities almost exactly like humans.

And with physical strength several times that greater than humans, you could easily jump onto the roof of a building.

From there, you surveyed the city from above, curiosity getting the better of you as you tried to gather as much information as possible. From this height, the city looked like it was some kind of central hub. There was one major road branching out in four different directions. Each road had a large sign marking it.

Unfortunately...

You couldn't understand a single word written on any of them.

Right now, you were basically no different from a foreigner dropped into a country where they didn't speak the language.

“Where the hell am I even supposed to start?”

You cursed under your breath. You'd probably sighed for the hundredth time by now. The language was the only real obstacle standing between you and figuring out how to survive here.

But the scent of the creatures living on this planet?

All of them smelled like Marechi Blood.

This place was practically paradise for Demons like you. Except, you don't have intention to eat them, hell no. You want to be like Nezuko… friendly Demon won't eat living creatures. you'd probably need to find muzzle for their sake.

* Thud! *

A footstep sounds behind you.

Someone trying to sneak up on you. But unfortunately for him, your enhanced hearing picked up the shift in his weight with ease. You immediately turned toward the sound. And there he was……

A tall, muscular creature standing perfectly still behind you. He had two differently colored horns, one light blue and the other orange. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression impossible to read. You had no idea what was going through his mind.

But one thing was certain. You probably should have realized something was wrong the moment the scent of Marechi Blood started getting stronger.

.

.

.

.

Back to the Present:

And that was exactly why you were trying to get away from this mysterious creature with one hand clamped firmly over your nose.

Your next objective is lose this guy.… NOW!

[glxssy-the-first]

Coil⚡️x reader fluff

Requested by Anon, 2nd person POV

CW: Short, Coil is shirtless, Slightly cliche

Summary: Coil is sick! As his partner, you're stuck taking care of him...he's a little overdramatic about this, and maybe a little more clingy than usual...

May be OOC

"I think this is it for me...this is my deathbed..." Coil said in his broken voice, before letting out a string of coughs as you sighed about his dramatic behavior. Like a single fever was gonna kill him.

"Your fine, coil." You said as you plopped down a plastic bag on the nightstand. You'd just gotten back from a trip to the nearest pharmacy to get some stuff for your sick boyfriend. You heard the shuffling of blankets as he turned over onto his side to look over at you.

You pulled out a bottle of liquid medicine and a small cup, twisted off the cap and pouring the purple liquid inside. You held the cup gently as you turned around and approached Coil, who frowned upon seeing the medicine.

"Nope, no. I am not taking that." He crossed his arms over his bare chest and looked away, in which you pinched the bridge of your nose. "That stuff is disgusting, no way I am having a single drop of that"

"Coil, you need it. Your fever will only get worse if not." He gave you a side-eye, you knew what would convince him to take it. "...Fine, I'll give you cuddles later."

He grinned, knowing he'd won as he took the cup from your hands and rose it to his mouth, taking every drop. He grimaced at the taste. "Eugh."

You took the cup from his hands and turned around, in which he gave you a pathetic look. "Hey! Where's my cuddles?" He really was trying to squeeze out all the pampering he could get.

"I said later, not after you took the medicine." You looked over your shoulder at him, in which he sighed dramatically and laid back on the bed. "So you're just going to leave me here while I suffer? You're so cruel..."

You shook your head in disbelief. "I'm getting you some soup, Coil. I'll be right back." You clarified before exiting the room, much to his annoyance.

You stood over the pot, stirring the soup as smoke wafted up from the boiling substance. Broccoli cheddar soup- to be exact. At least you were making sure your boyfriend got his vitamins.

You were distracted by scrolling on your phone, so much so you didn't hear the subtle sound of someone coming from behind, until you felt Coil wrap his arms around your waist while he rested his chin upon your shoulder, with added warmth from the blanket he'd brought with him

"Wh- Coil! Why are you up?" You quickly asked him as you glanced over at the inphernal. Who just mumbled and further nuzzled into you. "You're taking too long...I want my snuggles."

You raised a brow at him, whereas he just grinned. "Coil, go back to bed." You told him.

"No"

"..."

"Ugh. Okay, fine."

He let go of you as he turned around and trudged back to the bedroom. You were annoyed with him, of course, but you mean well. He needed rest, not just your attention.

Not long after he'd returned to the bed, you finished cooking and got a bowl and a ladle, in which you put a decent amount of the soup into the bowl.

It felt warm to the touch as you picked it up and placed it on a tray, before picking that up by it's handles and carrying it to the bedroom. (Without getting a spoon first, of course)

You gently pushed open the door with your shoulder and headed over to Coil, where you placed the tray onto his lap. You observed as he took a taste, humming pleasantly.

"Good as always." He complimented before leaning over to you and giving you a kiss. Not on the cheek, but on the mouth. You suddenly worried if you would get sick.

He chuckled at your reaction, before resuming to eat. You stayed by considering he'd just give you another pathetic look if you ever considered leaving the room.

Once deciding he was full, he moved to put the tray aside before you took it and put it on the nightstand. It felt like the very moment your hands left the handles, Coil basically yanked you onto bed with him.

"And now...cuddles. Like you promised." He demanded before holding you to his chest and burying his face into your head. You could only huff playfully, this moron.

Looks like you were stuck here...

hey, at least the blankets provided you with warmth- considering how cold Coil was.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ💫ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

A/N: My dad took my computer from me so I haven't been able to reach some reqs (It does this weird gap thing when I try to update the list on mobile idk why) But I'm back now yaaayyyyyy :D

[tumblingaroundtofindout]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

MAY I?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ Medkit x Reader

Info: Medkit and physical contact don't really go together. But what if your touchiness managed to rub off on him? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Medkit was never a fan of physical contact. Often shrugging off the hands of those that decided to touch him and giving them the disgusted look like they just smeared contaminants on him.

Sure. He can tolerate some of Sword's buddy buddy antics: fist bumps, shoulder-side hugs, playful punches. But all the others? Forget it. Like, just the sight of some of them already drains away whatever patience he has left, how much more if they gave even a slight nudge with their elbow?

Even when he got together with you, who is very touchy, he still doesn't like physical contacts. But, again, he tolerates yours and Sword's.

He hates it. Disgusted by it even. So it surprised him when he mindlessly rested his chin on your shoulder while you were in the kitchen, cooking.

Was he tired? 

Maybe…

His face was a blushing mess. More so when he attempted to hide his face by burying it on your neck.

You could only giggle at his embarrassment. You didn't mind the contact, though it does feel weird a bit since…Medkit doesn't usually initiate physical contacts.

"I'm sorry about this…" Came his muffled, irritated voice. Irritated at himself at least.

You scoffed, amused and just let him be. "Nothing to be sorry about dear. You know I don't mind."

Your voice was gentle. Always soothing to his ears. 

Should I…? He thought to himself.

Lifting his head, he gazed at you from the corner of his eye. His throat feeling dry as he tried to form a sentence.

"Can I…" he swallowed and averted his gaze. "Hug you…?"

You hummed and just continued chopping the carrots and potatoes after peeling them. Now seeming unbothered.

Medkit waited for your reply, all the while his face was just burning with embarrassment.

"I don't know." You teased, "Can you?

You were joking. He knew that, and just scoffed at your sass. His face mildly cooling off with his irritation at your answer.

"May I hug you." He rolled his eye, unamused, yet grateful for the banter.

You giggled again. "Of course. I don't mind."

"I thought so…" he whispered.

Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around your waist and the burning sensation in his cheeks returned as he inhaled your scent and tightened his hold around you.

So he stayed like that for a while as you finished cooking. Even when you warned him about the steam and splash of soup, or how you almost tripped, he still didn't mind.

You don't mind it too. But it does make you moving around the kitchen more difficult with a koala the size of a grown man tenderly embracing you.

No matter. You can just tell him off next time. Or you could get used to this.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Of course the sample story is about Medkit. Gotta love that touch-deprived doctor. Got an idea? Write about it! Or share it and I'll write about it! Probably!