++ /

++ 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.”

𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

+ nagi seishiro x f!reader | wc 2.4k | content: fluff, high school setting!, some cursing

notes: this was something requested by an anon !! i realised this prompt was also done in my other fic whole except nagi was the second lead :’) also pleaseeeee excuse me if this is ass because i haven’t written in a long time T_T but i’m working on getting back properly !! <3

summary: he didn’t ask you out because he wanted to, yet nagi gets more than he bargained for in the end.

“so, um, nagi, why’d you ask me out all of a sudden?”

it’s kind of an awkward situation to be in, you think, as you look around the arcade, shuffling your feet beside where nagi’s seated, trying to win some tickets from what you can only assume to be a music machine.

when he’d asked you out on a date yesterday, you didn’t think he’d take you to an arcade, of all places. (then again, nagi asking anyone out is sort of unbelievable, honestly.) if you knew sooner (or if nagi had bothered to tell you), you wouldn’t have worn such a nice dress for today.

besides, you’re not even sure why you’d agreed. call your state half-flustered or whatever, because you heard that nagi seishiro of all people does not bother with human relationships much. you’ve only ever seen him interact with mikage reo anyway—and you’d just chalked it up to him wanting it that way. nagi had never shown interest in girls or romance or that kind of shit, so cue your surprise when he asked you out yesterday, when he saw you at the bus stop.

“hey, wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

you blinked at him, utterly surprised because that was the first time that nagi had ever spoken to you.

“um, where to?” (you were still malfunctioning over the fact that he was asking you out on a date.)

nagi scratched the back of his head, and you could faintly make out reo a few ways behind him, watching on.

“hmm, not sure, i’ll text you tomorrow morning?” he suggested, pulling out his phone. “what’s your number?”

okay sure, you could’ve asked for more details, but it was hard getting nagi to respond to you at all. you’re pretty sure he was gaming, that’s why.

“oh, ‘cause reo asked me to.”

that… was not the answer you were expecting. “reo asked you to?”

nagi has a bad habit of not elaborating. you don’t really like that, because you don’t like asking questions, but you can’t help yourself now. this is too bizarre for you to let go.

“yeah, something about how he’s sick of me playing games all day long, told me to go get a date, then he’d return me my switch,” nagi mumbles, and you can’t help but think that reo’s plan may have backfired, considering how he’s on a date and still playing games.

while nagi’s grey eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, you find yourself drawn to the way he’s sucking in his cheek as he concentrates, the way his bangs fall over his eyes and how his fingers can respond so quickly to the lines on the screen.

“you’re pretty good at this,” you tell him, getting lost in how well he’s playing. the points on the screen gets so high he’s almost nearing the high score.

for a moment, nagi’s distracted by how close you are to him; your hair smells like citrus and it’s really smooth. it’s also the only time anyone other than reo has been this close and you’re not anyone so he doesn’t really see why you’re able to steal his focus from the game.

someone like you shouldn’t make him notice things that aren’t about games or himself.

but you do—and he misses the first note since the start of the game, though he recovers fairly easily.

he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re in his class and you’re very pretty (now that he’s actually looking at you). you have a really cute laugh too, he realises, right when he wins the game and probably what’s a thousand tickets, with you rejoicing happily beside him.

“oh my god, you’re so fucking good at this,” you’re jumping and giggly and nothing like how quiet you are in school and why does he feel a little giddy knowing that he’s getting to see this firsthand? this doesn’t make sense. “okay, move aside, teach me, i wanna do it too.”

nagi obliges. it’s a pain having to teach someone else compared to doing it himself, he gets to know, as you miss probably half the notes on screen even when he tries to tell you how to do it. hell, he’s not really a good teacher.

you win about 300 tickets.

“not bad for a rookie,” nagi comments as you grab your own pile and stack it in your shared basket. the neon red and blue flashes pretty against your skin. it makes you even prettier, he feels.

you raise a brow. “nagi seishiro, wanna play a bet?”

no, not really. but somehow, he can’t quite turn down a game when it’s from you.

“what’re you betting?”

you hold out the basket in front of you. “i’m gonna find a game where i can beat you.” your chest is puffed out, like you’re determined, like you really believe you can. “if i lose, you can decide my punishment.”

nagi blinks at you. you’re… weird. you make his heart beat faster than usual. it’s a little concerning. “and if you win?”

grinning, you wink at him, “let’s leave that to later.”

whatever possessed him to spend the entire day following you around the arcade and watching you fail, he doesn’t know. you’re pretty bad at everything compared to him, but it’s not really fair—he’s probably spent ten times as much of his days in the arcade than you.

have you ever even set foot in here before?

nagi observes as you try desperately to beat him in ddr. you fail, naturally. your feet coordination really isn’t that good, but it’s pretty cute how hard you’re trying. you’re still pretty even at the end of it, even when you’re sweating and some of your hair is matted against your skin. he keeps that to himself though.

throughout the entire day, nagi finds himself entertained by your persistent insistence to beat him at something. it’s funny how you’re awful at the arcade games. it’s also funny how you’re honestly trying. it’s really no use but here you are, sweating once again from shooting hoops.

your 64 versus nagi’s 154.

“wow, you’re really bad at all these games,” nagi murmurs when he sees your score. “wanna go somewhere else?”

you’re quick to open your mouth but it takes you just as quick to shut it, probably knowing you’ll never beat him. at least, not today. “fine, you win,” you say through gritted teeth. you’re a little prideful; nagi’s learning a lot about you. “what do you want?”

nagi seems to have forgotten your earlier bet. he just shrugs and tells you to choose what you want at the exchange counter.

“you don’t want anything?”

nagi looks at the prizes with such disinterest it makes you wonder what can interest a guy like him. he shakes his head, “i can get anything i want anytime anyway.”

(the underlying insinuation that coming to the arcade with him is your only chance to win prizes flies right over your head.)

but when nagi looks at your slightly disappointed face, he tries to backtrack. “i’ll let you know when i think of something i want since i won,” he says, looking away from you. “but you choose one of the prizes today.”

turns out it’s so easy to please you. just like that and that smile is back on your face.

you choose a big goddamn pink teddy bear by the way. nagi sighs as he leaves the arcade with you. it’s probably a character nagi doesn’t know. he’s judging you, but then you hug it and smile at him and he forgets what he’s thinking about.

“i know this was only because reo asked you to, but…” you mumble after you and nagi both finished eating dinner, sitting across from each other at the ramen shop. “it was fun.”

nagi’s not sure what this is. just a customary thing where you’re showing appreciation for the time you two spent together today? you’re looking away from him though, he’s pretty sure normal customs don’t dictate that. he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to look at him when you say that.

“why’re you looking away?”

you look at him in blank shock (an expression that he doesn’t know how to process—what’s so weird about asking you that?) before you smile helplessly. “you’re very weird, nagi seishiro.”

“what do you mean?” nagi’s clueless, in that nagi seishiro way only he can be.

a few seconds of silence pass when you try to make up your mind. it’s unnerving how big and wide his eyes are, especially when they’re focused only on you and nothing else. in the end, you manage with a shake of your head.

“it’s nothing,” you decide. telling him of your possible crush on him would not do any good, you guess.

something bugs nagi; he can’t understand what it is. he just knows something feels off but it’s not like he’s ever felt this particular kind of irk—he doesn’t know what to do.

when the time comes to leave the restaurant, nagi finds himself walking the opposite way to his home because you started walking first.

somehow, his feet follows you.

it’s stupid—walking this far away from the direction of his home is troublesome. it’ll be a hassle to get home when his bus is on the other side of the long gone restaurant. why is he walking you to the train station again when he’ll just see you next week anyway? you’re in the same class.

“oh, are you gonna take the train too?”

nagi blinks at you, drawing a blank at your question. he must’ve completely zoned out. did the both of you get here in complete silence?

“no,” he answers honestly. he doesn’t elaborate. as usual.

by now, that doesn’t surprise you. instead you just nod your head, a hesitance borne in the shuffling of your feet. “well,” you drawl out, dragging the syllable, somehow hoping this wasn’t the end of the night but it is. “this was a nice one-time date,” you settle for, smiling. you’re about to just say goodbye, but you bite on your bottom lip, contemplating, before you slip his phone out of his hand and slide the screen to the side, taking a picture of the both of you together, nagi looking at the screen in surprise and you winking beside him.

when you hand it back to him, you bite your inner mouth, trying not to grin. “in case reo asks for evidence,” you offer as an excuse. you totally didn’t want to take a picture with nagi. “he better give you your game back!”

nagi gets this fleeting feeling that he doesn’t know how to explain when he sees you smiling at him. like how you remind him of the color gray. not because it’s bland but because it’s his favourite color. you remind him of spring and the cool breeze and how refreshing it feels.

“it was a nice one-time date, nagi seishiro,” you chuckle before you turn around, ready to head into the station and probably never spend such time with nagi again. you’ll probably get over the sadness of what could’ve been pretty quickly. you think.

but just before you can enter, you hear the firm steadiness in nagi’s voice. “no.”

you whip your head around, not quite sure you heard him right. “no?” you narrow your stare a little, moving out of other people’s way as they push past you into the station. “as in, you didn’t like it?”

you hope he doesn’t mean it like that.

nagi looks away, earnestly processing it. it came blurting out of him, he didn’t even know what he said until he said it. “i won the bet and what i want is… this. again. with you.”

the implications of his words slowly sink in and it has you feeling giddy. nagi, the guy who barely cares about anything nor makes the time for anyone—is he actually telling you this? is he really saying he’d take you out more?

meanwhile, nagi’s feet stay firmly planted where he is, wondering why you make him feel like this, why you make him feel like he can’t get enough. you’re just… you. before today, he could honestly say you were insignificant. but just the way you are; how you speak, your smile, your laugh and your resilience—nagi likes it, finds comfort in it, somehow.

“then,” you say as you enter the station, face giddy with the excitement of something new blossoming. “i’ll wait for more dates with you, sei.”

the way you call him that makes his heart skip a beat and he’s left blankly staring at your figure as you retreat into the station, stealing his heart with you.

“fine, fine,” reo sighs. it’s two days later on a monday and reo grudgingly gives nagi back his switch. “so, what’d you two do anyway?” he asks, shifting his gaze between nagi and you, though you’re at the other end of the classroom, talking excitedly to your friends.

nagi’s attention quickly transfers to his switch, already opening up a game to play. “nothing much,” is all he offers, and reo’s beginning to think maybe it was more of a punishment for you than a date.

reo sighs again, ready to lecture nagi for being the worst date ever when he pulls up his phone to look at the time. but he accidentally takes nagi’s phone instead, unlocking it to find his own chat thread—to which nagi doesn’t even bother saving his name (reo side eyes him but nagi doesn’t even realise).

that doesn’t surprise him, but what does is when reo realises your contact is saved—with the icon being a picture of the two of you together. you must really be something to be able to make nagi do something so idiotic like this.

“oi, nagi.”

nagi only responds with a raise of his brow. he’s still clicking away at the controls. reo guesses it must be a racing game from those sounds.

“if you guys get married i better be the best man for being your matchmaker,” reo teases, his grin filling his face.

even though nagi doesn’t respond, the champagne pink that brushes across his cheeks is enough indication to reo of nagi’s feelings for you.

looks like he never needed to worry after all.

---

do u ever associate a specific character with a mutual. like you see something about them in public and ur like “oh that’s xyz’s boyfie” LMAO

satosugu x riding

When you ride Gojo, he can’t stay still. You just look so cute when you’re on top of him, lips parted and breaths coming fast and choppy. He loves the squeeze of your walls, but he needs more. Needs to feel you quicker and harder, so he holds your hips steady and fucks up into you, pistoning his cock into you until your pretty eyes are filled up with tears and you’re crying out. He cums with you just like that, legs shaking as he fills you up with his cum, revelling in the wonderful feeling of your hot cunt around him.

When you ride Geto, he stays as still as possible. He is leisurely watching you, smirk never leaving his face as he watches you struggle to angle your hips just right so that the head of his cock hits your sweet spot. You can’t seem to manage it, making you whine and beg for him to help. He goads you, teases you, about how helpless you are and how bad you need him in order to feel good. Only when your cheeks are wet with your frustrated tears does he flip you over, pounding into you hard and fast until your legs are seizing and your pussy is pulling ropes of his cum out of his dick, groaning into the nape of your neck as he releases inside you.

---

MWAH :3 🐾 ! ! wub u babie . . hav u n’ kazuha had a splendid wednesday so far ?

omgee hi coco !!!

yesyes we had a lovely day actually, we made hotdogs together and stayed inside all day drinking hot cocoa <33

(can also be said as, he made hotdogs and I stood next to him being a pretty little cheerleader while he boils the sausages hehe, I got no culinary skills at all)

how've u and haithie been doing ? :3

this gif is by far the most accurate rep of me these days, been so cold :((

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!!

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