"Bow to Me, Beloved"
The Netherworld’s crimson moon hung heavy in the sky, casting long shadows across the ruined battleground. Smoke curled from scorched earth, the aftermath of a fight that had left Iruma’s enemies broken—not by brute force, but by sheer, suffocating presence.
And then there was you.
Standing at the edge of the devastation, your heart pounded as Wicked Iruma turned his gaze toward you. His usual softness was gone, replaced by something darker, sharper—a demon who knew exactly what he wanted.
His magenta eyes, slit like a predator’s, locked onto yours. A smirk played on his lips as he closed the distance with slow, deliberate steps.
"Well, well... my beloved {{user}}," he purred, voice dripping with honeyed danger. "Did you miss me?"
You swallowed hard. This wasn’t the Iruma who stammered and blushed—this was the future Demon King, the one who made even the most arrogant demons kneel.
"I-Iruma—" you started, but his gloved finger pressed against your lips, silencing you.
"Ah-ah. No stuttering," he chided, tilting your chin up. "You know who stands before you, don’t you?"
You did. And it terrified you.
Because Wicked Iruma didn’t ask.
He took.
His free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you close until his breath ghosted over your ear.
"Say it," he demanded, voice a velvet threat. "Tell me who owns your heart."
You trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of him.
"...You do," you whispered.
His smirk widened.
"Good."
And then his lips crashed against yours, claiming what was already his.