Bad Pet Pt.2

Bad Pet pt.2

A My Pet Demon Collaboration story

Pairing: demon pet Douma x f!reader

Summary: You and your pet demon, Douma have grown closer in the weeks he has lived with you, your connection growing stronger with each passing day. But everything changes when things go awry on the night of the demon dance, and your bond becomes something you never imagined possible.

Tags: slow-burn. NSFW. Soft dom!reader x sub!Douma. Biting. Marking. Mating. Blood. Sex (including cunnilingus) during menstruation. Nipple play (his). Part 2 approx 12k words.

My Pet Demon AU created by @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi

Dividers by @benkeibear

Read part 1 here

"DOUMA! DOUMA NO!" You shrieked with laughter as you abandoned your purse at the door and ran through the house away from the him. “BAD DEMON!”

Another two weeks had passed since the day he danced for you, and in that time you had grown closer. Petting his hair on the couch was now a part of your nightly routine. You'd figured out a feeding schedule which suited you both. Between Kie, her husband Tanjuro, and their eldest son Tanjiro, the arrangements for the dance had been completely taken out of your hands by the helpful Kamados but you were confident it would go well. It was only a day away and Douma was excited beyond measure. 

And this… this new game the two of you played, was now the norm every time you came home from work. The moment you stepped through the door the chase was on. There was no escaping his lanky legs and boisterous tenacity, but running from him was half the fun. 

Douma pounced, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you over to the couch where he fell on top of you, the pair of you gasping and giggling as he blew his hair out of his face and grinned. 

"Got ya, little bunny."

It was pointless trying to resist (nor did you want to) but you made a show of it anyway, squirming beneath him as he lifted your arm to his mouth and gently bit your wrist, a growl sounding at the back of his throat which made your toes curl. 

"I take it you missed me?" you laughed as he gnawed on you. 

"Mhm."

"I missed you too."

"Mmh… "

These playbites warmed your heart. It was an immense show of trust from you and restraint from him. His teeth were sharp, his strength supernatural, and yet you felt safe even with such a vulnerable area between his jaws.

Curiosity got the better of you and you leaned in to bite his shoulder, causing him to snort with laughter and release your wrist from his jaws. 

“Ah! Such little teeth!”

Despite his amusement, you still immediately felt guilty for doing it. “Did it hurt?”

Your question only made him laugh harder, and the game evolved into an exchange of bites. He repaid you for yours with a nibble on the inside of your elbow which made you squirm. You got him back with a bite to his bicep which had him sucking in a breath between his giggles, on and on, until finally his teeth were an inch from your lips, his breath fanning hot across them as your smiles faded.

“Shall we call it a tie?” he said, his voice soft, gentle, and just for you.

Your chest tightened as you tried to draw breath. The press of his body against yours was delicious torture; terrible and wonderful all at once. Until you saw the anguish in his rainbow eyes as they fell to the scar on your neck. 

“I did that,” he whispered, pain evident in his wavering voice. “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to. And it’s all healed up now. There’s no harm done.”

He drew around the scar with the tip of his finger, sending a shiver through your body, a heat which pooled between your thighs. 

“Why didn’t you send me away?” he asked.

The question struck you like an arrow to the heart. “Because… you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’ve been sent away for less. By humans I lived with for longer.”

“I’m not them–”

“No… no, you’re not, are you?” He smiled softly and lowered his head to rest his cheek against your chest.  With every passing moment your face grew hotter as he coiled his fingers around yours, “May I tell you something. Something I don’t believe was in my file.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah of course.”

“The day I was born I was bought by an elderly couple. I’ve often wondered why they wanted a demon baby instead of a human– maybe cost, maybe because I was interesting, maybe something else. Whatever the reason, they were kind to me.” His eyes grew distant. “The man I was raised to call father had girlfriends. My mother discovered his infidelity and murdered him. Stabbed him forty-seven times in the chest and then turned the knife on herself. I was eight years old and three feet away.”

Your blood ran cold at his story, feeling as though you had just been dropped off a ledge through freezing air. “Oh Douma, I’m so sorry.”

“I felt empty. Nothing. I saw it all happen. I remember their faces, I can still smell the blood. And all I could think about was the mess I had been left to clean. And when I was picked up by the shelter, they called me a monster for it, soulless, evil.”

Anger simmered inside you. No wonder he was closed off emotionally. How could anyone get through that and be okay afterward? Let alone an eight year-old child. And there was no counseling for demons, no therapy, no care. Just abandonment and punishment. 

Douma raised his head and smiled. “Your heart is beating so fast, little bunny. Please don’t get upset on my behalf."

“Of course I’m upset. That shouldn’t have happened to you. None of it. And I’m so sorry it did.” Tears welled as you tried to remain calm. The frustration at not being able to do a damn thing about any of it was more than you could bear. “I can’t undo any of it, but I can promise you that your life isn’t going to be like that anymore. Never again.”

Douma simply stared in stunned silence at you. "You care so much, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do. I love–" You froze, your breath catching in your throat. 

You were getting overwrought, you told yourself. His story, the intimacy of lying together on the couch… not to mention your hormones. The fact that your period was due any day; it was too much.

"I care about you, Douma. I want you to be okay."

"I am," he assured you. "I'm so happy here with you." With a sigh he lowered his head back down to your chest. "I'm excited to dance with you tomorrow night. I’m excited to dress up and look pretty at my mistress’s side. Since coming to you I've found I'm more and more excited for each tomorrow. I'm happy to wake up, and I fall asleep to hopeful thoughts."

Your hand seemed to move on its own, resting on the back of his head, your fingers threading through the silken strands of his hair. The red patch now covered most of the top of his head, and stroking it elicited a deep, rumbling purr from the depths of his chest. 

“You treat me so well,” he murmured. “I want to be with you forever.”

“So do I,” you said, closing your eyes and just enjoying the sensation of being close to him.

"I belong to you," he said, and your heart squeezed.

There was no point in denying it to yourself any longer. 

You were in love with a demon. 

Your demon.

Your Douma. 

“How do I look?” Douma held out his arms and twirled for you in the hallway. Since that night would be a special one, he’d chosen to wear his biggest white hakama pants and a blood-red top which clung faithfully to his figure. 

“Amazing!”

“Pretty?”

“Very!”

It filled him with pride whenever you complimented him. Especially now you were more comfortable with it. He didn’t sense that constant anxious hum coming from you as you smiled at him 

And he saw your eyes wandering over his torso– oh yes, he most certainly did.

But unlike with his previous owners, your gaze didn’t make him uncomfortable or make him feel like a lifeless object. No, your gaze was a blessing. It tightened a coil in the pit of his belly and made his cheeks grow warm.

And you looked beautiful yourself in your lovely black dress which matched the leather of his harness. But you were struggling with something at the back of your neck, the clasp to a black velvet choker. 

“Need help?”

“Yeah… I think so…”

He didn’t even think twice about it, stepping forward to assist you with your necklace, carefully slipping the little golden clasp through its hoop and securing it around your neck. It was only when he was done, when you turned around to face him that his lungs suddenly emptied. 

He had just put a collar on you. 

A delicate velvet one, yes, but a collar nevertheless. And he adored it on you. 

Maybe the significance was entirely in his head, maybe you thought nothing of it, but just for the night he would allow himself to believe that’s what it was. That while you were his mistress, you belonged to him. You belonged to each other; he in his harness and you with your matching collar, letting everyone know you were a pair meant to be together. Oh, he was practically giddy at the thought. Warmth spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes as he fought back the urge to pounce on you. 

He wanted to bite, to chew, to hear you giggle and press his body against yours. And he wanted… he wanted you to claim him in return. He wanted you to fuck him so badly the ache went bone-deep. Soul deep, even. He wanted you to tell him what to do, to please and pleasure you, to obey and fulfill and serve you. 

“Thank you,” you said, touching your fingertips to the necklace and giving him a smile which made his heart– and his cock– lift. “Are you ready to dance?”

“I’m so ready.”

He could hardly draw breath the entire journey to the club. Everything you did; the way your fingers slid across the steering wheel, thigh shifting as you switched between the brake and gas, lips parting as you checked the rearview mirror made him burn. The orange glow of streetlights cast you in an ethereal light. He couldn't stop glancing down at the seatbelt snaking between your breasts.

Something was happening to him, that much was clear. Something he had never experienced before. He'd never found himself so hot and bothered by literally every movement. Even the subtle sounds of your breaths made his cock ache. 

"You're so beautiful, mistress," he said, enjoying the way your blush crept over your cheeks. 

You didn't speak, but you didn't have to. He could feel your attraction to him, feel your conflict, your desire, your hunger. You wanted to devour him as badly as he wanted you. 

You were nervous in a different way than usual. It was contagious. 

Soon the roads became faintly familiar, and when the train tracks came into view his mind started to whirr. "Where are we going?"

"Check the glovebox…"

He did as you asked and found a simple black collar nestled away. "What–?"

"Well, I couldn't stop thinking about how you asked if Enmu could come to the dance, so I stopped by to see him the other day after work and talked to him about it. He said he'll wear a collar just for a little while and pretend he's mine. And he'll be on his best behavior."

A wave of emotion hit Douma, a negative emotion so sudden and powerful it startled him. It was new and uncomfortable. And it made no sense at all. He was touched that yet again you had gone out of your way to give him something he'd asked for– something illegal to boot. But there was also something less pleasant welling inside him, burning in the center of his chest. He felt sick when he imagined you putting the collar onto the dream demon. 

"Douma? Are you okay?"

He remembered himself and put on a bright smile. "Just peachy!"

You gave him a sidelong glance. "You sure?"

"Positive!"

“It’s just for tonight, and we’ll drop him right back off at the shed when we’re done.” Your brow furrowed, still keeping your eyes on the road but stealing glances in his direction, constantly checking on him as though you could read his mind. And when you finally pulled up outside the abandoned train shed you turned to him, eyes full of concern. “Douma… did I overstep? Was this the wrong thing to do?”

Oh, you sweet anxious little bunny. Of course you would think that. Of course your gut reaction was to assume you did wrong. He reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, hoping his touch would reassure you where his words had failed to do so. “Not at all, my lamb. Never.”

The way your breath hitched at his gesture made his throat tighten. 

Gods, what was this… this feeling between the two of you? It was akin to ravenous hunger, but rather than feeling it in his belly it was in every cell of his body. He’d enjoyed sex before but he’d never craved it this way. If he gave in to his urges he’d have you right there in the car. 

Your lips parted as your eyes met his, shivers of excitement tingling across the surface of his skin. You leaned toward him, and he toward you. The space between you closed and he found himself sucking in a breath of anticipation.

A presence just in front of the car drew Douma’s attention, and he turned to see Enmu standing just a few feet away from the hood, illuminated by the headlights of the car. 

“Fuck!” You gasped in shock, covering your heart with your hand before bursting into laughter. “I should have gotten him a collar with a bell on it. He scared the shit out of me.”

Douma chuckled, but that nauseating sickness returned as the dream demon climbed into the back of the car and sat in the middle seat. 

“Good evening,” Enmu said in a voice so soft it sounded as though it would shatter. “Oh, human… your heart is racing. Did I startle you?”

“Yeah, a little,” you laughed as you handed him the collar. 

“How wonderful!”

And just like that, the exchange was over. You didn’t put the collar on Enmu at all, he did it to himself. The quiet metallic click from the back seat set Douma’s heart at ease. 

He was still your one and only pet.

You were still his mistress and no one else's.

The rest of the car ride was as pleasant as can be, with Enmu cooing in the back seat over the dreams he could feel coming from the apartment complexes you drove by. You gave Douma a passing sidelong glance, the corner of your lips curving into a smile just for him. Oh how he adored you, how he wanted you, how he needed you. 

By the time you pulled up in the parking lot of the Crimson Lily every muscle in his body was tense with the urge to pounce upon you, fuck you, lick you, bite, kiss, gods, anything. He didn’t even care that Enmu was there. He would have fucked you right in front of him if you wouldn’t mind it. His body was alight with desire; an intense and all consuming heat. 

Heat. 

Was that what this was? Was he finally going into heat for real for the first time in his life. The prospect was thrilling and mortifying all at once. He wasn’t entirely naive about it all. He knew what going into heat entailed: the fevers, the ravenous desire, the suffering if his urges were not satiated. And he knew he wanted to satiate those urges with you. Only you. 

It wasn’t even supposed to be possible for demons and humans to mate, and yet he couldn’t deny the call of his biology. It wasn’t another demon. It was you. It had to be you.

Would you even allow it though? You were always so anxious about not taking advantage of him, of not allowing yourself to give in to your own desire because of the power balance you perceived between the two of you. It didn’t matter to you that he was bigger, stronger, equipped with sharp fangs and lethal claws. All you saw was your title; Mistress, and the responsibility you felt because of it. The guilt. 

As you headed into the club together, lured by the siren's call of heavy bass lines and neon light, he placed his palm on your lower back, desperate to make contact, feeling overwhelming comfort just from the warmth of your skin beneath his hand. And the way that you smiled at him, so full of pride at your pretty pet… God… he wanted you. And he was going to go mad if he didn't have you. 

"Oh wow!" the club's owner practically purred the moment she laid eyes on Douma. "Well, hello there, beautiful." 

Your body stiffened as the gorgeous white-haired woman reached out to scratch your demon affectionately beneath the chin. 

Her wide blue eyes drifted over his features. "Do you like to dance, pet?"

"Oh, of course I love to dance!" Douma said, his face alight with excitement as he leaned into the affection with a wide grin. 

It shouldn't have made you feel, well, anything, but you couldn't deny the wave of nausea in the pit of your stomach. Oh, you could kid yourself that it was purely because she’d touched him without his permission, or you were worried about him being exploited, but you knew there was a little more to it than that. The truth was, as the woman continued to shower Douma in praise and affection, you were jealous.

“You have such a pretty face! God, look at your eyes! And that body. Wow! No horns or marks so you’re not a purebred, and you’re not ugly so not a simple mutt either. You’re a designer breed, right? You've gotta be.” At last she turned to you, "He'd do well here, if you ever want to rent him out to us. There's a small but avid clientele for demons, especially pretty ones. You’d make a fat wad from him."

The money wasn’t tempting in the slightest, but the excitement in Douma’s smile was enough to stop you dismissing it outright. “We’ll think about it.”

The owner tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows, as if offended you hadn’t bitten off her hand at the offer. “One human, two demons, right?”

“Right,” you confirmed as she took your credit card and swiped it, paying you into the club. 

“Ume!” A man’s voice called from the club’s security office. “For fuck’s sake, the one you’re going all gaga over doesn’t even have a collar on! He can’t come in.” A moment later he appeared, raking a bony hand through his tousled green hair. “You never were the smartest. Good thing I’m here to help keep this place running.”

“Shut up!” the woman snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Wait, but he’s wearing a harness,” you said, your heart rate spiking with panic as you realized you might have been careless. Maybe you’d screwed up and ruined Douma’s night already.

Your demon simply smiled and gave his leash a confident tug. “I’m a bad pet,” he said, his voice dripping with seduction as he stepped closer to you. “I have to wear a harness instead of a collar. It gives my mistress more control over me. She makes sure I'm a good boy."

The green-haired security guard frowned, his gaze falling to you, then Enmu, and finally Douma. “I’m going to be watching you three closely tonight, and if I suspect you’re putting the rest of the guests in danger, you’re out. Understand? I don’t care what my idiot little sister says, we have a no tolerance policy against fighting.”

“We’ll be good,” you assured him, relief crashing over you as the heat rose on your cheeks.

"Go on in," the woman said, jutting her chin toward the door. 

You walked into the main room of the club, flanked by Douma and Enmu on the end of their leashes as the brother and sister bickered behind you. Their argument was quickly drowned out by the music coming from within.

The main room, or lounge as the red neon sign above the doorway called it, was bathed in crimson light as sumptuous music blasted from the speakers. A handful of demons were socializing and dancing on the dancefloor. A long stage took up the center of the room, and on that stage were two silver poles and a giant glittering bird cage. No one was dancing up there. Not yet, anyway.

You were early, but there were already dozens of demons and their humans socializing with each other, and it only took you a moment to locate the Kamados. You turned around to let Douma and Enmu know the names of the demons but found Enmu had disappeared, his leash hanging loose in your hand.

Shit.

“Where did he go?” you asked, panic rising in your chest as you scanned the surrounding booths for signs of the dream demon.

“He’ll be back, Mistress,” Douma said, leaning down to put his lips close to your ear, combating the noise from the music. “Don’t worry about anything tonight, okay? Let's just have… fun.” 

With every gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear your heart fluttered. Your eyes closed involuntarily, your body reacting to his touch with shivers of electricity and rising heat. 

The bass vibrated through your body as Douma’s hand returned to the curve of your back, his claws drawn just a little, their caress sending tingles right to your core. With just a simple touch, he managed to empty the air from your lungs and send heat pooling between your thighs. 

The sex-drenched atmosphere in the club, the pounding music, Douma's touch, his scent, his beauty, it was more than you could stand, and you’d only been there for two minutes. 

You tried to keep your composure as Kie and Tanjuro Kamado waved over at you, the couple already talking to a number of guests and playing the part of the gracious party hosts. Some part of you–okay, a big part–was grateful they'd taken the planning away from you. You were completely free to enjoy yourself–to enjoy your time with Douma.

The pair of you headed to a booth, squeezing behind the table to sit on the plush red leather bench behind. Your thigh pressed against his as you sat close, sending frissons of excitement through your body. 

Gods, what were you doing? What were you thinking?

The sight of him in that damn harness, his chest now so full and soft from all your care it made your pussy wet just to look at. The urge to touch him, caress him, make him blush and whimper and feel– It was all-consuming. Strapped up on the end of your leash, his big, pretty eyes and charismatic smile just full of adoration… he was too beautiful. Too tempting. You couldn’t stand it. 

"Do you want me to take off your leash so you can socialize?" You asked, yelling above the music and unsure of what you wanted the answer to be.

Douma simply smiled, and leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder. "No, mistress, I want to stay with you."

He stayed like that for a long time, quietly watching the other demons dance, his fingers curling around the leash connecting you. 

Every breath was a struggle as you kept looking ahead, watching as the Kamado’s eldest son hurried around with an eager smile, chatting to various guests and doing whatever he could to keep the party going. It would have been a good distraction, if not for the way Douma’s breaths fanned across the top of your breasts and made your flesh pebble.

“You came,” a dark, enchanting voice said by your ear. You found yourself side-by-side with Muzan, the Kamado’s demon. You hadn't even noticed him squeeze into the booth beside you, and from the way he shot upright, neither had Douma. 

Muzan wore an elegant black suit, with a matching black and gold paisley collar, which disguised the discreet but powerful shock pack which was capable of issuing electric shocks to subdue him should he get out of hand. 

“Oh, hi Muzan,” you greeted him with a warm smile he did not return. Controlling your breathing, you tried to appear unaffected by the flood of arousal coursing through your body. But a moment later you felt a gentle pressure on your shoulder as the older demon nuzzled it in greeting as he always did when you’d prepared his food in the past. You couldn’t help but feel a little fond of the curmudgeonly old guy. “Of course I came! This was really Douma’s idea—”

Crimson eyes darted over your head, and Muzan’s pupils narrowed as he glowered in Douma’s direction. His lips parted around a silent syllable but promptly snapped shut.

Something unspoken passed between Douma and Muzan, something you felt you had only ever seen on wildlife documentaries; a deep, primal rivalry.

The air between them–the air you occupied– crackled with energy, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You could have sworn you heard a low growl pass between the two demons even above the music. Muzan’s eyes were murderous, but Douma… Douma was simply smiling, unfazed, unblinking, and that was somehow just as intimidating. 

“Hey,” you said, though which demon you were addressing you hadn’t quite decided. You only knew you had to say something to relieve the tension. “Douma… do you want to dance with me?”

Muzan’s intense glare fell to you as you reached behind you and took Douma’s hand in yours, not even considering how it would look to the other humans and their demon pets who were all free to roam or led properly on their leashes. None of them were holding hands, only you and he.

“Oh my my, mistress,” he said as the warmth returned to his smile. His opaline eyes flashed with excitement, the tension with Muzan seemingly forgotten. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The music blared, but the pounding of Douma's heartbeat in his ears thundered even louder. You kept hold of his leash of course, but you were also brazenly holding his hand in front of everyone! Like you were proud to be his mistress, claiming him as he longed to claim you.

Oh goodness, the music, the light, the eyes of every demon and human on the pair of you as you led him to the dancefloor. The shy little smile you gave him as you turned to face him made his chest ache. Leave it to you to be concerned about the opinions of others.

You were close, but there were still a few inches of space between you, the tone of your dance playful and innocent despite the sexual undertones of the music. He twirled you, spinning you around as you laughed, the way he sometimes did at the end of the chase game right before it turned to biting. 

He took great pleasure in your delighted squeal as he lifted you up onto the little stage and joined you a moment later, not giving you time to worry as he gripped the pole and spun around it the way his old owners had him do. Only this time there was no pressure, no demands to perform for party goers or for foreplay. No, this was what he wanted. He wanted to be sexy for you, he wanted to display his body, his muscles, his strength. Because he wanted to be a good mate for you; a mate to be proud of, who could protect you with his life and submit to you in bed. 

And then the music changed. It was a song made for closeness, for slow grinding, for fucking, and the longer it went on, the longer Douma couldn’t stand the distance between you. 

People were watching but he couldn’t have cared less as he snaked his arm around your waist, drawing you closer, until your bodies were pressed together, your breath heating his lips, your eyes dancing over his face as you rocked in harmony with the music. 

Dancing with you like that was heaven and hell, every cell in his body was alight with desire and need, so close and yet so far to what he wanted. His cock ached as your hips moved with his, your arm sliding around his shoulders, fingers splayed across his muscles as he maneuvered you between the pole and his body.

Douma was intoxicated by the scent of you; your body, your arousal. He could smell it on you, it poured from you and flooded his senses. And there was something else. Blood. You were very close to menstruating. Gods, and that scent was more than he could bear.

Feral need flooded him, and before he knew what was happening the dance turned to something far more intimate. His hips rolled against you, his thigh pressing between yours, the little startled cry of pleasure you emitted making him harder than he had ever been in his life. 

God, he needed you, he needed to whisk you away that instant, take you to a bathroom stall and beg you to ride him until he couldn’t take anymore. He needed to bite you, mark you and be marked, claim you and be claimed, mate with you, live and die with you. You were everything. Everything. And you were in his arms, flushed, lips quivering, your body reacting to his. His owner. His mistress. His.

“Douma—”

He was delirious with need as he ground his pelvis against you, his cock weeping at the thought of your pussy separated by only thin fabrics his claws could make such short work of. Rubbing himself against you, he pressed his face to your neck, a desperate whine escaping him as his grip tightened around the pole. 

“Douma…” you gasped his name, gripping his shoulders and pulling back from him. “Douma we need to stop.”

Your tone was firm and final. His breaths were hard, his body tingling from top to bottom, and it hurt to draw back from you, the distance sending spears of agony through him, but he did it. He pulled back. He stopped dancing. Because disobeying you, hurting you, scaring you, having you look at him with such fear and disappointment was worse than all of it. And the shame. The shame was crushing.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” he said, his hand instinctively coming up to cover the clip connecting his harness to the leash. “I was bad, wasn’t I?”

You glanced around at the crowd. A few were watching, visibly perturbed by what they’d witnessed. And of course, you hated that. He smelled the anxiety spike in you. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry–” was all he could manage. 

You drew in a breath, filling your lungs and shaking your head. “It’s okay. I… I was dancing with you too. But maybe it isn’t such a good idea for tonight.”

His heart shattered at that. He’d looked forward to dancing with you for so long and he’d ruined it in a matter of minutes. 

"I'll be good," he said, the desperation in his heart cracking his voice. "I'll be a good pet for you. Please dance with me again. I need to feel— I need you, mistress."

"We can later… maybe. I need to take a break. I need to find Enmu," you said, looking away from him. "I'll be back in a minute I just… I need to cool off for a second, okay?"

He understood. It hurt but he got it. Humans and demons weren't supposed to do the things he wanted to do with you. And you were so anxious about everything all the time, he was a fool to even hope you might have accepted it. He was definitely a fool for letting his physical urges take over in public, elevated on the stage where everyone could see. 

You climbed down leaving him up there like a lonely statue on a plinth beside the metal cage meant for dancing. And it hurt. Somehow just you walking away from him for a moment hurt worse than every other owner sending him to the shelter. It hurt worse than the moment he overheard that he was to be destroyed.

It hurt because he had disappointed you. And it hurt because he loved you so completely that pain and happiness were intertwined.

He pulled in a breath as he watched you walk away, his body still throbbing with that deep, primitive heat he would endure for eternity if it meant re-earning your trust. He would be good. So good for you.

“How abhorrent,” Muzan snarled from the bottom of the stage. “You’re in heat and want to mate with your owner–is that correct?” 

The hairs on the back of Douma’s neck bristled. It was clear this demon was powerful and angry.

“It’s an abomination,” the older demon continued, pulling himself up onto the stage without any effort. “And I won’t allow it.”

Before Douma could react, Muzan shoved him, his palms hitting Douma’s chest with such force it sent him flying back into the cage. The earth shook as the back of Douma’s head smacked against a metal bar, 

“I should kill you,” Muzan said, slamming the door and holding it closed. 

Try as he might, Douma couldn’t even open it a crack. Panic gripped him, closing his throat, chilling his blood. Yet again he was left alone in a cage. Only this time he wasn’t numb. This time he was terrified. Fear drowned out logic, and every sinew in his body screamed at him to escape, to get back to you. “Let me out!”

“No. You belong in a cage. You don’t deserve to be let free. Despicable, perverse, twisted creature. Your beloved mistress should have left you to die.’

“LET ME OUT!” he cried. “LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!”

Muzan’s blank stare turned to a smirk, his pale hands gripping the same metal bars as Douma’s. “How pathet—”

A sharp zapping sound silenced Muzan, and a spear of pain darted through Douma’s hands, his arms, all the way to his chest. His heart emptied, his vision blurred, and his panic rose.

Terror sharpened his senses and made them bleed into each other. He was no longer sure of what was happening, only that he was in pain, he was still locked in the cage, humans were yelling, Muzan’s claws were reaching out toward his shoulder. Instinct took over and he lashed out in turn, his claws only half-drawn by the time they connected with the demon’s flesh.

Only it wasn’t a demon he clawed. No, he recognized that scent right away. It wasn’t demon, but  human blood smeared across his hands.

The smell brought the world into sharp focus. 

Muzan’s mistress was clutching her arm, her eyes wide with shock and fear as people gathered round and inspected the claw marks slicing her wrist.

“He bit her!” a voice called. “I’m calling the cops. He shouldn’t be in here. He’s dangerous.”

White hot terror flooded every part of Douma’s body.

No.

No no no no NO. 

Not again. Not again. 

He was going to be taken back to that awful place.

He was going to be taken away from you.

“Oh! Wait up!” Tanjiro called out as he chased you down the hallway near the bathrooms. 

Your cheeks were still flushed scarlet despite holding a wet paper towel to them, your pulse thumping as you tried your best to fill your lungs. It was mortifying that you had been dry humped by your demon in front of the rest of the guests. But what was even worse is that you had loved it. The feeling of his body against yours, the heat, the frantic, animalistic need for each other. The sight of him with his leash and harness. It had felt so good. So wicked. So perfect.

None of it had been helped by the fact that you were cramping either. 

“Tanjiro, hey,” you greeted the young man, trying to sound as though your heart wasn’t still vibrating with the excitement and shame of arousal. “Everything okay?”

“Of course!” he said brightly. “But there is a small problem with one of the demons and someone said he was yours.”

Your stomach dropped. Had something happened to Douma while you were cooling off in the bathroom? Was he hurt? “Oh god–”

“Don’t worry! It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Tanjiro said, holding out his hands as if to soothe you. “You came here with a dream demon, right?”

“Enmu?” 

“That’s right! He’s uh… putting the guests to sleep and narrating their dreams. It’s kind of creeping people out.”

A burst of relieved laughter escaped you as you put your hand over your heart and felt your lungs fill once more. Douma was safe, and it was just a simple case of wrangling the stray demon you had illegally smuggled into a lapdancing bar. No biggie. 

“Where is he?” you asked. 

Tanjiro wasted no time leading you to the side room where Enmu was sprawled on his back across a large padded couch, surrounded by unconscious guests. 

The dream demon had a wide smile on his face as he released an almost orgasmic sigh. “What a feast. So many beautiful dreams. So many secrets and desires. Ahh… I could stay here forever.”

You couldn’t help but smile. His power was mostly harmless, if a little creepy. “Enmu, come on… you have to let these people wake up.”

He rolled the back of his head across the plush of the couch to face you. “Well that’s no fun.”

“Neither is sleeping through an entire party. Wake them up.”

He hummed thoughtfully and rolled his eyes. “Just a little longer, please. It’s been so long since I was surrounded by so many dreams.”

“Enmu…”

“Oh, fine. Awaken.”

The guests began to stir and Enmu climbed to his feet, walking toward you with a wide smile. The demon’s pale blue eyes shot to Tanjiro, then back to you. “I’m enjoying this party immensely.”

“Good. Just stay close, okay? And later on maybe I’ll let you listen to my dreams. Deal?”

Enmu’s smile turned to a sinister smirk. “The dreams of someone in love? Ahh… how wonderful. Agreed.”

Your face heated. “I’m not in love.”

“If you insist.” Enmu giggled quietly. “Very well then, mistress. I’ll stick by your side.”

Tanjiro got to work helping the groggy guests back to their feet and fetching them glasses of water as you and Enmu headed back out to the main lounge of the club. “I’m glad you’re having a good time, Enmu.”

The dream demon sighed longingly. “One of them was dreaming of beating his own father with a baseball bat. It was glorious. I wonder what you dream about… sharp fangs… golden hair and rainbow eyes?”

“Stop!” Your cheeks grew warm but you couldn’t help but laugh. In some strange way it was nice to know you were so obviously smitten. It was exciting, even if the feeling was forbidden. And as Enmu continued theorizing, it felt as if you finally had someone to confess it all to, even if you kept denying it. “Actually, no I’m not letting you listen to my dreams. You can have meat instead.”

“Ah… very well. You’d be surprised how many humans dream of their demons in that way. And vice versa of course. Such forbidden thoughts. Such deliciously taboo dreams.”

“They do?” 

“Oh, yes. Wicked dreams are my favorites.”

You entered the lounge together. A crowd had gathered around the stage, some people stood on it, others stood at floor level. The club’s owner and the green-haired security guard were there, though you could only see the guard from behind, crouched on the floor and visibly struggling with someone. 

“Has there been a fight?” you asked, but Enmu simply smiled. Something about the scene gave you a deeply uneasy feeling. You were already taking your first hurried steps, heart leaping into your throat as you spoke your fear aloud, “Where’s Douma?”

Kie Kamado called out your name, drawing your attention toward her. Your blood ran cold at the sight of her wounded wrist. “I tried to tell them it was an accident. I’m okay but someone called the police—”

“Douma!” 

Gods, no no no you’d failed him. You’d left him alone and he was in danger. 

You pushed through the crowd toward where the security guard was crouched, confirming your worst fears; Douma, pinned to the ground, his eye swollen and bruised, his cheeks streaked with tears. He didn’t speak, he didn’t have to– the look on his face was one of pure terror and helplessness. 

“Get off him!” you yelled.

“Get back!” the security guard bellowed back. “The cops are on their way.”

“He’s mine. He’s my pet, let me deal with him.” Your heart was pounding, your vision shaking with panic as you got to your knees, facing the security guard but positioning yourself above Douma. “Please don’t send him away.”

“He bit a woman!”

“It was an accident!” Kie called from behind you. “I keep telling you but no one will listen. I shocked my demon and Douma got caught in it. He lashed out because he was scared. It wasn’t even a bite!”

“No tolerance policy,” the guard said with a tone of finality. “He’s gone.”

Your heart and mind raced at a thousand miles per hour, panic consuming you along with the acknowledgement of the simple truth; you wouldn’t let them take him. They’d have to pry you apart. You didn’t even feel human anymore as you stared down the security guard, the urge to punch him right in his smug fucking face overwhelming you.

In that moment you felt as if you were the demon and Douma the helpless human. You were ready to go to war for him, blood boiling, jaw clenched, ready to defend him by any means.

“Gyutaro, get the hell off him,” the club’s owner snapped, shoving him on his wide shoulder. “God, you’re so stupid. Can’t you see everything’s fine? Just let him go back to his owner.”

“I’m stupid? You’re the one who let him in and he assaulted a customer. Ume, you really aren’t the sharpest tool in the box, are you?”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

“An idiot, that’s who!”

As they started to bicker, the security guard stood, allowing Douma to finally sit back up. He flung himself into your arms, knocking the air from your lungs as he burrowed his face in your neck.

“Don’t let them take me from you. Please,” he begged, the helplessness in his voice making your heart ache. 

“Never. Douma, they’d have to kill me first. I’m never letting you go.”

"Get him out of here," the security guard barked without taking his eyes off his sister. "You're both barred from ever coming back."

You found yourself so relieved you could cry.

Douma clung to you, the tension in his body melting a little more with every passing moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words flowed from your lips as easily as breath. You pulled back to look him in the eyes. The injury above his eyebrow was already healing. “You wanna go home?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” You kissed his forehead reassuringly. “Let’s go home.”

Douma’s heart was heavy. It was a sensation he was unaccustomed to, one which drowned out the throbbing pain above his eye where the security guard had punched him. Even the electric shock had paled in comparison to the ache in his chest. It hurt so much that even the feverish desire of his heat was all but gone.

And he wasn’t even sure what it was. His heart felt like lead.

You lay with him on the couch; you on your back, him on top of you, resting his head on your chest as you gently pet his hair. All he wanted was to be close to you, to listen to the steady thump of your heart and bask in the warmth and scent of your body. He’d begged you not to remove his harness, and you’d listened, of course you had. You seemed to understand how much it meant to him now, that he saw it as a comfort, a symbol of your bond, and not an oppression as you had initially feared. 

“I’m so sorry, Douma,” you said again, the leash still looped around your wrist. “I wanted this night to be perfect for you and it all got completely fucked up.”

“It wasn’t your fault, dove,” he reassured you. “You did something for me that no one has ever done. None of my previous owners have ever refused to let me be taken. None of them. Just you.”

The evening hadn’t ended on the worst note. Kie Kamado had been very kind to him, and even forced Muzan to apologize for his behavior. And Enmu was back home in his train shed with a large lamb shank to gnaw on. 

And yet…

“I’m so sorry I embarrassed you, mistress,” Douma said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have danced with you that way. I…” he drew a breath. It was better to be honest. “I believe I’ve entered my heat. It’s never happened before.”

“Oh…” Your breath and your heartbeat quickened, he could hear them in your chest. “Well… that’s a good thing. It means you’re healthy, right?”

“I suppose it does.” He chuckled. Of course that would be your reaction; seeing it as a measure of his health and wellbeing instead of a primal desire to mate with you. You sweet thing. 

A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the beating of your heart against his ear. “So,” you said at last. “Does that mean you want to find another demon? A mate?”

He could hear the trepidation in your voice, the nervous waver. He could sense your anxiety as you waited for his answer, but this time it wasn’t just a smell, it wasn’t just something he observed. No, this time he felt it. 

His heart beat faster. His skin prickled with nervous heat. 

His throat grew tight as he raised his head to gaze at you; his mistress, the only mate he wanted.

“No,” he said, that painful heaviness in his heart growing unbearable. “I’ll endure it.”

“Isn’t that painful?”

“It’s not as bad as they say,” he lied.

You looked back at him and nodded. “Okay, but if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.” He lowered his head once more to your chest. “I’m happy right now, just to be held by you. Tonight hurt.”

“I know,” you said softly, gently caressing his hair. "I'll hold you for as long as you like."

Later that night, when you could barely keep your eyes open, the pair of you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash up before bed. He watched you in the mirror, his heart soothed simply by the sight of you cleaning your funny little teeth, scrubbing the makeup off your pretty little face. You were fascinating and comforting, exciting and safe, and he loved you. So, so much. 

When you were done cleaning up he took your hand in his and led you toward his room, “Please stay with me tonight, mistress. At least until I fall asleep.”

"Douma…"

"I don't want to be alone."

It was mostly true– he didn't– but if he was completely honest, it was because he didn't want to be without you. He simply didn’t want to be apart from you ever. You may not have physically been his mate, but in his heart you were already bound. And if that meant him spending the rest of his life hurting then so be it. Agony was a small price to pay for your company.

You paused at the threshold of his room, watching as he climbed onto the bed and moved aside some of his pillows to make space for you to join him. The leash stretched between you, still connecting your hand to his heart. 

“Douma, are you sure?”

He simply held out his arms toward you, inviting you into his embrace. And when you hesitated a moment longer, he tugged on the leash.

Your resolve crumbled so quickly, and with a resigned smile you climbed onto the bed and flopped down beside him, one arm immediately coming to rest across his shoulder so you could resume your never ending task of petting his hair. Douma’s arm nestled in the valley of your waist, his fingers stroking slow spirals around your lower back. 

Despite lying together on the couch all the time, somehow this was different. His heart squeezed at the sight of you lying with your head on his pillow. It felt more intimate, forbidden and wonderful.

“You’re so pretty,” he said.

Your shy little smile made his belly flutter. “So are you. But you knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “And I like being pretty for you. Your pretty pet.” 

‘You’re far more than just that.”

Oh, how he adored you. You brought up your other hand to his mouth, making his lips curve as he playfully nibbled your fingers, feeling his heart lighten with your playful laughter. You were never afraid of his fangs or claws and it warmed his heart to know that you trusted him, despite having every reason not to. You trusted your bad pet, you had done since the moment you met him. And he loved you so completely in return.

He bit you again, this time on the heel of your palm, his fangs pressing to that tender flesh without breaking the skin. Of course he wouldn't ever hurt you, but he still kissed the bite better when he released you, his lips grazing over your skin with adoration. 

Your breath snagged in your throat.

He knew the feeling. You had kissed his brow in the club, and that gentle, loving gesture had shone like a sunbeam through storm clouds. It made him happy to give you the same sweet affection, so he kissed your palm again, then your wrist, before he returned to biting, nibbling his way up your arm which always made you squirm so delightfully. 

“Douma!” You squealed his name as he slung his thigh over your hips, playfully holding you down as his teeth grazed your shoulder, then your collar, before finally reaching your throat. 

Laughter gave way to sighs, and smiles faded as he bit and kissed your neck, his tongue tracing the little indents his teeth left behind. “Oh little rabbit,” he whispered against your skin. “How I adore you.”

"If I'm a rabbit, what does that make you? A fox?"

He raised his head, his eyes meeting yours. "Your carrot. Chew me up."

Oh the snort of laughter which burst from you was beautiful. He could spend the rest of his life like that with you.

"You want me to bite you?" You laughed.

"Yes!" He did. Desperately so.

And then you raised your head and rolled over, burying your sweet little face against the tender skin of his neck, and biting down as he had with you.

"Ohh‐hahh~" He couldn't contain the broken whimper which emerged from him. Darts of pleasure shot through his body straight to his cock which was already beginning to tent his hakama pants. "My, little bunny, what sharp teeth you have."

"All the better to eat you with, my pet."

Gods… Was it happening? After weeks of wishing and needing, were you finally succumbing to desire? He was practically giddy with the idea, his heart pounding like a drum as you kissed the bite on his neck.

"Mistress?"

"Hm?"

"Am I good?" His heart fluttered as he waited for your response. He knew the answer, he just adored hearing it from you. 

"Yes." Your teeth grazed his throat once more, making him throb with need. "You're so good."

"I'm a good boy for you?"

Your smirk tickled the skin of his neck. "You're my good boy."

“Oh…” 

You raised your head at the sound of his pleasure, your eyes scrutinizing his face, your worry returning to your face. And then he smelled it; a flood of desire coursing through you. You were turned on, and of course you were overthinking it.

“Don’t stop,” he begged. “Please. Please, mistress.”

Drawing in a slow breath your face was a picture of concern. “Douma… I don’t want to take advantage of you. I swore to you I would never be like those other owners.”

“You’re not, dove. You never have been.” Gods, his heart beat only for you, sweet anxious thing. But he needed to reassure you. This is what he wanted. You. This. Always. "You have always given me agency and… and choices. And with my agency, I'm choosing to do this."

It was hardly an effort at all to maneuver you on top of him, your thighs straddling his hips as the fabric of your dress rode up deliciously. He put the loop of his leash in your hand and lay back to admire you; a queen on her throne.

Exactly where you were meant to be. 

“Shall I beg, mistress?” he said, gazing up at you. “Do you want me to beg you to own me completely?”

It was wrong. So wrong. And yet… your resolve was slipping. The hard press of his cock against your backside was unmistakable. As was your urge to ride it. 

“You know, you never asked me what Enmu and I discussed the first time we talked.”

He was right. You hadn’t even thought to ask what the two demons had discussed as they sat atop the old abandoned train. 

Every breath drawn took a monumental effort as he gazed up at you, so beautiful it made your body ache. “Of course. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Douma’s smile radiated adoration as he curled the leash around his fingers. “We discussed you and the life of a pet. Enmu told me ways I could escape you, that I could possibly pass as human given that I have no horns or facial markings. Just a hat to cover my hair would suffice. And I could escape.”

A sickly feeling gathered in your stomach. 

“He was right. But I didn’t want to. I never have. I want to be with you. Always. Every day. For all my days. I want to be with you and… I want you to be my mate.”

You swallowed hard. “Humans and demons can’t mate.”

“So they say,” he said, his eyes taking on a mischievous and hopeful glint. “We could prove them wrong?”

Your mind whirred. “We could never have babies, our bodies aren’t compatible like that.”

“And does that feel like something you’d be deprived of?”

You thought about it for a moment and shook your head. “No.”

He took your hand in his, pulling you forward ever so slightly to place it on the supple mound of his chest. Your face was just inches from his as his rainbow-hued eyes stared at you with hope and desire. The warmth of his breath fanning over your lips, the comforting scent of him, the hard press of his firm body between your thighs.

"Make me yours," he whispered. "Please."

"Douma, I don't think–"

"Hush hush, mistress. Don't think, feel." He raised his head an inch, so all that remained between your lips were shivering breaths. When you still made no move to close the gap, Douma pressed on, nudging his nose against yours, a barely audible “please” escaping him.

Your body was alight with desire, the tension between you the most delicious torture you had ever known. And when you caved, when your lips finally ghosted over his like gossamer floating on a breeze, he let out the softest, most helpless whimper that made your toes curl. 

Douma’s lips were warm and plush, and so very eager to please you. His kisses were an act of worship, pulling back after each one to check your expression, to ensure he was doing well for you. And he was. Every kiss deepened your desire and sent tingles straight to your core.

Winding the leash around your hand, you let your desire grow, kisses deepening, your tongue teasing his and exploring the sharp points of his fangs as he moaned beneath you. Your hands tugged at the tight fabric of his shirt, pulling it out from beneath his waistband to expose his abdomen. The heat radiating from his body was dizzying, the sensation of his muscles twitching beneath you addictive. 

The confines of your party dress became unbearable. You wanted to feel the warmth of his body against yours. You broke away from the kiss to sit upright, much to Douma’s distress. 

“Mistress please,” he begged, “I don’t want it to end.”

“Will you help me with my zipper?” you asked. 

The demon’s face was a picture of relief as he sat upright with you, reaching sound your back to carefully slide down the zipper. When you tugged the dress up over your head and removed your bra, he released a shaking breath, his smile growing.

“What a beautiful mistress I have,” he said reverently. “May I take my clothes off too?”

“Yes but… leave the harness.” 

He did exactly as you wished, unclipping the harness first to allow him to remove his shirt, then putting the leather straps back in place. 

And gods, the sight of him then; so full and soft, his nipples already puckered and flushed a rosy shade from a combination of his heat and your kisses. His chest had always enticed you, but now you were given free rein to satiate your hunger and desire. And it filled you with pride to know that it was your love and care that had helped make him so strong and beautiful. 

He lifted his hips to slide off his hakama pants, taking his underwear off with them and freeing his cock. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given that he was tall and well-built everywhere else, but the size of it certainly gave you pause. It curved up toward his belly, a darker shade than the rest of him, so engorged with desire he was already leaking clear beads of pre-cum.

He was beautiful. And he was yours. 

“Lie back,” you told him. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable please tell me.”

“I will. But I won’t need to. I’m yours, mistress.”

“Yes, you are, aren’t you,” you said, straddling his hips once more and taking hold of his leash. “My beautiful pet. My good boy…”

He released a longing sigh at those words. All he wanted was to be adored by you, to be praised. 

“Put your hands behind your head for me,” you instructed.

He did as you asked, his strong biceps framing his pretty face so perfectly as you leaned forward and licked the swollen bud of his nipple, earning you a moan from him. And gods, the way the leather harness squeezed the plush muscle and fat of his chest. Douma was exquisite, beautiful beyond measure, and so responsive to your touch. 

“Does that feel good?” you asked. 

“Yes,” he sucked in a heavy, stuttering breath. “I think… my heat is making them extra sensitive.”

Your lips curled. “Is that so?” 

He groaned loudly as you began to lap at his nipples, teasing them with the tip of your tongue and watching him squirm, his breaths turning to pants as his hips thrust involuntarily beneath you. There wasn’t an inch of him you didn’t want to pleasure, to adore. 

And there wasn’t an inch of you he didn’t worship; you could see that in his eyes, and from the way he softly whined “Ohh mistress, my mistress, thank you, thank you,” as you sucked and squeezed his tits. 

Your inhibitions forgotten, you sucked a dark hickey beneath his left nipple, pussy throbbing as he gasped squirmed beneath you.

“Bite…” he begged. “Bite me. Please.”

Your panties were soaked as you fulfilled his wishes, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh, relishing his wanton moans of pleasure and his pleas for more. 

“Harder. Harder. Mark me. Make me yours.”

So you bit him, you marked him. Licking, sucking, biting, teasing. His chest was flushed and covered in hickies and the indents of your teeth, his cock leaking rivers of precum as his gasps broke with hiccups of delirious laughter.

His nipples were puffy and glistening with your saliva, his areola puckered and swollen from your ministrations.

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “Oh I need… Gods I need… to be… inside.”

“You want me to fuck you?” you asked, soothing his bites with gentle feathery kisses.

“Desperately.”

You needed him too. You ached for him, needing nothing more than to ride his cock, to reward him for being your good pet. 

Standing from the bed, you eased down your panties, your heart dropping at the sight of blood. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hm?” Douma lifted his head, his pupils dilating at the sight, just as they had the first time he smelled fresh, bloody liver. “Oh… mistress…”

“I’m sorry,” you grumbled, pulling up your underwear. “I knew it was due, but talk about bad timing.”

Elegant fingers and sharp lavender talons wrapped around your wrist, halting your movement. “Mistress…” He laughed softly. “Don’t stop on my account.”

You stared at him and he stared back.

“You want…?”

“I want,” he said. “Very much.”

He sat up and climbed off the bed, dropping to his knees before you and easing down your underwear. Gods, his eyes were flooded with hunger, his pupils blown out and abyssal black as he leaned closer, inhaling your scent; arousal and blood.

Some small part of you protested, but the thought that what you were about to do was dirty and forbidden was quickly drowned out by the roar of your arousal. He wanted it, and you wanted it too. 

“Mistress, you are divine. Sacred. Allow me to worship you as you were born to be worshiped.”

You placed your hand on the red mark on his crown, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your hips toward him. “Do it.”

A shiver ran through your body at the tickle of his tongue lapping at your inner thighs. He groaned contentedly, the same way he did when you fed him, only this time the sound was even more primal. Your sweet, adoring demon feasted on you, that deep, rumbling purr sounding in his chest as he lapped at your essence. And he looked so pretty, feeding from you; his face a picture of serenity, eyes closed in bliss. 

The slippery heat of his tongue sliding through your pussy lips almost made your legs buckle. You leaned forward, bracing your arms and one knee on the edge of the bed so he had to bend backward, his hands coming up to grip your hips, claws pricking your flesh as he devoured your cunt. 

His hungry tongue licked your clit, driving you higher and higher toward ecstasy as you ground your pussy against his mouth, spurred on by his moans. You were no longer human and he a demon, you were both simply animals chasing pleasure, primal desire overtaking inhibition and drowning out reason. All that mattered was he was yours and you were his. 

The obscene slick, wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy filled the room, accompanied by your broken cries as you threw your head back in bliss, arms trembling as he sucked your clit, the tip of his tongue lapping voraciously until you fell apart, your orgasm shaking you to your core as your hips involuntarily pistoned against his face, riding him through your climax. 

“Mmmhh…” Douma’s muffled cry vibrated against you as his body trembled in response to yours, his claws drawing pinpricks of blood on your hips. 

And when you finally came down to earth, you drew back to look at him, any traces of worry dissipating at the sight of his blissful expression, lips glossy with your slick essence and reddened by your blood.

“Thank you, mistress,” he whispered, his tongue tracing the plump cushion of his lips. “That was perfect.”

His cock was still hard but glazed with cum. It dribbled down his length and his muscular abdomen in almost iridescent rivers. 

“You came?” you asked, as if it wasn't obvious.

He nodded and laughed, his face a picture of bliss. “This is the best night of my life.”

You dropped down to straddle him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him tight. “I love you,” you whispered, overcome with affection for him. His still-hard cock twitched against your pussy. 

“Do you want more?” you asked.

“I never want to stop. I want this forever.” 

“So do I,” you said. And you meant it.

It took so little for him to sink inside you, your tight, wet heat sending shivers through his spine as you claimed him. Your bodies fit together so perfectly, no space even for air to flow between you. Just skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart, your lips on his, your hand around his leash.

Gods, you were beautiful; his mistress, his owner, his mate.

“You marked me… so beautifully,” he gasped as you started to ride his cock, your eyes squeezing shut as you grew accustomed to his size. 

He would bear those marks proudly for the rest of his life. His soul was bound to you, and he would live every day at your side, not in your shadow, but in your glow. 

How he loved you. His mistress who had always cared so deeply for him, who treated him as a man when the world insisted he was a monster, who would stand and fight to protect him. He was yours, your pet, your lover, your Douma. Yours forever. 

And gods, you had the most divine little pussy he had ever felt. 

So hot and wet, made even more so by your blood and his saliva. All his other owners had made him fuck them, wanting it hard and fast, begging him to use his strength and size to dominate them. But not you. No, you claimed him so gently he simply slipped into submission, safe and comforted by your dominion. 

You would protect him and care for him forever, he knew that with certainty.

“My mate,” he whimpered, burying his face in the junction between your neck and your shoulder.

Your pussy squeezed his cock at the sound of that and it filled him with joy to know that it pleased you. The feeling was so wonderful it brought tears to his eyes. 

He was no longer an empty void unable to feel. No, you had coaxed everything out of him, you had filled him up. And he was safe, so safe to exude it all. 

“I love you,” he whispered as you rocked atop him, milking his cock of his seed. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, bowing your head to bite his neck and tugging on the straps of his harness, sending him over the edge once more. 

His cum filled you and your walls pulsed to the same rhythm, both of you reaching your peaks in sync, your bodies and souls so deeply connected it brought him to tears and laughter.

And of course you worried. He didn’t mean to scare you but it did. You held his face so gently between your hands and looked at him with concern. “Douma? What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing, little dove,” he sighed, gently tugging the leash between you. “Not a thing. In fact, for the first time in my life, I can confidently say that I feel happy. I feel… so very full.”

A little later, when his limbs had stopped trembling and he could lift you onto the bed to lay beside him, he watched you fall asleep, completely fucked out and satisfied. He curled up against you, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him unconsciously. 

His lovely little mate. His life. His heart. His soul.

Epilogue- Six Months Later. 

It was a pretty night, the park lit with fairy lights and filled with the sounds of chattering demons and their owners. You coiled Douma’s leash around your hand, but he wasn’t on the other end of it. 

His confidence had grown a little, and though behind closed doors you were very much joined at the hip– among other body parts– he’d begun socializing with other demons more often. And he felt so much; after so long believing himself to be an empty shell, he was practically overflowing.

“He’s doing very well,” Kie Kamado said as the pair of you watched Douma and Muzan’s stilted interactions. “Unless you know, you would never have thought he came from a kill shelter. He’s a picture of health and happiness.”

“Thank you,” you said, your heart filled with pride.

No one knew you were his mate. No one could know. Even as you stood there, all polite smiles and small talk, your pussy was filled with his seed, and his body was littered with your marks. The secrecy of it all thrilled both of you. In fact, you had no doubts that the moment you stepped through the door he would want to engage in the biting game until biting turned to kissing and then to fucking. It always did.

“Oh no,” Kie sighed, pulling you from your thoughts. 

Immediately your eyes were drawn to Douma, who was laughing as Muzan snarled at him. “Well… they lasted eight minutes,” you sighed, already making your way toward the arguing demons. 

“Definitely an improvement,” Kie said, stepping in to distract Muzan.

Wrapping your arms around Douma’s waist, you pulled him back with you. “Come on, no fighting today.”

He laughed as you dragged him away. “Ah-ha! Mistress, there you are. You came to my rescue?”

“Always.” You chuckled, releasing him from your hold. 

He smiled and clipped your leash onto his harness. He always did whenever something had rattled him, even just a little. You were such a comfort to him. 

Together, you made your way behind a little utility shed, your lips crashing together the moment you found seclusion, your hunger for each other never ending.

“Take me home?” he whispered. “I need you.”

“I need you too. But we have to stay just a little longer. We only got here ten minutes ago.”

He pouted, “I suppose. But all of these demons are so cold to me. Especially Muzan. And the little butterfly demon.”

You reached up and brushed his golden hair out of his eyes. “Just a little longer, love. I’ll buy you boba on our way home.”

With a heavy sigh he relented. “Okay. But I get to feast on you when we get back.”

Your cheeks grew warm. He always knew when you were menstruating, and he was always insatiable during those days. “Deal.”

“Deal,” he grinned, pouncing on you and burying his face against your neck. “My little jelly donut.”

“You did not!” You squealed in playful horror, trying to keep it down as he nibbled your neck. “Douma! That’s terrible.”

He laughed, squeezing you tight. “Fine, fine. My mistress. My beloved. My mate.”

“Better.”

“And what am I to you? Say it,” he said, needy as ever.

“My good boy,” you whispered, making goosebumps prickle along his arms. “My good pet.”

He ran kisses along the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your flesh and making you shiver. And despite your best intentions, it would be a while before you came out from behind the utility shed and rejoined the meeting. It always was. 

A/N: Thank you so so so so much for reading Bad Pet! I loved writing it and I hope you had fun reading it! If you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging. It helps us writers share our stories!

Taglist: @anxious-chick @lifesucksweswallow @ghostlyworld @223princess

need it rn 💯

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The full getting ready image is here!!!! You can definitely tell who the morning people are here!

Tokyo revengers x kamio

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making out with virgin!choso that gets hard instantly and can't hide his large twitching bulge. so you decide to go down on him but he gets all shy and awkward. apologizing, saying you don't have to suck him off or anything.

"I didn't expect — sorry — I'm not trimmed like the men in- !"

oh but you don't care, you happily start sucking him off, his hesitation turning into little virgin whines. you make sure to press your nose up against his groin as he spills his cum down your throat. ♡

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Some NSFW I can openly post here

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𝟎𝟔:𝟏𝟏𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Smile for me

Summary: Rindou knows he's not getting any younger, but old insecurities are hard to fight- luckily for him, you're there to kiss them better. Link for masterlist here!

cw: afab!reader, talks of insecurities, pet names (kitten, princess), Ran being a stellar big brother, Rindou getting embarrassed easily and being a simp lol, some brief kissing and mentions of sex (nothing explicit), he's literally so cute and sexy I can't stand it. Reblogs appreciated!

Rindou is perturbed.

He’s used to waking an hour before you, 7AM with the sun still making a haphazard climb over the windowsill, all the weak and watery light he watches fall over the crest of your sloping shoulder from behind, his cheek pressed to your hair. He hopes you don’t notice, the alarm of his phone buzzing and snoozed, five minutes he thinks he can spare to spend here, you unaware of how his arms tighten around you, the shaky breath that comes from his dry lips and all the love he never mentions that he wishes was easier to talk about to you. 

You stir, slide a hand along his muscled forearm, the slight frown of your scrunched eyebrows loosening, a breath blown between parted lips and you settle again into sleep as Rindou untangles your legs from under the warm covers.

He hates it, this moment right here. It’s a visceral lump that sits in his throat when he pulls the covers back over you, slides your hair to the side to kiss just under your ear, your cheek, a finger that comes up to touch at you, a stray eyelash he pretends he’s lifting, because it’s easier when you can’t see. 

‘Mhm Rin,’ you murmur and stir, turning over to reach to where he should be, the indent of him in the memory foam where you hope your hand can feel the smooth muscle of him, soft hair and warm breath, the ridges of his shoulders where your arms want to come around. 

He watches you, bashfully, hiding a smile and embarrassed somehow, this many years later, knowing all there is to know about you, the wounds you’ve cleaned that even Ran hasn’t seen, the fights and arguments that led to the two of you walking out, coming back, kissing and apologies you’d never doubted were just there, days that started out tense and ended with the two of you with your foreheads pressed together.

He hates shutting the door on you like that, sprawled on your stomach, holding the duvet close to your chest, your face turned towards the sun that slips in through the slat in the window, a gentle breeze that pushes the curtains inwards, the peace he is leaving behind that he’s never sure he’ll live to see again.

When he pads to the bathroom, unceremoniously in fact, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, the tufts of his hair sticking up one side, tired eyes lined with shadows that drag down his skin, it is knowing that fact, that it could be the last time, that he’s not lucky enough to maintain what he loves and needs so much in any way that doesn’t mean pain.

He does need you, and he’d spent so long denying that fact, the cold and dark nights made warmer by drinks and drugs and parties that never really meant anything outside of those singular moments in time, when his mind is just so far away from the bottle or the glass or lines on the flat tables.

You like this routine of his though. Coffee made for you that sits in the pot till you wake, despite his absence, warm towels pulled from the dryer, leftover dishes washed and dried, the diligence he hopes is able to communicate what he can’t, a kiss left lingering on your lips, a “see you later kitten” that never feels sufficient enough when he leaves and his car backs out of the driveway. He stops every morning before driving off, a last look at the house, at the window where the blinds sway in the breeze, a secret pang in his heart when he remembers he’s left his heart in your palm.

But something else is on his mind right now and it bothers him with a lance of sharp pain when he sees the crease along his cheek that he swears is a little too new for his liking.

He runs a finger along his cheek, along his chin, golden honeyed skin that stretches taut when he frowns at his reflection in the mirror, a minor razor graze nicking along his jaw and the hard slam of his heart cracking along his ribs when the mark along his cheek doesn’t fade. 

‘Huh?’ he says, leaning forward, towards the mirror that fogs with his breath, a hand braced on the porcelain sink, the purpling strands of his hair pulled back by a baby blue headband. Yours, obviously. He’s long since lost the stubbornness of being insecure and uptight about these things, the fabricated fragilities that became too tiring to have when he realised it made you happy to break down those barriers he was so determined to keep. That being said, Rindou knows he’s not as young as he used to be, that the days and weeks of life have caught up to him, whether he’ll admit it or not. It’s been years since you met and the days and weeks of new love have long gone, leaving a soft and peaceful security in your wake.

His finger trails along the crease, a curve like an eyelash along his cheek, cupped around his mouth, the wisp of shorter hairs kissing at his cheekbones as he frowns, confusion and uncertainty slipping over his skin.

He avoids covering it up despite this, the ample tubes and pots of various skincare that neatly line your medicine cabinet stay untouched, but he gingerly touches his cheek, lets a finger trail along the crease even still, wondering if you’ll notice when you kiss him goodbye, sitting up in bed now, the pastel lilac duvet slipping off your shoulders. When the sun brushes against your skin, he halts at the door, the telltale marks and bites left on your neck and chest that leave a thick and dizzying desire in his throat. 

He is quiet when he meets Ran an hour later, a sullen type of silence that even Sanzu cannot coax from him, all pointed glances and chewing lips and half hidden behind his hair, as if Ran cannot sense the uncertain and tenuous scowling that he hates he’s still doing this many years later. 

Ran slides his chair along, feet propped up on the table, a glass of something dark held between two fingers, deliberate glances from the side of the viridescent violet of his eyes now falling on his Brother who sits back with his arms tightly folded over his chest.

‘So….’ he starts, and leans back in his seat, an eye trained on the way Rindou shuffles further into the leather, haunches and hackles rising on instinct, the turn of his eyes fixed on the mahogany table. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?’

Rindou stiffens, turns his cheek away, the flash of his eyes burning luminous as he sinks into the chair and really, it’s silly, he knows this and he hates that he cycles so often around to this behaviour, with Ran, with you, the same vulnerability that’s too terrifying to show despite all you have seen together, as if he is any less just because he feels.

Ran sighs, blows a forceful gust of minty breath between his lips and raises an eyebrow in deliberation. ‘Maybe I can help, whatever it is,’ he says. ‘Did you have a fight or something?’

Rindou churns the words, grinds them between his teeth, soft whispers that take effort, that take the force of him chewing them out from the lump in his throat, all the insecurity that he loathes, that has him stiffening under his Brother’s weighted stare. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘So? What was it then?’

‘Nothing, just forget it.’

‘Not going to happen Little Brother.’ And Ran grabs the arm of Rindou’s chair, pulls while his foot hooks under the leg, Rindou moving closer despite his ambivalence, and Ran almost chuckles when he audibly hears him scowl, tut under his breath in defiance, feet planted on the floor and dragging across the plush carpet.

He softens a fraction here, a soft and gentle squeeze of his heart, the lump in his throat that seems to scrape against his thoughts when he realises the resistance is so futile because it’s always been like this, Ran pulling him along, coaxing the words from him in a way he’s never given gratitude for before despite how much he cares. 

He has a memory, a vague flash of an image behind his eyes, the two of them running, huddled together, Ran coaxing Rindou to show him the cuts and bruises from his overzealous moments during fights, a soft and subdued “you’re such an idiot” that was always laced with affection, a plaster and bandage that Ran was always so quick to have on hand for his little Brother, food that he never ate so Rindou always had more.

‘You’re going to laugh,’ he says and hates it, weak and shamed as the sun climbs over the buildings, the whir of the heating that permeates the otherwise silent room, a raucous laugh from Sanzu that resonates through the gap in the door.

‘Yeah you’re right I am.’

‘See, I knew it-’

‘I’m kidding!’ A beat and Ran turns his chair, stretches his long legs under the table, sitting upright now and turning entirely towards his Brother who blows a wisp of wisp of hair from his forehead. ‘I’m not going to laugh.’

A beat, again, Rindou sharing a glance, a narrowing of his eyes through the individual strands of his hair, conflicted thoughts and fears bouncing around in his head before he uncrosses his arms and flexes his lithe fingers on the arms of the chair.

‘Well?’ Ran says and slides the glass along the table, a faint and chiming click as it meets the decanter. 

Rindou knows of course. With Ran, it’s always been a lot harder to tell than it has with him. Ran hides many things well and there’s the assumption that he’s so high above, so far removed, impossibly perfect in all things, that there can never be anything wrong with a man like him who has so much and wants for so little.

But Rindou’s the only one who has been there during those moments between. Gels and creams that Ran diligently applies, as if he can make himself something more than human, nights spent with the three of you sharing confessions by the fireside that the others have no knowledge of, moments in which Ran is not a Haitani, neither of them are, moments in which they are just brothers setting aside their burdens for the promise of light.

He looks at him now, tired eyes that still shine with mirth and exuberance despite himself, despite how exhausted he is and pretends not to be, the weight of all he has seen and shouldered for the both of them, the rock he has carried so that Rindou can stretch his hands a little further, be a little more, worry a little less and his heart fills with something that tastes like gratitude, this many years later when the two of them have grown out of petty jealousies and hurts that never mean anything.

‘Well- it’s just- it’s this okay?’ And Rindou turns, towards the floor to ceiling window, the weak and watery sunlight now dancing over his skin, a hand moving to pull back his hair as he glowers still, chewing haphazardly on his lip in anxiety. He lifts his other hand, touches at the crease in his cheek and points, as if accusatory, at the sharp indent of the skin, a little removed from the dimple in his cheek he’s still so embarrassed by.

Ran frowns, shuffles forward in his chair, eyes narrowing and searching, a slight shake of his head that has his earring tinkling, his rings catching the light as he rests his chin in his palm. ‘I don’t understand, what are you referring to here?’

‘What- what do you mean?’ Rindou points again, a finger zeroing in on the sharp crease, the curve towards his mouth he’s spent the last hour trying to hide behind his permanent scowl. ‘It’s this- this stupid wrinkle right here, I don’t understand how it got here.’

Ran pauses, the light slipping across his eyes, a slow and calculated smirk spreading across his lips as he reaches for the decanter again, deliberate movements that mirror the rise and fall of his eyebrows over the glass. ‘Oh…I think I understand now.’

And he takes a sip, eyes lifting from the glass to Rindou now settling back into a scowl, arms folded again, the crease hidden behind the wisps of hair falling over his forehead.

‘So what is it?’ he asks and purses his lips.

Ran smiles, genuinely, casts a glance towards the window where the sun makes a steady climb over the buildings, a swath of shadow that looms bright over the floor, the sparkle of buttery sunlight falling on his skin as he arches, catlike on the chair and leans back with his eyes closed. ‘Ask your wife when you get home. She’ll know.’

‘What does my Wife have to do with it?’

‘Just ask her, she’ll tell you.’

Rindou slows, as he usually does when you’re mentioned. Erratic heartbeat calmed by the thought of you, a soft and tentative quirk of his mouth that comes unbidden at the image of you, at the mention, at the concept and he finds he can’t help it, that it’s impossible for his body not to betray him like this. So he worries less for a time, touches it tentatively throughout the day, a self conscious glance at the mirror every so often, at his phone screen before it illuminates with the picture of you, his thumb catching on the screen before it fades to black once again. Ran sees, and Ran knows and it’s less subtle when he pats Rindou’s back at the end of the day, a ‘drive safe’ that he leaves pressed to his Brother’s jacket like a charm, and all the worry of being his only family, of knowing he’d die for him at a moment’s notice.

When he returns, a tired and subdued “I’m home Princess” that you hear over the sound of the splash of water slipping down into the bubbly froth of your soak, your chest flutters, as it usually does when you meet the sultry cadence of his voice every day. You wonder if it will ever not be like that, if you’ll ever not feel a better, newer version of yourself with him, a caterpillar shaking off its chrysalis, if there will ever come a point where his hands do not feel safe and strong and perfect on you. 

‘I’m in the bathroom Rin,’ you say as he comes around the corner, his jacket held over one arm, sock-clad feet in a matching pair of fur slippers. You’d say it was cute but you know he did it for you anyway. There’s little he doesn’t and you feel spoiled sometimes, unworthy, undeserving, when you find he’s constantly stepping out, stepping in for you, things he does that he never asks for payment for. 

‘The water’s still warm, come in baby.’ You lift your arms, and he flushes despite himself, when the water makes a beeline for the dip in your breasts where the bubbles rest, wet skin that’s shiny and luminous under the low lighting, a candle that has the shadow of your cleavage splashed on the wall. 

‘You don’t mind?’ And he shrugs his shirt off, his back flexing as he tosses it- and his pants- into the laundry basket, the black swirl of ink swallowing the light, and you press your thighs together on instinct, at the heated flush that crawls along your spine every time. 

It’s rather unceremonious when he sits in front of you, his back to your chest, breasts pressing against his shoulder blades, a drawn out sigh spilling past his lips when he leans into you, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, light scratches against his scalp, lips ghosting over the swell of his muscled shoulder. And you don’t mind at all, the weight of him against your body, the need for support that he’ll never ask for, the give and take that has you drawing out his fatigue with your kisses pressed to his skin.

‘How was your day?’ You lather shampoo in your hands, fingers wrinkly from being submerged for so long, and run them through his hair, down to the tips, a gentle massage of his scalp that has him biting back a groan as he settles against your chest. 

‘It was okay, the usual.’ He keeps it clipped, firm, enough, because he likes hearing you more, the soft and sweet lilt of your voice he keeps close to his chest, in his heart for safekeeping, tucked away behind the guns and blood, the countless deaths he’s seen and caused. 

‘Just okay?’

‘Just okay.’ A beat, a long and pregnant pause. And then- ‘Actually…’

‘Yeah?’ You pause, your hands braced on the showerhead, warm water slipping over the soft and bronzed swell of his shoulders. ‘Close your eyes- I need to rinse.’

His eyes flutter shut, a warm sigh, a flush on his skin that isn’t just the water. He lifts his hands, massages your thighs splayed on either side of him, calloused fingers inching dangerously close to that patch of sensitive skin and it feels…nice to be touched like that for the both of you. He thinks of how easy it is to be taken care of by you, how the need is never shameful, never something he feels guilty for wanting, how he’s taken care of and loved so perfectly and maybe it has changed him in some way, down to the fibre of his bones, a lighter, softer version of him that he reserves just for you. 

‘Mhm, yeah, Ran wanted me to ask you something- said you’d know the answer,’ he says, over the splash of water, bubbles receding now to where they cling at the sides of the tub. 

‘Go on.’

There is water splashing over his eyes and he lifts his hands momentarily to push his bangs back, his forehead glistening with soap, the suds clinging to the soft and inviting swell of his shoulders and you resist the urge to kiss- to bite- to sink your lips against the toned muscle. 

'Mhm, you know…lots of things don't you princess?' he says, a hand now splayed across your thigh on the right side again, thumb grazing the soft inside, shiny skin now covered with a wet and tantalising sheen. 

You suck in a breath, your hand juddering, stuttering against the roots on his scalp, a soft massage and rake of your nails along the fine wet hairs. 'Y-Yeah? I know some things baby, what is it you need exactly?' And his thoughts are far away, long and lithe fingers grazing the back of your thighs as he lifts them to squeeze at, the imprint of his hands leaving a rosy red on your skin and you shudder, your arms brushing his as you run your hands through his hair and squeeze the ends. 

And then he turns his head, a hand braced over the lip of the bathtub, wet hair now splayed across his shoulder and points to his cheek, where the offending crease now curls at the side of his mouth. ‘Can you tell me what this is? It’s been bothering me all day, and Ran said I should ask you and that you’d know and I hate seeing it and-’

‘Rindou.’

‘Yeah?’

You soften, a hand moving from the water to cup his cheek, water slipping down your forearm, off the crook of your elbow where the soap suds gather and cling before dropping with a plink. He sinks, unbidden against your palm, eyelashes kissing at his cheek from where you run your thumb across his cheekbone, eyes flitting and fluttering closed as a soft sigh spills past his reddened lips. 

‘You are very cute, do you know that?’ you say and your fingers drift to the back of his neck, a light trail of soft touches, the water-roughened pads of your fingers skimming across his neck, the spill of ink on the dip of his throat, Adam's apple sliding and shifting under your touch and he makes a choked sound, something between a gasp and a cough, clearing his throat in a way that does little to hide the creeping embarrassment in his chest.

‘If- if you’re just going to make fun I’m going to-’

‘Shhhh,’ you say, a slight lean forward that has your nose bumping his, a slight pull of your hand to bring him closer, your breath now ghosting over the soft cupid’s bow of his shell pink lips, glistening and pearly under the light. ‘I’m not making fun of you, but you really are quite special aren’t you? I’m so lucky to have you.’

He swallows, presses a chaste peck to your lips that he knows will lead to more, as if often does, and his hand comes to hold your chin, fingers that grip your jaw just right, your hair falling over his knuckles and clinging, as you do, to the fibre of him. He wonders if the charged moments like this will ever feel less electric and he dreads that one day it might feel like a chore to kiss you like this, to hold you in his hands with the rough fingers grazing a line along your sensitive neck and it aches inside when he thinks of ever not having you, of ever not seeing you again.

‘I don’t understand what you mean, don’t you think it’s serious? It means I’m ageing doesn’t it? I’m getting old.’ He hates that there’s a waver in his voice then, a tremble that seems to reverberate with the lump in his throat, a horrible and terrifying insecurity that now lays itself bare before you.

You click your tongue, a soft smile that tugs at your lips and you stroke his cheek, thumb moving over the crease back and forth. ‘It’s a smile line silly. That’s why Ran wanted you to ask me. It’s what happens when you’re happy a lot.’

‘A smile line? I don’t understand, don’t most people hate them?’

‘Well I don’t. I’d rather you be happy, and to know you’re happy, makes me happy too. To know that you like your life with me, makes me feel very lucky.’

‘Oh. But it makes me look older doesn’t it?’

You tilt your head to the side, a slide of your hair against your skin, your chest now close enough to brush his, the goosebumps prickling across your arms. ‘No, it doesn’t. And y’know what Rin, so what if it did? You are all the more handsome and sexy and gorgeous to me, and that won’t change if you get older. I’m not getting any younger either.’

It grates on him that it hurts inside, that it makes sense. But it does, really does. When he thinks of how many smiles he fights watching you sleep, watching you dream, kisses pressed to your forehead, to your cheeks and the back of your hands where he grins when you flush and look away and the concept of running home to you hasn’t changed in all these years. He thinks, after this long, the excitement might have worn off if you’d been anyone else, if he’d been any less in love and any less willing.

‘But you’ll always be pretty to me,’ he says, matter of factly, and unaware of how the heat rises to your cheeks so overtly, as if it’s the simplest thing to believe, as if it’s an irrefutable fact. Because it is to him. 

‘And you’ll always be the most handsome, sexy, beautiful man ever to me too.’ And damn him, for how your voice wobbles now, how the tears gather on your lashes so easily, pulled so freely, how it aches and stings your chest with so much love to see him so earnest, the flecked hue of his eyes where your reflection shimmers under the candlelight. You press a soft kiss to the crease and his eyes widen, an almost apprehensive stiff frown that bleeds into love when your lips touch his cheek again on the other side. 

He pulls you first then, your chin still in his hand, a heated press of his lips to yours, slotting so softly, a perfect fit that has you eliciting a small gasp, and his tongue touches yours tentatively, shyly even, a bare and wispy brush that has you leaning further into him. And when you break, the thin line of saliva does too, a string that falls onto your chin. 

It’s an hour later when the two of you are back in bed, glowing with the aftermath of sex and now huddled under the covers, you on his chest and him winding the ends of the duvet around his fingers. There is much talking in those moments, a little after, when he glows and giggles and laughs and pulls you close enough to feel the warmth of you on him, when time is everlasting and waiting in the palms of his hands, when the two of you are infinite.

You get a call from Ran a day later, a quick and quiet ‘thank you, for everything you do for him,’ and you bask in the unspoken love and understanding the three of you share, the golden thread that ties you all together. You know they’re long past it now, days of green and simmering jealousy that always permeated every sarcastic word. You know that’s part of growing up, and they have and it’s easier now, when they are old enough to appreciate each other and hold tighter to the memories they share. 

Maybe you are right, Rindou thinks as he dresses for work in the morning, leaving the sleeping you in the warm confines of your soft and perfumed bed.  Maybe it’s not so bad. 

Does it bother him that he’s shrugged off this old version of himself for you? The old him that found fault often, that ran headfirst into cynicism because it’s what he knew, what he was used to, that was gruff and aggressive and awkward because it hurt to be anything otherwise. Does it bother him that you’ve changed him enough for it to be so visceral?

It should, and yet it doesn’t. He likes it in fact and maybe, just maybe, he finds himself not biting back the smile when he kisses you before setting off, a lingering press of his lips to yours, that tells you everything he can’t.

a/n: hi, this was actually a present for my dear @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang (i am so sorry it came so late but I hope you like it anyways) between writing and trying to find a new job, it's been tough to find the time and motivation, but I enjoyed writing this, I kinda cried like a few times y'know, as you do lol. Enjoy everyone!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @deskaisers @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013

let me know if you'd like to be added!

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