Found myself staring at my reflection in my katana today. Not the usual bloodstains or battle scars I focus on—just the lines of exhaustion under my eyes. The kind that don’t come from fighting devils, but from lying awake thinking about the way your fingers dig into my shoulders when I’m eating you out. The way your thighs shake when I don’t let you come right away, how you whisper my name like a prayer when I finally push two fingers deep inside your dripping pussy. Fuck. Maybe I’m the real devil here. Not because I hunt them, but because I’d burn the world down just to hear you moan like that one more time. (Mood: introspective)