Douma X Reader - Blog Posts

Dealing With A Marechi S/O On Her Period.

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KNY Masterlist

Muzan Kibutsuji, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Blood, smut, sexual themes, oral sex; female receiving, oral sex during period, face sitting, mentions about fingering, drinking blood, eating human flesh.

Summary: Headcanons on the upper three and Muzan helping a marechi s/o through her period while keeping their stomachs full.

W/C: 2.5k+

In the time you’d been together, he had yet to smell your blood, it was hard enough to be placed in the situation when he always made sure you weren’t injured whenever he was around, and as such a high-ranking demon, he lacked the privilege to spend as much time with you as wanted, so the timings hadn’t lined properly for him to be present during your period either, but when they finally did without you being aware of your unique type of blood, to say the least, neither of you were ready.

Muzan Kibutsuji

Takes full advantage of the situation.

Has to take a step back to steady himself the first time he smells you.

Is initially worried you’re injured at first.

Plays his cards right and shows initial concern despite your body doing a normal biological function.

Is more physically affectionate to get you to lower your guard even more.

Gets you to admit out loud that you’re in physical pain.

Suggests helping you ease the pain.

Had never buried his face between your legs before.

Was actually kind of sexist about it and would’ve felt inferior if he placed your legs on either side of his head, because why would the demon king do that?

Still tried to refuse but smelling your marechi blood didn’t help.

Having a monthly supply of marechi blood sounded tempting enough.

So he suggests easing your pain.

Surprises you by finally spreading your legs after laying between them.

Keeps you around him for the entirety of the week.

Takes you wherever he needs to go to keep you close.

But never near any demons.

If necessary, he has Kokushibo watch over you.

Doesn’t necessarily refuse to not have you in his presence.

But refuses to leave you alone and unguarded for other demons to try and eat you.

Knows that Kokushibo won’t even consider so much as laying a finger at you.

Still refuses to get on his knees for you.

You always have to lay down for him.

Forbids you from wearing anything under your kimono to have easier access.

Instantly smells whenever your blood’s about to stain the expensive fabric of your kimono.

Licks you clean every time he smells you starting to bleed.

Which is multiple times throughout the day.

As soon as you express being relieved from the pain, he uses it as an excuse.

Prefers you thinking he genuinely and solely wants to care for his favorite human rather than admitting that he needs to feed like any living creature.

Because he refuses to so much as get on his knees for you, he obviously even more so refuses to have you sit on his face.

Not even hover.

If you ever suggest it, he’ll give you the meanest side eye and refuse to speak to you for days.

Still will not eat you out outside of your period.

The moans entering Muzan’s ears easily sounded different than usual, similar to the first time he had you take his heavy cock in your lower area, where he was currently lapping at you for the first time with half lidded eyes in a relaxed expression while laying on his stomach for you, hands on either of your thighs which obediently remained spread open for him with ease due to how the rest of your body had fallen limp upon the first lick.

He had his doubts at first, but he had to admit, it’s awfully convenient to have a marechi lover who was so willing to hike up the expensive kimono and spread open the legs beneath it to allow him to feed rather than having to go through the trouble of going out of his way for people to eat. A louder moan fills the room as he dips his tongue inside your sensitive opening after having licked clean your labia.

A shaky hand reaches for his hair in attempt to pull him closer only to be pushed away rather gently by the man at your thighs. Normally, he would’ve slapped away the hand because despite actually bearing affection for you, how dare you try to command him in any way, however, he supposes the meal you’re offering him is enough for him to turn a blind eye to your insolence… once.

Kokushibo

Very concerned for your health when he finds out.

Initially thinks you’re injured upon smelling your blood for the first time.

Takes a second (one too long in his opinion) to regain his composure after the scent of your blood makes him feel dizzy.

The opposite of Muzan.

Has eaten you out before.

And doesn’t mind doing it.

Genuinely suggests relieving your pain for your benefit.

Takes great pride in taking care of you.

Hardly even thinks of you as a source of food with how much he prioritizes easing your pain.

But does acknowledge that you’re keeping him well fed.

Another one that keeps you with him every time you’re on your period (they all do).

Doesn’t think much about if he likes or not getting on his knees for you.

But knows your height differences would make it a bit uncomfortable.

And prefers you lay down for your own comfort.

Will also eat you out whenever he smells blood on the way.

Enjoys doing so but does it mainly for your safety as to not attract any demons.

Doesn’t just drink your blood but also plays with your clit to actively give you orgasms to counter your cramps.

Gently rubs your lower stomach to further help with your cramps.

Or grazes it very lightly with his fingertips to give you goosebumps if he’s in a teasing mood.

Slows the pace after each orgasm as to not overstimulate you before picking it up again.

Overall treats you like a porcelain doll.

Would give you a break if you asked.

Even if you’re still bleeding

So long as you’re always close to him so he can keep you safe.

Soft gentle tugs to your clit force heavy breaths out through your nose, the occasional pinch making you clench around the soft pink tongue moving along your insides with your back tensing and arching off the futon briefly before a hand gently pushes down your stomach to press you back against the fabric beneath you in attempt to get you to relax, the tongue carefully moving back and forth as to not overwhelm your sensitive insides.

His eyes peek open when he feels your legs starting to tremble on either side of his face, the hand over your lower stomach carefully rubbing over the skin doing little to soothe you, his first pair of eyes looking at you due to your different than usual movements, unable to read any expression from your head being thrown back. “Are you alri-” He’s interrupted by your body falling limp against him and the unmistakable noise of you hitting your orgasm.

He’s quick to react and have his fingers gently rub at your clit, slowly licking over your leaking opening, his reasoning settling on your different reactions being from your current sensitive state. His eyes fall back shut again without his own hands failing to continue their ministrations, set on taking care of you and making sure you’re carefully brought back down from your own high as to not overstimulate you while you let him eat his fill.

Douma

Doesn’t even occur to him that you might be injured.

Knows that he would’ve been notified if you’d been injured.

Also takes full advantage of the situation.

Absolutely delighted to find out you’re a marechi.

He’s been surrounded by plenty women before and has eaten enough to know what a period is obviously.

As well as eaten marechi women before.

But has never stumbled upon a marechi woman on her period.

Is baffled that it never occurred to him to keep a marechi woman by his side for a monthly supply.

Immediately asks to feed off of you rather than asking to help with your cramps.

Used to have you on him 97% of times, now it’s 100%.

Eats you out wherever, whenever and however.

Very vocal about it.

Constant praises on your taste.

Gets actually hungry while tasting you.

But remembers that you’re a fragile human who he genuinely enjoys having around and therefore would rather not hurt you.

So he treats you as an appetizer instead.

And proceeds to eat one of the other women around after you’ve stopped bleeding.

Keeps you on him under every circumstance.

Even if Muzan calls him over.

Promises to do as Muzan says and be on his best behavior which he actually fulfills much to Muzan’s surprise.

If you were to actually be apart from him, he would ask in all seriousness for you to save your blood for him for later in a jar.

Another one who would forbid you from wearing anything under your kimono.

Probably forbids you from doing so even when you aren’t on your period.

Doesn’t even warn you when he smells you starting to bleed and immediately goes under your kimono.

If there’s anyone nearby when you start bleeding, immediately orders them to leave.

For your sake.

If it were up to him, he’d bury his face between your legs right then and there.

Messy eater.

Will definitely take you on his beanbag.

Will treat your period (as well as your fucking sessions) like some type of bingo or a list that needs to have locations where he’s taken you crossed off.

You feel yourself sink further into the large pillow beneath you with your legs kept hiked to your chest, loud continuous moans coming from the blonde between said legs, the incessant noises coming from him having won long ago against your own. A slight shift of your body moves your untied kimono further open with it finally slipping off your breasts and exposing your nipples to the cold air, the elegant fabric bunching around your torso between the folds of the pillow.

“Ohh, you taste just heavenly my darling.” Douma smiles after lifting his head from your bloodied messy folds, letting you take in the sight of his chin drenched in your blood, fluids starting to trickle down to his neck followed by his tongue swiping across it. “Now sit pretty for me and let me eat…” He coaxes in a low tone while slowly lowering himself, continuing to delve his tongue into your opening.

While a knot started to form in the pit of your stomach, the hollow filling in the pit of Douma’s own stomach started to grow, tempting him with having more than just a taste of your blood, but he couldn’t, he’d never forgive himself. He shuts down his thoughts and instead licks you with more vigor, his mind wandering to other women who he’d much rather eat before you, maybe the one who’d been just slightly less polite than usual when attending you, maybe she’d be able to satiate his hunger for a while.

Akaza

Is terrified when he smells your blood for the first time.

Especially when he notices what type of blood it is.

Immediately assumes the worst.

Thanks whatever higher power there is when he sees you’re fine.

Gets headaches from trying to keep himself in control.

And still refuses to leave you alone.

Absolutely would never under any circumstances let Douma get remotely near you regardless of whatever situation you’re in.

Would never suggest eating you out to relieve the pain because he doesn’t want you to think he’s using you for food

But wouldn’t blatantly tell you no if you asked.

Would need a lot of convincing to say yes.

Would be really worried because what if he accidentally hurts you.

Is also worried that what if he genuinely gets hungry while trying to make you feel better.

Would be very hesitant due to his rule against eating women.

But tries to convince himself it’s alright because he’s not actually eating you.

Because he secretly is very curious and tempted to try it out.

Finally says yes when your cramps get unbearable.

Absolutely loses it upon his first taste.

Would already eat you out regularly for his own pleasure.

But would do it with dignity composure.

Now gets overly pussy drunk.

Doesn’t stop even after you’re clean.

Just continues while waiting for the next wave of blood.

Eats you out like a starved animal when you’re on your period.

Another messy eater.

Doesn’t leave your side for your safety.

And your mutual pleasure.

Would enjoy you sitting on his face.

But fails to notice how he refuses to let you leave your seat once you’ve sat.

Despite eating you out mostly for his own pleasure, doesn’t forget yours and uses his fingers to give you as many orgasms as he can as a thanks for keeping him fed.

Has no shame in licking his fingers clean in front of you.

Makes sure to still give you plenty of head regularly after your period so you don’t feel like he just sees you as food.

Would wonder in the back of his head if your blood alone can make him strong enough to surpass the other upper ranks.

Would be damned if Douma found out what he’s doing.

“Are you su-” “Yes.” Akaza’s quick to respond, trying to hold himself back from yanking you down, instead, gently guiding you lower to take a seat on his face. It’d been a few cycles since he finally started eating you out during your period and in that time, he’d grown addicted, though that would be an understatement. And though he still much enjoyed spending his days face buried between your legs even outside your cycle, during was something far preferable.

In the last few times he’d helped you through your difficult time of the month, he started feeling as though it wasn’t enough, no, rather he wanted more, and so he suggested something new, something you’d never know if he’d thought about himself, seen somewhere or heard of. Once you feel your lower area come into contact with him a sigh escapes you with his tongue starting to move along you, pressing over your clit, licking between your folds, circling your opening and licking clean every crevice.

He continues to suffocate himself in the intoxicating smell of your blood and decides it still isn’t enough, not with you hovering. A yelp leaves your mouth at the sudden yank of your legs being pulled upward folded against each other by a pair of strong hands with you falling completely sat on Akaza’s face, a muffled moan heard from under you pulling your gaze toward him, taking in the expression of his eyes rolled to the back of his head while his tongue invaded your insides, refusing to stop tasting you.

back to the half demon half human reader thing: this time, upper moons? i think it would be cute

Demon slayer masterlist

Baby demon - hashira

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Muzan walked into your room. You haven't made a noise since he put you down for a nap.

He found you staring at the flower themed mobile. He cooed at you as he picked you up.

He had you in his hip while he took a walk around the castle letting you see each demons domains.

You babbled as you played with the buttons on his best.

"My Lord I didn't know you had a kid." Douma commented, seeing him walk by.

"I Don't."

--------

"Please stop pulling my hair." Kokushibo said while grabbing your hands that were tangled in his long locs. You were standing on one of his legs while he was sitting.

Once he got a hold of both of your hands you started to dance

"Da Da Da" You babbled.

"Yeah, that's right dada. Can you say it?"

"Da da... Dadaa."

"Yeah, I'm dada." His blew raspberries into your cheeks.

You giggled and squirmed.

--------

He knew you were a half demon from the start.

You were presented to Douma as a present from one of his followers, you're unique like him. Visually different (I was thinking something like an albino or vitiligo) but still adorable to look at.

"Aww you look so cute Y/n!" He exclaimed as he took you from his follower's arms. You had on an outfit identical to his with a matching hat.

You giggled as he tickled your stomach before sitting you on a soft pillow next to his own.

You always sat next to him and his followers came and visited.

--------

"Do you want your binkie?" Akaza tried to calm you down but nothing was working.

He tried feeding you, cradling you, swaddling you, putting you down for a nap and more.

You would not stop crying.

There was one thing they he hadn't tried yet but he was too embarrassed to do it. Your screams were enough to drive him to do it.

He sung to calm you down.

It worked.

--------

"Ready or not here I come." Daki took of running to find you.

You giggled, not so quietly, as you watched her run around while you were hiding behind Gyotaro.

"Gyotaro where did they go?" Daki whispered as if she didn't know you were behind him. He shrugged cause you to giggle harder.

"GOTCHA" She exclaimed and tried to reach around her brother. You screeched and tried to run but she caught you and threw you in the air.

"HAHA I WIN."

"DON'T THROW THEM!"

---------

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Guess who's my favorite

Who was your favorite

Please can you write the demons meeting Ghost Ronin Male Reader they think his a demon Slayer and put a hole in his chest or something fetal and thinking it's over walks off and hears him laughing and his voice sounding normal then demonic and he looks at them eyes burning blue fire and says "Time to put you to rest" and it ends with them dying or escaping with some burn and some cuts maybe a missing limb and they can't heal themselves

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

You were walking around the forest when you ran into...

Akaza

thinks you are a weird-looking demon slayer but doesn't hesitate to fight you

The fight didn't last long and both of you were left panting

He's faster than you and takes his 'final' strike

"Time for you to rest." You say, gripping your sword and forming a steady stance.

Akaza turned around to see you charging at him with your sword engulfed in flames. He just barely dodged.

You let him go. He was too fast.

Daki/Gyutaro

Daki would be cocky and think that one punch was the thing to bring you down

Gyutaro comes out when he hears you laugh

You cut Daki's head off and then went for Gyotaro but he was smarter

"Daki you IDIOT." Gyutaro picked up Daki and ran out of your range.

Douma

He thought you were pretty cool

If you were a demon he'd annoy you with endless questions about yourself

Douma is very unpredictable and caught you off guard that didn't stop you from having a big comeback

"Aww, that's too bad. We could've had so much fun together... Oh well." He turned and walked away.

You rose from the ground, sword in hand.

(An: Call an ambulance. Call an ambulance... but not for me.)

"Time to rest, demon."

"Huh?"

Douma took the most of your attack and ran away with his tail between his legs.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

Requested by @akitsugikuni-hashira

"Maybe how they meet again or how the demons react."

Samurai Ghost Rider

Sorry for the wait

---------

Muzan

You could tell that Muzan was too powerful for you to face on your own, but you didn't have time to gather slayers before he saw you.

You expected a fight but what you got was surprising.

"A ghost samurai. Only head in legends. I'm honored to meet you." He bowed his head slightly out of respect.

"I'm a demon slayer you know that right." If you had eyebrows be raised in a questioning manor.

"Yes but I see no reason to kill you. You name is well known throughout the modern world. You must hold incredible power." After saying that he vanished.

He was the first demon that got away from you.... Sort of.

Douma

You heard about a cult with a suspicious leader. Normally you would ignore things like that but something about it was drawing you in.

"Well, well who do we have here. You a strange one, who are you better yet what are you." He spoke while circling you.

"That is none of your concern demon." You spat back, hand going near your sword but your sword was knocked out of the hilt and slide away from you.

"Nu-uh~ I can't let you do that we barely had any fun yet." He whined.

He was weird.

Akaza

It was on sight.

You didn't get a chance to examine the situation before he started throwing hands.

This man barely gave you a second to breathe.

He kept saying you already had the looks to be a demon and might as well become one.

You didn't want to fight him or turn into a demon.

Daki/gyotaro

You never thought you'd end up in the red light district of all places, but you knew your senses were never wrong.

Honestly you were creeped out. You were watching from a far as Uzui beheaded daki.

Watching gyotaro emerge from her back like that was weird.

Seeing as they were already in battle you decided to leave them be.

Kokushibo

You knew him before he became a demon. You thought he was an excellent swordsman, but now you were upset that he was a demon.

"You abandoned your humanity for power. It saddens me to see you like this. You had great promise but now I don't know." You said facing away from him neither of your swords drawn.

He didn't say anything

"My friend, for I'll friendship I'll take my leave, but if we met under different circumstances. I'll have no choice."

He watched as you walked.

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕠𝕡 𝟛 𝕌𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕆𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥 𝔸𝕌 (𝔼𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕)

𝔸𝕌 :

𝘏𝘰𝘨𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘈𝘜

𝘊𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘙𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 𝘈𝘜

𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘈𝘜

𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭/𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘈𝘜

𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘈𝘜

𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘙𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘈𝘜

𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘚𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘈𝘜

𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘍𝘰𝘭𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦/𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘈𝘜

( 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘜 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 )

ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 :

• 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙧@𝙥𝙚, 𝙣𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙩

• 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙜𝙚

• 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝘼𝙐 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙗𝙤𝙭 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚

• 𝙀𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝘼𝙐 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙥 𝟯 𝙐𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙨

• 𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙝𝙚/𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

• 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙆𝙤𝙠𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙤𝙪, 𝘿𝙤𝙪𝙢𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘼𝙠𝙖𝙯𝙖 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮

• 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙡𝙠𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙚/𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝘼𝙐, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Okie Okie

May i request Tanjiro, Douma, and last on you chose with an S/o who is always singing and dancing around just having fun😊

Or if you want just do one of them

𝐎𝐨!!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐨

He's so sweet.

He'll watch you dance and have fun with a wide smile on his face.

If you're a demon slayer as well, who happens to dance as their way of fighting, he finds it fascinating.

Nezuko has more than likely seen you dance, and she loves dancing with you!

Sometimes, with a small amount of convincing, he'll dance with you and Nezuko.

He usually just prefers to watch you two though.

𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚

Anytime you even remotely start to have fun,

you bet your ass he's there with you, doing things with you.

If your idea of fun is to be a bit more of a prankster, then he's all for it.

Let him help you prank Akaza, he'd love that.

Akaza probably wouldn't, and would probably attack Douma for helping you, and depending on where you're at on the upper moons scale, he'd probably attack you too.

unless youre a woman

𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚

Don't get me wrong, he's fine with you dancing and having fun,

But he will keep you away from Douma, at. all. costs.

You constantly having fun, and Douma's chaotic nature would go so well together, he'd end up begging Muzan to kill him.

Now, your dancing.

He would do anything for you, anything. But dancing is a whole other story. He would never dance, ever.

He prefers to watch you dance and have the time of your life.

Hi hiiii!!

I saw your post that you’re looking for KNY requests so I got one that I’ve been thinking abt for a while.

So, a Douma x reader where the reader is Muzan’s only daughter (or offspring if you’d prefer it to be gn) and Michael Jack- *ahem* I mean, Muzan doesn’t really pay that much attention to her so they don’t talk often. She’s also only half demon so she can walk in the sun (but he doesn’t know that for obvious reasons).

However, after Gyutaro and Daki were killed and all the upper moons were summoned, Muzan’s daughter joins them bc he always summons her regardless if she cares or not.

Low and behold, the other upper moons see her for the first time, except for Kokushibo who’s pretty much known her all her life since he’s the first. While they’re waiting for Muzan to arrive, she begins to have a conversation with the upper moons.

Her and Akaza feel neutral about each other, she gets along with Gyokko pretty well and Hantengu… is scared of making even eye contact with her since she’s Muzan’s daughter.

When Douma sees her, oh boy, head over heels is an understatement. Instead of wanting to be worshipped by her, he WANTS to worship the ground she walks on. When she sees his unique eyes and compliments them, he melts to the ground instantly, asking Gyokko if he’s in some kind of dream.

If you don’t want to do this or you don’t feel comfortable, then skip. Also, sorry that was long, I had to get it all out 😅

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭! 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭) 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧, 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 😭

@warringwarrioridiot

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: (𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚) 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭(?) 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

"𝐌𝐲, 𝐦𝐲.."

𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚

𝐀 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲... 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐮𝐠, 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. "𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞! 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞!" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐨'𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐲𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. "𝐌𝐲, 𝐦𝐲.. 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐞?" 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.." 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝. 𝐀 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞? ..𝐘𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞? 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨.. 𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬? 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐬.

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝-𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐲𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐨.

"𝐆𝐲𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐨. 𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦?" 𝐇𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐀𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. "𝐌𝐲, 𝐦𝐲..."

𝐎𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬.

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐍𝐨 𝐘𝐚𝐢𝐛𝐚.

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬.

frostbites /// Douma x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [Mermaid AU] An ecologist studying a deserted island stumbles across a creature straight out of a fairytale…or a nightmare.

✧ open season thirsts but this one turned into a full fic so fuck my life [7–8/?] ✧

Request 1: Ooh can you write yandere mermaid AU’s?

Request 2: Oh my gosh. Okay, this is so exciting. Since I realized you write for Demon Slayer I've been itching for the opportunity to see anything from you about Doma. He's just. So awful and terrible. I'm trash, I love him. He's an actual monster with a saccharine smile. I'd love to see ANYTHING from you about him. Headcanons. A scenario of him with a demon slayer, or a demon, or just some pathetic human. Even just your thoughts on him would be a blessing, your choice. I’d just love to hear anything you have to say about him. Your writing is so beautifully unsettling, (your Oikawa piece Fanatic. That left me thinking about him for weeks.) So anything about Doma would be fantastic. But no pressure, if Doma isn't your cup of tea please don't force yourself. Honestly I'm just excited to see what you write from any of your requests. Thank you for being so lovely!

A/N: Combined these requests bc I feel like Douma was honestly perfect for this, and I’ve been holding off writing him until he gets animated but who knows how long that’ll take. Thank you so much, btw—I’m also Douma trash and I’ll absolutely be writing more for him in the future!

Is this yandere? It’s more like an origin story of Douma going yandere for cute ecology RA!reader. I haven’t written a scene like this in ages and it was really fun! I know I’m cursing myself by saying this, but maybe one day I’ll write more in this AU…no promises though ♡

Tags/warnings: yandere, mermaid AU but more on the spooky side (shoutout to @yandere-daydreams, the og yan mermaid fucker & a huge inspiration—thanks!!), fear, action, blood kink (?), mild violence, horror/beauty paradigm, size difference, animalistic, HEAVY predator/prey dynamic, one-sided sexual implications (reader is oblivious), ‘it’/‘the creature’ , hand kink, OSHA violations, there are many benefits to being a marine biologist, unfinished business…

You’ve never slept well in the cold.

Maybe you should’ve kept that in mind when you applied for a research assistant position on a tiny, uninhabited island off the Russian coast, but you thought you’d get used to it. You were sure—you were so sure, cocky little past-you—that you’d adapt to the below-freezing temperatures, that the worst part about the 2-month long field study would be the boredom of spending your days taking water samples and tagging birds with no cell service. But it’s not. The worst part is the cold.

So technically, one could argue that there’s a decent reason for you to be out of your bed tonight, yes? You couldn’t sleep from the stiff pain lancing through your sore muscles and the cold, so you made the (undeniably stupid, you’re now realizing) decision to leave camp and wander through the forest looking for…something. But by now you’re starting to regret it. You don’t think you’re far from camp, but everything feels sharper and stranger when you’re alone like this—the collar of your heavy jacket chafing against your throat, the crunch of hoarfrost under your boots, the thin beam of your flashlight catching the steam of your breath here and there before glancing over the surface of the water. God, you should have stayed in bed.

Even so many hours past sunset, the river that cuts through the center of the island is darker than the night and twice as cold. You haven’t forgotten the cautionary words the team leader imparted on your group before you came to the island: how easy it would be to get caught under the current, how quickly the icy water would seep into your limbs and your blood and your heart. You’ve been following the river because there are no paths and no markers, but you keep a safe distance—that is, until you see it.

A flash of light reflecting back from something under the surface. A rippling tongue of silver cutting through the black water. You start, shiver. You look again for the fish (how could it be a fish, though? nothing that big lives in the water here) but the churning waters are dark again. Just to prove to yourself that you’re being silly, you take a few slow steps closer to the bank—crouching low to keep your balance, shining your flashlight into the river, straining your vision to stare into the depths.

And someone—something—looks back.

You know about the fight or flight instinct, how the nervous system kicks into gear with the right stimulus; that reminder that humans are prey animals too. But you don’t run, and you don’t fight. Every muscle in your body stills, locks into place. You freeze. The thing in the river places its hands on the bank to rise half out of the water and tilts its head to the side; stares into your face. And you stare back at it. Behind it, in the river, you see hints of what caught your eye earlier: a silvery tail, like a fishtail but impossibly long, winding effortlessly through the water and keeping the creature’s torso afloat.

Your knees and the heels of your palms press into the ground. The ice underneath stings through each layer of clothing that was supposed to protect you from the elements, biting a little deeper with every second you spend sitting rigid and looking at the creature in front of you. Run. Run. Run, you think.

It blinks slowly, pale lashes shuttering down over kaleidoscopic eyes that your mind can’t seem to categorize into human or inhuman. You’re so focused on its face that you don’t see its hand move, don’t even know it’s reaching for you until you feel the icy weight of it against your cheek. Its lips part—those teeth, oh god, oh god—and it speaks something in a low, eerie voice that you know by instinct wasn’t built for human language.

(You don’t understand then—the version of Japanese he learned so many decades ago was too archaic and too heavily inflected by his unnatural manner of speaking for you to comprehend. Later, when you’re able to understand him, he’ll repeat what he said that first time he saw you kneel down by the edge of the water like a frightened doe: he’ll tell you he laid his hand on your bare skin and felt the beat of your heart and did his best to remember the human word for warm.)

But you hear different.

You hear the whispered, slithering curse of a monster from a nightmare—a beautiful one, but still. Your prey instinct thrills into pure terror, and finally a thought rips its way to the surface. You know—your brain knows, the logical part of you that you’re supposed to rely on—you know what you need to do. You have to get away. Heave your shivering body off of the muddy snow and force it into motion. You know this, you should know this, and yet the fear radiating through your body is concentrated not on your legs, but on the point where the—

—the what? the mermaid? the monster?—

—this thing is touching you, its fingertips resting delicately on your cheek. The body below the human torso resembles something between a shining fish and an eel, but the skin touching yours would almost feel human if it weren’t so cold. (Like a dead man. Like a dead thing, your mind tells you, and if every hair on your body wasn’t already pricked up in goosebumps, it would be now.)

The nails, too—not like a person’s nails you’ve ever seen—thick and long, tapering into points that could tear your flesh open like paper if the thing in the water decides to move them just a fraction of an inch down into the delicate tissue of your cheek—and because you can’t stop yourself, you don’t do the sensible thing. You don’t run. You release something that sounds like a choked scream (you can see the steam of it staining the frigid air white more than you actually hear it) and you force your stiff muscles to take hold of the creature’s wrist and try to drag his hand somewhere, anywhere it isn’t touching your face.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You’re going to die here, aren’t you?

The terrible, beautiful form before you flexes, rippling like a current’s passing down from where your covered fingers are feebly trying to pull at the cold, thick mass of its arm; in an instant, it’s lifting itself out of the black water to tower over you, and it—

Not it. Him.

The thing, the monster in front of you isn’t human, but from the waist up you can’t help categorizing it—him—as male in your head. Even without considering the dozen feet of his tail, it’s a body with power threaded into every centimeter of flesh: muscular, serpentine almost, and larger than a human man’s but unmistakably male, even if the slick contours of his abdomen, his pectorals, the V-shaped muscles framing his hips and disappearing into scales below would be better suited to a stone carving of a pagan god than any man you’ve ever seen in real life.

The wrist you naively thought you could move is so large that despite the added bulk of the mitten you’re wearing, your fingers aren’t even close to meeting around it; when he bows his head toward yours, forcing you to arch your own neck back to avoid another unwelcome touch, the pristine architecture of his face fills your field of vision. In the periphery, you see a few wet strands of silver-gold hair slip over his shoulder and onto the surface of your puffer jacket, dripping frigid river water into the nylon and the fill until it soaks through to your collarbone.

More important than that, though, is the way he’s looking at you. He’s surprised, or you’d think so if this were a human and you could trust your interpretation of his wide eyes and his head cocked to the side, the slight part of his mouth and the way it curls up at the corners—some mixture of shock and delight, like a child who’s managed to catch a bird in his hands and can’t really believe his good luck.

You feel the muscles in his arm contract and then the grip you had on him is inverted—it’s him squeezing long, agile fingers around your wrist, easily spanning the width of it even over the thick sleeve of your jacket, nails stroking over the fabric like he’s deciding whether or not to shred it to get at your skin.

After a moment of deliberation, where you scrunch your eyes closed and grimace away from the cold seeping off him in waves, you feel the synthetic texture of your insulated mitt slipping over your hand—he’s taking your mitten off? You chance a quick look over, and he’s already tearing through the thick wrist strap with a single swipe of his claw to pull the mitt over your hand and drop it limply to your side. It’s too cold here for bare hands—you instinctively try to draw your hand back, curl your fingers into a fist, but the creature doesn’t let you—a short hiss escapes his mouth, and then his own hand is flattening against yours, forcing your fingers straight so he can—

—it’s strange. Almost like he’s comparing the size of his hand to yours. But that wouldn’t make sense, would it?

With the damp cold of his palm aligned against the warm softness of yours, you can tell that his hand is enormous—each fingertip outstretches easily five, six centimeters past yours, even without the added length of his sharpened nails. The stillness, the strangeness of the comparison quiets the part of your mind that’s curled in on itself with sheer terror enough that the researcher in you can start making notes—skin resembles human’s but slightly…smoother? glossier? could be something covering the surface along with water—abnormally large hands but seem to correspond with body size—small amount of transparent webbing between the fingers…

The massive hand pressed into yours shifts by a few degrees, fingers finding the gaps between yours, lacing your hands together and applying pressure until, until—

You flinch, trying without success to yank your hand away from the source of the pain and you speak without thinking. “—stop—stop, that hurts!”

He stops, easing the pressure on your delicate hand, but only by a little. Curious eyes move back to you, lingering over the movement of your mouth when you speak. His own mouth opens, and you force your gaze back up to his multicolored eyes so you don’t have to look at his teeth.

“h—ur—hur—ts?”

You frown through the persistent ache in your wrist—did he just—? Is he trying to imitate you?

“hur—ts?” the creature says again in that low, slithering voice that still feels wrong somehow. “it—hurts?”

“Can you understand me?” you gasp, the words leaving your mouth so quickly that your breath in the cold air clouds his beautiful face for a moment.

His head dips into a fluid nod. “—can— un—under—stand.”

You’re marveling at the discovery—not only can this creature sort of…mimic human speech, it seems like there’s a chance he actually understands what you’re saying. Does that mean he’s met humans before? Is he part human—some kind of human hybrid, a species never before believed possible until you stumbled across it on a completely unrelated research project? What does this mean—for your team, for your career, for the world? Never mind that he’s still gripping your hand so hard that the bones are starting to throb with pain—for the first time since you spotted his tail moving through the water, your fear moves to the back burner. Instead, your mind is humming with the possibilities of this finding.

Which is why you don’t notice him leaning in closer until it’s too late.

“sm—ell— g—ood. smells—good,” he repeats breathily, the air exhaled from those unearthly lungs washing like a cold rain over the side of your cheek. His face—so much larger than yours—is nudging up against the place where your jaw meets your throat, breathing in your scent. You can feel the brush of his pale eyelashes against your sensitive skin.

“want to— t—taste—want to—eat—”

You’re so numb from the cold that you barely feel the razor-like edge of his claw slice through your bared skin, drawing a shallow cut from your thumb down the back of your hand to the bulge of the carpal bones in your wrist. It’s not deep—the pain isn’t even as noticeable as the strangeness of the heat you feel seeping from the injury a second later—which you realize, as the creature pulls back just enough to lick over it—is blood.

Your blood.

He’s lapping at your blood.

You try to scramble to your feet, boots scraping haphazardly against the slippery coating of snow on the ground only to pull him closer by his grip on your hand when you stumble back almost flat to the earth. You prop yourself up on your elbows and then he’s looming over you, nose almost touching yours, the bulk of his broad chest gleaming white like the snow underneath you.

He’s smiling—beaming down at you, eyes wide with joy, such an angelic kind of beauty that for a second, despite everything, your heart seizes up with longing—ribbons of metallic hair curl around his face as they dry or drip down over his chiseled shoulders like rivers of gold—his eyes shimmer in a million colors you couldn’t put names to, almost luminescent even in the scattered halo from the flashlight you discarded a few feet away without thinking—this monster, your angel of death staring you in the face, so beautiful it hurts to look at him—

Stop freezing. You have to run. You have to do something. Your adrenaline isn’t working right, it’s pinning you into the frozen earth just as surely as the creature on top of you. The weight of his body—the juncture between his human abdomen and the tail—settles between your knees, forcing your legs wider to accommodate the mass between them. His mouth moves and again you’re transfixed piecing together his fractured speech.

“you—taste good—soft— sw—sweet. want to—touch—feel. inside.” His low, raspy voice is laced with something besides pleasure—hunger? you can’t tell, you’re not sure, but it has to be—and his eyes drift closed happily as he speaks, one thick arm curling underneath your rigid body to draw it up against his. “let me—inside—? let me feel inside—”

“Get off me!” Do something. Now. You don’t know what he’s talking about (‘feel inside’? what the fuck?), but considering common sense is telling you that there’s a decent chance you’re about to be wolfed down like Christmas dinner, it can’t be anything good.

You struggle awkwardly against the pressure of his arm, but you’re nowhere near worming your way away from him when your bare hand scrapes roughly into the dirt near your leg searching out the pocketknife you keep zipped into one of your chest pockets. Somehow you have a hard time believing the 6cm blade you use to clean under your fingernails is going to do a whole lot of good against the literal monster that’s wrestling you into the snow at the moment, but maybe a decent slash over the face could distract him enough for you to get away?

It doesn’t matter, though—as soon as the back of your thumb makes contact with the rough fragments of ice littering the ground, your escape attempt is thrust to the side in deference to the line of fire screaming out from the cut on your hand. A mixture of clean and dried blood smears out over the dirty snow and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from whimpering like an animal.

The pressure against your chest lets up as the monster…sits up, or whatever the anatomically-correct equivalent position is, staring down at you with patronizing concern over his face. “it hurts?” he asks slowly, almost mockingly, but your eyes are fixed on the newly-reopened injury spilling a few final drops of scarlet into the white canvas underneath. So red, like…

The flare.

The fucking flare you were given, for emergencies only.

You’re an idiot.

Before the creature can resume its attack, your abused hand shoots to the thigh pocket where the flare is resting parallel to your leg—you can barely get your cold fingers to move to the right position but you force the stiff digits to grip the zipper and yank it open, bending a few of the metal teeth in the process. He notices you moving, but just cocks his head to the side again, waiting patiently to bat aside whatever pathetic resistance attempt you’ll mount this time—and then you have it—the long rod of the flare is resting in your hand and you slide it out of the pocket to point it out to the side as far from your body as possible—

his eyes narrow a little and he makes to reach out for you again, probably wondering what you’re holding—

your team leader taught you how to use these flares on the first day of the boat trip: hold it downwind remove the cap strike the lid like a match—and in the chaos you barely remember to turn your face away and close your eyes but you do and then—

Heat explodes through the icy air as the black behind your eyelids blooms scarlet from the light of the flare. You can hear it hissing and spitting—or is that the monster?—but more importantly you can feel it, the fiery warmth roasting through the darkness at the end of your arm. You thrust the flare upward blindly (careful not to let it anywhere near you but so desperate at this point that you’d take a nasty burn over being eaten alive) and an instant later you feel the weight of his body lift off you. You don’t have any time to waste—it’ll only burn for a minute, and with the frost still biting through your lungs you’re not going to be running as fast as you’d like—but hey, he’s part fish, right? So all you have to do is get away from the water. At least…you hope.

56 seconds left. You toss the still-burning flare to the side and roll in the other direction, squinting through the all-encompassing red glow to make out the plastic glint of your flashlight. You spot it, dive for it, and wrap your undamaged hand around the familiar grip, tucking the other into the pocket of your jacket for warmth. 49 seconds left. You can hear him behind you—growling or something in that creeping voice—but you can’t look back. Can’t look into those eyes, or you’ll be trapped again, pinned and licked and taken. You haul yourself to your feet and pick a direction—doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s away from the scarlet fire of the flare and the river and him. 43 seconds left.

Behind you, the growling has started to sound like laughter.

Run. Run. Run.

///

In the morning, you wake up cold.

You’re nested in your bedroll, but icy sweat is soaking through the fleece lining of your undershirt and your whole body is shaking trying to get you warm again. What a horrible dream, you tell yourself. Just a bad dream. You’re still wearing your outdoor jacket but that must be because you were so tired after the job you were assigned yesterday that you forgot to change into your nightclothes, so silly. One of your hands feels prickly and achy and it stings but that must be because you scraped it on something while taking samples. So careless of you. What a horrible dream, you tell yourself.

The morning light filtering through the tent is silver-grey, almost gold at some angles. You stare into the perfectly normal light, straight up into the place where the sun should be behind the fabric. There’s condensation collecting on the ceiling of the tent; when it drips down onto your bare face, you have this strange idea—that the sudden shock of cold water spilling down your cheek feels almost like…

…almost like the echo of a touch.