Have you see March's outfit she is soo cute!! Would love to wear something dainty and cute for the ever polite and composed DAN HENG and watch him lose his mind
i have!!!!! and i agree!!! she’s so so so adorable and i absolutely adore the idea of wearing something so cute that just toes the line between innocent and provocative and teasing mr dan heng with it hehe (*ﾉωﾉ)
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is a brat and a tease
words: 590
he can’t take his fucking eyes off of you. no matter how hard he tries to keep his stare and attention from straying, it seems his gaze is automatically and uncontrollably drawn to your form. it’s an instinctual reaction, almost—a cliche moth to a bright flame, allured into your heat, enticed by your shimmer, desperate to bathe himself in you.
you have single-handedly and unknowingly corroded his self-discipline, worn it down right to the precious core and consumed the shreds. and the longer you linger, the worse it gets. because the longer you linger, the more he wants you.
dan heng swears you must be doing it on purpose. there’s no way you’re bending over like that, arching your back into a perfectly smooth curve and causing the hem of your sweet little skirt to ride up just enough to tease the edges of your panties—lace-trimmed silk, blush pink, clinging delicately to the supple flesh of your ass—without consciously meaning to.
but you are seemingly oblivious, flitting around the express without a single glance or acknowledgement his way. it’s almost as if you don’t care at all—don’t care that you’re torturing him, don’t care that you’ve got his cock embarrassingly yearning against his trousers with such simple motions yielding fleeting glimpses beneath flowing fabric, don’t care that you’ve devoured his concentration, wadded it up between your molars like that sweet pink bubblegum you favour so much and spit it right back out at him, warped and sticky and glazed with your spit. but he knows better, because he knows you.
his patience has been snuffed out to smouldering embers now, but he’s able to keep those last few flares kindling, glowing hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach until he is finally alone with you, secluded in the express’s tiny kitchen, the proximity of your presence a douse of kerosene.
then that flame is bursting, raging, licking at his ribs and up his throat until it’s scathing his tongue and melting his teeth, spilling past his lips in a snarl.
a sharp flash of ink and azure, he’s got you trapped between the counter and his body in a mere instant, granite edge digging into the base of your spine.
the sudden action, full of uncharacteristic violence and vigour, punches a gasp from your throat, gaze gaping with shock as it flies across his contorted face, his features scrunched beneath the weight of his fury.
“you think i don’t know what you’re doing?” he spits, stare searching your own with fervour, nostrils flaring with heaving breaths.
the surprise in your eyes dissipates, devoured by the mischief lurking beneath—the mischief he knew was there all along, festering, barely hidden by the guise of ignorance.
something sinister smears across your face, curling your lips into an arrogant little smirk, your irises gone dark, shaded by thick lashes, glittering with the lure of a challenge.
“just wanted to see if you’d do anything about it.”
a growl rumbles in his chest, his ribs rattling against yours, teeth bared like a primal animal. his hips shove forward in accentuation and you can feel his cock, hot and hard and throbbing with desire, complementing the cold tremor threaded throughout his tone.
oh, he’s about to do something about it, right now.
Sukuna def calls you princess if he decides you belong to him. <3
oh absolutely, and it’s a term he uses both condescendingly and lovingly. he is the king of curses, after all. it’s only natural you’re his princess.
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, master kink, rough sex, marking, toxic relationship, mention of spanking, fem!reader
words: 738
you’re his stupid little princess when you do or say something so adorably dumb, gazing up at him with absolute idiocy smeared across your face, contorting your features—mouth open and downturned, brow scrunched and heavy—as you whimper out but Daddy, why?, head quirked cutely to the side and confusion reflected in your eyes. because i said so, he usually responds with a condescending little pat to your head. oh, you don’t have to worry your pretty little brain about any of that, princess, he promises you. Daddy will take care of it all, Daddy will do all of that pesky thinking and contemplating and deciding; you don’t have to think about a goddamn thing.
you’re his pathetic little princess when you’re sobbing after being split open by his cock and spanked raw by his hand, face buried in folded arms as salt stains your cheeks and claws pierce your hips, holding you high, holding you still. is your Master’s cock too big for you, princess? he’s murmuring in your ear, the words hot and breathy as they curl around the shell, his question infused with a smirk. does Daddy’s cock hurt you, princess? he’s cooing out, sick and sadistic and sardonic, against the back of your neck, forehead pressed flush to the base of your skull as his hips pound, cockhead ramming against your sensitive cervix. can you take it for me, princess? he’s laughing as he nuzzles his nose against the hinge of your jaw, placing a chaste kiss to the bone. he wants you to show him how well you can take it for him; he wants to watch the way your sweet lil cunt struggles and stretches and swallows his girth.
you’re his pouty little princess when you don’t get what you want, when he doesn’t give you what you want, eyes glittering with a thick coat of tears and lip jutted out in a trembling scowl, so deep it crinkles your forehead and puckers your chin. aw, is the poor little princess going to cry? he coos out through his own over-exaggerated pout, brow warped with false worry. is she going to stomp her feet and throw a fit because she isn’t getting her way? he kind of hopes you do, you can tell, can see it glimmering bright and sharp in his eyes, a sort of exhilarated anticipation that begs you to take on his challenge; go on, give him a reason to punish, make his fucking day, baby.
you’re his precious little princess when you stare up at him with adoring eyes, awestruck and shimmering with stars, and murmur out about how much you love him, delicate little fingers tracing his markings in clumsy caresses. the words are melty with affection, gooey and thick with spit as they dribble from your lips after he’s fucked you past the point of lucidity, mind turned to pleasant pink mush under immense pleasure and immaculate pain, body gone pliable and painted in strokes of him—ragged lines of red, blooming blotches of blue, purplish indents carved so deeply into your flesh that they’ll never fully heal, the tiny craters overflowing with sticky crimson. i love you too, princess, he tells you, the words quivering with quiet sincerity even as a sour sickness twists behind his sternum, true and real even as they are unfamiliar and unnatural.
you’re his pretty little princess when you giggle and twirl and strut for him after every single shopping trip, putting on a little fashion show and modelling all of the luxurious lingerie he bought you, lace clinging daintily to supple flesh, silk straps curling lovingly around all of your curves and edges, pieces encrusted with jewels and sparkles that catch on the light as you twist and turn for him. unblinking eyes watch you with a sort of conscientiousness, pupils blown huge and gaping, pitch black and ready to swallow you whole in a single glance. a smirk smears across his face, lopsided, leaning to the left and steadily spreading, as he relaxes back into his favourite armchair, thighs spread wide and a crystal glass of sweating amber dangling from his fingertips. c’mere, pretty princess, he demands gently when he can hardly take it anymore, when you’ve tried on several sets, when his smirk has grown into a grin and his cock is starting to ache, a large palm patting thick muscles. come give me a kiss.
Joshua supremacy 😭😭😭 I’m so soft for him. Just let me be his little princess. He can make all the rules idc
omg he’s so gorgeous and like the thing about him—at least in my opinion/my own personal interpretation—is that while he is genuinely so sweet (almost sickly so at times!) and so kindhearted and so so tender, he is also so used to being served and so used to being the Boss, the undying’s precious phoenix prince, the king of everything, and it comes out in these tiny little wisps and hints in certain interactions; a vaguely bratty comment, a gentle yet vehement assertion, a soft chuckle beneath a gloved hand……..
all of this is to say, i think he’d fucking love to have a partner who lives to serve him and be his precious lil doll (to the point where he may even feel guilty about how much he loves it, because he knows it isn’t necessarily right, but he just can’t help but feel this way about you <3). he wouldn’t push it on you, and he wouldn’t hold you back from doing things you wanted to, either, if he deems them good or beneficial for you—he’d definitely encourage you to do things if they were things you wanted to do/made you happy—but oh, to have a baby who’s syrupy sweet and devotedly doting and hangs on his every word; to have a precious lil princess who gazes up at him as if he’s painted the entire night sky by hand, speckled the stars across the atmosphere and carved out the moon himself; to have a soft sweetheart who clings to him in every way possible, hands curled around his fingers or wrists or biceps when he takes you for a walk in the gardens or when you sit down for a meal (always beside him, never across from him, protocol be damned), who snuggles in his lap or straddles his thighs and nuzzles their sugar-sweet lips against his neck or collarbone or jaw, who obediently never leaves his side unless it is absolutely necessary <33333 that sounds like a perfect dream, a paradise, to him <3
sukuna is the walking definition of a complete terror to everyone but a touch softer for his baby. like he can deny it all he wants but he would do anything for his weak pretty princess
no truly he would, but he’d always be able to frame it in a way where he’s doing YOU a favour, acting as if he’s doing everything wholly and solely for your sake and not because his heart feels like it’s being wound with a fucking noose at the mere thought of you being unhappy, unwell, unsafe. he pretends as if it doesn’t send thorns of unfamiliar, unsettling anxiety tearing through his veins, as if it doesn’t overwhelm his mind and override his receptors and make every nerve in his body feel overexposed, hypersensitive to the slight change in the air as your aura shifts. it’s as though your mood saturates the atmosphere and he can see it, sense it, smell it—and he can’t fucking stand it.
the room becomes heavy with your sadness, weighing down on his chest with such force he’s sure it’ll splinter his ribs, send jagged cracks like lightning through the bones and snap them into sharp shards. the room becomes scorching with your fury, flames that lick at his skin and fill his lungs with a seething rage, bubbling as it eats away at his oxygen and pours out his mouth in roars. the room becomes stifling with your disappointment, something that wraps delicate hands around his neck and crushes his windpipe beneath it’s deceptively dainty grasp, choking his sentiments.
they’re all horrifically irritating feelings—he hates experiencing them and, what’s more, he hates you experiencing them—and so he must eradicate it immediately; destroy the source, devour the seed, dig it out by its roots with his bare hands and pull it apart vein by vein, tendon by tendon, with his claws until it’s dead and can no longer bother you (meaning it can no longer bother him, either).
in other words, sukuna lives for hedonism, meaning he really doesn’t like feeling bad, so he wants to get rid of those bitter, aching, caustic emotions as soon as physically possible. what he fails to realize in his primal thinking is that he feels all these icky, awful feelings because he loves you, he can’t handle them because he can hardly bear the thought of you being even the tiniest bit upset, at anything, for any reason, he wants to eradicate them not only to make himself feel better, but to make you feel better, too—though it’s all subconscious.
Gosh, i just know sir Morningstar would be such a good gentle daddy, he would spoil you rotten, his sweet princess, and would make sure to make you cum sooo much with his fingers and tongue, he'd get drunk on it!!!!! Can't stop thinking about him
you are literally so right, anon!!! Daddy lucifer would be an incredible Daddy! he’s surprisingly attentive, constantly anticipating your needs, ready to meet, fulfill, and exceed them the very moment they arise. he prides himself on being as prepared as possible—because, really, all he wants to do is keep his little baby happy, healthy, and humble—and he uses significant mental energy and effort to actually pay attention to your needs and desires. being a service dom at his core, he derives validation and satisfaction from tending to you, caring for you, and pleasing you, so it’s imperative that he take note of your necessities and wants. often, this does veer into him spoiling you rotten—with the prettiest clothes, with the finest food, with the best mind-blowing orgasms—because he just wants to give you the entire fucking universe, but make no mistake; this doesn’t mean Daddy is a pushover.
because although Daddy lucifer is sweet and doting and desperate to please you, he will not tolerate disrespect. he will not entertain bratty behaviour. he will not dismiss disobedience, especially if it’s stemming from a superficial or selfish root. one warning—that’s all you ever get. one warning to cease such despicable behaviour before Daddy ceases it for you.
Daddy lucifer has limits, and he isn’t afraid to say no to you if he deems it appropriate—if he thinks whatever you’re asking for is unhealthy or unsafe. test him any further beyond his Daddy’s decision is final, sweetheart, even if it’s just a sweet little but Daddy!, and you’ll find your ass stained with his hand or his cane. ultimately, what Daddy says goes, end of discussion. because that’s what a good Daddy does, right?
Which one would they have? A daddy, sir or master kink?🤭
adam: all three work, and i think it would really depend on his mood!! Daddy when he’s feeling softer and especially condescending, Sir when he’s especially upset with you, and Master at any and all times, because he just loves the connotation of sheer power that comes packaged with the term. like fuck yeah, he’s your Master, you’re goddamn right, baby!
lucifer: hmm Daddy, i think!!! he gives off such caregiver vibes, despite his seeming incompetence and his difficulty caring for himself + his daughter, which are more due to depression than anything else. i think Master and Sir would sound a little too formal for him, at least for everyday use + coming from you (a lil different when it’s coming from ordinary citizens and the like), though he might demand you use them when he’s delivering an especially harsh or brutal punishment (which is rare but not impossible).
vox: DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY and Sir as well. he’s just so 1950s, so condescending, and such a control freak. he’d love to take on a caregiver role with you, because that affords him the ultimate control. the power imbalance there is so skewed; he has a long list of rules for you to abide by and makes most if not all of your decisions for you, including what you eat, what you wear, and what you do. but on top of that, vox genuinely does just enjoy taking care of things. he enjoys nurturing his company and its respective sectors, he enjoys continually refining it to be as perfect as is possibly can be, he enjoys overseeing and approving all decisions made to shape it into exactly what he wants it to be. and he’d do the same with you.
alastor: Master, 100%. he owns you—it’s the only way a ‘genuine’ relationship with him works. you belong to him in every sense of the word; you’re nothing more than his little pet, expected to jump, sit, roll, stay the very moment he orders you to.
husk: husk is hard!!! maybe Daddy? i’m kind of torn between Daddy and Sir, though there’s a part of me that thinks Sir might be a little too formal or harsh for husk. he really strikes me as the type that would be so so so sweet on his partner/significant other, and would genuinely enjoy taking care of them, so Daddy just feels like it fits the best!
he just really loves ruining pretty things. he loves smashing them beyond ‘repair’, smearing them with him and soiling them beyond recognition. he loves staining them with his teeth and his claws and his palms, leaving behind everlasting claims of ownership—things that can’t be scratched or scrubbed off, things that won’t heal, don’t heal, permanently mangled by his fingers or his fangs.
because bruises are pleasing, yes—splashes of blood pooling beneath thin skin in the primitive shapes of his fingerprints or his hands; and scabs are gorgeous, sure—glittering little rubies that encrust your skin, more beautiful than any piece of jewellery; but they’re all much too temporary. he needs things that are forever. he needs scars, raised and puckered and dimpled; he needs his teeth eternally etched into your inner thighs—thirty-two little indents, four deep gouges from the fangs. he needs his claws carved into your chest—a crude heart engraved into your left breast, his name singed across your neck, a permeant collar burnt into your flesh by red-hot talons.
any pretty, delicate thing will do, but the innocents are his favourite. the innocents are his favourite, because they’re so pliable, they’re so pure, they’re so desperate to please. it makes them easy—easy to mold into whatever he wants them to be, easy to morph them into something that is his and his alone; his to create, his to destroy, his to resurrect.
his.
the innocents are naive and trusting, the innocents are willing; willing to submit, willing to comply, eager to be taught, to be good, to obey and earn their place.
it’s an art, almost, he thinks, the utter corruption—destruction—of innocents. he likes the challenge, because each person is different; each person requires something else to shatter them to the prettiest shards of themselves in his palms. it’s like a reverse puzzle to him; instead of painstakingly putting something together, he is painstakingly deciphering how best to pull it apart.
and, oh, he’ll put you back together, of course, but he’ll put you back together his way. he’ll put you back together in a way only he knows how to, he’ll put you back together in a way no one else ever could. he’ll put you back together in a way that forces you to need him, dousing you in himself so when he does finally piece you back into a whole, it’s with him as the glue, ensuring that it is he who holds you intact, it is he who is irrevocably a part of you, forever, embedded deep in your soul.
Names names would Alastor husk and Lucifer call you? Nicknames really
ooooh fun!!!
alastor sticks with the classics, especially due to his stubborn 1930s roots. he uses a lot of the pet names we hear him use in the show in addition to those in line with his time: sweetheart, dear, darling, sugar, precious, beloved. sometimes, when he’s feeling extra possessive, he’ll throw a my in front of it. i also, for some reason, see him using lamb chop as a term of endearment: you are sweet, docile, delicate like a lamb—so meek and soft and submissive; yet you are simultaneously the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted, the most intense craving he’s ever felt, the most ardent addiction he just can’t kick.
husk isn’t one to use pet names incredibly often, but he does have a few he favours, and he always gets so damn soft whenever he murmurs them out, eyes gone melty and lidded, endearment dripping from his lips like syrup—sunshine, honey, beautiful, lover.
lucifer loves anything overly cutesy and fluffy and sugary sweet. cupcake, honeybun, pumpkin, cutie pie, buttercup, cuddle bug; he has a whole arsenal of pet names that he rotates through regularly. you’re just so darn adorable that he can’t help but call you a collection of endearments, so delightfully darling that all he wants to do is gobble you up! and you are, by far, the sweetest thing he has ever been able to call his own, so equally sweet nicknames seem like a no-brainer—he just wants to refer to you in ways that are as cute and sweet as you are!
