I Know You Mentioned That You Aren't A Big Fan Of Pregnancy AU Stuff In Hazbin, But Hear Me Out...

Bitter Poison

(The sequel to Sweet Elixir)

Pairing: Sub!Muzan x Dom! Female Reader

Summary: Five years ago, the massacre at the Kibutsuji estate claimed your father and his noble patient Muzan. Left with the burden of being the town's only doctor, you find yourself burned out and apathetic, numb to your loss and calling. But when the young lord you believed to be dead reappears as a soulless monster and confesses his horrific crimes, you finally find catharsis in treating him roughly, and enter into a pact with Muzan which will bind your soul to his for eternity.

Content Guidance: NSFW. Dom!reader is rougher than I usually write. Oral and vaginal intercourse. Reader gives: slapping, biting, hitting, nipple play, rough handjob, ruined orgasm, overstimulation. Reader receives: Orgasmic bites, cunilingus, creampie, and Muzan turns reader into a demon by fingering her. Approx 6.5k words

The massacre at the Kibutsuji estate rocked the town and neighboring villages. Someone or something had torn through the mansion, killing everyone in sight. 

By all accounts it was a bloodbath.

Your father was among the dead. And his patient, Muzan Kibutsuji, the young, sick nobleman with whom you had once shared a couple of beautiful, passionate hours, was gone. Whatever beast took him hadn't even left a body to bury.

You felt the loss of both men; the one you had loved your entire life and the one you had adored only briefly. But grief had to wait as you were saddled with the crushing responsibility of being the town's only remaining doctor. 

Still, even as you found yourself swallowed by work, you couldn’t go a day without being reminded of your loss. 

Theories ran as rampant as the perpetrator. Some said a bear or a wolf was to blame for the massacre. The men of the town organized a hunt, but the forests were strangely devoid of all predatory animals. Others suggested that Lord Kibutsuji himself was the killer, but logic told you that was absurd. Muzan had barely been able to walk, let alone massacre an entire household.

Five years passed and the frantic rumors turned to whispers, then eventually to stories. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had seen Muzan Kibutsuji soaked in blood and prowling the streets. You ignored it as much as you could. Your work consumed you, as did bitterness. Night after night you were dragged from your home to tend to simple ailments which could have waited until morning. Night after night you felt your calling toward helping people dwindle. Your energy and your well of compassion depleted.

Time smoothed the edges of your mourning and you learned to live with that weight in your chest. Your work kept you busy. So busy in fact, that one night you fell asleep at your table with the oil lamp burning beside an open window and a stack of papers. You were fortunate to make it out of the house. But your research, your father’s notebooks, your home were all consumed by flames.

And it was then, as you stood helplessly watching your family home burn to the ground, that you saw him. 

Electric currents shot through your nerves, tingling along your spine as your eyes met. Muzan's gaze, once warm jasper red, was now a vibrant shade of crimson. He wore a fine black kariginu, elegantly embroidered with gold, and carried himself with an air of confidence– arrogance even– befitting of his noble name. 

The air in your lungs escaped you as you found yourself caught in a tangled web of thoughts; it was impossible, the man standing not ten feet away from you could not be Muzan, and yet… 

“How?” The one word which escaped you summarized so many of your questions. How was he still alive? How was he standing there so renewed, as if illness had never sapped away his strength? How had your father died and Muzan survived?

But he did not need to speak. Somehow you knew the answer; every fiber of your being screamed it at you: Muzan was no longer human. One word ran through your mind over and over: Yokai.

He approached you, each step slow and deliberate, as though he was still growing accustomed to his body. “You,” he said. His voice was the one thing completely unchanged; still as dark and enthralling as the first time you encountered him. “I… was searching for you.”

Your senses screamed at you to run from him, but your logical mind told you to stay. That urge to flee was wrong– there were no such things as monsters, of course he was human. What you were looking at was a miracle of medicine, nothing more.

Reaching out a hand, you gently clasped his chin between your fingers and tilted it from side to side, inspecting his visage. Though still pale, he was teeming with strength and every bit as beautiful as the day you met him. Your body reacted at once to his presence, remembering the way he had made you feel, surrendering himself to you and permitting you to use him for your pleasure. “You found a cure?”

“Yes.” His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, his lips parting around a hard-won breath. "And now I've returned for you.”

Muzan despised humans. 

The urge to kill, to end every life he encountered had been ceaseless since the day he imbibed the blue spider lily. Pitiful, wretched; every living thing was cursed to die sooner or later, and what better way than by his hands. He was a calamity, a natural disaster, a god of death, with power that mere mortals could not fathom coursing through his veins. Life in all its forms disgusted him. 

But…

Not you. 

Bathed in the amber glow of the raging flames, he found you, his Goddess, the one woman he had ever loved, if only for an hour or two in a life half-forgotten. He knew your scent, your taste, your soul.

His rage, his bloodlust, his vengeful heart stood still and meek at the sight of you in your soot-stained nightdress– so fragile and yet so powerful. And when you reached out to clasp his chin between your delicate fingers, oh… he felt as if his lungs had turned to iron. 

How could that be? How could such a gentle touch quell the raging beast? How could a mere mortal render a demon so powerless. A quiet sound of longing emerged from between his lips. Only it wasn’t simply a sound, it was your name, spoken with a reverence he hadn’t known he was capable of. He hadn’t even known he remembered it, the vestiges of his mortal life all but faded.

And then you kissed him.

Every atom of him pulled toward you; warring desires of lust and hunger as the supple flesh of your lips teased his. And before his aversion to humanity had time to kick in, he found himself kissing you back, his fingers threading through your hair, his heart beating to the fervent rhythm of a desperate mortal man. 

Oh, what was this power you wielded so casually? He was terror beyond comprehension, yet as your tongue slipped into his mouth, his knees damn near gave out.

Of course, he had lied to you. His true purpose in searching for your home had been purely to uncover your father’s notes and discover additional information on the formula which had transformed him… but as you kissed him, his grasp on that goal faltered entirely. Besides, your home was in flames, the research likely burned to ash. It didn’t matter.

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered, lips trembling against his before you pulled back and gazed into his eyes with a mix of curiosity and relief. As besieged as he was by his need for you, it seemed you fared no better. The fire behind you paled in comparison to the light you found in each other’s presence.

Perhaps his apparent resurrection had shaken you from your senses, perhaps you were susceptible to his sway, or perhaps you were simply a different kind of monster than he, but amidst the wreckage of your life, he saw no fear in your eyes. No. Your eyes reflected only his image. 

And as for Muzan… Muzan found himself blinkered to the world beyond you. The flames paled, the night faded, and the moon lost her luster. 

You were his moon now. 

His only moon. 

Dawn was fast approaching and he needed to shelter from the sun’s lethal rays. He would make you this thrall if necessary. But he would not let go of you now that he had you.

“Come,” he said, offering you his arm. “You can stay with me.”

Everyone had assumed the Kibutsuji mansion was empty. The gardens were overgrown, the windows boarded over, no one came or left. But somehow you found yourself in a room you had only ever visited once before but which you remembered in vivid detail– Muzan’s bedroom. From the inside the house looked exactly the same as it had five years ago; clean and elegant. The tatami mats in his room were well-maintained, the walls decorated with soft clouds and graceful cranes. The only change was that the somber air of lingering death was no longer present. 

The first time you met him you had felt that immediately; the looming presence of death and sorrow surrounding Muzan. But now, even knowing what had occurred in that house, that it was very possible you stood in the same spot that your father died in, you felt only relief, curiosity, and an overwhelming urge to be at Muzan’s side.

You couldn’t tear your eyes from him as he hung a red sheet of ramie fabric over the already boarded window, blocking out the pale gray slivers of light between the wooden panels.

“You’re an intelligent woman,” he said at last. “I think you know, don’t you? Your logical mind is telling you it can’t be true, but your gut is telling you otherwise. Tell me, what do you think I am?”

The question gave you pause. “You’re human, of course–”

“No, no…” he stepped closer, the fabric of his fine kariginu and hakama folding against your legs. “What does your instinct tell you?”

A chill crept along your spine as you looked into those blood-red eyes. His pupils were no longer round, but narrow almost reptilian slits. His skin was still as pale as the day you had met him, but it had been made flawless– without a blemish, shadow, or even pores. The air between you was stifling as you raised your hand to caress his cheek, finding his skin unnaturally hot. He should have been burning up with a fever. 

He bowed into your touch, breath blowing against your palm. Your lips found his once more, unable to resist the lure of his kiss even as your soul screamed at you to run.

But Muzan's lips remained still beneath yours, his hands grasping your upper arms with terrifying strength before the dam overflowed and he kissed you back slowly… almost experimentally.

And with that kiss you felt as though you were wrapped completely in a shroud of darkness.

“Yokai…” the word, spoken against his lips, sounded ridiculous and right on your tongue.

His smile widened as he pulled back and took your wrist in his hand, long talons pricking the tender flesh above your artery. “And yet, you aren’t afraid.”

"You killed my father, didn't you?” Heart emptying as the question left your mouth, you waited for the inevitable response. You knew before he even uttered a word. 

“Yes. I killed the doctor.”

The remnants of your world shattered around you as he admitted his crime so matter-of-factly. The pressure that had been building in your chest for five years finally released, and you felt as though you were drawing breath for the first time. 

“I was not yet a demon,” Muzan said, his eyes distant, the trace of his smile still lingering. “I was still very much mortal.”

Your blood burned. After five years of numbness your soul awakened, and your ire was unleashed upon the demon before you. 

“Curse you!” you spat, striking him across the face with all your strength. He didn’t even twitch, even though your palm throbbed and stung so severely tears sprung to your eyes. Still your rage poured over. You pounded his chest with the sides of your fists, over and over until your arms ached and your breath was nothing more than ragged burning gasps.“Damn you to fucking hell, Muzan Kibutsuji.” 

He simply stood and bore your wrath, his arms extending to support you when your legs gave out and you stumbled forward, tears soaking into the fabric of his kariginu. When you sank to your knees, Muzan knelt with you. The arms which wound around your back were strong and sure, nothing like the weakened limbs of the man you had known. And yet, as he held you and permitted you to cry and curse and strike him, you found comfort and catharsis in his rigid embrace. 

“And curse me too,” you wept. “Gods, I can’t help but want you.”

“Have me then,” he whispered, his thumbs swiping away your tears. His touch was comforting and infuriating, far gentler than a monster that you were supposed to hate should have been capable of. “You have been the torment of these past five years, the damned itch I could not scratch. I have wanted you every single day since that first encounter. Every day, both in this form, and the pathetic mortal I once was.” He forced a breath through his nose, his crimson eyes narrowing as he bowed his head to rest against yours. “I don’t care if you despise me. Just—”

You silenced him with a kiss, hard and deep, full of loathing and longing, your treacherous body aching for him, seeking the solace of simple pleasure. Muzan was familiar and strange all at once. He still kissed the same way he had as a mortal; his lips lazy and soft, receiving your kiss rather than kissing you. And yet It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the heat, the sensation, the delectable whimpers of yearning coming from him, purging the bitter poison which had infected your heart for years.

Despite his inhuman strength, Muzan bent to your will, allowing you to push him backward until he was forced to let you go, bracing his hands on the tatami mat by his ankles for balance, his torso arced toward you.

By some demonic art, his fine clothes simply disappeared, falling from his body in  tatters and dissolving into the air. His robe, his hakama, his kanmuri cap all seemed to melt before your eyes, leaving the man completely bare. His long, black waves of hair tumbled down over his shoulders as you traced the lithe shape of his abdomen, his muscles twitching and stuttering beneath your palms.

Even in this corrupt, demonic form, he was so beautiful he made your lungs ache, and just as willing to submit to you as he was when he was mortal. And while he seemed to feel no pain when you hit him, your gentler touches made him crumble. A broken sigh escaped his lips as you ran your fingernails across his chest, catching his nipples and making him gasp. 

Gods, you were certain you were going to hell; the nights you had silently resented your patients had long ago ensured that. What harm was there in indulging the whims of your desire? 

You kissed him firmly, sinking your teeth into his lower lip, relishing the deep, shivering groan which tumbled from his lips as you ran your fingers through the trail of ink-black hair starting at his navel, and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard cock.

“You destroyed my world,” you hissed against his ear. “Now it’s my turn to destroy you.”

“Do what you will,” he said, his voice strained as you pulled his hips toward you with one hand and began to pump his cock in your other fist. “I am yours.”

He should not have felt anything toward you, and it irked him that he did. That a demon should bend so willingly to a loathsome mortal– the fact that he didn’t loathe you at all. None of it made any sense. Every other human he had encountered had sparked nothing in him but an overwhelming urge to snuff out the miserable light of their existence and tear their flesh with his teeth. But not you.

Why?

The question ran around and around his mind. Why you, out of all the thousands of humans he had encountered in his demon form? Why didn’t he want to crush you, consume you, break you, watch the life leave your eyes?

His throat flexed as you pressed your mouth to his chest, your tongue slippery and warm against his nipple, sending humiliating bolts of pleasure darting straight to his cock. 

Fuck, the pace of your ministrations was brutal, the tunnel of your fist aggressively tight. Pleasure and pain tangled and became one as you bit his chest, pulling the air from his lungs as your teeth sank into plush muscle and flesh.

It was as if no time had passed at all the moment you touched him; you had complete dominion over his body and his pleasure. The strength and power he had acquired were meaningless in your presence. He was as weak to you then as he had been on his deathbed. 

“Ahh… curse you, woman,” he groaned, fighting the urge to put an end to it even as he thrust his hips toward you. "You'll be the death of me."

“Silence,” you hissed, firmly slapping his chest, making his nipples tingle and pucker before returning your mouth to one, and tickling the unattended one with your fingertips and causing him to moan.

The power you held over him was humiliating, and it made his cock so hard he could barely function. Your soft hands, punishing him with such ruthless pleasure, expertly pulled him apart. The bliss you gave him was the first he had felt since that day you bestowed upon him your own brand of medicine, and now, embittered and vengeful, you still felt just as sweet. His stomach muscles clenched and spasmed as he drew closer to oblivion, his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Ngh…” He panted. “I’m… almost—”

“Are you close, my pretty demon lord?” you whispered.

He nodded, his breaths just shattering gasps. “So close…”

“Good.” You stopped and released your grip. 

His heart emptied. “No damn you don’t stop. Don’t… nghhh… stop!” he cried out as his orgasm limped through him, its power completely dwindled by the loss of your touch. His cock wept pathetically, half-heartedly spurting and dribbling cum as he gasped for breath. “Cruel… torturess...”

“A small price to pay for what you’ve done,” you said, pulling off your sooty nightdress and casting it aside. 

Muzan’s breath hitched. He remembered your shape in vivid detail when he remembered nothing else of his human life; every curve and crease of your form, the warmth and plush softness of your thighs cradling his head. He remembered your taste, your scent, the way you had praised him, the way you had held him afterward and told him he had done well. But you were somehow even more beautiful having aged half a decade. 

He should have despised it; the relentless march of time, the fleeting nature of your mortality. But he could not despise you. Never. Time had softened you, made you somehow ethereal to his eyes. Muzan had never truly believed in gods, but you elicited the same reverence in him he imagined the temple monks felt when they beheld the rising sun. To him, you were divine, a vengeful goddess. 

And who better to walk at his side for eternity?

You leaned back in, taking hold of his cock once more, your touch sending jolts of searing torment through his body. It was too much, and yet he craved you so completely he was even willing to endure your cruelty.

And while you mercilessly jerked his cock, you slapped his chest again. And again. Of course, the physical pain was nothing to him, but your audacity, the way you humiliated him… it made heat pool in his chest, kept his cock from going limp, made his cheeks rosy, and before long he was little more than a blushing, mewling mess. “Please…”

“Please what?” Your soft hands pumped up and down his length, using his cum to make them glide. “Is this where you beg my forgiveness?”

“No… no I would never beg that… I don’t need your forgiveness– ahh-hahh–”

You bestowed another slap to his breast. Gods, it thrilled him to no end, to watch the blood and heat rising in your face, to know he was pushing you and you would keep on giving. Your domination was beautiful, your touch addictive. And you were enjoying this as much as he was. He could see the arousal in your face; the way your pupils almost drowned out the color of your eyes, your staggered breaths, and flushed cheeks. 

In five years of slaughtering every mortal he encountered, five years of watching them cower with tear-streaked faces and eyes bulging with fear, he hadn’t found a single one so unrattled by his demonic nature. And he simply adored you for that fact. Among others. 

He couldn’t stop himself from collapsing forward, to press his face to your neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of your skin. How his body ached for you; both the delectable taste of your flesh, and the divine sanctum of your cunt. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please…”

“I mourned you,” you said, your lips against his ear. “I wished you were back in my arms on the nights I had nothing else to cling to besides memories. And all along you were this… monster.”

He should not have cared. It was against his nature to feel empathy or even regret… but some part of him did. Some small, shriveled part of him did regret hurting you.

When you grasped his jaw between your fingers, he allowed you to lift his chin, moaning as your tongue slid up the length of his throat, warm and wet and voracious. His body undulated involuntarily, his hips pistoning away from you as the stimulation grew unbearable. 

“If I’d have come to you sooner you…” His body jolted as you took hold of his cock once more. “Mmhgh… you would have hated me even more than you do now.”

"Oh my foolish demon Lord, I don't hate you." You whispered, flicking his nipple with your tongue. "How could I bring myself to hate something so pitifully beautiful?"

"Pitiful? The gall…"

You smirked. "Yes, pitiful. Look at you, Muzan.”

Raising his head, he looked down at his body and a gasp escaped his lips. His chest was flushed pink, littered with bite marks he had no inclination to heal, his nipples swollen and glistening with your saliva. His cock was bright red at the tip, glazed with his own spend, twitching in your grasp. The humiliation of it all only made him need you more. “Only for you.”

“Such a pretty sight. So overcome. So utterly helpless. All for me.”

Your praise, your derision… It was too much. His broken breaths and clenching muscles made his chest and belly judder as he drew nearer his climax. His cock throbbed in your hand.

"Ah… you're close again?" You taunted, slowing your strokes to an unbearably languid pace. “Human or yokai, it’s all the same, Muzan. Your cock will always belong to me.”

"Ohhhh-oh-oh-oh curse you…" he ground out in agony, his eyes screwing shut. "If you don't hate me, why then do you insist on torturing me?"

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered against his ear.

Damn you. “Never.”

“Good. You take your punishments well, Muzan.” You smirked as he fell against you once more, desperately trying to buck his hips against your palm. “Tell me, who owns your cock?”

“I won’t say it.”

You pinched his nipple harshly, making him whine. 

His dignity was in tatters and you had the single thread holding him together in your grasp. “Fine.” He bared his teeth as your thumb teased the weeping slit of his cock with languorous circles. “You do.”

“Good boy.”

As soon as the words left your lips his orgasm erupted, his seed squirting from him in pearly ropes, spraying his thighs and belly as his back curved in euphoria. The broken, feral cries which emerged from him were muffled by your lips as you pulled him into a claiming kiss.

Even as he came undone, you managed to send desire spearing though his body, sucking his lower lip the way you had when he was mortal, your arms wrapping around his back, holding him firmly to you.

“Ffffuck, let me taste you,” he begged as you broke away from the kiss, gazing up into your eyes and despising the desperate whininess of his voice. One night was not enough. He needed to spend his unending years with you, surrendering to you and earning your adoration. "I need to taste your cunt. I need it.”

And you, merciful goddess of vengeance, were only happy to oblige.

Muzan groaned as he dragged his tongue through the slick folds of your labia, sending frissons of pleasure rolling through your body. You lay on your back with him between your thighs, head raised to watch him devour you. Despite everything, his beauty still enraptured you; the ebony waves of his hair spilling over your thighs, his crimson eyes fixed on yours, the subtle curve of his lips as he tasted you again. So beautiful and so utterly wicked.

“That’s it,” you said, pulling in a shaking breath as his tongue lapped at your clit. “Keep doing that. Don't stop until I say.”

As a human his technique had been sloppy, unskilled but eager, and as a demon he was no different, only now his strength was unfathomable, and he apparently no longer needed to breathe. What he apparently lacked in experience he made up for with fervor, licking you with such frantic and animalistic passion you could hardly stop from crying out. Your hand came down to thread your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening as you bucked your hips against his mouth.

Gods, by rights you should have despised him; the monster who had left your life in tatters, but try as you might to hate him, your weary soul craved the comforting abyss of his. You knew the hands which clung to your thighs had choked the life from people. The mouth hellbent on driving you to euphoria had feasted upon human flesh. The heart you felt so strongly bound to was wicked and inhuman. 

And none of it mattered. 

None of it mattered because for the first time in five years, you had some semblance of control. The monster lapping at your core was yours to command, bending to your whims because it pleased him to do so. No one was begging you to save lives. No one needed you for anything more than your cunt. 

With that beast between your thighs you finally found peace. Muzan gave you such simple, primal pleasure which deadened the rest of the world. The cries of the dying, the fists pounding at your door, the choking coughs of the sick and frightened villagers who clung to you and pleaded with you to do what you could not… all silenced. 

The pounding rhythm of your heart, the gasps emerging from your lips, the growls and wet sound of his mouth devouring your essence, they drowned out the constant hum of the world. 

“Please,” he whispered against your cunt as he circled his nose around your clitoris and lapped at your entrance. He pressed two fingers inside you, pumping them slowly and sending electricity rolling through your spine with every thrust. 

You were close, your muscles clenching and breath becoming staggered. “Please…what?”

“This. For eternity.” His lips surrounded your clit, lavishing it with a deep, loving kiss before whispering against it, “Let me worship you forever. Let me take you away from all the death, the sickness, the misery.”

“Yes,” was all you could manage as you came undone, fingers tangling in his long hair, pushing him down to grind your cunt against his ravenous mouth.

The feral growl which emerged from him only extended your pleasure, your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers as he put his wicked tongue to divine work. Waves of euphoria rolled through you as you cried out in bliss, only vaguely aware of a brief pinprick of pain deep in your cunt. 

And amidst the pleasure you felt the sensation of being filled, as though it was his cock inside you, spilling into you, pumping you full of his seed. But that couldn’t be.

“Muzan…” you gasped, “that’s enough.”

His chin was glistening with your essence as he withdrew his fingers and pulled back to kiss his way up your body.

“You are mine forever,” Muzan said as he lay down beside you. His breath was hot against your neck. “And I am hopelessly yours. If you are my moon then I am your wolf. Your hands are the only hands wound around my leash, your voice the only sound that can bring me to heel.” His eyes drifted over your flesh. “Please let me taste you.”

“Haven’t you tasted enough? Ever the greedy nobleman, even when you’re no longer a man.”

A slow smirk tilted his lips. “I don’t mean your cunt. I mean your blood.”

Logic told you that you should be disgusted by his request, but you were anything but. Some part of you was curious, some part of you no longer feared pain. And some part of you was deeply aroused by the thought of it. 

“Very well,” you sighed, “since you were so good for me.”

The sharp pain of his fangs piercing your neck was only momentary, before pleasure overtook it, stronger and even more consuming than any orgasm. It throbbed through your body, pulling primal cries of bliss from you. 

“Mmmhh…” A deep moan emerged from him as he drank your blood, his cock throbbing against you. 

The ecstasy was overwhelming and never ending; your cunt still throbbing while his teeth penetrated your flesh. That feeling of fullness bloomed in your belly, a heat gathering deep in your core, the pain of it deadened by the pleasure of his bite. Your lifeforce leaked into him as he lay beside you, his unattended cock pressed against your hip as he compulsively rutted against you.

Finally, he withdrew his fangs, lapping at the wound he left in his wake, savoring every drop of you. And at once your body was consumed by the throbbing pain in your core. 

“Gods… what did you do to me?” you asked, gasping for breath as your hand coiled around his bicep, anchoring you to him. The slick heat of his tongue on your throat made you ache.

“I gave my moon a gift.” He brought his trembling fingers up to cup your face, peppering your cheeks with soft persuasive kisses. “More than pleasure. More than love. I have given you eternal life.”

“What– Muzan… what is this?”

“Yokai,” he whispered against your ear. “We are the same, you and I. I gave you my blood and you gave me yours.”

Your heart rate spiked as the meaning of his words settled upon you. It was his blood inside you. The essence coursing through your veins was no longer just yours but his as well, his demonic power flooding through you, transforming your mortal body into that of a demon.

And it burned. It burned so badly you wanted to tear out your veins.

Some part of you fought back, perhaps your soul, or perhaps simple animal instinct, snarling in the depths of your mind that he had no right to this, no right to steal away your humanity and pull you into darkness with him. But that protest was swiftly silenced by the lure of the abyss he offered.

Muzan was the devil, but you welcomed his oblivion, knowing that the ceaseless din of life dared not enter his shadow.

So instead you clung to him, crying out in agony and euphoria as he held your convulsing body to his, the tender touch of his fingers threading through your hair at odds with the pain flowing through you.

"No more death," he said, holding you as agony and darkness engulfed you. In the shadows, only his voice remained. "You will live eternally at my side, bound to me as I am to you.” 

Muzan’s body no longer needed air to live, and yet he released a shaking breath as he lay in the aftermath of passion. He had given you so much blood– more than he had ever intended. It was a miracle that your cells hadn’t rejected his gift.

You had survived the initial transformation but had not yet awakened. Try as he might to detach himself from concern, Muzan's blood-red gaze remained fixed on you, waiting for movement.

And he despised that. He despised that he had allowed such turmoil, that his defenses were lowered and the last vestige of his humanity still clung to his soul like a parasite. It was against his nature to feel anything beyond bloodlust and hatred, to crave anything but violence. But as you slept peacefully at his side, the heart he thought long-dead ached with the thought that you might never wake. 

He should not have cared whether you lived or died. And yet, he couldn't stand the thought of you slipping from his grasp. Perhaps it was simply his pride, refusing the world the audacity to take what was his. Or perhaps it was the fact that your presence, your love, your domination quelled his raging soul.

And, oh, when your eyes opened, when they shone with renewed strength and divine malice, he could hardly contain his excitement. He bit into the back of his hand as he took in your visage; his perfect creation, his love, his moon. Any resentment was entirely forgotten.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, sitting to observe you as you pressed your tongue to the tip of your fangs. You were his triumph. You were proof of his genius, his power, his wisdom.

Your eyes darted around the room, wide and frantic as if seeing the world for the first time. “I can feel your strength in my veins.”

How that pleased him. To think that he had succeeded so spectacularly, that he had known instinctively to create you and had achieved such perfection. 

And you were right. He knew it the moment you slammed him to the ground and pinned him down, straddling his hips and grinding your heat against his weeping cock. 

He had imbued you with near terrifying strength. 

Despite his own demonic power, as he tried to raise his hands from where you held them to the tatami mat, he found himself as weak against you as he had been during that first encounter when his mortal body was ravaged by sickness.

Somehow, he had made you even stronger than himself.

And damn it all, that excited him beyond anything he had ever known. There wasn’t a force on earth that could hold him down but you.

He was powerless as you lowered yourself onto him, the wet heat of your perfect cunt squeezing his cock and pulling a pathetic whimper from him. 

“That’s it,” you grinned, your fangs protruding over your lower lip. “You make such pretty sounds for me.” You pressed your clit to his mons and rolled your hips, damn near euphoric as you ground against his coarse hair, seeking friction. It seemed your transformation had heightened your hedonism, and Muzan found himself little more than a tool for your indulgence. 

“Curse you to hell,” he groaned, the heat rising in his face as you used his cock for your own selfish pleasure. 

“Now now, Muzan,” you chided, your voice as foreboding as an oncoming storm. “Play nice, or you’ll never get to cum again.”

His lip curled, bearing his fangs as you rode him at an agonizingly languid pace. “What have I done?” he groaned, throwing his head back as you kept him hanging on the edge of pleasure. “I’ve created a monster.” Try as he might, he couldn’t break free to grip your hips and control your pace. Your thighs kept him wedged so he couldn’t thrust up into you.

When you came his eyes flooded with tears of frustration and adoration and anger, even the walls of your cunt made stronger and more devastating by your transformation. Every pulse of your orgasm squeezed his cock almost unbearably tight. 

“Ah-ah-ah fu-uh-uhck,” he groaned, the sinews in his neck straining as he clenched his own core and tried once more to buck his hips into you, desperate for release. “Please please please please.”

“So you do remember your manners,” you smirked as you lifted your hips, until only the very tip of his cock remained buried inside you.

Gods, he was on the verge of tears as he raised his head to watch it almost slipping out of you. “No please, no please don’t stop… let me cum please don’t do this to me.”

Desperation cracked his voice but he no longer cared about his dignity. It was irreparable at this point anyway. His ego was gone, his only concern was that you kept on pleasuring him.

“Say you’re sorry for all you’ve done.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried, as sincere as he had ever been. “Forgive me, forgive me please.”

You simply threw your head back and laughed, dropping down onto his cock with enough force to drive a cry from his lips. And you fucked him hard, fast, the pleasure so intense his legs trembled. You released his wrists and lightly slapped his chest again and again, not enough to hurt, but enough to make the fat and muscle ripple beneath your blows.

Curse you. Curse you and the way you made him adore you. Curse you and the power you so mercilessly and perfectly wielded over him. 

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, sucking in a breath as the first throbbing pulses of his orgasm rocked through him. “Oh fuck.”

“Cum for me, Muzan. I won’t stop until it’s dripping out of me with every thrust.”

You tore him apart with your pleasure, his back arching as he flooded your cunt, cumming harder than he ever had. What a monster you were, what a wonderfully malevolent goddess.

“Nghh, fuck,” he groaned, covering his flushed face with his arms as you rode him tirelessly, not a drop of his seed spilling from you. “It’s too much… please…”

The gleam in your eyes said you were far from finished. “Now, Muzan… I’m disappointed. Surely you’re not so easily defeated. I know you can keep cumming for me, my pretty king.” 

Curse you. He was simply helpless. 

Tags: @vampcubus @cloverussy @birbgoboom @chiyoso @taramultiuniverse

And he adored it. 

Sweet Elixir

Pairing: Sub! Human Muzan and Dom! Female Reader

Summary: When your father is called out to his most disagreeable patient, Muzan Kibutsuji, you accompany him as his apprentice. You're told to expect a monster, but what you find is a bitter yet beautiful man in need of solace.

Content Guidance: NSFW. Overstimulation, face-sitting, mentions of death, creampies.

Taglist: @scaraza @fairydollsteps @i-literally-cant-with-this

"His mother named him Muzan because he is an accursed creature," your father explained to you as you made your way toward the Kibutsuji estate. "You do not have to speak to him. In fact, you can stay outside on the engawa when we arrive and I'll bear the brunt of his ire."

A tangled knot of nerves sat in your chest as autumn leaves crunched beneath your feet. The air was growing cooler in the later months, but that wasn’t the reason for the chill which ran down your spine. As your father's apprentice, you often accompanied him to his patients' homes. It wasn't unusual for the sick and wounded to lash out in frustration or pain, and you knew not to take their outbursts personally, but for your father to warn you this way… It could only mean this man– Muzan Kibutsuji – was far worse than any you had met before.

By the time you reached the mansion, anxiety had sunk in its claws and made camp beneath your rib-cage. You slipped off your shoes and tiptoed through the house, feeling like a child once more as you followed a step behind your father. 

"Remember, do not speak to him unless he gives you permission," your father whispered. "And do not let him think you pity him. Nothing angers him more than pity."

"I won't."

"And try not to make too much noise."

"Okay."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait outside?"

Right– that had been an option, hadn't it? Honestly, you weren't exactly certain what was driving you on through the silent halls. Perhaps curiosity. Or perhaps the lingering air of sadness you felt compelled to try to heal. After all, what use would you be as a doctor if you ran in fear from your patients?

But the moment you laid eyes on the man you had been told to fear, your anxiety melted away like a snowflake on the tip of your tongue. Because Muzan Kibutsuji was beautiful.

"Doctor," the lord’s voice was like smoke and honey as he greeted your father with thinly-veiled contempt. He didn't acknowledge your presence at all as he sat up slowly on his futon. "You're late."

"My apologies, Lord Kibutsuji."

Muzan's tired eyes were the same reddish-brown as jasper, his hair as black as blood beneath moonlight, spilling down his back in gentle waves. His skin was alabaster, so pale it seemed he had never felt the sun's kiss.

As the young lord and your father discussed his treatment, you found yourself entirely transfixed by him, your study of medicine almost entirely forgotten for the moment. Instead your thoughts were consumed by every movement of Muzan's slender hands, the urge to run your fingers through his ebony waves, the desire to kiss his downturned mouth. But most of all, you craved to hear that dark and alluring voice crack. 

"I'll fetch the equipment to begin mixing your remedy, Lord Muzan. I'll be back in just a moment," your father said, snapping you from your reverie. He gave you a reassuring look, that if you found yourself in trouble or otherwise uncomfortable, you could come and find him.

But you were far from uncomfortable. 

"Good morning, my Lord," you said.

Muzan simply looked at you with a disdainful glower. "Why are you here?"

"To assist your doctor."

"Is he so inept he can't do the job himself?"

"No," you lifted your chin in defiance. "My father is a fine doctor–"

"Your father…so I'm a family project? A father-daughter bonding exercise?"

Your eyes narrowed. "No. I'm learning the skills of my father's craft."

"Ah, so you’re a scholar of failure." Muzan smirked. "I assume your father has given you information on my condition?"

"Only your disposition."

He laughed softly, the sound like distant thunder. "I'm sure he did. Tell me, do I meet expectations? Do you find me as disagreeable as I’m certain he does?"

"Actually, not at all." The corner of your mouth lifted for a moment. "I find you rather pleasant."

It was barely perceptible, but his carmine eyes widened slightly at your words. "Pleasant? I've been told I'm many things, but never that. What exactly about me is pleasant?" There was an earnestness to his tone, as if he sincerely wished to hear something positive about himself. “Come closer.”

You were more than happy to oblige the wishes of a dying man. You wanted to praise him, to let him know how beautiful he was, and make him feel something other than misery. But the moment you stepped forward and opened your mouth to speak, your father reentered the room, carrying a tray full of supplies; little bundles of herbs and bottles of ingredients, measuring equipment, and a ceramic pestle and mortar.

He approached the futon like he was approaching a snarling tiger’s cage, the bottles on the tray rattling and telegraphing his trembling. 

"Doctor," Muzan said suddenly, causing your father to flinch. "I need you to go into town for me. Your assistant may prepare and administer my medication."

Your father blinked in surprise. "Lord Muzan?"

"I require tea."

"T-tea?" 

A small surge of guilt rose in your chest. Your poor father was being treated as an errand boy instead of a doctor. But that surge was quickly quelled by the knowledge that your father's absence would mean that you and Muzan would be alone. And he wanted it.

You gave your father a reassuring nod and a gentle smile. “All will be well. I’m quite certain I can give Lord Kibutsuji what he needs.”

A few minutes later your father was gone. Walking to the closest town would take half an hour each way, so you had plenty of time alone with the intriguing man.

“Now then,” the lord said softly as you knelt at the foot of his futon and began to prepare the medicine according to your father’s notes. Muzan’s eyes followed your every movement, sharp and curious despite his obvious fatigue. “I believe you were about to pay me a compliment.”

You smiled as you used the pestle to grind the specified herbs into a fine paste. “I was. What kind of compliment would you like? Should I draw attention to your demeanor or your looks?”

The man’s lips stretched slightly, as a faint smile graced his features. “Both.”

“Well, you’re clearly very intelligent and quick with your retorts.”

“Hm, go on.” Muzan smirked, clearly enjoying the pampering to his ego. “What else?”

“You are without doubt the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” you said, casually scraping the contents of the mortar into a mixing bowl. “And I’d very much like to fuck you.”

Muzan sat very still for a long time, simply watching you finish preparing the medicine. If not for the quickened rhythm of his breaths, you might have suspected he was completely unaffected by your comments. 

“You’re very forward,” he said finally.

“Do you believe you have time for coyness?”

It was a harsh question, one which visibly affected him. Some part of him knew, just as you did, that short of divine intervention, he was doomed. He glanced down at his lap, pulling in a steadying breath. “No. I don’t.”

Pity was at best wasted on him, and at worst the gravest insult. So you didn’t offer it. 

Instead, you shuffled along his futon, straddling his thighs as you held out the bowl of medicine for him to sip from. “So, would you like to be fucked?”

Striking mahogany eyes drifted up the length of your body, drinking in your curves as if your vitality was contagious. When finally they met your gaze, he leaned forward, placing his lips obediently on the rim of the bowl as you tipped it for him. He drank down the bitter remedy, his eyes never leaving yours.

When the bowl was empty he spoke. “Yes,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I want you to fuck me.”

Setting the bowl aside, you leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to his lips, relishing the way his body shivered at the sensation. His eyes closed, and his lips parted around a stuttering breath of anticipation. He was, you quickly discovered, extremely receptive to the sensation, groaning and gasping, close to losing his composure entirely from a simple suck on his bottom lip. 

Oh, this would be delicious. 

He kissed you back, tentative and inexperienced at first, then slowly growing in confidence as you let him know he was doing well with a quiet but heartfelt moan. Despite your lack of pity, you weren’t entirely ignorant of his sickness. You paid attention to his breathing, to the racing of his pulse as you rested your fingers on his neck, giving him respite when you felt it became too frantic.

"We're going to go slowly," you whispered against Muzan's trembling lips. 

A frustrated growl sounded at the back of his throat. "Do not think you have to be gentle with me."

"I said we would go slow, I never promised to be gentle. My father won't be back for a while, and I intend to make good use of every minute we have together." You traced the outline of his lip with the tip of your index finger, making him shudder. "Is that okay?"

Muzan's throat flexed as his eyes fluttered shut. "Oh~ yes."

He was putty in your hands as you clasped his jaw between your fingers and pulled him in for another kiss. Your tongue teased his before returning your attention to his bottom lip, biting into the plump flesh to make it abundantly clear that he was yours.

"Yes~" Muzan sucked in a breath, elegant fingers twisting in the fabric of your clothes gathered at your hips.

"Tell me what you want," you purred, bowing your head to lick a long stripe up the column of his throat, feeling it flex and vibrate beneath your tongue as he groaned in pleasure. 

"Everything," he whispered. “Gods, please, I want to feel it all.”

He submitted to you so easily, surrendering the power of his social standing with just a few kisses. There was a desperation in his eyes, and an eagerness to be led and to please. And you could tell this was new to him. He had never felt so compelled to follow orders. It excited him. His pupils were blown out as he gazed up at you. 

"I'm going to show you how to make me come," you told him, standing from the futon to undress. 

He watched you in fascination, his eyes drawn to your every movement; your hands working open your belt, the sway of your breasts as you freed them from your clothing, the crease in your belly as you stepped out of the garment. At that moment he was besotted.

His breaths were shallow, his pale cheeks dusted with the faintest blush. "Let me kiss you." 

Turning to him with a flat, disapproving glance, your heart secretly swelled at the knowledge he desired you. "Manners." 

The defiance in his eyes only lasted a heartbeat; more instinct than true feeling. Muzan was used to getting his own way, a spoiled, pampered noble lord… but he was wrapped around your little finger, and desperate to earn approval. "Please… I want to kiss you."

“Ah,” you chuckled victoriously. “You’re so obedient. Tell me, where would you like to kiss me?” 

His gaze dropped between your thighs, his lips opening and closing around silent syllables.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, even though you had a strong inclination toward the reason for his hesitation. "It's too vulgar to utter– is that it?” You chuckled, approaching him and helping him remove his nightshirt. “If your tongue is too shy to even say a word, how do you ever expect to please me with it?” 

Standing astride his legs, you gently pulled back the blanket to see him fully. As expected his body was as pale as his face; lean and lithe… and beautiful. His cock was hard, and already so dark at the tip you suspected the slightest touch would cause him to erupt. So instead, you dragged your thumb over his lips, relishing the way they parted around a silent plea. 

“Well, my pretty lord? Can you say it for me?”

A low, wanton groan emerged from him as he gazed up at you. “Your cunt. Please… please let me taste your cunt.”

He begged so nicely, your pussy throbbed at the sound of his desperation. Oh, you could listen to him gasp and plead all day, but your own desire was just as ardent as his, and your time was limited. 

But before you began you needed to know the limitations of his ailing body. "Very good. Now,  how should I have you do it? Shall I stand like this, or shall I have you lie back so I can sit on that handsome, noble face?"

“Oh, fuck…” he released a shaking breath, skating his hands along the sides of your calves. “Sit… sit please… please…”

A shiver of excitement ran through your body as he lay back and took a gasping breath of anticipation. Oh, he was so far gone and you hadn’t even so much as touched him below the shoulders. That your father saw fit to warn you of this man was hilarious to you now. He was nothing but obedient, eager, and desperate for your pussy. 

“Good boy,” you whispered as you got into position, kneeling on his pillow with his face between your thighs. He was damn near panting, turning his head to kiss your inner thighs as you continued speaking.“If you need me to get off you, I want you to tap my thigh four times quickly, like this.” You demonstrated for him, then had him do the same to you. “Good. Now, I’m not going to be gentle with you.”

“I don’t want you to be.” He released a deep breath. “Just let me taste you. Please.” 

Without further warning you leaned forward on your hands and lowered your hips, pushing your cunt onto his eager tongue. Right away he clamped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as a hungry growl emerged from him, vibrating through your core. 

Muzan ate you like a rabid beast feasting on your tender flesh. The slick heat of his ravenous tongue was almost more than you could bear. He lapped ferociously at your cunt, as though your essence was the elixir to his condition.

“Fuuuuck,” you ground out as you found your back arching from the sensation. 

Gods, he was relentless, licking and sucking your clit as if his life depended on it. The man was drunk on the taste of you, groaning and slurping as you ground your pussy against his insatiable mouth. The lips you had been warned only uttered vitriol and sin, worshiped you with fervent hunger. 

You pulled away, tormenting you both as he let out a desperate whimper. 

“No. Come back,” his voice was tinged with anguish as you denied him. “Pleasepleaseplease. Let me make you cum.”

You took a moment to relish his pleas before sitting back down and pulling a muffled cry of relief from him. His cock wept rivers of pre-cum, his hands, sinking into the plush softness of your thighs as he resumed his licking. 

There was no skill to his ministrations; only feral determination. He lay the flat of his tongue over your clit and dragged it back and forth, the only sounds in that silent house his smothered groans, your gasping breaths, and the lewd wet sounds of his tongue on your cunt.

It was too much. And it was perfect. 

He tore you apart at the seams, sending you careening into your orgasm. You choked out a cry as powerful throbs of near unbearable pleasure rocked though your body and you ground your pussy against his eager mouth.

When your pleasure subsided you shuffled down to straddle Muzan’s stomach, his erection pressed against your ass as you gazed down at his blushing face. Gods, the man was in a stupor as you dragged your thumb once more over his lips, spreading the gloss of your essence over them. The light caught them so prettily as he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes.

“That was lovely,” you told him as he closed his eyes and whimpered with need. “You did very well for me, Muzan.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly as his cock twitched behind you. His eyes were glazed over, his breaths coming in shallow pants. This man was born to a high status but his soul and his cock craved submission. “Please fuck me now. I need to cum.”

A shock of pleasure ran through your body as he parted his lips, licking the tip of your thumb, savoring every drop of your nectar. “Mm… shall I ride you?”

“Yes, Gods yes, that’s what I want. I want– I need your wet cunt on my cock.”

A grin pulled at the corners of your mouth as the vulgarity slipped from his lips as naturally as breath. Arousal made him far bolder. You could happily tease him all day, delay his release until his pleas echoed around the house, but time was pressing on and you needed to know the feeling of his cock in you just as desperately as he needed your cunt.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you told him. “But I will take an herbal tea which should prevent–”

“I don’t care,” Muzan interrupted, his brattish, noble demeanor emerging slightly. “Get yourself pregnant if you want. Use me to make yourself a little heir to the Kibutsuji wealth and ensure your fortune when I’m dead. I’ll even write a letter confirming it’s mine. I don’t care. I have no fucking love for my family. I just want to feel your pretty cunt around my cock.”

Even submitting to you like this, he was wicked at heart. Then again, perhaps so were you. 

You couldn’t help but smirk as you lifted your hips and aligned yourself with him, letting the fat head of his cock press against your entrance. Muzan’s lips parted around a shivering breath as his eyes widened in anticipation.

You paused. “Let me hear you ask nicely. One more time.”

“Oh, Gods, why do you insist on tormenting me?"

You cocked an eyebrow at his little rebellion. "I could deny your release, Muzan. I could keep you on the edge until the moment my father walks in here–"

"Please, I'm sorry. Just… please fuck me. I want to feel it. I want to know…” 

“Good boy. You beg so sweetly.”

“Only for this,” he groaned through his teeth. “Only for you.”

Lowering your hips, you took him, watching the muscles in his cheeks tense and pulse as he fought to keep his composure. But he was breaking just from the sensation of you, his face reddening as he put his head back and moaned. “Ohh fuck fuck fuuuck you feel so fucking good.”

Your breath caught in your chest as his cock filled you, the stretch causing a slight sting which eased as you rocked on top of him.

“Slow…” he pleaded. 

Perhaps he was worried he would cum too quickly, or perhaps he worried his heart couldn’t take much more, but you did as he asked, riding him slowly. The languid undulation of your hips drew the most broken, desperate sounds from him. He gasped and groaned, drowning in bliss as you bowed your head and licked the stiffened buds of his nipples.

“Yes thank you thank you~" he whispered, though you suspected his gratitude was not aimed at you but to the gods themselves. 

His hands never left your body. He fought the urge to close his eyes, keeping them on you as though he needed to flood every sense with you. Touch-starved and ravenous for pleasure, he savored every second, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as his seed flooded your cunt. 

His voice, which was once so commanding and bewitching, broke as he begged once more. "Don't stop. Please. Not yet. Not yet." 

Leaning forward to cage his head with your arms, you kissed him, swallowing his moans as you rode him into overstimulation. He was in ruin, squeezing his eyes shut, blushing scarlet, his fingers digging into your back as you kept up the slow, unending rhythm.

The sinews in his neck bulged as he strained and squirmed. His thighs twitched and shook as his feet sought purchase on the futon. "I-it's too much."

"Should I stop?"

He shook his head, even as his cock softened inside you. "No… don't stop."

He clung to you then, hiding his face against your shoulder, the tears on his lashes cool against your burning skin.

Threading his long, black hair through your fingers, you cooed softly as he whimpered into the crook of your neck. "You're taking it so well. You're so beautiful when you're fucked out like this. So good for me."

You rocked together, panting breaths heating the air between you as Muzan gorged himself on pleasure. Slender fingers slid down to your backside, digging into the fat of your ass and clinging to you with all he had. His cock grew hard again. His gasps turned to growls.

"Gods, I can't take anymore."

You slowed down.

His hands darted to your hips. "Don't stop, damn you. Don't stop."

Muzan Kibutsuji, that sick and wretched man, whose life consisted of agony and disappointment found precious moments of pleasure and normalcy in your embrace, and once he had tasted that bliss he wouldn't surrender it. The ecstasy you gave him would not cure his ailments, but it was an elixir which temporarily sweetened the bitterness in his heart. 

Grazing your teeth over his collarbone, you whispered, "Can you take it if I go a little faster?"

"I– yes. I want to feel you cum on my cock," he whispered. "Do what you need to do."

Sitting upright, you took his hand and led it to your clit, guiding his strokes. His lips fell apart in reverent surprise as your cunt pulsed and tightened around his cock, preparing for release. And you knew he only pleasured you like this so that he could feel it. He used your body for his own enjoyment, submitted to you to please himself, watched you fall apart on his cock because he enjoyed the sight of it. And yet, as your pleasure reached its zenith and you came undone, you simply didn't care. 

Muzan was seconds behind you, hissing through his teeth as he filled you again. 

"Enough, enough," he cried, tapping your thighs four times to signal he was truly done.

You lay down beside him staring at the ceiling as your breaths returned to a normal pace. 

After a moment, Muzan rolled onto his side, then shifted to lay his head upon your breast as he let his weakened heart settle. He didn't hold you. He simply lay there in your embrace as you languidly stroked your fingers up and down his back, tracing the ridge of his spine. 

Silence shrouded you for a long time before Muzan broke the silence. "Will you come again next week?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Though we will have to come up with a better excuse than tea to get your father out of the house. He may be an idiot but even he may start to suspect your methods aren't exactly by the book."

Later, as you walked from the Kibutsuji residence, your father fussed over you, apologizing profusely for leaving you alone with the wretched lord. 

"It won't happen again, I promise."

"It's alright, father," you assured him. "He really wasn't all that bad. In fact, next week–"

"Next week won't be a problem. You'll have your own patient to attend to. I'll come here alone," your father smiled, expecting you to be relieved.

Truth be told, you were a little disappointed. 

Your father continued, "Besides, while at the tea shop, I heard about a rare medicinal plant. One I'm going to try with Lord Kibutsuji next week. The lady at the shop called it 'the blue spider lily."

One of a kind

Pairing: Kokushibo x Reincarnated Fem!Y/n

-*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*--*-*-

When he was still human he had found life boring and stale, and that was no secret at all. Time passed far slower and painfully dull. But when he married it was as if the gods had finally enlightened him. His wife was one out of many and in those many years he has never forgotten you. How the moons passed and every time he got slight glimpses of it he remembered how no greater glow lived in this world since you had passed. 

But Gods always were cruel. Had he come back to you any time when you still graced the earth with your soul then he would have asked if you would have joined him too. However the one time he had found your old home. You had been slaughtered. At the fellow hands of his brethren. 

Your kids are nowhere in sight. It eased his mind but a bit. However for many nights he had stayed next to your decomposing corpse. His hunger subsided as he held you. Cradling you as he had done nights where your pregnant belly was too much to bare. 

He would much rather live in a world where you rested peacefully than forever tied down to a world that forced you to kill. 

After almost nothing remained he had buried you. Finally at ease and with it you took his heart. His heart no longer had that burning passion it had before. It emptied and the glass was half full. When he had killed his brother it felt as if all of it was finally gone. 

He was just  upper moon one. And that is all he would be. Vague memories lived on in the depths of his mind, stashed away was the flute he made for his dearest brother and next to it a hairpin that he had bestowed on you before your wedding. His two most prized objects. 

And they were laying out far from his reach. How did he get here? How on earth did it end this way? 

Tonight he knew he would have encountered a slayer. He knew that but he needn’t frighten himself. No greater power known to man could make him fear. 

But those same eyes that had watched him with nothing but adoration and then hatred when he had abandoned them. Now haunted his very core. The gods are cruel and they tortured him since he could remember. 

He didn’t care for slayers. Didn’t care enough, just ended their lives and that was all that they got from him. 

However those eyes that had once stared at him were here once again. A different kind of hatred now stared back at him. One of disgust. Perhaps even fear too. Somehow, Someway your figure stood before him. 

Your hands how calloused over as it held onto the handle of your blade, Those eyes piercing right through his very core.The once elegance you had the poise it all vanished as he stood as your enemy. 

It was then he realized he would rather prefer you be his enemy than have to kill you and have to live in a world where you didn’t exist at all. 

He knew he was crazy, mad perhaps and he wondered did you remember too. 

“..what is your… Name?” He asked speaking after so long of not sparing his breath. 

Your eyes widened a little. The hold on your blade never loosening but the pattern of your heart elevated. 

“I’m Y/n.” You speak with the voice he has never forgotten

Oh how awful of a crude joke this was. Standing as enemies when years ago you stood together as each other’s 

Yes. There was obvious differences in you of the past and you of the now. But beneath all that you were still the same. He wanted to say his sorrys for abandoning you, abandoning his family. Wanted to say some apology and in hopes that somehow you remembered it all. 

If he were any less than sane he’d probably turn you into a demon be at his side as you always should have been. But those eyes never held any recollection.

Did you cry when he left? How hard did you cry? Did you really hate him or want him back? Did you suffer when you died? Did you know where his children were? Did you go down protecting them? Or did you have a quick death?

“Do you…remember who i am?” He asked hand now resting on his own handle.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before” 

He knew that was going to happen. He did. And it didn't make it hurt any less than it does.

“You are the upper moon one. And I may not be able to kill you. But i'd rather go down trying than never knowing i had a chance” 

Fights always bored him. They always ended far sooner than he would have hoped. But this was taking too long. He knew why. His own hesitance withheld him and he didn't know why.

Why did he not want to kill you? Why on earth were you the only thing that kept him the least bit happy when nothing ever seemed too. What was so special about you in the first place? 

For the first time ever he felt a shiver run up his spine and for the first time ever he let a slayer live.

You Text Them "I want a baby"

Featuring: Alastor, Lucifer, Vox, Valentino, Velvette, Angel Dust, Charlie, Adam

Alastor

Lucifer

Vox

Valentino

Velvette

Angel Dust

Charlie

Adam

Hello everyone,I'm going to show you my oc murderdrone, his name is G or Ghar, he has a problem but I think it's better not to do it. and i still have other ocs

---

Sinfully Gorgeous

Vox x (fem) Reader

Overlord reader

Word count: 3k

Smut

part 2 posted

✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧

“Yes that’s fine. I’ll be there soon.” Your footsteps echoed down the hall as you talked on the phone. Of course you had a talk show tonight with the infamous Vox. 

And of course you didn’t want to go. Who in their right mind wanted to ever speak to that insufferable tv headed fuck? Surely not you. 

[Y/N] the fashion overlord. Of course your new run of clothing is coming out soon. So a little push out to the public would help. Perhaps this wasn’t all bad. 

He got viewers and you got customers. Doesn’t mean you have to be best friends and sure as hell doesn’t mean you have to speak to him outside of the professional setting. 

Smile, state why they should be your brand and leave. 

Easy enough. 

You walked into your room and headed to the walk in closet. One of your prized possessions.  That black fuzzy faux coat. It went well with your red sparkly corset and skin tight black jeans. 

You did up your hair and makeup perfecting your look but also keeping it simple. 

Your new clothing line was called ‘Sinfully Gorgeous’ keeping a more classy style while also being sexy. 

It would bring in the newer souls and possibly older. Though you weren’t too sure with the last set you had planned. 

With make up finished, heels on and hopping into your cab you let out a breath. This was going to be something. So you mentally prepared yourself with snarky remarks you could say if he decided to jab a few himself.

The cab pulled up to the V’s tower. A man in a tailored suit came up to open your door giving a polite smile. You gave one back as you slid out of your seat. Heels clicking as you walked up to the front of the Building. A crowd had formed behind the flimsy ropes that lead to the entrance. 

You being the icon you were stopped for a few photos. Noticing some of your collections on people. Heart swelling as the obvious indicators that people loved your brand. 

The front door opened and you were rushed to the showroom. A couch in front of Vox’s desk was arranged for you. 

At least he was kind enough to get a couch for you. Most of his other guests got that uncomfortable looking chair. You sat down on the soft material of the couch and let out a content sigh. It did feel nice, perhaps these two hours wouldn’t be so bad. 

After about 5 minutes the lights went out and a spinning noise sounded from the chair behind the desk. 

“Toooooop of the hour!” The lights turned back on and there was Vox. Doing one last spin before he sat still smiling into the camera in front of him. “Today we will be discussing Hell's most fashionable overlord {Y/}!” He hit the camera to pan over to you. Sitting up right you gave a wave and a quick hello. 

“Well {Y/N} It has been forever since I’ve seen you.” He leaned back in his seat as the camera panned out to show you both fully. You mentally cussed him out at his unprofessional intro. He has always annoyed you with how he does things. 

“It has, It’s so lovely to see you again.” Despite your annoyance you talked in an excited tone. Good enough to fool the sinners at home watching. 

“Oh no need to lie.” Vox chuckled and leaned over his desk. Head rested on his knuckles. 

Your eyes twitch slightly but you decide to glaze over his comment. “Oh I'm not, wouldn’t anyone miss a man as handsome as yourself?” You cooed and leaned over. Chin on your palm. He gave a puzzled look before smirking. “Perhaps Valentino could get us a shoot together.” He joked loving the way your face scrunched up in slight disgust and annoyance. He himself would rather die again than ever be in the same room as you. But this brought you both money so he as well as you sucked it up for the time being. 

A fake audience of oohs and laughter filled the room at Vox comment. He chuckled and leaned back in his chair waiting for your response. 

“I’m sure he could. Though I'm not so sure you could afford me.” You responded in a lower tone. The smile he gave was tight and his screen glitched slightly in annoyance. 

“Ahha.. right. Anyways, why don’t you tell us a little about your new clothing line? I’m sure the viewers are dying to see a sneak peak of your work.” He titled his head, eyeing you curiously. 

“Oh yes. Lets show the photos why don’t we.” A devilicious smirk crossed your face. You knew he was going to be pissed off once he saw the photos. 

“Alright let's see them.” He turned his chair to the projector screen. On display was your logo. He pressed a button on his remote and the first photo popped up. 

You looked at him from the corner of your eye. His face scrunched up and blue sparks illuminated from him for a moment. He was so pissed. 

The model in the photo was no other than the Radio Demon. Alastor had been a major fan of your suites and collections of modest yet fashionable attire. So he was the best fit to show off your newest ‘Sinfully Gorgeous.’ suit. The black coat went all the way down his form. . With a dress waist coat underneath that was a deep red and black swirls. His pants were the same black as his coat with the shoes having the red accent on the toes. In the next photo it was him holding the coat over his shoulder. His deer tail was on display as his back was being shown. 

“Oh how lovely..” Vox sneered and went through the next pictures. Most being your models just showing off the modest collection. The sexier outfits were being saved for your fashion show next week. 

A satisfied smirk played on your face throughout the rest of the interview. Which was just chatting about how you came up with the idea and the pricing on most of them. 

He had already offered you in private to host your fashion show but to boost views you acted as if it was a surprise when he mentioned it on the show. 

Voxtek would be sponsoring the Sinfully Gorgeous fashion show. Meaning Vox would be up in his room watching over the program. Making sure all goes smoothly with his team. 

—

Well the show ended with a happy audience. Your phone was blowing up. So was your email. You had to get ready for next week's fashion show. As Well as figure out how Alastor would even be able to be in it. He didn’t show up on the newer cameras. Those photos he took for the shoot were done on his camera and edited to look new. 

Perhaps he would just be a special feature for those in the audience. 

Not only were there many business emails but so many screen shots from the show. 

You regretted saying he was handsome. You could guess he regretted mentioning how Valentino could get them a shoot. As every clip from the show was that moment. People speculating you two had something going on or there would be a sex tape leaked for a future collaboration. 

As Vox was partners with the highest Pornography company in hell and you ran the highest clothing brand which they bought from. 

Though the idea of that made you sick, the idea of cash made you ponder it. Nah. You let out a laugh at how stupid that was. You were already rich, you didn’t need to be seen with a naked tv man to get richer. 

—

Today was the day of the fashion show. Vox sat in his surveillance room to look over the show. His team had set up the cameras and were recording as they waited for the show to begin. 

He rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. He did not care to watch this let alone see you. It was supposed to show more.. Revealing sets but he didn’t find any of the models attractive. 

So as the show went on he sat in silence. Just observing. Annoyance as Alastor was shown. Glitching out his cameras. 

They didn’t go back to normal till he left. Claw marks dug into Voxs desk as the sight of the Radio Demon irked him. He was already glitching out and grateful the show was almost done. 

Until the lights turned off and he couldn’t see much. 

“Ladies and gentleman your designer and most fashionable overlord {Y?N}!” The announcer's voice played over the area. 

You walked onto the runway. The lights slowly turned on. A warm red glow illuminated from the stage. Red smoke burst up as you walked down the runway. 

The outfit you were displaying revealed every bit of you. The pink lacing was so see through your nipples shown. The bottom half left nothing to the imagination as it was just a thin strip. 

Your hair was done up with pink hearts to match your outfit. Most of the items in the collection were modest. Covering yet sexy. 

Not this one. 

This was your prized possession. Something for the bedroom. Cute and revealing. 

Vox’s eyes widened as he watched you. Your cat walk was something in this outfit. Leaving nothing for him to have to imagine. 

You were on full display. No one had ever seen you like this. You don't often model these kinds of outfits. 

So to see you was something. 

He hated how hard he could feel himself getting. He turned his chair over to his other monitor. It was a closer up shot of you. His eyes winded and his red saliva sid from his mouth. You were quite the sinful sight. The way you strutted knowing that half the crowd was drooling set him off. 

He hated you. You were annoying and the biggest part. You were associate with that fucking Alastor. 

Though right now he forgot all about that as he slid his hands down to unzip his fly. Sliding hand into his boxers to pull out his dick. He had about 2 minutes to finish before you were backstage again. 

He quickly began to stroke himself. His eyes never left you. 

He eyed you up and down. Moving his hand faster as you spun around showing off your ass. It was not covered. Causing his dick to twitch. Static illuminated from him. He leaned his head back as he moved his hand faster. His dick twitching and lord how he wished this was your hand instead.

He hated you but hate could be ignored, especially if your mouth was filled by his dick. 

His screen began to glitch and a low groan escaped his mouth. 

“F-f–fuckk.” His voice glitched out as he grew closer. He pictured you down on your knees in front of him in that damn outfit. Maybe that idea of you two doing a shoot together wasn’t so bad.

He completely glitched out the second his cum spurted from his dick. He shook as pleasure took over his body. God was this embarrassing but he couldn’t help himself. You looked so.. What was this brand called..

Sinfully Gorgeous. 

—-

The fashion show was a success. You had never seen your store so packed. Let alone run out of stock that fast. Safe to say your little cat walk got plenty of horny sinners buying. 

You thought all was said and done. It would be normal. Having your models display the items till a new line comes out. The hype would die down. 

No. 

An interesting email came through from no other than Valentino.  

“Dear {Y/N} it has come to my attention that we could strike a rather, erotic deal. Come in for a shoot with a man of my choosing with that dazzling outfit you had on the other night and you won’t regret the outcome. I’m sure our deal would spark up quite the talk in Hell and perhaps lead our companies to greater success.”

Oh so now Val not only wanted to buy from you but also buy you. 

Perhaps a shoot wouldn’t be so bad. Show off your brand. Have sex and call it that. Watch more money rack in. Perhaps it could help the next line be even better,

So you responded back agreeing and asking for a script. Mentally knowing that half his pornos had shit scripts. 

He was lucky that Angel Dust could act. 

—

So the script was sent. All was being worked on. You just had no clue who it was that Val had picked for your partner. He said it would be someone somewhat well known. So you googled his famous porn actors. A few sparked your interest and others not so much. So you prepared yourself for the day. 

Surely it wouldn't be so bad. You had some acting in your time on Earth and sex wasn’t new. 

You walked into the set on the day of the shoot. In your pink outfit. Though a robe covered you up for the time being. 

Valentino greeted you and showed you over to the shooting area. It was a pink bed with plenty of pillows. Even your logo in flashy lights over the bed. This was definitely an obvious brand deal. 

“So you ready?” Vals voice echoed in your ear as you turned to him. “Yep. Ready. Can’t wait to see who you chose.” You smirked and walked up to the bed. Laying down on your stomach. Your ass on display. Valentino sat down in his director's chair and nodded to his crew. The lights dimmed, the cameras turned on and Val yelled action. 

You lay on the bed wiggling your ass a little reading your fake book given. Footsteps filled your ears and you looked up expecting to see some random man you had never seen before. 

A moment of shock filled your face as Vox stood there. 

He had on a cropped police officer outfit and tight pink pants with a white belt. He didn’t fit the color pink well but it wouldn’t matter soon.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was curious. This script made no sense but now it made less sense. Why Vox? 

He pulled out his handcuffs which were per usual pink and fluffy. 

“I’m here to arrest you for breaking the law.” He smirked and walked over to the bed. You smirked and moved back. Back on the bed as you scooted away from him as he got closer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You questioned innocently. “Public indecency is one for that fashion show stunt. Now I'm gonna have to punish you for exposing my viewers to such.. Sinful things.” His voice was deep and almost.. Alluring. He leaned over you and chuckled as he flipped you over quickly. You let out a gasp as he handcuffed you. 

His hands traveled up your body and stopped to grab your hair. Pulling your head back. 

“Now I’m gonna make you regret making a fool of my company.” His voice seethed in your ear and it was quite hot.. Though you hated Val for not telling it was gonna be Vox. The one over lord you truly could not stand. 

You let out a loud moan as he tugged your hair back and pressed his rock solid boner against you. It was a scripted moan but.. Something about it might have been a little real. 

“What a slut. You like this huh?” He shoved your face into the sheets as he grinded himself into you. The thin fabric covering your pussy was nothing against his boner. 

“Fuckk… yes.” Your voice was muffled from the sheets but it was loud enough for him to hear. “You're gonna take my cock like a good little slut.” He took off his pants quickly. Tossing the belt somewhere and the thin pink fabric was off somewhere as well. 

His twitching dick was out now and he slid the small fabric of your outfit aside. 

He slid off two of his nail claws and pushed those fingers inside you. 

You let out a low moan. This felt better than you imagined. You mentally hated that you were slightly enjoying this. His fingers pumped in and out of your wet pussy. He groaned and his voice glitched out as he watched you squirm under him. With your hands behind your back you couldn't move much but your moans of pleasure were enough to fuel his ego. 

This was far better than jerking himself off. 

After a while of fingering you and getting you wet he positioned himself to slide into you. 

“Why don’t you model for these people how good you are at taking my dick?” He chuckled his voice staticy as he pulled you back to his chest. 

“Yes sir.” You moaned as he slid inside you. The moan that escaped your mouth was not scripted. And it was purely pleasure. 

“Like this? I bet you do.. I’ve wanted to fuck you since that run way show.” He whispered in your ear. Low enough for no one else to hear. 

“Fuck you..” You groaned back in response. 

“I’m already fucking you.” He chuckled and pounded into you. His screen glitching and static coming off him. 

Each position showed off your outfit to the camera. Giving every angle of it. Though you had forgotten this was even a shoot. As you and Vox were caught up in the heated sex. The tension from all your encounters had caught up. Every ounce of hatred and annoyance being taken out in each thrust and hickey.

Valentino watched as you both fucked. Going off script and just doing your own thing. It worked though. Made it look real. This would bring in the bucks. 

“You like that huh? Fuciing me? You know.. Me and Alastor have done this a couple times too.” You whispered to him as he grabbed your legs. A smirk on your face as he glitched out and his claws dug into your skin at the mention of the Radio Demon. Though it wasn’t true. Alastor didn’t indulge in these activities; it was still fun to mess with Vox.

“We’ll i’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget about that tacky old piece of shit.” His voice was deep and he rammed into you. Moans escaped your lips and you felt yourself nearing your climax.

Vox on the other hand was glitching out majorly. He could feel himself on the verge of cumming. He couldn’t even see through the static displaying in his view. He slammed into you one last time before glitching out fully. 

“{Y/N}!” His voice was the deepest and loudest it had been. He glitched out his body fully staticing out as he cummed inside you. Your breathing was heavy as he tried to collect himself. 

Bite marks were all over him and claw marks lined your sides and legs. 

You both looked at each other. 

This was sure gonna bring in the bucks. 

“Cut!” Val yelled.

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Muzan, Enmu, Douma finding you after you’d escaped with your child

Fem, AFAB, Muzan calls you ‘woman’ so gendered terms. Implied past noncon, forced pregnancy

Please go to @peach-cream-enmu ! This will be reuploaded there soon, and all future works will be posted there!

Muzan

You’d been out to eat with your son, a nice dinner, just the two of you, to get your mind off the stress of it all. As you sit and watch him eat happily you can’t help but feel choked every time he looks up at you. Piercing red eyes, pale skin, raven hair. He looked nothing like you.

You think back to what the man who gave you this child had done to you. Kept you captive, forced himself upon you, made you conceive this child. You remember the nights left alone so he could feed, you’d rub your swollen belly with shaking hands as you prayed this baby would look like you. You dreamed of escaping, and if you succeeded, you’d hope the baby would be unrecognizable to him.

You’d escaped and ran far away, so far that you were sure he would never find you again, but the fear still lingered. And when it came time for the birth, you’d been congratulated on your healthy, beautiful, boy. You’d trembled and cried as he was placed in your arms, an exact mirror of Muzan. The women had cooed at you and him, saying how well you did, how lucky you were, how pretty he was.

He was 2 now. You’d been successful in hiding him away, keeping yourself out of public eye. The old woman who had taken you in left everything she had to you, passing not long after the birth. You’re shaken from your thoughts as your son makes a worried noise. You smile down at him before picking him up and leaving the restaurant, having finished your meal.

You walk with him, letting him waddle hand in hand with you in the crowd. There were too many people, you were unable to see where you needed to go to make your way home. You scanned the crowd, hoping to find a gap in the heads flooding your view. But as you begin to grow worried, time seemed to slow as your eyes pan over and meet all too familiar Ruby ones.

A scowl drew his brows downward, but only slightly. To anyone else, he’s just look stoic. But you knew better. You know him. He was furious. And as your son grew fussy, wanting to be safe on your arms, you picked him up, eyes not leaving the man though people passed in between you at every moment.

As your son laid his head on your shoulder and his arm around your neck, you saw Muzan’s eyes widen. A shiver ran through you, like falling through ice on a frozen lake. You held your sons head close to you, and as one last person passed Muzan, he disappeared from your sight.

You ran, frantically, past people and buildings, down alleys and side streets. You don’t know how far you’d run, or where you were, but as you entered an alley and turned a corner, a strong hand grabbed your shoulder, turning and slamming you to the wall.

Your ears rang as your head hit the wall, your vision blurred with tears. You looked up at him and he looked down at you with now evident rage. You cradled your sons head as he began to whine. You didn’t want him to have to see this man, not yet.

“How dare you. How dare you leave. How dare you take our son from me.” His nails grew sharper, piercing your robes and flesh. You whimpered as you held your son tighter. Muzan’s hand left your shoulder, moving to your throat, nails poised to rip into your flesh in one swift stab. “You will beg for kindness, to be treated as more than just a worthless woman. You will pray that I let you see the light of day again after what you’ve done.”

Tears slip as your vision clouds. Your eyes droop as your lungs pant and your heart races. You’re pulled from the wall, and raised into his arms, the lights of buildings brightening and hurting your eyes as you fall into unconsciousness. The last thing you can do is turn into his chest, to keep your baby from falling.

Enmu

A walk in the woods sounded like a solution to your fussy baby not wanting to go down for the night. He was so stubborn, never wanting to let you go. Couldn’t handle you being out of his sight. He was so young, you supposed this is how a baby is supposed to act. As you look down at him in your arms, and he looks back up at you with bright teal eyes, you’re forced to remember.

The man that had taken you. The man responsible for this baby. It’s barely been half a year since you escaped. But no matter how much time passed, you knew the memories would never grow any less vivid. Those dreams…the terrifying, awful dreams. Broken up by sweet affection that left you dizzy, wonderful dreams, away from there, and away from him. Just to be subjected to even worse nightmares, so terrible you run into his arms when you wake.

The way he loved you sent a chill down your spine even now. You could still feel his hands brushing your body in the dead of night, his lips on your skin. He was rough, yet affectionate to the point it scared you how much you desired to have just a bit of it now. He’d taken to rubbing and petting the fat of your stomach, before you even showed a single sign of being pregnant. He wanted a baby with you, he was nearly hellbent on it.

And he got what he wanted. A beautiful son, no less beautiful than he himself had been. Bright eyes, silky hair with tips kissed a blush pink. Even his cheeks were nearly the same, three tiny beauty marks on each in a downward line.

It pained you how much of him was in your son. And it pained you how you couldn’t love him any less than you do. He cooed sweetly in your arms, watching the world around him. He seemed intent on taking everything in, watching leaves rustle in trees, watching a stray animal bounce or scurry on the path in the distance. He’s turning and moving in your arms, becoming a struggle to hold, as he reaches out for a flower.

You walk over, kneeling to inspect it. It was a harmless daffodil, in a sea of many others. You plucked it slowly and brought it to your baby to see. His chubby hands pet the petals clumsily as he giggled and cooed. You chuckled, waving and tickling his nose with it. Sometimes, the world granted peace upon you, letting you forget who you are, letting you feel like a normal mother and son. Moments like this, as he gurgles a loud pleasant laugh.

“Oh, how sweet.” Every nerve in your body feels like it’s been flashed frozen. You stiffen, your grip on the flower faltering, falling gently to kiss your babies cheek before falling to the ground. Your son makes a small startled chirp, before squirming and beginning to cry, reaching for the flower. Your brains insistence to move finally breaks through your fear and you hold your baby tight to your chest. You step forward, away from the voice, before turning quickly.

He’s there. The man. The demon responsible for every ounce of fear you ever feel. His gaze is soft, half lidded, with brows pulled upward, and a small smile on his lips. Enmu, as you’d come to know him in the time he’d kept you. He approaches slowly, calmly, with his eyes soon focused on the now neglected flower. “I’m glad to have finally found you. I thought I’d find you sooner, but I should’ve known.”

He kneels, fingers picking up the daffodil. “This is you we’re talking about after all.” He says it as if he truly knows who you are, like a lover would know their other half, like one would know the person they’ve shared all their secrets with. “You’re smart. You knew where I’d go to look for you. You knew I couldn’t go far.” He looks up at you, face flushed and smiling as if he were proud.

He brushes the dainty petals as he stands, now right in front of you. “I’m sure you enjoyed some well deserved time alone with our baby.” Your eyes sting at his words. Our baby. Ours. He watches your face as you stare at his hand, twirling the stem slowly, then tossing it into the air and catching it between the teeth of the mouth on his hand.

He reaches forward, and you can do nothing but stand there terrified as he takes your baby from your arms. He coos at him, bouncing him lightly. He lowers his hand letting the daffodil slide down before twirling and catching it in his fingers. He gently shushes your baby, calming him quickly. “It’s alright now, I’m here.” He presses a nail into the stem, chopping it short effortlessly and tucks it behind your sons ear.

He looks mesmerized as he stares at the man holding him. You feel a sob creep up in your throat as your son reaches out for him, with a sweet smile, a precious laugh. Enmu waves his fingers above your babies face and let’s him grab them with his small hands. You watch terrified as this demon plays with your baby, watch as he pets your babies cheek lovingly. You watch as the mouth on his hand whispers soft words and lulls your son to sleep.

Enmu shifts his weight where he stands only slightly and you act before you can think. You don’t want to lose your son, you won’t lose him. You reach forward and grab the sides of the tails of his coat in tight fists. He lets out a questioning ‘hm?’ and waits a moment before reaching out his hand, lifting your chin. Your eyes are full of tears, and reflect the stars in the sky. He leans, brushing his nose along your skin so gently, before placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Let’s get him home, shall we?”

Douma

A moment. It was only a moment. You’d looked away from your daughter for only a moment. You were in your garden, playing with her, letting her watch the stars. You’d watched as she stared up in awe, her eyes, a bright kaleidoscope of colors, practically mirroring the twinkling lights.

Overcome by memories, you’d looked back towards the house, forcing your mind to empty, your senses to dull, letting your mind reset and calm your racing heart. It was only a moment, but when you’d looked back to your daughter, she was gone. As you sat and panicked, her giggle wafted to your ear from the woods. Like the rustling of leaves.

You’re on your feet before you can even consider the potential danger of roaming the woods so late at night. You knew the stories of demons that mothers told their children, that shopkeeps told late night customers. They knew the stories, but you knew more than they ever could. You know firsthand how cruel and manipulative a demon can be. You know their ways, how they lure you in with sweet words and mesmerizing gestures, just to abuse and devour you once you’re within their grasp. He’d done all of that to you, and worse.

You’d wandered from a home you despised, a place you truly couldn’t call ‘home’. You’d wandered far, not planning on returning home, or turning up anywhere alive. You’d been out for days, miles upon miles away from your past. You’d laid down by a creek to die, and your mind fell to darkness. You were awoken by a gentle hand and a soft voice. A worried calling, from a woman with a baby in a sling on her chest. She’d helped you up and led you along, pleading to at least come with her for food, water, and rest. She’d spoke of a paradise, and when you’d arrived, you truly believed you’d found it.

Your days were filled with laughter, your friends sweet smiles, her babies joyous sounds. All thanks to your kind leader. Doma, the man who had taken you in, settled you, and had a personal role in nursing you back to health. You knew you shouldn’t get involved with him, he was your leader after all, but his kind touches to your face, your hands, the smiles he sent you, the times he invited you to sit with him in the peaceful quiet of his abode, he made it too easy.

You’d fallen for him. Kotoha had been so happy for you, boasted about what a great man he was, how kind and responsible, how he helped her with Inosuke whenever she needed help. She’d watched as you blossomed in his affection and the freedom you gained in paradise, but she watched in fear as members began disappearing. She’d told you of her suspicions, told you of her plan to escape, and before you could stop her, she’d left. She begged you to follow but had to go before it was too late. Your hesitation would be the biggest regret you would ever make. For after avoiding doma for the rest of the day, hoping he would worry about your presence and not become suspicious of the lack of hers, he’d found you while in a rather upset mood.

He lied to you, told you of the tragic accident that had befallen your best friend and her baby. Told you how he’d miss them so. Told you he was here for you. You’d played a grieving girl, acting as if this was all news to you. You could see in his eyes that he began to doubt you in the coming days, not letting you leave his side, always keeping watch of you. His touches grew much more intimate than they’d ever been. Then, only a few days later, he’d confronted you. Asked you if you had felt kotoha had been acting strange, if she’d come to you that day, told you anything. You wouldn’t let him know, you’d promised her you wouldn’t tell, and you intended to keep that promise.

You’d given yourself to him as a distraction. Or that was your intent, but as he worshipped your body like you were his god, and taken what felt like your mind, body, and soul, he’d confided in you. Admitted he was a demon, that kotoha was right, that you should’ve left with her. And as you shake the memory as best you can while searching the woods, his admission to missing the presence of kotoha’s baby made your blood run cold. You heard your baby’s laughter again, trickling in from every direction as your brain rang with his promise to give you a baby of your own for him to fawn over and ‘love’ again. You heard a familiar chuckle, a velvety voice coo nearby, and you whip around.

There he was. By a stream, in a parting of trees, with moonlight dusting his face as he spun your baby girl in his arms. She laughs, a sound like twinkling bells on a dewy morning. You watched with baited breath as she reaches forward and touches his face so tenderly. You know he knows you’re there, and you can only wait frozen for him to say something.

“What a beautiful little girl…it’s a shame she has my eyes isn’t it?”

You feel all of your emotions collide inside of you as you walk forward. You’re scared, eyes wide, but soon you’re glaring, eyes filling with tears. When you come to stand in front of him, your chest is heaving as you sob. “Let go of her…” your voice trembles as you fail to compose yourself. He disregards you, tossing the baby once more before touching her nose to his. Your fists clench as your anger begins to choke you.

“I said let go of my daughter!” You hear leaves rustle as a nearby animal retreats at your yell, and Doma stops. He lowers her, holding her so she leans over his shoulder as he rubs her back. He pouts at you, eyes downcast as he looks at you with sadness, but you know better than to believe him. “She’s my daughter too..” You don’t know what comes over you, but you can’t control your hands as they slam on his chest, in what was clearly an attempted shove, though he wasn’t moved an inch.

He looks at you in slight shock as you beat on him, the sides of your fists colliding with his chest weakly as you cry and scream. “You can’t take her from me! I won’t let you take her!” You’re shaking, sobbing so hard your lip pulls in with each struggled breath. “Why would I take her? I came to get both of you…” Your body slows, he can see you’re exhausted and wraps his free arm around your middle. You squirm and writhe against him, with quiet cries of ‘no’, ‘let me go’, and ‘don’t touch me’. He shifts you and the baby into a secure hold as your struggling ceases. The moon shines down a glitters in your teary eyes as you stared at the sky with blank, tired eyes. “Don’t cry my dear. We’re going home, back to where you belong. By my side,” Doma looks ahead. “Safe,” he walks ahead. “Where you’ll be all mine.”

Not to be rude but you accidentally put val's story in vox's masterlist instead. Srry I didn't feel comfy dming you. Nothing against you at all I'm just a coward wanting to hide in anon haha. Ig while I'm here could I get vox general hcs pls?

What the Tv do? ☆ Vox General Headcanon + Drabbles (SFW & NSFW)

☆ Vox General headcanon + Vox x Gn!Reader(Employee!Reader??):

Some general thoughts about the tv man and also his relationship with the ‘reader’. This is silly, this is fun, fluffy and smutty.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, Death(literally overdose on coffe nothing gruesome), Drug use(c0caine and others substances), Sadistic Tendencies, Dub-Con, Power Imbalance/Power Play, Obsessive and Possessive Tendencies and Acts, Stalking, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism, Boss x Employee, Pet Play?(Just collaring and slight animal based pet names), Valentino.

Words: Total: 5496 = Sfw - 2609 + Nsfw - 2887

Note: I only wrote 1 drabble, i might add more if people request it about the specific headcanon they want more on. so I’m not good with request like these, I like when they are more specific so I have sort of something to base my writing on, so sorry if you anon or people don’t like what I’ve wrote, r.i.p. >:/ Though tell me if you want more!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

SFW:

☕︎ Coffee addict and 𓏊 Alcoholic

Vox is the figurative and quite literally incarnation of the ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ phrase.

But we’re talking coffees instead of coffee with him — two cups straight out of bed to be precise. When totalling the day’s consumption, Vox indulges on average, 6-7 cups of 10 oz coffee; in addition to his morning coffees, he likes to have a mid-morning cup, then two during lunch and finally 1-2 cups during the afternoon depending how late he is working.

Is this per say, ‘healthy’? No, not at all, Vox couldn't care less — worst ‘worst’ case scenario, he quote on quote dies, the coffee he had intake ends up intoxicating him due to the splurging amount of it, turning this mondaine drink into a lethal liquid for the overlord’s body. His heart would stop, sub-consequently, him and his body would be out.

Though the good thing — or bad, it all depends on your angle — about hell is that in about the span of 10 minutes his body will have fully regenerate and be back open for business. Some sinners call it it a curse, he calls it a blessing, as this part of the ‘eternal punishment’ practically makes him immortal.

So is he going to work on regulating his caffeine intake? Obviously not!

Worst thing he gets from his ‘little problem’ is a heart attack, and they don’t permanently keep him down. — Sure, they hurt like a bitch, and he would rather not be having them at all to be truthful.

But he honestly he doesn’t see his bimonthly cardiac arrests as that steep of a price to pay. (Honestly how can such a smart businessman be so dumb about his health. * face palming and baffled at the idiocy of it all *)

Now when alcohol is the subject of conversation, Vox takes a slightly different approach, albeit one still characterized by overindulgence.

You see, he prides himself on being the epitome of a charming, classy, and self-controlled casual drinker, compared to his drunkard of a pattern —Valentino— our lovely show host with anger issues and both inferiority and superiority complex is a sophisticated and savvy man.

However, beneath this facade of self-control, which he upholds quite well to the public eye, hides his obvious alcoholism issues.

While he may not be stumbling and blubbering around, picking fights,— in most instances at least— Vox is certainly what you might call a “day drinker."

In fact, this is actually a canonical trait, which was displayed in episode two of the show; Him discussing with others Vees on how to deal with the radio demon’s comeback, a drink in hand.

I presume thatit was a scotch on the rocks due to it’s colour but also it’s historical relevance in relation to Vox’s person— Scotch whisky poured over ice, gained popularity in the 1950s primarily in Western countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

It became a symbol of sophistication and leisure, often enjoyed in upscale bars, clubs, and lounges frequented by the affluent and fashionable crowd of the era.

Additionally, its popularity was bolstered by the rise of cocktail culture during the mid-20th century, as well as the increasing availability of Scotch whisky in international markets. — this fits quite nicely Vox’s character as it is both a drink of his time on earth but also one that remains relevant in the contemporary era.

It easily mirrors Vox's overarching desire to maintain relevance and significance, both in the present and in the ever-evolving future.

The overlord definitely adhere to ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’ religiously. Though he does prefer to enjoy his daily drink around 5 p.m. PRT (Pride Ring Time).

He will occasionally enjoys a drink with his lunch, often opting for wine, although this isn't a regular occurrence for the man.

As someone constantly under stress, with his mind racing to keep up with the ever-changing trends and opinions in hell, Vox is a type to indulge in a nightcap or two before bed.

It helps him unwind and achieve the relaxed state of mind necessary for a restful night's sleep.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Sleep

While the notion of ‘Vox's dreams playing on his screen while he's asleep’ is an amusing concept for fanfiction or artwork, I personally find the idea of ‘the VoxTek logo bouncing around like the DVD logo’ to be more fitting for Vox.

Before delving further, it's important to note that initially, it wasn't necessarily the VoxTek logo projected on his screen; however, I'll address this shortly.

The reason I lean towards the DVD logo concept is because I find it unlikely that Vox's screen would be completely black during sleep. A completely dark screen would imply the device is completely off, no energy is being received or given by it, which would suggest that it is no longer alive. Having some activity on Vox’s screen while asleep would signify that his program is still active, indicating he's still functioning, essentially alive.

Now regarding the widely shared headcanon, I have my own personal take on it.

When Vox first manifested in hell, his 'real name' appeared on screen. By 'real name,' I mean the one he had on Earth, which I believe wasn't Vox —That name seems too futuristic for a person born in the early 1900s or the kind of name you'd associate with a 1950s businessman— Vox is a name he chose for himself after death, symbolizing a fresh start, though I do think that his real name might also have started with a V.

(This perspective extends to other 'Vees' as well, although Velvette seems more plausible as a given name, I suspect it might not be her original one. Valentino, on the other hand, feels like a name assigned to him, but he too might have adopted a new one after death.)

Initially, Vox was unaware of his old name appearing on his screen while he slept since he wasn't conscious during that time. It wasn't until about half a year into his time in hell, during which he introduced himself as Vox to everyone, that one of his acquaintances pointed out this aspect of his physiology. Something along the lines of "Who's V———?" or "Why does V——— show on your screen while you sleep?" triggered a cascade of reactions in him.

Firstly, he panicked, realizing that people had access to his old identity. Secondly, he was puzzled by this phenomenon since no TV he had encountered displayed such behavior, which was normal considering DVDs weren't invented before 1996. — Hell sure was weird, he possessed technological features as part of his physiology before they were even invented— Lastly, this revelation instilled in him a new fear of sleeping.

This behavior stemmed from Vox's desire to construct a fresh existence in hell, complete with a new identity, image, empire, etc. The thought of others accessing his old name and exploiting it to uncover details about his past, including his behaviors, weaknesses, and tactics, filled him with dread.

As a result, he became hyper-vigilant, refusing to sleep unless he was certain of his solitude, fearing the potential repercussions of his former identity being known.

It wasn't until the mid 1960s that Vox had finally managed to upgrade his system, replacing ‘V———‘ with 'Vox'. However, even after this upgrade, he still harboured reservations about sleeping around others for about a year or two. He feared a potential glitch that could revert his screen to displaying his previous name.

Around the late 1970s he had made an adjustment to this aspect of his body once more, replacing 'Vox' with the VoxTek logo after a certain moth had suggested it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sexuality

Our beloved Tv Demon a canonical bisexual man, but I personally believe that while he may have bisexuality as his sexual orientation, — his attraction to men was something he only came to realize after death. Although there were subtle hints of his attraction to the same gender based on how he felt about them, he unfortunately didn't grasp them while still alive;

It would have been the late 1950s, and Vox had been in hell for about a year or two. In his earthly life, he had been with his fair share of women, and even in the "surprisingly not so fiery pits of the underworld," his ability to attract partners hadn't diminished much once got over his TV head appearance and let place for his charming and savvy persona to take over.

His love life seemed unchanged, perhaps with occasional exploration of new kinks, until that fateful night of October 11, 195X...

Vox had gone out for a drink after a grueling day at work, back when he was still toiling away at a low-paying job in an electronics factory, toasters, vacuum, etc. Despite the shitty work he had to go through, he had the perk of taking home broken scraps, which eventually played a role in his rise to success. But let's refocus on his night out, shall we?

He walked into his newfound favorite spot, a comedy bar where he sought solace in laughter and libations after a hard day. Arriving just as the performer began their set, he headed straight to the bar for his usual whiskey on the rocks, with nothing else on his mind. It wasn't until the comedian delivered a particularly hilarious joke that Vox turned to look at them and found his attraction piqued.

It was evident that they were a man with the specific style flashy outfit and makeup they wore. The voice was also a dead giveaway. The person now standing on stage, delivering one funny punchline after another, was a drag queen – a stunning one in Vox's eyes.

He couldn't tear his gaze away; there was something irresistibly captivating about the humorous individual on stage.

After the performance, as they made their way to the bar, Vox seized the opportunity. He introduced himself, and they exchanged pleasantries. They shared drinks and engaged in lively conversation, making for a truly enjoyable night that ended with a bang, quite literally.

In the morning, as clarity returned, Vox couldn't help but feel confused. He had never been attracted to men before, so he initially chalked it up to the alcohol or the fact that his night companion appeared so feminine that he mistook them for a woman.

However, as memories of the night flooded back, he couldn't deny his genuine attraction to every aspect of his partner, even the unmistakably male parts.

Initially, it felt strange to Vox as he reflected on the experience. However, after hours of deep contemplation, everything started to fall into place.

Vox realized he had always felt an affinity towards men, though expressing it as "liking men" might have appeared odd to outsiders. When he used that phrase, it wasn't in the context of sexual or romantic attraction but more of an admiration.

Yet, upon further reflection, he acknowledged that his feelings surpassed mere admiration.

He had never entertained the idea of it being anything akin to sexual or romantic attraction, but his recent encounter forced him to reconsider as he contemplated his life and the events of the previous night.

Vox liked men;

— Vox had always been drawn to the men of his time who exuded masculine confidence and assertiveness, finding their presence alluring and desiring to be in their company constantly.

He liked when they wore classic masculine fashion, such as tailored suits with narrow lapels, fitted jackets, and straight-leg trousers. These outfits oozed sophistication and professionalism, and Vox admired the attention to detail displayed.

Additionally, he liked when men would add classic accessories like fedora hats, skinny ties, cufflinks, and pocket squares to their outfit, they added to the polished and stylish appearance.

The preppy style also appealed to Vox, as he admired men who wore V-neck sweaters, button-down shirts, khaki trousers, and loafers. This style exuded a sense of casual elegance and refinement that he found attractive.

He also had a penchant for rebellious men who embraced a non-conformist aesthetic, often seen in leather jackets, denim jeans, white T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.

Vox liked when men were smart and witty, could keep up with the conversation and also teach something along the way.

Vox liked men who exuded strength and athleticism, finding their ability to handle themselves physically appealing. For instance, witnessing a fistfight between coworkers would stir his emotions, initially attributing his excitement to the violence of the altercation.

However, he would inevitably find himself gravitating towards the winner, intrigued by their display of strength and skill, and feeling drawn to them in some inexplicable way. There was something about winners that captivated him and sparked his desire to get closer to them.

He like men who were daring, adventurous, and unafraid to push boundaries, they appealed to his sense of excitement and thrill-seeking.

He liked men who were ambitious, goal-oriented, and willing to pursue their dreams with determination might have resonated with Vox on a subconscious level.—

After his one-night stand, Vox was determined to clarify things once and for all. Following another grueling day of work, he ventured out again, this time to a gay bar, seeking the company of someone who embodied the traits he found most appealing in men, wanting to ensure it wasn't just the alcohol or the femininity of his previous partner. Without delving into detail, let's just say he had quite the night and afterward, there was no doubt in his mind: ‘he liked women, and he definitely also liked men.’

Following that experience, Vox began seeing more individuals of the same gender. However, he still held onto the notion that while he might be attracted to men, he didn't believe he would be interested in them as anything more than sexual partners. That was until he met Alastor...

Initially, Vox approached the radio demon seeking friendship or perhaps a partnership, given Vox's burgeoning company and rising status as an overlord. However, he soon found himself enamored with Alastor. Unfortunately for Vox, his feelings were not reciprocated. After that, Alastor distanced himself from Vox, leading our TV host to regard his old love as an enemy.

In response to the rejection, Vox decided to cease seeing men altogether, engaging in a series of short-term relationships with women. However, he soon realized he was simply idealizing Alastor and shifted his focus from woman to men for meaningless relationships, attempting to prove to himself that any other man was better than "that Bambi bitch."

But this approach only intensified the emptiness he felt. Recognizing the detrimental effects of his frantic behavior on himself and his company, Vox resolved to regulate and get back on a more business focused path.

The fact that rumours began circulating about his supposed "homoerotic relationships," was also a big push into getting back on track, as a word like that getting out was detrimental to business, since being gay was still stigmatized even in hell, during this time period.

It was around the late 1970s, with the rise of gay rights activism, that Vox began publicly dating men. Coincidentally, this was also when he met and began his business partnership (and more) with Valentino.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Names

Vox has a penchant for using endearing or patronizing nicknames, regardless of the gender of his employees. He will refer to them as "sweetheart," "doll face," or simply "doll."

In moments of frustration or when faced with resistance, he's not shy about using terms like "little girl" or "little boy," or even "kid," to belittle those who question him.

Additionally, he might employ terms like "Princess" or "your highness" as forms of condescension, no matter the gender of the person he is addressing.

NSFW

𓊔 Party

Despite Vox's obsession with his and the Vees' image, when it comes to partying, he becomes a total animal — I’m talking ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ type of wild.

Lavish gatherings marked by obscene spending and excessive drug intake, especially cocaine.

Vox typically indulged in doing lines off his desk or the luxurious crystal table in the lounge. However, what truly exited him was snorting lines off someone, getting his rocks off at their inability to refuse his advances and delighting in the control he exerted as he pinned them down to prevent any squirming.

The slight anxious tears and nervous mewls from whoever served as his snorting surface always stirred something within Vox. While he would grow irritated if they moved too much, the subtle signs of fear, such as the wetting of their eyes and trembling breath, would quickly reignite his unstable emotions. He found himself intensely aroused by their scared state, and more than once, he acted on these desires…

Drabble:

You were a VoxTek employee, more specifically; Vox’s secretary.

As Vox's secretary, navigating Alastor-related tantrums and enduring the grueling hours could be incredibly taxing, but the job itself had its perks.

Thanks to your position in the company, you enjoyed luxurious accommodations in the finest suites the V Tower had to offer.

Despite the challenges, Vox could be surprisingly pleasant, his charismatic charm reminiscent of his earlier days when his hypnosis wasn't as potent. And beneath the unconventional exterior of his TV head, there was no denying the appeal of his well-built physique.

Given the close proximity and constant interaction with Vox, it was inevitable to develop a small crush on your boss. His magnetic presence and the fact he was practically the only person you interacted with regularly since he requested you to work closer to him about three months ago only fueled this infatuation.

You liked your boss, but at this moment, you couldn't stand him;

It was 3 a.m. on a Sunday, the one day of the week you were supposed to have some semblance of off-time, with the luxury of sleeping in until noon.

But instead of enjoying your well-deserved rest in bed, you found yourself reluctantly entering the elevator, begrudgingly making your way to the usually closed-off top floor of the building.

Why? Because you had received a threatening and slightly slurry phone call from your boss, demanding your immediate presence or else face termination.

With your livelihood seemingly hanging in the balance, you complied without questioning, even though you loathed every second of it.

After punching in the code provided, you entered the lounge area of the top floor to find all three Vees lounging about. Valentino was enveloped in smoke, while music filled the air.

"Y/N! So glad you made it! Come 'ere," Vox exclaimed, his gestures frantic, urging you to approach quickly. He appeared laid-back, friendly, and strangely excited, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor of coldness and condescension.

Confusion clouded your expression as you approached the couch, unsure of what to make of Vox's sudden change in behavior. Velvette, noticing your bewilderment, chimed in with an explanation. "He took some MDMA before he called you — actually, he couldn't stop blabbing about your ass once that stuff kicked in," she divulged matter-of-factly, adding another layer of peculiarity to the already bizarre situation.

‘Ah, he’s high — that explains the weird friendliness.’ You thought to yourself.

But before you could dwell on it too long, Valentino's words snapped you out of your thoughts, "Yes, little Voxxy over there couldn't stop talking about how much he wanted his little secretary with him right here. He just had to call you, despite it being the middle of the night. I'm sorry you're losing your beauty sleep right now, cariño," he said, his tone tinged with insincerity from false remorse. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he finished speaking, adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment.

“Val, Vel! You can’t tell them that! Or they’ll, they’ll… fuck!” Vox began to say, but something mid-sentence seemed to frustrate him.

Before you could question it for too long, Valentino answered that question for you. “They’ll figure out you have a little crush on them. Aww, don’t worry papi, it’s not like they can say no to you either way,” the moth darkly announced, frightening you, as it was technically true that you had to obey whatever order your boss gave you; it was in your contract after all.

To your somewhat relief, Vox scoffed at his part-time boyfriend's comment, as if to convey that he wouldn't behave in such a manner.

"Shut the fuck, Val!" Vox began, his frustration evident, before redirecting his attention back to you. "And you, lay down on the table." Confused by the request, you briefly wondered if he was joking, but the seriousness etched on his face made it clear that he wasn't. Resigned, you followed his instruction and laid down on the table as he commanded.

As soon as you complied, a smile spread across Vox's face. "Good, good. Now be a good little secretary and stay still as I do some lines off you, m'kay?" he instructed.

Before you could process anything or say something, he pushed your shirt all the way up, ending just under your chest, and tugged your bottoms down slightly — exposing your whole stomach.

Attempting to voice your discomfort, you were promptly shushed by Vox. "Shhh, you're being a table for me right now, and last time I checked, tables don't talk, now do they, sweetheart? So be a doll and shut up," he said, eliciting laughter from the two other Vees.

You complied with his instructions and remained silent as you felt him pour some powder onto your abdomen. Knowing the drugs he usually made you order on his behalf, it was probably coke.

With that, he quickly formed about three lines and began snorting them. The sensation felt odd and somewhat ticklish to you, but what you didn't expect was for him to lick the parts of your belly where the powder had just sat — long lines that started from top to bottom, causing you to squirm involuntarily.

Vox didn't appreciate your movement, because ‘how dare his table move?’. In response, he firmly gripped your waist on both sides and forcefully slammed your hips against the table as a warning to ‘stop moving’.

However, his claws dug into your skin, causing you to cry out slightly. Upon seeing the small tears in your eyes, his mood shifted once more, from aggravation to something more lustful.

He relished the sight of you with tears in your eyes, so he decided to inflict a bit more pain. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he bit at your sides, knowing that you couldn't retaliate due to the hierarchical difference between you.

His bites started from the top, gradually getting lower until they ended up just above your crotch. With a slight, heavy breathing, he remarked, "Now what do we have here? A snack for me? You shouldn't have." As he removed your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear, a slight moist patch formed due to the position you were in.

Sure, Vox was an entitled asshole, but god, did he look and sound incredible when he was being mean and bossy. How could you not get aroused, especially when his face and long tongue ass were so close to your intimate parts.

"You want me to play with you, darling?" Vox asked in a manner that almost made it feel like you had a choice. There was something about it that suggested he might respect your decision if you said no—sure, he wouldn't like it, but he definitely had this thing where he wanted you to want him, to beg for him, to need him. Forcing himself on you wouldn't align with that desire.

You nodded, but he tutted at you, wanting a verbal answer. "No, no, no, it's 'Could you please, sir?' or 'Would love to, Mr. Vox,' or 'Please, I need you, Vox.' You've got to speak up if you want me to do anything to you, got it, dollface?" he clarified, emphasizing the importance of explicit consent, whether it was due to genuine respect for your boundaries or just his enjoyment of your yearning for him, it was a bit unclear. However, knowing Vox, he probably just got off on your embarrassment.

"Yes, sir," you said, feeling embarrassed. "So? Do you want me to give some love to these," he asked, tracing the outline of your underwear, "lovely parts?" He perked up.

"I would love for you to, sir," you managed to speak out. With a 'perfect' from your boss, he was now eagerly devouring you with his tongue, sending small pleasurable shocks through you as he did. No part of you down there was left un-licked.

Just as you were about to reach that sweet, sweet release — Vox removed himself from you, causing you to whine at the loss of pleasure.

"Don't worry," he said, but before you could complain too much, Vox lifted you up and threw you onto the couch, your face soon hitting the satin pillows. As you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, you felt your hips being repositioned, leaving you face down and ass up.

Vox quickly pumped his cock a few times, not needing much as it was already hard from the sight of you writhing due to his tongue. Getting close to your ear, he whispered, "Cuz I'm not done with you, dollface."

Then he promptly shoved himself inside of you. Thankfully, whatever he was doing with his tongue a couple of instances ago had prepped you, because, woof, did the stretch sting.

After giving you a few moments to adjust, he began pounding you into tomorrow, playing with your front and sending small shocks here and there. With no regard for his colleagues sitting right beside him —or should I say colleague, as in singular—Velvette had left as soon as he began working you with his tongue. However, Valentino remained, watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

Your soon came undone due to his rough ministrations, but he was far from done with you...

⫘⫘⫘ Ownership, ⛌⛌⛌ Humiliation & Collar

If you haven't already figured it out yet, Vox is a sadist. He thoroughly enjoys power dynamics and the act of humiliating others.

Continuing from the previous headcanon, picture yourself as either hired as his secretary or as a low-ranking demon in his company who catches his eye. If you're the latter, he'll undoubtedly arrange for you to be transferred to work closer to him.

But anyway, my point is, as soon as you're in his close proximity, he'll literally makes you his bitch on call in the blink of an eye. And obviously, you can't refuse because, one, he's your boss; two, he's an overlord; and three, he's Vox.

Who would refuse that hunk? Even if you weren't initially attracted to him, you'd find yourself becoming so after a couple of weeks, even if it's just some weird mild attraction—you're still into him.

Once he's got you in his grasp and has fucked you at least once, this is when he begins to play with you. He'll make you start wearing a vibrator under your clothes at work, ordering you to remove your clothing every morning and show him, to ensure you did it. Then he'd send you on your merry way.

If he wasn't physically with you, he'd be watching you through his cameras.

And every time you would be talking to someone and he deemed it too long, you weren't paying attention to him, or you were zoning out/getting distracted, he would turn the vibrator on to 'get you back on track'.

Though he did like to sometimes turn the vibrator on just to tease you. For example, you're in the middle of telling him about a shift in his appointment in a room full of people, and he would suddenly turn it on to fuck with you.

He also has a huge thing for pulling you by your soul chain. He just loves, loves, loves summoning it out of nowhere and just tugging you along with it.

For instance, you could be telling him about some issue concerning a recent project, and he would tell you to come closer so he could hear better.

As you walk closer towards his desk, he deems your pace too slow. Without warning, he summons and tugs at the chain around your neck, causing you to fall to the ground.

In an attempt to brace the fall, you put your arms out, catching yourself and ending up on all fours.

But as you try to get up, he would tut at you, ordering you to “Crawl to me.” You’re humiliated, but you still do it as he watches you like a hawk, a satisfied grin on his face.

If you also happen to scrape or bruise yourself when you fell and some small tears form in your eyes, let me tell you, he would get so bricked up as soon as he noticed them.

And of course, he would make you blow him, though it would end up with him face-fucking you, as it usually did.

He would also hold your head down as he dumped his cum down your throat, then he would pull your nose with his free hand, saying that “you don’t get to breathe until you’ve swallowed it all.” And of course, you would do it because you don’t want to literally choke to death on your boss’s dick.

Once he was sure you had swallowed it all, he would finally release you, allowing you to take some air in. Then he would make you stick out your tongue, and he would spit in your mouth, making you swallow that too.

𐂯 Training

He liked using small electrical charges as a ‘training method’, and this method has two stages. This would happen after he already had you as his personal toy— I mean, ‘secretary’.

At first, he uses electricity to reprimand you whenever you weren’t paying attention to him, questioned him, said no to things, or did anything that he considered as bad behaviour.

He would shock you, making you associate ‘bad behavior’ with pain, so you would end up automatically correct yourself before you even do or say something.

If you take a bit too long to ‘adjust’ to this new way of acting, he might resort to a little bit of hypnosis, but he would prefer not to.

He gets off on the fact that he can train you to behave just with his words and actions, without the help of any special ability.

Anyways, when he is sure that he has drilled into you what proper behavior is, he’ll employ phase two. He’ll start training you to enjoy the sting of his electricity.

So, whether he's fucking you, giving you head, touching you, or basically providing any sort of pleasure, every time you would be close to reaching your peak, he would send jolts of electricity through you, gradually increasing the dosage over time.

Things would get to the point that a small shock from him would be enough to get you turned on, and bigger shocks would be able to literally make you cum.

ฅ Pet

For the most part, he wouldn’t see secretary!reader as a partner. It’s only after a while, like a year or more, that he would start considering it.

He views them as his romantic interests, but not on his level. To keep face with the other Vees, even though they both knew about his crush from the beginning because he was so obvious with it, he would call you his pet.

Sometimes literal ‘pet names’ like puppy, kitty, bunny, etc. (Personally, I would love for him to call him his bunny <3.)

What he calls you all depends on your appearance and behaviors. For example, if you manifested with a more feline appearance, he would call you his kitten or kitty. If you didn’t have animal-like features but for example, were very needy, had a tendency to follow around, and were a sucker for praise, he would likely call you his puppy.

𓌏 Punishments

Besides using electric shocks, he is definitely into spanking as a form of punishment—whether it involves pulling down your pants or lifting your skirt, spanking you for every ‘transgression’ you’ve committed is something he’s totally down for.

It can be a really strange experience if you weren't a masochist to begin with because he'll end up having you conditioned to enjoy physical punishments;

For example, he would be spanking you, and you find yourself getting turned on, arousal literally leaking due to his rough treatment of your behind.

Edging and overstimulation are also big in his book, though each has its own set of circumstances where they would be implemented.

For instance, if you weren't paying attention to him because of someone else, he would overstimulate you to the point where you couldn't think about anyone but him, asserting his superiority over whoever had your attention.

If you weren't paying attention for any other reason, he would edge you, because ‘how dare you ignore him when he should be the most important to you!’.

Thanks anons for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize. Buy me a book. And support my art account @maviscarlettie

Likes & Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

Sorry if this is a cutesy request but, could we have Valentino trying to teach Retro to speak Spanish?

I think Retro would try hard to learn all the terms they hear him say often but could picture while they learn to understand on their own, their attempts to respond would be terrible. Like the way they pronounce words they don't hear him say often is terrible but even so he's touched Retro is trying.

“Me llamo Retro,” I said slowly. Valentino laughed softly and squeezed my hand.

“Me llamo Retro,” he said, far more precisely than I did. “The double L’s are pronounced as y’s, mi amor.”

“Mm,” I said with a nod. I wrote it down and tried again. “Me llamo Retro.”

“Beautiful!” He said with a grin. “Gold Star for you.” He smiled and put a gold star sticker on my hand, then laughed again.

“Val..” I said with a small laugh. “C’mon, I’m trying my best!”

“Yes, two years of Spanish in highschool clearly didn’t do the trick, so now I have to teach you,” he said with a nod. “Now then, try saying what your favorite color is.”

“Mi favorita… ah, mi favorita…” I struggled with the pronounciation alone, as I tried to remember what comes next.

“Ah, wrong already,” Val said. “The sentence structure is different, remember? Try again.”

“Oh! Right,” I said with a nod. “Ah, mi color favorita es…”

“Es?” Valentino asked, urging me on. “Come on now, just name a color.”

“Mi color favorita es el rosado,” I said with a smile. “There! How was that?”

“Good, good,” Valentino said with a small clap of approval. “One thing: you said ‘favorita’ and it was supposed to be ‘favorito’. That’s because the color pink is masculine, el rosado.”

“Ohhh,” I said, writing that down. “Gracias Valentino. No tengo idea de qué haría sin ti, mi amor. Sé que no soy el mejor en esto, pero me encanta aprenderlo contigo. Te amo mi cielo.” The words were horribly butchered as I spoke, but it was the thought that counts.

He paused, blinking for a moment. “I.., I didn’t teach you that,” he said, looking down at me. “You learned that on your own, didn’t you? Just for me?”

“Just for you,” I said, grinning. “I love you.”

“Awww,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. That was such a sweet gesture, he almost couldn’t take it. “I love you too, mi cariño.”