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

Bad Pet pt. 1

A My Pet Demon Collaboration story

Pairing: demon pet Douma x f!reader

Summary: In a world where domesticated demons have become pets and workers you have always stood for their fair treatment and equality. When you rescue Douma, a demon labeled too dangerous to live after biting his previous owners, you find yourself trying to navigate life as a demon owner, while trying to understand the deepening bond growing between you.

Tags: slow-burn. NSFW (masturbation). Allusions to dom/sub relationship which will come to fruition in part 2. Gentle dom!reader sub!Douma. Biting. Blood. Douma eating raw meat. Implied neglect. Reader is always anxious about something. Part 1 approx 11k words.

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

Dividers by @benkeibear

The shelter was always an uncomfortable place to visit; the air was cloying and thick with the scent of mistreated, unwashed, abandoned demons. But the cheerfully named "special wing" was by far the worst place on earth you had ever visited. 

It was silent as the grave, the air cold and clinical. Each cage was marked with a kanji– 殺 –  meaning that any demon held there was to be destroyed. And the windows. Big bright windows designed to let as much sunlight in as possible, keeping the demons weak.

"He's down in the unit at the end," the shelter attendant told you, giving you a cautious once over. "We really do recommend a male owner for this one. He's–"

"I read his file. I know." 

Douma– sometimes Doma, or Dōma; the spelling of his name changed between owners– had been surrendered to the shelter several times already. He was a designer mutt; breathtakingly beautiful but bred without a single consideration for his temperament. His appearance and outwardly friendly manner had led to him being taken in by many owners, mostly female, all of whom he had bitten. 

But difficult pets were your speciality. You'd even helped the Kamado family with their cantankerous Muzan. In fact, you regularly took care of the demon when they went away on vacation. Oh, he was all snarls and bitter words initially, but after a few sessions he was content to lay with his head in your lap, gently purring as you scratched behind his ears. 

You were good with difficult demons. 

The moment you got the email from the head of the Demon Rights organization that Douma had been taken to the special wing, your mind was made up. You were going to save him if it was the last thing you ever did. You hadn't even given yourself time to brush your hair– not that it mattered. 

Even drained by sunlight and undernourished, Douma exceeded your expectations of demonic beauty. He was tall and angelic in appearance, his eyes like opals, his hair like spider silk lit by the rising sun. His crimson and gold clothing was tight-fitted and sheer, highlighting his muscles and the slender curve of his waist. A smile broke across his face as you approached, friendly and inviting, almost innocent. And completely false.

Looking beyond his beauty, not allowing yourself to be dazzled, you could see those wide, colorful eyes of his weren't full of friendliness at all. They were empty. 

This demon was completely numb to his fate. He was numb to everything. His smile was a mask hiding an abyss.

"He will have to be muzzled on your way home," the attendant told you. "He bit the handler when he was brought in. I really wish you'd reconsid–" 

"I'm taking him," you said firmly. "If he agrees to it."

Douma's smile faltered. Clearly the demon wasn't used to having agency over his own life. "You're asking me?" He grinned at you once more as the melodic sound of his voice filled the room. "How sweet of you. Though, it's either you or the chop, right?"

"That's right." You hated that it was true. His extermination was scheduled in an hour. This particular shelter prided itself on "humane" termination via nichirin guillotine. "I wish there were more options available to you, but–"

"Oh that's alright," he said sweetly, dismissing your concerns with a wave of his elegant hand. "I'll come with you. And I promise not to bite."

All the blood drained from the attendant's face. "You're sure about this, ma'am?"

"Positive. Get him out of there."

There was paperwork to fill out, waivers to sign, a barrage of pleas for you to reconsider your decision, and horror stories from the shelter staff.

But before long you were standing in the cage beside your demon, a cold, nichirin muzzle and shock collar held in your hands. "I'm so sorry. I have to put this on or they won't allow us to leave."

Douma chuckled, smiling widely, "I've been gagged and collared before. Here…" he lifted his hair as though you were about to slip a priceless necklace around his neck, instead of a nichirin cuff with cruel inward-facing spikes and the potential to deliver painful electric shocks. "Don't worry about a thing."

Despite his cheerful facade, the telltale signs of discomfort were clear as you stood close to him; the way his throat flexed as you fastened the collar into place, the way the harsh metallic click made him blink, even though you warned him it was coming. 

Every part of this procedure sapped a little more light from his eyes because he'd been through it so many times before. The corners of his mouth dropped slightly as you prepared to slip on the muzzle, but he still dutifully parted his lips. His eyes remained trained on yours as you put it in place, his mouth closing around it almost sensually. Everything he did, every movement, every word, was polite, affable, and a performance. 

"I promise you can remove it the moment we get in the car. And…" you pulled off your hoodie, offering it to him. "It's sunny out there. Put this on. You'll be a little more comfortable if you're covered up."

His bushy eyebrows dipped slightly as he took the jacket and slipped it over his broad shoulders without putting his arms in the sleeves, instead wearing it like a hooded cape. Whatever made him comfortable–that’s all that mattered now.

He walked obediently at your side  waving cheerfully to the shelter staff as you kept a loose grip on his leash and got the hell out of that awful place together.

You weren’t afraid or aroused by him, and that was weird because humans were always either one or the other… or both. But never none. 

Initially Douma wondered if the chemical-scented air of the shelter had dulled his senses, but even in the close quarters of your car, there was nothing. Not even when you went to remove the collar and gag and exposed your underarms. He’d almost wanted to grab you and stuff his face into them, inhaling just to be sure. But that would probably lead him right back to the cell.

Your hoodie didn't smell of fear either. Just… you. 

You were so odd. 

So interesting. 

You were also either overly kind or stupid. To allow him to sit beside you in the car untethered, to remove his muzzle. He could have torn your throat out before you could even think to scream. 

But he wouldn’t. No. Never. 

Not you, you silly little thing. 

Not unless you pushed him. He’d passed through too many human hands to let his guard down entirely, even if you did seem gentle. 

“Do you mind if I take a look at your gums and eyes?” you asked. “I want to check something.”

Of course he didn’t mind that. He belonged to you now, his body was yours to do with whatever you pleased. And his previous owners had wanted more than a cursory look at his mouth. A lot more. 

“Hm, okay, yeah,” you said thoughtfully as you lifted his upper lip so gently. “You’re definitely iron deficient. What meats did your previous owners feed you?”

“Pork.” He hadn’t enjoyed it much. They’d insisted on having it cooked in different marinades which churned his stomach. 

“Have you tried raw liver? Or beef hearts? Those are rich in iron and might be better for you.”

Oh! Oh yes! Yes, that's exactly what he wanted. Filled with blood, slippery and fresh. Yes. Oh you sweet thing, you. “Oh mommy, yes I would love that.”

You froze. “Mommy?”

“Mm. That’s what my last owner had me call her. Is it okay to call you that?”

You shook your head. “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Oh.” What a peculiar human you were. You made no demands of him, you didn’t seem to want to fuck him… so what did you want? “What shall I call you then?”

Your name was far too intimate and a privilege he wasn’t permitted as a demon. “Anything but mommy.”

“Owner? Mistress?”You thought about it in silence for a while as you drove. “Okay. Mistress is fine.”

Mistress. His mistress. Oh he liked the sound of that. 

“Mine?” Douma stood flabbergasted in the doorway to his room, his brittle blue fingernails stark against the ghostly white of his cheeks as he held his face in his hands.

“Yeah, I’m sorry it’s not much."

It was only a small room, barely big enough for the bed, drawers, and tv you’d set in there for him. However, the sunlight was completely blocked by thick blackout curtains, so it would certainly be more comfortable than the cell you’d taken him from.

“I’ve never had a room.” He stepped inside and stared down at the bed before climbing onto it and sitting cross-legged in the center. “You’ll be sleeping here too sometimes?”

“Oh, no. No this is just for you. I have my room and you have yours.” Heat crept across your cheeks at his implication, but you couldn’t blame him for the assumption. 

His file had stated that he was constantly in heat and had regularly mated with his previous owners. But of course, like so much of his record, you knew that this was exaggerated or falsified. It was unheard of for humans and demons to mate; that unbreakable bond of souls and biology was simply impossible across species.

Besides, he was malnourished and stressed– the longer you looked at him the longer you saw signs. His skin, though smooth and on first impressions free of blemishes, was actually dull and far too pale. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his fingernails were brittle and cracked. Of course, his time in the shelter hadn’t helped, but these symptoms had taken root long ago. A demon in his condition simply couldn’t enter their heat. 

So… either his owners had lied, or he had faked it while fucking them. 

“Douma, I know you’ve had a sexual relationship with your previous owners but… I want you to know that I don’t expect or want that. At all.”

“Oh.” His opaline eyes remained on you as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of your hoodie, finally wearing it properly. “Then what’s my purpose?”

“Purpose?”

“Yeah. What do you want me to do?  I’m always given a job to do. Usually it’s just to fuck and look pretty… oh but there was the time I spent with the televangelists. I was an angel for Reverend Goodspeak and absolved people of their sins… or pretended to anyway.” His eyes grew wide and he adopted a more helpless tone of voice. “Oh, you don’t expect me to clean, do you? I’m afraid I’m no good at housework.”

“No, no. None of that. Just try to keep your room tidy. You don’t have a job. You’re just… here now. All you need to do is live.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

Fuck. Had you messed up? Was he going to be bored? Would that lead to behavioral issues? Would he bite you next? As experienced as you were with demons, you had to remind yourself that Douma was a unique breed and unlike any other you’d encountered. 

"What do you enjoy doing, Douma?"

He tucked his hands into the hoodie's sleeves and rested his chin on his knuckles. "Hm… dancing."

"Dancing. Okay, I can see if there are any demon-friendly places for you to dance."

He stared, unmoving for what seemed an eternity. It was… unnerving. 

You broke the silence. You had to. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"With you?"

"N-no. By yourself." You cleared your throat. "There's clothing in the drawers. Everything is a little mismatched and weird but they should be comfortable until I can take you shopping."

His gaze slid across to the drawers and he nodded. "Thank you, mistress."

You showed him where the bathroom was and how to work the shower before leaving to give him privacy. 

Standing in your kitchen, you drew a deep breath. Having a demon of your own in your home was so different to helping to care for other people's. But you'd made that decision and it was one which you would have to live with for the rest of your life because you sure as hell weren't taking him back to the shelter. 

You took out your phone, checking through your notifications and updating your friends from the Demon Rights group that you'd rescued Douma and he was settling in. 

He was… wasn't he? 

God, you hoped he'd be happy with you. Genuinely happy, not just pretending. All you could do was make sure his needs were met, give him the best living conditions possible, and treat him as you would want to be treated in this situation.

You'd always been so vocal in the group about how demons deserved the same rights as humans, that they were too intelligent to be kept as pets and should be treated as equals. And now you owned one. 

No, that's not what this was. He wasn't a possession or an object. You were responsible for him. That was a better way to think about it. You'd advocated for years for demons like Douma to have rights by law, but until that day came you would take care of him and try to figure out what exactly lay behind that cheerful veneer of his.

So, first things first. Food. You had some chopped, raw lamb liver in the fridge which you had intended to use to feed the little stray dream demon you sometimes saw down near the train station, but Douma needed it a little more right now. You'd feed the train guy tomorrow night.

"Mistress?"

With your heart leaping into your throat, you spun around at the sound of Douma's soft voice at your back. 

"Oh! Douma!" You put your hand over your chest as if you could quiet your panicked heart. "Is everything okay?"

He was just a foot away from you, naked from the waist up. The towel you'd left for him was slung low on his hips, revealing his muscular torso. His hair was hanging loose, dripping beads of water which coursed down his chest. You made a mental note to leave two towels for him in the future.

"Yes…" he said with a bright smile. "I'm ready for you to dress me."

“Dress you?”

He nodded. “Yes. Make me pretty for you.”

It hit you then: he was a doll. His previous owners had dressed him, preened him, set him on a pedestal to be admired like a prized object, and then disposed of him when he rebelled against them. "You can dress yourself. You don't need me to do that."

He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes fell suddenly to the pack of liver in your hands. His breath caught in his throat and his pupils widened, the obsidian darkness almost drowning out the rainbow colors of his irises. 

"Are you hungry?"

Nodding, he sat on the tall stool by the kitchen counter and waited. 

You pierced the packet and couldn't help but smile as Douma grew visibly excited, practically squirming in his seat as the scent of meat filled the air. "It's cold… it just came out of the fridge. Should I warm it up for you or–"

"Oh, cold is fine. You worry a lot, don't you?"

"I guess I do." You set the liver on a plate and slid it across to him. "Bon appetit."

The feral sound which emerged from him as he pounced on the meat made your flesh pebble. Goosebumps tingled down your spine as he tore into it, moaning softly, eyelids closing as he savored the flesh. A trickle of blood dribbled down his chin. It was sort of sweet in a horrifically grotesque kind of way. But he was content. That was a step toward happiness.

He swung his feet back and forth as he feasted, humming softly to himself as the blood ran in rivers down his wrists, and dripped from his chin onto his chest and stomach. 

"Maybe I should have fed you before your shower."

He grinned and stuck out his tongue to lick the blood from his palm. "This is wonderful."

That may have been the first genuine reaction you had seen from him. You hoped so, anyway. 

Though maybe that was an act too. Perhaps you weren't doing as well with him as you thought. 

You were such an anxious little bunny, always tending to him, trying to perfect every aspect of his care and scolding yourself if you didn't do exactly right. 

At first he thought he was finally smelling fear on you, but it wasn't that visceral. It was just a constant, low hum of anxiety running through your body. The perpetual feeling that you were fucking up. 

You constantly felt as though there was something prowling, preparing to pounce, but for some reason, that monster wasn't him.

In a way it was comforting. 

You cared. That hadn't happened before. He could see it in the way you'd meticulously affixed the blackout curtains to the window in his room, that you'd carefully accumulated clothes in different sizes to accommodate any demon you took in. It wasn't about him. He just happened to be the one you stumbled upon, the lucky demon in the right place. 

He found clothes that would fit him– a burgundy turtleneck and a pair of beige hakama pants which amused him greatly because they were enormous around his legs. He couldn't stop swishing them. They were far more comfortable than the skintight leather he'd been told to dress in previously. 

Old habits died hard, and he still felt the need to catwalk through the house, posing for you as you sipped your tea. "Am I pretty?"

You simply offered him a friendly chuckle and complemented his choice of clothing. Not him. Not his body. The clothes.

What exactly was your deal? Even when he presented himself to you in the towel after his shower there was no scent of attraction, no rush of hormones. Just… worry. Fussing over his food, scrolling through your phone to try to find activities for him. 

Not being wanted simply for his cock was refreshing and maddening.

"I have to work tomorrow," you told him that evening as you sat on the couch, your tone apologetic as always. "But my cell phone number is beside the landline and you can call me if you need anything. I'm sorry I have to leave you alone." 

He sat cross legged on the floor beside your feet with his back resting against the couch. "That's alright, I'm used to being alone."

That didn't sit comfortably with you. Of course it didn't. Little worrier.

Hoping to reassure you, he leaned closer to your legs, resting his head against your knee. "I don't mind in the slightest." 

The muscles in your legs tensed beneath his cheek, but you didn't move away. The two of you sat like that for a while as you scrolled on your phone, still searching for that elusive demon dance. 

"Screw it," you sighed at last. "I'm just going to organize one. Can't be that hard."

You'd do that for him? After knowing him for less than a day… woah. His eyes lost focus as his mind worked to process this. You still didn't want to fuck him, and you weren't afraid… You were just kind. That was it. Not stupid. Kind. 

But in his experience, kindness didn't last long. It was a well that quickly emptied when he drank too deeply. Douma had spent so many years pretending, he was no longer sure who he was exactly, but he knew who he was when he thought he may have found a friend. He was too loud, too silly, too much. He depleted energy and frustrated the people he cared about. 

Your frustration could spell his death. 

If he wronged you, you might return him to the shelter. So he withdrew deeper into himself and plastered on an amiable, inoffensive smile. "Thank you, mistress. You don't have to do that for little old me."

"I know," you said. "But I want to." 

Those words stayed with him long after you'd gone off to bed in your own room. He lay on his back in the center of his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to untangle the conundrum that was you. It couldn't be as simple as kindness. Everyone wanted something from him. 

Everyone wanted him to be something.

He just needed to figure out what your something was. Because he would strive to give it to you in any way he could. For his own survival, yes, but… for you too. His mistress. 

Douma was sleeping when you left for work that morning, curled up on his side, still wearing the hakama pants which amused him so and hiding his face in your bundled up hoodie.

You'd written him a quick note, telling him when you'd be back, reiterating that he could call you, and asking him to check your tablet, where you'd bookmarked a page for cruelty free demon collars which would enable him to travel outside your home with you. It was important to you that he chose his own, even if it was just the color. By the time you were done your "quick note" took up an entire page and a half. 

God, you hoped he could read. You scolded yourself for not checking that first.

You kept your phone on you the entire day, checking it constantly in case you'd somehow missed his call.

In the end you caved and tried to call your landline, but there was no answer. Maybe he was still sleeping. The previous day had been a lot.

At lunch time you emailed the Kamados to get the ball rolling on Douma's dance party, and Kie immediately called you. 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said. "I think it would be good for Muzan to get out and spend time with his own kind in different settings."

You smiled. "How is he?"

"He's well. I think he misses you."

You heard the older demon's voice, quietly on the other end, muttering "I do not… When is she coming?"

Kie continued, "I expect you won't be able to visit him as much now you have a demon of your own to care for. Especially given Douma's circumstances."

"Right," you replied. "At least until he's settled. Though maybe it would be good for him and Muzan to spend time together."

"Absolutely not," came Muzan's sharp reply, a little closer to the phone.

You couldn't help but smile. The old demon was a handful, but he was dear to you regardless. As well as lying his head on your lap while he read and had you scratch behind his ears, he had also recently adopted a tendency to nuzzle your shoulder while you prepared his food. It was pretty cute. 

Images of Douma showing similar gestures of affection flooded your mind and made your heart squeeze. Maybe someday there would be an even stronger bond between the two of you. You hoped so anyway. Mutual companionship. Friendship.

“I’ll have my husband email you later,” Kie said cheerfully, sounding so much like her son. “He’s always loved dancing so I’m sure this will be his forte. And Tanjiro is great at rallying people together. I’m sure we can help you organize the event.”

After work you headed home, making a quick detour to the meat market to get dinner for Douma. Demons technically only needed to eat once a week, but he was in poor condition and deserved a little extra treat. You bought a huge slab of liver, as well as a beef heart, and hurried back to your house. 

"Douma?" You called as you stepped through the front door.

There was no reply save for the muffled cries coming from his room at the end of the hallway. Your heart leapt into your throat as you hurried down there to check on him. 

Hell, what were you thinking, leaving him alone the very next day after saving him from certain death? You cursed yourself as you entered his room and found him still lying on the bed, tears streaking down his cheeks as he sobbed into your hoodie. 

"Douma?" 

He didn't respond. He simply cried, babbling nonsense between throat-shredding sobs. His voice sounded so unlike him, so filled with desperation and fear.

It felt like an invasion of his privacy but he was your responsibility, his happiness your duty, so you stepped into the room, getting a little closer until you could see he was still asleep. 

He was having a nightmare. 

"Douma?" You reached out to gently shake him awake. 

You saw your blood spray across the bed sheets before you even felt the pain of his fangs piercing your flesh.

Demons didn’t need to breathe to survive. The only reason their lungs still worked at all was to enable air to pass through their vocal chords and allow them to speak. 

But as Douma waited outside the bathroom, he could neither breathe nor speak at all.

The taste of your blood remained on his tongue; a taste he was biologically programmed to crave. But he couldn’t savor it. Even if you were undoubtedly his last meal. 

He hadn’t meant to bite you, he truly hadn’t. He didn’t even remember doing it. Everything had been so hazy, so sudden, so violent. 

“It’s okay.” You’d repeated that phase twenty times before he finally agreed to wait outside the bathroom while you patched yourself up. 

He simply sat on the hallway floor and stared at the crack of light underneath the bathroom door, knowing he should feel fear. He was going to die, afterall. You were kind, yes, but kindness only went so far. It didn’t extend to demons who had torn their owner’s necks open. 

And yet, he felt nothing. He never did. No happiness, no sorrow, no fear Just… numb. Empty. Nothing. He was an object. Not a living thing. Objects didn’t feel; they simply looked pretty and waited to be used as the real people saw fit. 

The moment your shadow appeared beneath the door he was on his feet to be the first thing you saw when you stepped out into the hallway. You were paler than usual, trembling a little with the shock of it all, forcing a smile. But you still weren’t afraid of him. There was no scent of fear or anger emitting from you as you approached. 

“I’m so sorry.” Those words should have come from him, but you were the one who spoke them. “I didn’t mean to startle you. And I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”

He still couldn’t fill his lungs to speak.

How were you this gentle? Was this world with you so different from the ones he previously inhabited? He hadn’t even bitten his other owners in such a potentially deadly place. Oftimes it was an arm blocking his exit, a hand raised in anger, one time a breast shoved in his face. All those bites had led to his immediate banishment, then off to the shelter to be picked up and sent back time and time again until finally he had enough black marks against his name he was considered better off dead.

And then along came you. You who simply stood looking sheepish, as if ashamed to have caused the bite. It didn’t matter that he was bigger, stronger, deadly, an object, a monster. You reeked of guilt and that nervous energy you could never shake. 

Oh, his poor anxious little doe, what was he going to do with you?

“Does it hurt?” he finally managed to ask. 

“It stings a little but I’m really okay. It looked bad but once I got myself cleaned up it was just a couple of scratches.” You took a step forward. “And please know that I’m not sending you back to that awful place. Ever. No matter what.”

His lungs filled for what felt like the first time in forever. 

You simply carried on as if you hadn’t just flipped the world on its axis with your words. “Are you okay?”

Was he? He wasn’t sure. He was still empty yet strangely uncomfortably full. There was a desire he couldn’t speak sitting at the back of his throat, one so absurd he was embarrassed even to think it. But he wanted to hug you. He wanted that reassurance that you weren’t angry with him, or afraid to come near him.

“Please speak your mind,” you said softly.

“Hm?” He plastered on a friendly smile and dismissed your concern with a wave of his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy you’re okay.”

Later you fed him the heart of a cow, and Gods, he had never tasted anything so wonderful. His toes curled while he ate his fill, blood running down his wrists and chin once more as he hummed in contentment.

“So, heart and liver are Douma approved?” you said with a smile as you ate your dinner opposite him, not in the least bit squeamish. “I’ll get you more.”

He nodded happily and sunk his teeth into the left atria of the heart, sucking out the blood before chewing the flesh. Somehow this meal tasted better than any he had eaten before, and he knew it wasn’t just the cut of meat. It tasted good because of the reassurance that there would be more. You weren’t going to throw him out for being a bad pet. 

He was safe with you. 

“Thank you,” he said, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. Gods, he was making a mess. His last owner would have chastised him for it. Not you though, you sweet, fucked up little thing.

“You're very welcome.” You set down your fork and watched him fondly. “I spoke to some friends of mine about organizing your dance, by the way. I think it’s going to be great.”

“You’re too kind to me, mistress.” He meant it too. He’d lived in mansions and megachurches, but there in your humble little house, he felt more comfortable than he ever had. And that was all on you. 

“No, you deserve kindness. Please don’t doubt that.”

“Even though I bite?”

“Yes. Always.”

What a sweet little smile you had. Sweet sweet sweet. Everything about you was sweet except the taste of you; he’d hated that more than anything. 

“Oh!” your eyes widened with a realization. “I suppose you didn’t see my note about the collar?”

He shook his head in confusion. “I slept all day.”

“That’s okay. You must have been exhausted. Well, it’s just that to go outside, as you know, you’re supposed to wear a collar.”

“Yeah… the shelter gave you one for me, didn’t they?” Even though you’d gently placed it around his neck, the nichirin spikes adoring the interior of the collar had stung relentlessly. Even after you had so kindly removed it in the car, his skin was irritated from it. That collar had been designed to keep him miserable, docile, to shock him if necessary.

You shook your head. “I’m not using that one. Absolutely not. No, that one is… it’s barbaric. I want to buy you a new one. The kind that can’t hurt you. And I want you to choose it.”

What a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. A feathery sort of feeling which made him want to squirm. You just cared so damn much. He despised wearing collars–they constantly felt as though they were choking him– but he would absolutely wear one for you. 

Then again, if he understood the law correctly,  he didn't think he'd have to. 

A week passed before the package from the collar company arrived. Douma was beside himself as you sat on the couch and waited for him to decide whether he wanted you to close your eyes or watch him open it. 

"… okay, watch me. Wait no… close them. Close them… yeah."

You did as he told you, his excitement warming your heart and setting your mind at ease. Some part of you couldn't help but feel guilty that he had to do this. But that box may as well have been from Tiffany's the way he grinned when you'd placed it in his hands. 

There was a lot of shuffling and finally a metallic click.

"Okay, open," he said softly. 

You opened your eyes and… well… it wasn't a collar. He was wearing a harness. 

It was made of sturdy black leather, with a thick strap encircling his torso just below his pectorals, and two more straps over his broad shoulders. The shoulder straps were then connected by two more smaller ones across the top of his chest which were joined by a nichirin hoop above his sternum, intended to enable the demon's owner to attach a leash.

Strapped up like that, it was plain to see that Douma had filled out in the week since you'd picked him up. His chest looked especially soft and full, spilling over the bottom leather band. 

"Well? Whaddya think?" he asked hopefully. 

"It's lovely! But… is it allowed as a substitute for a collar?"

He nodded. "There's a clause in the leash law that says bad pets may wear a harness instead of a collar if the collar will exacerbate bad behaviors. And as we know, I'm the baddest pet of them all."

He said it so proudly you couldn't help but smile. "You're not bad in the slightest."

His smile faltered as his gaze slid to your neck. You'd kept the wound covered so you didn't worry him, but you'd lied through your teeth that day. It was a little worse than you'd insisted. In fact, you'd had to close the wound with butterfly stitches the next day because it wouldn't stop bleeding. 

No way were you going to the emergency room though. They'd know it was a bite and the next thing you knew Douma would be taken away. That was never going to happen on your watch. Anyways, it was starting to heal. No harm done. 

"The mall is open late tonight," you said, distracting him from the bite. "Wanna go shopping?"

His eyes brightened. "Oh! I would love that!"

The mall you had in mind was one of the more demon-friendly places in town. It stayed open late and even had a vendor selling raw meats and treats for demon pets.

After hitting a few stores and buying Douma some more outfits (mainly hakama pants– these ones even swishier than the first pair) you bought him a "demon boba tea" which consisted of bone broth with little chunks of liver chopped up to simulate the tapioca pearls.

He sipped it contentedly while you made your way to a homewares store together, your grip on his leash as loose as possible. Not that he seemed to mind it. 

"If you see anything you want for your room then let me know," you told him as you walked through the soft furnishings section. 

He found no less than eight throw pillows he struggled to choose between.

"They're all so soft!" he mused as he went back and forth between them. "And the colors are so pretty! Oh! I can't decide. You decide for me, mistress."

In the end you bought them all. 

Your credit card was practically sobbing as you headed out of the mall and back to the car with both you and Douma encumbered with shopping bags, but the smile on his face seemed a little more genuine as he gazed up at the moon and pulled in a breath. 

"Mistress?"

"Hm?"

"I've lived with billionaires less generous than you."  He loaded the bags into the back seat of the car and gave the pillows one last parting squeeze before closing the door. 

"I wish I could do more… maybe next time I get paid we can–"

He gently tugged the leash connecting you both, as if you were his misbehaving pet. "Shh shh, little dove. You do more than enough. And I don't just mean the things you buy for me. Everything. All of it. You…" He stopped and looked away, but for a moment you could swear his eyes weren't just empty pools reflecting the colors of a rainbow. They were full of… pain. But the effect was only momentary before he smiled sweetly and said, "How silly of me. I lost my train of thought," and sucked on his boba tea straw. 

You couldn't even imagine what he'd gone through, what he'd endured. All you could do was create an environment safe enough that he knew he could open up about it if he needed to. 

That night on your way to bed, you walked past his room to see him lying comfortably among his new pillows, your hoodie still bundled up by his head. 

It seemed to serve as an extra way for him to block out the light as he slept. You resolved to double check the blackout curtains and try to figure out how to close the crack at the top and bottom of his bedroom door. Clearly you hadn't been as thorough as you thought you had. There was always room for improvement when it came to his care. 

"Would you like me to wash that?" You asked.

"No!" He looked aghast, propping himself up to stare in horror at you. "Do you want it back?"

"Oh, no. You can keep it if it helps you sleep. I was just worried it smelled bad."

The tension ebbed from his body as he placed his hand on the garment. "Thank you, but no, it doesn't." He pouted thoughtfully. "Though… if you wanted to wear it again and then give it back, I wouldn't mind that. Just don't feel as though you have to wash it for me."

One morning, about a week later, Douma was trying to sleep as you tiptoed around the house trying to get ready for work as quietly as possible. But there was something preventing him from fully drifting off, and it wasn’t the subtle sounds of you making your breakfast. 

It was the smell of blood; your blood, coming from between your legs.

Of course, that was nothing new to him– he’d had owners who had menstruated in the past, but he’d never been quite so aware of it. Maybe it was your blood type or some kind of hormonal shift, but something was drawing him to you. He simply needed to be close. It was almost a protective instinct.

This was certainly new.

After about half an hour of tossing and turning he finally decided to get up and say good morning before you left. The moment you saw him– mother hen that you were– you jumped up and closed the blinds in the living room, depriving yourself of the morning sun for his sake. 

“Douma, are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just… a little hungry I think.” 

That hum of anxiety grew louder and it was almost as if he could read your mind. You were worried you’d been underfeeding him, despite giving him three times the recommended meals for demons. The burgundy turtleneck he’d taken to wearing only two weeks ago now stretched very tight across his muscles. He liked how he felt now. Comfortable. Stronger.

Still, he wasn’t about to turn down fresh meat as you pulled a bag of chicken hearts out the fridge and set them out for him. 

“If you like, I’ll swing by here and pick you up after work and you can come to the meat market with me? You can see if there’s anything else there which takes your fancy.”

Your scent mingled with the smell of the hearts made his mouth water. “Thank you, mistress. I’d love that. And I hope you have a wonderful day today.”

“I hope you do too.” You slung your purse over your shoulder, your movements a little more sluggish than usual. “Are you sure you’re not bored here by yourself?”

Worry worry worry. That’s all you ever did. You worried about health, his happiness, even things in the past you could never change. Goodness, you even worried when you were going out of your way to do things for him, like arranging the dance. You'd admitted more than once that you felt terrible for asking the Kamado family to help since they'd pretty much taken over the project entirely with their heartfelt enthusiasm, and you felt as though you'd failed.

And now you were worried that here in this comfortable house with his own room, TV, books, the tablet, eight cushions, swishy hakama pants, and more freedom than he'd ever been given before that you were screwing up by committing the unforgivable sin of going to work. 

He gave you his most reassuring smile and shook his head. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m fine, really. I’ll nap and watch TV and wait for you to come get me.”

You smiled weakly, one hand coming to rest on your belly. Oh, you poor thing. He might not have been human or in possession of a uterus, but he knew you must be uncomfortable. He could smell your hormones running riot, sense the twisting pain in your muscles. And there you were going to work to be able to afford his care. 

“Call out.” He spoke before he’d even processed what he was saying. “You don’t have to feed me as much as you do.”

A little crease appeared between your eyebrows. “You want me to stay home today?”

Did he? “Yes.”

“So you are bored?”

“No! Heavens no, I just… like it when you’re here.”

Goodness… that was true, wasn’t it? He liked living there, but the house felt better when you were in it. Despite the care you’d taken to ensure he had entertainment and assured him he was to see himself more as a roommate than a pet, he still often felt as though his days were simply spent waiting. Hearing your key in the lock gave him peace.

The temptation in your eyes was quite adorable too as you considered staying home. “I do have cramps…and quite a bit of PTO I need to use up by the end of the year. So you wouldn't have to eat less.”

Oh! Oh! This was marvelous. You were going to stay home with him all day. He was winning. “You do look sick, mistress. You could stay home. I’ll make you some tea, and we can watch TV together! And maybe if you feel better later we can go to the market. But if not, it’s okay! I can wait.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. “You’re so sweet, Douma.”

If he had a heart, those kind words might have made it flutter, but he’d been reassured all his life that he didn’t. He chalked up the light, squirmy feeling in his chest to hunger and opened the bag on the counter, throwing a chicken heart in the air and catching it between his teeth. 

You spent the first hour of your day off psyching yourself up to making the phone call, and the second hour flipping between worrying that you hadn’t sounded sick enough, or that you’d made yourself sound too sick and they’d think you were faking. 

It must have been exhausting, having your brain. 

Douma simply sat patiently on the couch, scrolling through the categories on Netflix. As you paced across the living room, your movement wafted the air past him and he couldn't help but notice your scent. Comforting and maddening, as you so often were to him. 

"Little birdie, you're flitting around so much. Your heating pad is waiting here with your tea."

"You're right, I'm sorry Douma, I'm just not used to calling out and– oh my god, are you bleeding?"

Was he? He didn't think he was. He knew the scent of his own blood very well, and there was none in the air. "Where?"

"Your head." You took a hurried step toward him and paused. "May I take a look?"

"Oh! Yes of course! Go right ahead."

He appreciated you asking first, though it wasn't necessary. It had only been a little over two weeks, but he trusted you. You never got angry and lashed out assuming he could take it because he was a demon. You never treated him as anything less than human, in fact. 

You were comfort and safety. And home. 

So, yes. You could touch his head. 

A shiver traveled down his spine as you carefully parted his hair and began your investigation. 

"Hm… it's not blood," you hummed thoughtfully. "This is so interesting."

The back of his neck tingled as you sat beside him, carefully parting and smoothing down his hair. It felt lovely. 

"Your hair is changing color right at the roots but only on top."

"Oh? And it looks like blood?"

"Yeah. Have you always been blond?"

"Mostly. One of my owners had a thing for redheads so they dyed my hair orange. And another wanted my hair white and bleached it."

You frowned a little. "I wish I could bite them all."

A snort of laughter burst from him. "With your little human teeth?"

The laugh which emerged from you in return was the most joyous sound he'd ever heard. Because he had made it happen. 

When you withdrew your hand, he missed your touch immediately. His head moved in the same direction almost of its own accord, chasing out your caress, eliciting a look of confusion from you.

"Don't stop… please? Investigate more."

"Oh, but I think it's just a color change, hopefully a sign that–" He nudged your hand with the top of his head and felt his heart lift when you chuckled. "You want me to play with your hair?"

"Yeah!" 

His entire body tingled as you obliged, your fingers threading through his golden strands so carefully, so gently. He closed his eyes and sighed, lost in the sensation. 

He wasn't sure exactly what TV show you settled on watching as he sat there in total bliss, but he presumed it had something to do with motorcycles and their noisy, rumbling engines. It didn't matter. He was so relaxed it could have been anything. 

"You're purring," you said, your tone quiet and kind. 

Was he? Is that what that was? None of his previous owners had ever gotten him to purr before. They'd done things to his body that felt wonderful, but they had never evoked that response. 

Yes… this was all most definitely new. 

By the end of the day he was sprawled across the couch, legs dangling off the end of the armrest and head resting against your hip as he existed in a state of blissful, floaty… loveliness. 

He opened his eyes to gaze at you and felt something flop in his chest. You were just so relaxed, so peaceful, watching the TV and running your fingernails over his scalp, sending shivers through his body with the gentlest touch.

A soft sigh escaped him, drawing your attention. 

You smiled down at him. “Do you like being here, Douma?”

At some point or another, every owner had asked him if he was happy, if he loved them, if he wanted to stay with them forever. But you hadn’t actually asked that at all, had you? 

Because you understood that happiness– just like any emotion– was complicated for him, that he wasn’t quite sure if he was really feeling it or whether his mind was telling him that he should be. That part of his mind was a mystery he often worried he would never fully understand. 

But you understood him so well, cared for him so deeply and so innocently. In just a couple of weeks you’d shown him more kindness, more respect, more care than anyone ever had in all his years. He didn’t feel like an object with you. He felt like… like a person.

“Very much,” he said. 

And for the first time in his life, he meant it. 

Later that night, you and Douma headed out to the meat market. He wore his harness so proudly, walking beside you through the various stalls, drinking in the myriad of sights, the cacophony of voices and machinery, and the overpowering scents of the meat. At first you’d been worried that it was all too much for him, but your worries soon dissipated. He seemed enamored with it all, yet he stuck close to your side, the leash slack between you as you kept it hooked loosely around your pinky finger.

His rainbow eyes were wide and attentive, his perpetual smile flashing at every stall owner, even the ones who had signs reading “NO DEMONS” pinned to their registers. 

You let him choose his meat from the friendlier vendors; liver and heart were by far his favorites, but he also wanted to try skirt steak and venison. After paying for those, plus a large mutton shank, you made your way across town to the abandoned railway shed you were overdue to visit. 

“Do you want to wait in the car? Or would you like to meet the train guy?”

Douma barely considered it for a moment before responding. “I want to meet him. Of course! Who is he?"

He was such an extrovert, energized simply by the thought of meeting someone new, whereas you had to psych yourself up to talking to people you’d known for years. But you didn't have that issue with Douma, strangely enough. With Douma you felt at ease. 

In fact, spending time with him at the end of the day helped you recharge. 

"He's a stray demon. I think he was abandoned out here. He likes trains and his name is Enmu."

"Enmu…" Douma sing-songed his name with a friendly smile, as if practicing how to say it to him in the most pleasant way. "Yes. Let's go and see him."

The air in the shed was thick and dusty as you stepped inside and found yourself swallowed by the darkness. Of course, Douma could see perfectly well without any light at all, but he waited patiently for you as you stumbled around, moving slowly so you didn’t hurt yourself on a piece of rusty metal or broken wood. 

“Hello? Are you here?" Your voice echoed around the seemingly abandoned shed. 

A moment later, bright, warm light illuminated the shed, dazzling enough that you had to cover your hand with your eyes. But once your vision adjusted to the assault you could see the familiar abandoned train carriage, lit from within.

"Is it you?" A soft melodic voice called out. 

"ENMU!" Douma called with a friendly smile. 

"It's me, Enmu," you said reassuringly.

"Ohh! It is you, and you brought another demon to my home." Logically you knew his movements were simply faster than your eyes could register, but it seemed the dream demon simply appeared out of thin air on top of the carriage, arms stretched out gleefully as he inhaled deeply. "I thought you'd forgotten me."

He was dressed in an archaic tailcoat and formalwear, giving him the appearance of a haunted porcelain doll. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't forget, I've been very busy, but I hope this makes up for it," you replied, holding out the bag with the mutton shank. You didn't have time to blink before the dream demon whisked it away with his preternatural speed and stood gnawing on it from his perch on the carriage. 

He wasn't normally so jittery, but you chalked that up to Douma's presence, especially since food was involved. But Enmu seemed happy with the meal. He sighed contentedly as he stripped the flesh from the bone.

The excitement emanating from Douma was palpable. You could feel his desire to interact, to make friends, to socialize with his own kind

"Do you want to take your harness off so–"

"No!" Douma's eyes widened as his hand shot up to cover the buckle. "No, please."

There was a different quality to his voice, an emotion you had only heard once before, that afternoon you came home from work and found him dreaming. The day he bit you. 

Fear.

"Okay… you can keep it on. I just didn't want you to feel weird about wearing one when Enmu isn't."

"But it's our harness. Mine and yours, it's important. Don't leave–"  He snapped his lips shut and looked down at his hand before his brow knitted together. "That was silly, wasn't it?"

Your heart squeezed at the realization that he saw the harness as a bond between the two of you, not a means of imprisonment. But that fear… God, did he think you'd brought him to the train shed to be rid of him? Was there some part of him that worried you would abandon him like his previous humans had?

His bright smile was hiding fear, as it so often did. 

"Douma… I promise, I'll stay right here. If you want to go and make friends with Enmu, I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere without you, okay?"

He dipped his head, tucking his chin against his chest, his hair falling forward to reveal the strange blood spot color change. Gods, you hoped that was a sign you were doing well and not a symptom of even worsening health. But you didn't think so. Douma looked beautiful the first day you met him, but with every passing day he was filling out and looking healthier.

The corner of his mouth slanted before he brought up his hand once more, this time to unclip the leash from his harness. "There… you keep that part, I'll keep this. Yes? And we'll put it right back together in a little bit."

"Yes," you said with a smile. "I'll wait right here. Take as long as you like." 

Oh, your heart was surging at the sweet gesture. But it was more than sweetness. It was trust. The bond between you was strengthening by the day.

Douma and Enmu sat atop the train talking for over an hour as you busied yourself with your phone, updating the Demon Rights page on his progress. 

As you typed, your phone began to vibrate in your hand as a call from Kamado Kie came through.

"Hello?"

Silence. 

Perhaps she had butt-dialed you…

"Why haven't you come?" A male voice said at last, deep and beguiling; it was a voice you knew very well. 

"Muzan?"

"You haven't visited me in a while."

The hairs on your arms bristled as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I've been so busy with Douma, and–"

"Douma." He said his name like a curse. "The bad pet. The biter. I've heard of him."

It seemed impossible that the sweet, amiable demon sitting, kicking out his long legs as he chatted to his new friend could have such a reputation. But then again, he had bitten you, and accident or not, it had been a savage wound, even if the ‘attack’ only lasted a split second. 

"Be careful. That demon is cold and unfeeling. He won't hesitate to harm you. I want you to visit me."

"I'm being careful, Muzan," you said as gently as you could. "I'll be okay. It's so sweet of you to care–"

As expected, Muzan ended the call. He always did when he'd said what he had to say. 

It was strange; you were always so worried about everything, but not about your safety when it came to Douma. You trusted him implicitly. Perhaps because deep down you knew that he risked more harm in your company than you did in his. Demons could bite, yes, but humans could break, and he'd suffered that cruelty more times than you could know.

"Mistress?" His voice snapped you from your reverie and drew your gaze upward. "I'm finished. Enmu is going to sleep."

"Okay." 

“Do you think he can come to the dance? I haven't invited him yet but I think he’d like it. He seems a little lonely.”

Although your heart ached for the dream demon, there wasn’t much you could do. Not legally anyway. “He’d need to have an owner to be able to come. If someone saw him wandering around without a collar he’d be picked up by the shelter and then who knows what could happen to him.”

Douma nodded in understanding and cast a glance back toward the train. “Then can we visit him again?”

“Of course. I'm so sorry it has to be this way.”

"Oh, don't worry about it! Really. It's just the way of the world. I don't mind it in the slightest."

"It won't always be this way. We're fighting to change it." 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "I'll still belong to you though, right?"

"No, you'd be free–"

"Then I'd choose to belong to you. Without a second thought." He threaded his thumb through the metal loop in the center of his harness. "Can we…?"

You stood and a strange sensation washed over you as you clipped the leash back to his harness; relief. Relief that Douma was with you, that you were both where you belonged. Together. 

Two weeks later, Douma noticed that his hair was growing at an unmanageable pace. Every time he showered he clogged the drain with golden strands but it never seemed to thin. In fact, it grew thicker. 

The red spot at his crown was bigger too, now noticeable even without parting his hair. At first he worried that you wouldn't like how it looked but if anything it seemed to make you proud. 

"Your claws are looking better as well," you said as he drank down the demon boba tea you'd picked up for him on your way home. "They don't look as brittle."

That was true too. His claws had always broken and peeled, but now they shone, strong, sharp, and pale lavender beneath the kitchen light. Of course he kept them retracted most of the time. The last thing he wanted was to pluck the furniture, or his beloved pillows. Or you. Definitely not you. 

"Do you want me to shape them for you?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah, I'd love that!"

He enjoyed your little touches; always so respectful, always consented to, always so loving. He didn't really mind what you did to him. You didn't give him that uncomfortable, closed-in feeling his other owners did.

In fact, most of the time he forgot you were meant to be his owner, which he supposed was by your design. It was only when you put on his harness that he remembered, and each time he got that swirling, fluttering feeling in the pit of his belly. He liked belonging to you.

But then again, he couldn't feel happiness, could he? He'd felt numb to joy his entire life, he'd been told time and time again that he was a void, an inhuman doll incapable of emotion. His only purpose was to look pretty and serve his owners. 

No… that's all his purpose had been. With you it was different.

"Mistress, what does happiness feel like to you?"

You pondered it as you took a file out of your manicure kit. "That's a tough question. It's hard to describe. I suppose… it feels like you're full. There's nothing more you want and you're completely satisfied. You feel content, I guess."

Really? That was all? It seemed too simple to be something he had been denied all his life. 

And of course he felt that with you. Every time he saw you he felt full to bursting, like his body couldn't contain the amount of… of… 

Gosh, feelings were hard to describe, weren’t they?

You made him ache. You made him feel like he was flooded with light and warmth. He wanted for nothing, because you fulfilled everything he could ever desire just with your presence in his life. 

"So," you said gently as you carefully filed the tip of his fingernail to make it safe and rounded, "I got a call from the Kamados and they've finally found a venue for your dance."

His heart skipped. "Oh how wonderful! Where is it?"

"Well, it's a little unconventional. You see…" You paused, clearly uncomfortable from the way your face pinched momentarily before you continued. "Many places don't accept demons…"

"Oh, I know that. Honestly it's okay."

"Well, the Kamados managed to find a place that would. It's a lap dancing bar."

His eyes widened with excitement. "I love lap dances!"

"Yeah?" You chuckled. "You like getting them?"

"Giving them!" 

You paused, your eyes fixed on the tip of his nail. "You do?"

"Mhm! Do you want me to show you?"

The sudden shift in the air was unmistakable. It made his heart race and his body grow warm, and he realized as your face turned a shade darker, that the change was coming from you. 

The thought of him dancing for you, grinding his hips against you, was turning you on.

"You don't have to do that," you said diplomatically. 

But you wanted it. He could feel it, a flutter of arousal in the air. Finally, finally after weeks he was in familiar territory. 

So why did it feel so different?

Why was his face growing warm too? Why was he struggling to fill his lungs as he took your phone from the arm of the couch and found a song he liked with a sumptuous rhythm. 

“Douma, you don’t–”

“I want to.”

Addictive heat emitted from your body as he danced, parting your thighs and undulating his hips against you. More than blood, more than flesh, he wanted to please you, to feel the rush of pheromones coming from your body. He craved it like nothing else he had ever known. 

What was happening to him? 

It had never been like this before. 

Douma moved with fluid grace, his hips rolling against you, sending a flood of heat through your body. It was sudden and it was wrong. You were no better than the others as your breath caught in your throat. Your body reacted to his; hot and needy, craving more than just the simulation of sex. 

Yes, he initiated it, but you were enjoying it. And that made you bad. 

“Douma–”

“Hush, little lamb. You worry too much.”

Gods, every cell in your body pulled toward him. Hot breath shuttered between you, both yours and his, your faces mere inches apart, his hands capturing your wrists and placing your palms on his abdomen so you could feel his muscles flex.

“Am I a good pet, mistress?” His words were like honey against your ear. “Tell me I’m good.”

Your throat closed. It was impossible to breathe or to swallow. And yet you managed to whisper, “So good.”

The song ended, leaving you both breathless and shaking, your lips so close it sent a deep ache spearing through your core. 

“I’m happy with you, mistress,” he whispered. “I truly am. For the first time in my life. I feel full.”

You nodded, swallowing hard to try to free your throat. “That’s all I want. And… I feel the same with you.”

That night as you lay in bed the sensation of his body against yours remained, along with the ache and the guilt of enjoying it. Douma was yours to care for, your responsibility, your pet. And yet, you couldn’t stop your hand from slipping down between your thighs at the mere thought of him.

It had felt good. It still did.  His body tingled with the memory of yours, your heat, the little gasping, shivering sounds you made as he danced for you. He couldn’t shake the image of your eyes; the visible war between desire and reluctance. 

Of course you worried that you were taking advantage of him, silly rabbit, but he’d wanted it. You’d done nothing to coerce him, even if your guilt told you otherwise.

But your scent…

He’d never felt so intoxicated before, so drawn to a human. He could still smell you on his skin, as though the essence of you had seeped down into him and he could never be rid of it again. And he didn’t want to be. He wanted more.

He wasn’t exactly sure when his hand had wrapped around his cock, only that he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into the tunnel of his fist when he thought of you. The air was thick with you, your heat, your arousal; and that it was caused by him only made it more exciting.

He pressed his heels into the mattress as he fucked his hand, feeling out the rhythm that felt best, the one he wanted you to—

Was that wrong to think? Was it wrong to imagine your hand on his cock, your mouth, your pussy? It certainly felt right. 

Not that he had much–any–experience with this. Oh, he’d been pleasured before, countless times, but he’d never done it to himself. He’d never felt the need to. That urge had been as alien to him as happiness.

But now… now he was a glutton for it, gasping, panting, sweating as he imagined you riding him, telling him he was good and beautiful and yours.

“Mistress… please…” he gasped into one of his cushions, inhaling the scent of you from your hoodie, the one he still had tucked away since the first day he came to you. “Please, please, please.”

He pulled the cushion and hoodie onto his face, muffling his cries as he came, inhaling your scent, imagining your heat, your bodyweight on him instead. And as he lay there, panting in the aftermath, his hand warm and sticky, his body shaking, he realized that not even the new excitement of self pleasure would be enough to sate his urge. 

It wasn’t enough because you weren’t in his arms. You weren’t there to tell him he was a good boy for cumming so much for you. You weren’t there to pet his hair as he fell asleep. 

As he stared at the ceiling, Douma realized that he needed you.

He wanted you. He loved you.

To be continued...

I hope you enjoyed this first part. This story has been a real labor of love and part 2 is already well under way. It should be finished soon! Please don't forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed it! It really helps writers reach new readers!

Thank you so much!!

---

++ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈/𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

[summary] during a playful fight between you and yuji, sukuna decides to make an appearance and air out yuji’s dirty secrets.

[cws] fem reader. dubcon. lewd use of sukuna’s tummy mouth. exhibitionism -> you’re in public but no one is around. one mention of a misogynist comment from sukuna. yuji thinks about you a lot. unedited.

“Do you …hah, do you give up yet?” Yuji pants as he has you pinned underneath him, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair and landing on your forehead.

You’d cringe and shrink away if you weren’t so determined to win this mock fight (never mind that you were drenched in your own sweat, as well).

“Absolutely not.” You grit out, hips futilely bucking up to try and get him off you. He barely budges, even having the nerve to laugh as he watches you struggle. You can hear Nobara booing quite enthusiastically, while Megumi grumbles about being late for class and having to hear ‘Gojo’s annoying mouth’.

“Ya know you’re not gonna win, so just give up already and agree to hosting movie night in my dorm this time!”

“Never! No one wants to stare at pin-up posters all night, plus your tv is too small, and your bed always smells like Doritos, and—”

“Geez, just say you hate me, why don’t you.” He rolls his eyes, going to sit back on his haunches as he stays straddling your waist. You kiss at your teeth, trying once more to buck him up while simultaneously bringing your hands up and shoving at his stomach. “And my bed does not smell like Doritos! Does it?” He snaps his head over to look at Nobara and Megumi.

“The cool ranch ones.” Nobara says, and Megumi nods in agreement. “Aka, the nastiest flavor.” Yuji gasps dramatically.

“That’s the best flavor! How dare you…” As he bickers back and forth with Nobara, you focus a little cursed energy into your hands. “…says the girl who eats pickles with whipped cream like she’s pregnant or someth—!”

In the blink of an eye you’ve got Yuji on his back as you straddle his stomach, a triumphant grin on your face as you keep your hands on his shoulders to keep him pinned flat against the ground. “Aha!”

“That’s cheating!” Yuji frowns up at you.

“No, it isn’t! It’s called strategizing.”

“Cheating!”

“I’m going to class.” Megumi begins to walk off, hands stuffed in his pockets, and you shout after him.

“Movie night is in my dorm!”

“Hey!” Yuji interrupts.

“Bring good snacks only!” You finish, and then Nobara is the next to go, jogging to catch up with Megumi as she flashes the both of you an amused grin.

“Cheater.” Yuji grumbles once it’s just you two, and you snicker as you let go of his shoulders and sit up, not bothering to stand up just yet. “Using cursed energy against your friend… you should be ashamed.”

“You literally threw a spear at me yesterday and it almost killed me.”

“That’s different! We were training, and I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” His expression turned sheepish as he avoided your eyes, and you pursed your lips as you tapped his nose with the pad of your index finger. He wriggled it in response, and you softly laughed as you did it again.

“It’s fine, just know that you had it coming when I try to kill you in the future, mkay?” He blinks up at you.

“You’re creepy, you know that?”

“Says the boy with a third eyeball on his cheek.” This time you do cringe, watching as the red eye blinks open before settling on you.

“Wha—Sukuna!” Yuji snaps, hand moving to slap over the eye and cover it. “You should probably go now before he fully wakes up … you know how he is.” A pink hue bleeds into Yuji’s cheeks as he averts his eyes, and you feel your own face warm as you nod.

“Yeah,” you agree. Sukuna had always been insufferable from the moment you befriended Yuji, always piping up with mean, critiquing comments that bordered on being cruel. The comments had started with him bashing your fighting skills during your trainings with Yuji, quips of ‘you’re so slow - it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet’, or ‘women on the battlefield is a bad fucking joke - hasn’t anyone ever taught you your place’, or ones that had left you teary-eyed and which you refuse to repeat.

Yeah, Sukuna was an asshole, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone, and you’d rather not have your day ruined before you even made it to your first class.

“I’ll see you tonight, Yuji.” You place your hands on his chest, about to use him to push yourself up to your feet, but a low, raspy voice has you stopping in your tracks.

“You’re sitting on my mouth.” Sukuna abruptly says, and you blink in confusion, your eyes flitting between Yuji’s and where you’re sitting.

“What?”

“Y-You should go now,” Yuji tries, but Sukuna is talking again and drowning him out.

“Your pussy, that hot thing between your legs, it’s on my mouth. See?” Something moves underneath you, and you flinch at the sound of fabric tearing before a yelp is leaving your mouth when something thick, damp and warm is pushing up between your legs and pressing against your clothed cunt. “You should be careful where you put that thing, y’know.”

He talks through the mouth on Yuji’s hand, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as Sukuna swipes his tongue against you again, his saliva wetting the fabric of your underwear.

“Sukuna, st—”

“Sit back and shut up.” Yuji falls silent in an instant, and a wave of panic washes over you when you see his eyes gloss over and his head fall back against the grass, black markings etching their way onto his face. A grin stretches across his face, and hands move to lock around your hips, fingers pushing into your flesh as he makes sure you can’t go anywhere. “That’s better.”

“Y-Yuji?” You sound breathless, and you gasp when his tongue worms its way past your panties to swipe in-between your folds. “Yuji!”

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, “the brat is still here. Watching and listening, he’s not gonna miss a thing, don’t you worry.” You don’t know if that’s worse or better—Yuji being aware of what’s happening, being able to see your face contort each time that tongue flicks at your clit, being able to hear the noises you try and fail to subdue.

“Stop,” your voice sounds weak to your own ears, and Sukuna guffaws, tongue forcing its way up into your cunt, the action eliciting a lewd squelch as he rubs against your walls.

“Stop.” He parrots back at you, hands tightening around your hips, and you duck your head down when his tongue leaves your hole to instead focus its attention back on your clit. “I don’t know what the brat gets all worked up about—yeah, you’ve got a sweet pussy and a nice pair of tits, but you’re a real fuckin’ tease. Rolling around with a boy in that flimsy little skirt and grinding your cunt up against him. Tch.”

“I wasn—Sukuna!” You jump when his teeth graze against your folds, the thought of him possibly biting you making a shiver of fear run up your spine.

“He wants to fuck you.” He couples the reveal with a harsh suck. “Fuck this cunt that I’m tonguing down - the pervert can’t go five minutes in a room with you without thinking about it.” Your ears burn as a fresh wave of slick rushes out of you, thighs trembling where they rest around his thick waist. “He’s too worried about scaring you off to do anything about it, though… but I don’t think he has anything to worry about, does he? Look at you.”

A whimper leaves your mouth, and you quickly sink your teeth into your bottom lip, not succeeding in blocking out the slurping, tacky sounds coming from between your legs. You want to stand up, get his mouth away from you so you can think straight, because your mind is all jumbled and fuzzy and screwy, and his words, his crude words that always made your skin hot and your stomach churn, is making it churn for another reason now.

“Won’t you give him a show, hm?” You barely register his words, and you yelp when his hand makes contact with your ass, fingers kneading at the doughy flesh as he repeats his earlier words. “Take your tits out.”

“No,” you warble, your hands weakly pushing at his wrists, a poor attempt to get him to stop moving your hips back and forth, forcing your cunt to side back and forth over his flattened tongue. “Sukuna, please.”

“Take ‘em out yourself, or I’ll do it for you and leave you to walk back to your dorm with nothing on.” You hesitate, eyes wet as you nervously lick at your lips, and when he makes a move for your shirt, you quickly begin to undo the buttons, fingers clumsy as they fumble repeatedly. “Good pet.”

Your blouse falls open as you undo the last button, revealing the pink bra you have on underneath, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you pull the cups of your bras down, fully exposing yourself Sukuna’s eyes .. and Yuji’s, too oh God.

The reminder that Yuji can see everything that’s happening sends a fleet of butterflies to your stomach, and you kick yourself mentally when you find yourself jutting out your chest just a bit. Does he like them, the thoughts zips through your mind, and you don’t have time to question where the hell it came from before hands are roughly squeezing at them, calloused fingers pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Are they as good as you imagined, kid? Cause you imagine them a lot.” Sukuna smirks, and then he’s snapping his eyes up to yours. “You wanna know what he thinks about doing to them?” His tongue lazily laps at your folds, occasionally parting them to venture down to your clenching hole and take a dip inside before repeating the process.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your answer.

“He thinks about putting his cock between them, pushing them together so it’s nice and tight and fucking them.” He demonstrates, hands pushing your breasts together, and you can’t help but watch his hands as they grope and fondle you. “Thinks about how they’d bounce when he’s got you riding his cock.” His hands leave your breasts to instead grip your hips, and you gasp when easily lifts you, just to drop you back down onto his tongue, the appendage sliding into your cunt and reaching deep.

“Sukuna!”

He continues to lift you up and down, forcing you to ride his tongue, and his eyes stay locked on your bouncing breasts, lips still fixed in that same smirk. “You gonna come?” You feel as if his words are directed at more than just you. He moves you faster, nails biting into your skin, and your face contorts into one of bliss as you hold onto his wrists as tight as you can, eyes fluttering shut as your pussy clamps down.

He pulls you down for the final time, mouth latched onto your cunt as you come, greedy gulps and sucks sounding as he swallows down your slick, his hands moving from your hips to your back. He roughly pulls you towards his face, and a whimper-y moan forces itself out of you as his lips wrap around a stiff nipple, teeth sinking in before he’s soothing the sting away with his tongue.

You sag against him, ragged breaths disturbing tufts of pink hair, and the aggressive sucking on your breast morphs into softer, gentler sucks, the nails that had been scratching at your back replaced with gentle caresses, and the tongue and mouth that had been abusing your now puffy and sore cunt is gone.

“Yuji.” You sigh, and he hums around you before his whole body goes stiff, tongue pausing its gentle swipe against your nipple, and hands slowly moving away from you. The heat against your chest is sweltering, and you push yourself up on shaky arms, tiredly blinking down at his red face.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know he would do that or say those things! I-I don’t even know why he said all those things, I don’t think about you like that, I swear!” He goes off into a tangent, eyes darting between your face and your breasts, and you sigh again before leaning back down to push your lips against his.

The kiss is chaste and quick, and when you pull back your face is as hot as his, and you become acutely aware of your state of dress, hands fumbling to fix your bra and redo your shirt as you avert your gaze.

“What was that for?”

“You… you wouldn’t stop talking.” You defend as you fix the last button, and then you’re struggling to your feet before Yuji finally frees himself from his stupor and helps you. He pulls away from you and takes a few steps back, the both of you staring at each other in silence for a bit, and your eyes widen when you see his shirt has been ripped away around the stomach, the skin there wet from you and his happy trail glistening with your juices.

“I-”

“You-”

“Sorry, you go.” You both interrupt each other again.

“He-”

“We-”

You heave out a breath as he groans, and when he goes to say something else to wave your hands back and forth, stopping him short. “Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Oh… okay! Yeah! Okay! Lips are sealed.” He motions to lock his lips and throw away the key, and you can’t help but smile just a bit.

“Okay.” You nod, hands twisting together, and there’s another uncomfortable silence before he speaks up again.

“I can, um, walk you to class?”

“Oka—oh, your shirt.” You gesture to his ruined uniform, and he looks down as his eyebrows raise.

“How’d that happen—oh, yeah.” He looks at you, and you roll your lips into your mouth. “I guess I should change then.” You nod. “I’ll see you tonight then, right? For movie night?” Could you really sit through a movie with him after what Sukuna just did, after what he told you? An ache starts as you recall what he had revealed to you, and your eyes meet Yuji’s as you nod again.

“Yeah. Tonight.”

---

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

---

𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓾𝓷 ꒱ྀིა . ｡˓ ❤︎ ˖ ݁ al haitham x f!reader . sfw . established relationship ﾉ fluff + suggestive ﾉ reader is smaller than haitham ﾉ kaveh!! ૮꒰ིྀ˶꜆´˘`꜀˶꒱ིྀა 

"someone's up rather early."

al haitham's kitchen is teeming with light when he walks in on saturday morning: the pots hanging from the ceiling catching the sunshine from the open window (ting! ting!), the blue flame on the gas burner that billows out along the bottom of the stone pan that rests atop it, and you.

the warmest, softest light of them all, standing there by the stove in your—his—shirt, silk strings of an apron cinched into a messy bow at your waist as you busy yourself with frothing the masala chai, turn to face your lover when his voice reaches your ears and welcome him with a cheery, "g'mornie! breakfast's gonna be ready soon."

darling angel, little sunspot in the corner of his mind.

he hums sleepily, making his way behind you and draping his broad frame over your smaller one, strong arms curled around your waist and tenderly squeezing your ribs, chin propped on your head before he leans down to nuzzle his nose into your hair—sweet and sun-warmed.

you don't need to tilt your head up to know al haitham is keeping a watchful eye as you split even volumes of the chai into three mugs, stir a tablespoon of sugar into two of them. spread ghee over the hot stone pan and wait for it to sizzle before you pour on a ladle full of dosa batter.

had it been a few months prior, you would've felt nerves from tip to toe, afraid of his silent judgement—yet here you stand now, blooming like a rose under his gaze.

it's one that's caring, tender, when he gently reminds you to watch your fingers as you're cutting an onion and to flip over the dosa so it doesn't burn.

"dosa and chai for breakfast? you spoil me."

you open your mouth to reply, but the words leave your throat as a garbled mess of stutters and little hums when al haitham surprises you with lazy kisses fluttered over your cheek, and then your jaw, trailing southbound of your neck to your décolletage.

"haitham, stoppp!" you burst into a lovely little peal of giggles when he nips at your skin—playfully, hungrily—pushing your rear back into him and shrugging your shoulders in a failed attempt to get him off you. "what if kaveh sees?"

"then he sees."

his voice is low and nonchalant, but he only holds onto you tighter, protectively, digging his arms further into your ribs as if to remind you that he's already made his home there, that he's staked his claim.

"if the sight of me loving on you drives him out of the house faster, then i may just have to do it more often."

"you meanie." you quip back and stick your tongue out at him as you transfer the crisp dosa onto a plate, reaching for the bowl of batter to make another.

a squeak escapes you before you can do so, because your lover is tilting your chin up with his finger and finally giving you a kiss where it should be given, sucking and licking at your lips, wiping a bubbled bead of his saliva off the corner with his thumb.

it's rare for your haitham to get like this—outwardly clingy with his touch, but you know him well enough to understand why he's displaying such behaviour.

"you're not still jealous from last night, are you?"

ah, yes.

last night.

celebrations at lambad's tavern after al haitham's successful demotion from acting grand sage to mere scribe—celebrations in the manner of a feast of delicacies, followed by innumerable rounds of genius invokation tcg, and concluded with pints upon pints of beer; one for the master (al haitham), one for the dame (you), and one too many for the roommate who swilled them without restraint (kaveh).

and what a sight to behold was the kshahrewar architect—your bestest friend—at the end of the night.

blonde braid mussed and his clips somehow finding their way into your hair, hiccuping and sniffling and pockets emptied beyond belief, trailing at your feet like a puppy and slathering you with sweet words and blubbering drunkenly on your shoulder:

you're so pretty, you're so kind, i really don't understand why you'd entertain a romance from someone of the likes of al haitham... i can assure you, if he doesn't get down on one knee soon, then somebody else definitely will!!

"me, jealous of kaveh? what a joke." your haitham scoffs, burying his face in your hair to hide the irritated pout on his face.

"that sounds an awful lot like something someone who is jealous would say."

"'m not jealous."

"i don't think i believe—a-ah!"

you're cut off all of a sudden—him growling into your temple and tugging you back firmly into his chest, arms unraveling from your waist to weave his fingers between your own, drawing your attention away from breakfast as he lays his love heavy on you with heated kisses to the shell of your ear, nipping and tugging and seemingly overcome with some form of carnal desire.

"i'm—" your knees wobble and knock together when he licks at a particularly sensitive spot, caging you against the kitchen countertop and leaving physical manifestations of his love over the fragile skin of your neck.

and then it becomes awfully hot in al haitham's kitchen on saturday morning, despite the stovetop now turned off and chai no longer steaming, the sun hiding behind a cloud and covering his eyes, allowing you and your lover the privacy you deserve.

"need t'a make breakfast—i-i'm busy, haitham..."

he hums in dismissal of your protests, mindlessly thumbing at your ring finger before he bunches your shirt up past your hips, lowers himself onto a knee and kisses up the back of your thigh—touches once possessive, greedy, now softening and sweetening into something more reverent and devoted.

"as am i."

---

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ promise ring

#: tattoo artist boyfriend!geto, fluff, gn!reader, implied college au, gojo cameo

wc: 1.4k

tw/cw: unusally suggestive (my brain was in the gutter…), the f word (a couple times), use of pet names (baby, sweetheart)

“ya like it up there?” geto chuckles, setting his book down above his head. he’s lying on his back, using his hands as a pillow, as he watches you. your legs are straddling his waist and you’re tracing the tattoos that decorate his chest. you hum, curling your fingers to scratch softly at his skin. “mm…” he groans, “mercy, baby, they’re healed but still a little… mmh… tender...”

“yeah?” you tease, letting your fingers slide lower down his abdomen, “then what about here?” you’re inching closer to his waistband when he flips you over, caging you underneath him, his hand pulling you close from the small of your back. his gaze drops to your lips and he licks his hungrily. 

“fuck around and find out,” he grins, “you fucked around, so now you get to find out.” you didn’t get a chance to retort as geto quickly closes the space between you, trapping your mouth with his and hands wandering every part of your body. he’s lifting your shirt, the tantalizing skin of your stomach peeking through, and trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck, collarbone, and then chest, looking up at you before continuing any further. “this okay, sweetheart?” he presses a kiss against your stomach, “do you want me to stop?”

your fingers find his hair, keeping his head in place, and you arch your back, chasing the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin again. “no,” you breathe, “keep going.” too caught up in the pleasure rippling across your body, you don’t register the sound of the door unlocking.

“what the fuck- suguru, why didn’t you- ohhh, i see… nevermind! carry on!” gojo quickly turns on his heel and walks out, the door slamming shut behind him. geto lets his head fall into the crook of your shoulder, sighing when you leave a few comforting strokes on his hair, before heaving himself up to retrieve his roommate. after he leaves, you sit up, fixing yourself, and bring your knees up to your chest, waiting for their return. 

“honestly, satoru, why do you have a phone if you don’t even use it?” you hear geto grumble as he unlocks the door. 

“i’m sorry! i just didn’t see it! hey y/n.”

“yeah, yeah. whatever… sorry ‘bout that, baby,” he says, sitting down beside you, “looks like we got ourselves a guest.” he glares pointedly at gojo, who crosses his arms in response and sticks out his tongue at geto. 

“this ‘guest’ also happens to pay half of the rent here, you know,” gojo huffs, muttering, “i should’ve stayed in the library longer…”

“yes you should’ve, why didn’t you?” 

“because i was getting hungry and tired,” he shoots back, “anyways, let’s get takeout. what would you like to eat, y/n?” 

“oh, uh, how about sushi?”

“i want ramen.”

gojo hums, “okay, sushi it is. sprite okay with you, y/n?” tapping away at his phone, gojo quickly finishes putting in the order and rises from his spot on the couch. “i ordered it, and it's gonna be 30 minutes. please keep the noise to a minimum… i’m gonna take a nap, wake me up when it’s here.”

geto scoffs, rolling his eyes, as you laugh. the door closes behind gojo with a soft click. geto pulls out his ipad, opening the application he uses to sketch tattoo designs. you lean your head on his shoulder, peeking at the screen, and look at his drawings—this one looks to be a spine tattoo.

“is that for you?”

geto sighs, “for a client. he wanted something symbolic, has something to do with his girlfriend or something like that…”

you notice the wrinkles forming from his furrowed brows, “hm... so, what are you thinking about?”

“...tattoos based on relationships are dangerous,” he murmurs, adding more lines to his design, “and if things go wrong, it gets very difficult. i don’t understand why they would do that to themselves. don’t you think it’s stupid?.”

“i think it’s pretty sweet actually,” you say, “you’re making that conscious decision even while knowing the consequences. pretty telling about their determination and loyalty, don’t you think?”

geto hums, still touching up the design, “...if you say so, baby.”

—

“feel free to talk about something. it might help with the pain.” geto smiles sympathetically at the man lying down in the chair. 

“what… would i even talk about?” the man asks through gritted teeth. 

geto wipes away at the excess ink, examining his work, “what about why you’re getting this tattoo? you said it had something to do with your girlfriend?”

some of the pain seems to disappear from his face, and a shy smile stretches across his lips: he’s obviously lost in thought about his girlfriend. “it’s a reference to one of those k-dramas that she’s been watching lately. before we got serious, we were watching this one called ‘guardian’ something… the title is too long for me to remember,” he chuckles, “but the flower the guy gives the girl—buckwheat flowers—it means ‘lover,’ and it got me thinking about my relationship with her. and it just hit me, like, it’s her. i want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“buckwheat flowers…” geto murmurs softly, “they mean ‘lover,’ you say?”

“yeah. at least according to the drama they do. didn’t really google it to check. and so that’s why i wanted to get that bouquet tattooed on me. it also has her favorite actor, so naturally she really loves the show too.”

“i see…” geto stops working on the tattoo completely, “i know i already asked you this before we started, but are you really sure about this tattoo? what if… things go wrong? it’s not too late, i could improvise the design right now and get you something that you might be happier with in the long run.” 

the man blinks, “no, but i understand your concern. it must be frustrating to spend hours on tattoos only for it to become meaningless the next day…” geto stays silent, staring at the quarter-finished tattoo, so the man continues, “i love her, and i’m choosing her. you know that ring ceremony thing that those engineer people have? how the ring is supposed to remind the engineer of their obligation or something like that? i want the tattoo to be like that. i want it to remind her that i’m choosing her and that i’m promising her my forever, and i want to remind myself that she’s who i want and that the thing we’ve built together is worth it for me.”

“i… never thought of it like that,” geto admits, picking the pen back up and preparing to start work again, “should i continue?”

“...how about a 5 minute break?” the man asks, tone hopeful, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead.

geto laughs, “you got it.”

—

“hey, what’s this?” you grab at geto’s hand, peering at his latest tattoo, “a line?”

“a band,” he corrects, “got a little bored at the shop today, so i just did it.”

you look up at him quizzically and he shrugs. it was a simple black stripe that went around his ring finger. flipping over his hand, his palm facing you, you continue to study the tattoo, when your eyes widen at your newest discovery. “suguru…” your voice comes barely above a whisper, and a hand comes up to cover your mouth, “my initials?”

geto glances away, cheeks flushing, as he scratches at the back of his head sheepishly, “yeah, i uh… yeah.” 

“weren’t you the one who said that people who tattoo something of their partner’s are a different level of idiotic?” you say,  quirking an eyebrow and a playful smile curling the corner of your mouth. 

geto hid his face in his other hand, “don’t remind me...”

you thumb the tattoo thoughtfully, “were you thinking about me?”

“i’m always thinking about you.”

you smile at that, meeting his steady eyes, “when you did it, i mean.”

“i don’t think that changes my answer,” geto says, raising an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

you pretend to glare at him, straightening up and crossing your arms over your chest. “...just shut up and kiss me already,” you tell him, and he obliges immediately, pulling you in close and kissing your lips sweetly. coaxing your mouth open, he turns his head to deepen the kiss. he presses his forehead against yours when he pulls away, your lips parted still as you catch your breath.

“my forever,” he tells you, voice barely audible, but you can still hear him clear as day, “it’s yours.”

you smile, “i know.”

he wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you close, and rests his head on your shoulder, “and your forever is mine.”

“it is.”

koi's notes: okay but did they get the sushi though??? 🧐🧐 anyways dedicated to @omgeto and a huge thank you to emp and mothe (@planetxiao) because i love and appreciate y'all so very much

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