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The night was still young, so people were heading to the bright and extravagant restaurants to dine and drink alcohol until the sun dictated. Your eyes darted quickly through the people as you walked among them like a stealthy ghost. Your feet moved smoothly against the floor, first lowering your heel and then shifting your weight gently on your toes so as not to make a sound. That was your best skill, which, ironically, made you stand out as a thief. 

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you pulled out a pocket knife and cut a couple of pockets to get some coins to buy yourself a nice dinner. You made sure your victims didn't react to the act and quickened your pace to get lost in the endless sea of heads. Inhaling as much you could to control your breathing after that small dose of adrenaline, the different scents of the surrounding shiny businesses reached your nose. After counting the coins, you had enough for a decent udon soup. You pocketed your earnings and quickly went to that damn place. 

The Last Drop was a grotty tavern, but it brought you nostalgia, as it was where you got your first and last unethical job as a dishwasher, cook, and servant. You hated working there all your childhood, but it was either that or work as an escort. 

Despite being a small space, the tavern was always full of drunk men because the sake and food are extremely cheap for a place in the heart of the red district. The cooped up feeling was in the air, but it was something you were already used to. You took off the black scarf around your head and started looking for a table. Without warning, someone was about to grab your shoulder, but you were quicker to grab the wrist that was about to touch you.

“You got better, Y/n,” The man with the now familiar hand greeted you. 

It was Mr. Matsuda, the man in charge of administering the big hauls among thieves and an old friend of yours. He was a somewhat gray-haired man with a straggly beard and a large figure. 

“I knew I could recognize that unique hair of yours anywhere,” he said, stumbling over his own words from how drunk he was. 

To be a good thief you need three things: patience, skill and knowing how not to draw attention to yourself. You were good at the first two, but the third was complicated by having shiny hair and lovely face. You had to cut your hair constantly so as not to draw attention to it, and it could be easy to maintain. You hated having that bizarre hair color because you became an easily identifiable woman. 

“It's good to see you again,” you greeted, putting your scarf like a hood. 

Mr. Matsuda pointed to the table he was at, and you followed him. The man offered you a drink, which you gladly accepted. You toasted to the good times and began chatting amicably. With drinks and food on the table on a beautiful night, life couldn't get any better. As you ate, he brought up the topic of conversation you hated most in the world. 

“A girl as young and as pretty as you shouldn't be in this kind of place.” 

You rolled your eyes before taking another drink to get ready to have the same old discussion.

“I like my life, I can do what I want when I want, what more can I ask for?” You asked before taking another bite of the udon. 

“You know very well that you could easily get a rich husband to support you, and then you wouldn't have to worry about anything.” 

You felt scolded, and all you could do was look at your slimy reflection in the bowl of udon. Your striking eyes looked back at you through the broth. 

“But do you know what I would have to give in return? My freedom. You know very well that I have worked my ass off to get it.” 

Mr. Matsuda rolled his eyes and took another drink in despair. 

“You call this freedom? Do you want to spend the rest of your life stealing, kid?” 

You just watched him, unable to believe what he was telling you. 

“It's a great life! Besides, I don't know what you're mad about if you're the one who taught me how to steal, to be stealthy and to be one with the victim,” you replied proudly. 

The man flicked your forehead, making you wobble in your seat. You shouted at him, offended, and threatened him with your chopsticks as if it were a knife. 

“Because you are on time, silly! I am already buried in this profession, you are just germinating, and I will be the one to pull you out like a bad weed.” 

You snorted at the bold words of the man you considered your mentor. 

“One bad weed cannot pull out another,” you scoffed. 

“Now, tell me, what are you doing here? Tell me you are looking for a good man.” You could only smile, not believing what the old man was telling you. 

“If I had found a good man, I would have stolen his heart by now,” you joked before drinking the remaining udon broth. “I came to visit my favorite mentor, obviously…” You said trying to give him the nicest side.

Mr. Matsuda, despite being a drunk, was a bright man and knew you better than you knew yourself. He was very observant, so he knew how to read your facial expressions perfectly. Just by looking at your tender eyes and fake smile, he knew that was not the absolute truth of this case. 

“…and I also came to see if you could give me a job.” You finally said. 

The old man sighed before pulling out an envelope and shoving it in your face. You tried to take it from him, but he was quicker and took it. You glared at him for the tantrum.

“This will be the last assignment I will give you.” 

Mr. Matsuda was the one who gave the assignments with the highest values in the county. If you lost this supplier, you would be in trouble financially and would have to find someone else to continue to maintain the traveling lifestyle you had, which was going to be a hassle.

“Why?!” You yelled, unable to believe what you were hearing. 

“I do it for your own good, child. You are like a daughter to me, I don't want to see you in these places. After this spoil, I will find you a good husband, someone who will let you go out as much as you want and can live adventures.” 

Mr. Matsuda handed you the envelope across the table, but you didn't even feel like taking it. If you took it, your lifestyle would be at risk. You looked at the man and debated for a second whether to accept his offer. 

“According to my contacts, it's a very good haul. It will give you a lot of money, and you can go on one more trip before you have a husband, it's a good offer, girl,” he told you seriously. 

It was the first time you heard him talk that way. You looked at the man and then at the envelope. Was it really such a good loot that it had that condition?

“What estimate are we talking about?” You asked.

“A once in a lifetime opportunity,” he stipulated before taking another sip of sake. 

Your eyes opened wide at that statement, as it was the first time Mr. Matsuda had said something like that to her. “Then it must be too good of a haul to pass up.” 

“What if I accept the job, I go on a trip and never come back?” You asked. 

“Well, consider this dinner as our farewell,” he said, before raising his small glass, you took yours sadly and clinked it against his. “To your future.” He enunciated as he dinged the glasses. 

You smiled sadly. “To my future” you could only think. 

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

It was another summer night. Warm winds brushed against your arms. The violet trees swayed gracefully against the currents. You infiltrated the strange estate among the violet leafy trees until you reached the armor of the land. You arrived at a traditional wooden house where the lights were still on despite the hour. The place was huge and spacious, surely it had many things of high value inside. 

According to the information Mr. Matsuda had given you, the sick leader of the demon slayer corps lived here. That detail alone made you feel insecure to enter the place.

“He is blind and dying. Also, his guards are common women. If you infiltrate as I taught you, you'll be fine,” the old drunk assured. 

What you hadn't anticipated was that the blind and dying man would have visitors that night. “Looks like I'll have to wait until the visitor leaves or goes to sleep,” you planned in your mind before sitting comfortably in the tree you just climbed. Your hands arranged the scarf over your hair to cover it completely so that your eyes were the only ones uncovered. 

Hours passed, and the visitor never left, but the lights went out. All you could pick up was that there were two adults in the area and several who appeared to be children. “A family?” you thought, not quite sure of your hypothesis. 

You waited another hour, going deeper into the night, and decided to strike. The entire house was free of locks or fences, it was an open place. The only thing there were paper doors everywhere. 

You crept into the place and your first impression was bad, the living room had no furniture. There was only a table with a tea set on top and comfortable cushions. The walls were bare, nothing decorative in sight, and there was no hint of luxuries. “Did that old man set me up?” you thought annoyed, but you couldn't give up so easily, you had to dig deeper. 

With the gait of a cat, you went through the other rooms and there was nothing at all. You passed by the guest room and saw the visitor who hadn't left. A ridiculously strong man, with long white hair, large in height, and yet he slept like a baby. You had never seen a man with such proportions. Mr. Matsuda was tall, but he was not an albino beast like the one in front of you. His back was to you as he slept, so you couldn't see if he was wearing anything of value. 

You refocused on your task and moved on, you passed into another room where the owner of the compound was sleeping peacefully. There wasn't much there, except for a magnificently displayed katana. “That screams money,” you thought happily at the discovery. 

You crept up to grab it from both ends, the second the metal squeaked you felt a draft rush towards it at tremendous speed. You didn't think twice and unsheathed the katana. 

The metals clashed in a duel. 

When you blinked, you saw that the burly guest in pajamas was in front of you with a katana two centimeters away from your face. The only thing stopping him from slashing your face was the katana you had drawn. 

Your arms began to tremble from the force he was applying. You looked at the deep fuchsia eye he had uncovered to try to decipher his next move, his other eye was covered with a diamond-studded patch. How did you get into this situation? Everything all happened too fast for your liking. 

Finally, the man decided to push his katana against “yours”, causing you to fall sitting down and drop your blade. The white-haired man pointed his sword at your unfamiliar face.

“Human or demon?” He asked directly. 

Then a candlelight flickered behind you and a couple of girls entered the room, panicking. 

“What's going on?” The boss said, getting up hardly from his bed. 

That's when you realized that the old man was not only blind, but seriously ill. He had a rather grotesque mark covering his eyes. The chillingly similar girls quickly arrived to assist him. The hulking man's katana resounded again, causing you to turn your attention back to the nearly six-foot man before you. 

“I asked you a question!” 

“Fuck, it's true, they are demon slayers,” you thought, quickly pulling the scarf off your face and raised your hands in surrender. 

“I'm human, I swear!” You exclaimed in fright. 

The man stared at you, not knowing exactly what to do. He analyzed you from head to toe. Your body was too small compared to his, but your face and hair shone on their own in the middle of the dark night. Your pink and full lips, your ruddy cheeks, and your adorable button like nose. Your hair was perfectly cut and vibrantly colored. 

He had never seen a face as unique as yours. You were like the personification of the very sun that warmed him in summer. The white-haired man felt his heart race at the mere sight of you. His eyes widened at this, as he was not used to a woman making him in such a type of way, plus he had to be faithful to his 3 wives at home.

“Ah, a thief. How impressive. I didn't even hear her come in, you are very skilled.” The old man mentioned in a strangely positive manner as the twins made sure he was okay. “I guess it took you a while to hear her too, didn't she, Tengen?” The man asked curiously. 

You looked at the man and etched his name in your mind. Tengen just looked at his former employer and nodded. 

“Yes, she is very quiet,” he admitted before removing the blade from your face. 

You crawled backwards to keep the greatest distance from the stranger to finally stand up without taking your eyes off him in case he wanted to do something else. Tengen turned her gaze back to you and realized that you were also watching him with utmost attention. 

You couldn't take your eyes off the fuchsia eye studying you, you could tell he was someone really strong. You looked down and noticed that he was carrying two katanas connected with a large chain, one of them was under his incomplete arm. “He has a bandaged arm, and yet he is so strong?”, you thought in disbelief. You tried to regulate your breathing because of the adrenaline, but it was not the right time to relax. 

“Unfortunately, I don't have anything of value here, unless you want to take that rusty katana with you,” the old man mentioned. 

You turned to see the katana lying on the ground and indeed, it was completely rusted, it was worthless in that state. “Mr. Matsuda, that son of a bitch!,” you thought annoyed. You had to escape, and fast. 

“One of you go get the police,” Tengen ordered one of the girls. 

“Oh, come on. I didn't steal anything, I can just leave,” you tried to negotiate by faking the most innocent smile you could crack. Tengen just nodded that one of the girls should leave, and so she did. One of them bowed and left the room. “We don't have to go to these extremes, I was just leaving.”

“You broke into private property, and now you want to leave? You must be crazy,” Tengen laughed. 

You sighed in defeat, so you had only one option left: Running away. You ran to the nearest window so you could jump out of the house, launching yourself. You prepared to fall on the grass skillfully, but a strong arm caught you before you planned. 

Tengen swung and carried you as if you were a newborn. It took you a while to process what had happened, until you saw Tengen's face so close to yours. He had such a face card, with well-defined features and a healthy cut peeking out from underneath an extravagant patch. Any woman would fall in their knees before that face, but you had other priorities. 

“Let go of me!” You grumbled between kicks and weak blows because of the position you were in, which didn’t affect Tengen in the least. 

Upon closer inspection, he realized that you were prettier than he already thought you were. Your skin was gleaming, and your eyes shone brightly under the moonlight. His heart pounded like crazy at the sight of the extravagant woman in his hands. You were mesmerizing and fiery, like an immortal fire. 

“What are you looking at, asshole!,” you shouted before spitting in his face. 

Tengen smiled in annoyance at your audacity. He placed you over his shoulder to wipe the spit off his face. You continued to slap his back and kick his abdomen, with no signs of giving up anytime soon. 

“You sure are a bad girl!” He told her with a mischievous grin before giving you a spank that echoed throughout the grounds. You howled in pain and started rubbing the injured area. “Finally you shut up, now let's wait for the police,” Tengen started to head to the entrance of the residence. 

“I didn’t steal anything! I promise I'll leave, and I won't show up again in your life!” The man stopped dead in his tracks at that. 

You were right in a way. “If the police come for her, I'll probably never see her again,” he thought. Tengen knew he wanted you for himself. He had never felt that way about anyone. You were what he was waiting for. Of course, he loved his wives, but there was something about this thief that was different. Your beauty, agility or explosive personality… whatever it was, Tengen didn't plan to let you go easily. 

“I'll make you a deal.” 

“Great. Another deal…” you thought sarcastic, rolling your eyes. You gave up and let your body go slack because you couldn't beat the man since you were trapped in his strong arms. 

“I'll tell the police it was all a joke, and you won't face any consequences under the condition that you marry me,” he said seriously. 

Your eyes almost popped out of your skull. “Is this some twisted plan of Mr. Matsuda's to force me to marry!” you thought in disbelief, imagining the old drunk making fun of you. 

It was true that the man seemed like a good catch, as he looked your age and was extremely attractive. Any girl with that offer would say yes without a second thought, but unfortunately you were not one of them. Getting married was not in your near plans. 

“Hand me over to the police.” You gave up. 

You knew you had a better chance escaping from jail than from the demon slayer, who still had his hand on your ass. Tengen put you back in front of him as if you were a cat and was checking if you were a male or female. 

“Are you stupid? It's the best deal ever! I'm incredibly attractive, I have a big estate, lots, and lots of money, and a great personality. What more could you ask for from a husband?” He exclaimed, extremely offended. 

“Lots and lots of money, that's it!”, you thought as you saw Tengen as the real treasure in that empty house. You pretended to think about the deal, as if money didn't matter to you in the least. 

“A great personality, you say?” You asked innocently. Tengen let her bright smile shine. A confident smile that brought out his eccentric personality.

“Of course. I'm funny, smart, and an excellent protector!” He said with the confidence of a thousand men, thinking you were super into him already. That was the effect he had on women. 

“Well, I'll marry you, Mr. Tengen.” He opened his eyes when he heard you say his name. 

A tingle appeared in his stomach, causing him to let out an involuntary smile. The white-haired man set you down and the difference in height was really evident. You were taller than his wives by a few inches, but you still looked small next to him.

“Perfect, you'll make a great wife, miss…”

Tengen could not believe that he had proposed to a woman he did not even know her name, but there was something about you that he felt belonged to him. Maybe it was fate, as the master had told him. You would be Tengen´s and no one else’s.

“Y/n.” 

“Even her name is pretty” he thought, unable to take his eyes off you. 

“I'll definitely steal every penny from this himbo,” you thought, still faking interest. 

Thanks for reading!

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“You’re so tense,” Douma observed, feigning a pout, though amusement filled his tone. “All knotted up like a frightened little bird. How sad, how pitiful! Wouldn’t it be better to let me make it all melt away?” His tone lilted, teasing, as though he dangled a sweet just out of reach. “I’ve the most marvelous oils tucked away. Rich, fragrant ones. I could give you a massage, hmmm? Ease every little ache of that pretty body of yours. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”

Your face heated instantly, shame clamping down on your throat. “I- I don’t think that’s necessary,” you stammered, your voice uneasy, too feeble against the velvet trap of Douma’s suggestion.

“Ohhh, so shy!” Douma sang in a high-pitched voice, drawing out the syllables like a taunt and a compliment at once. His hand at your nape pressed just slightly. “But why deny yourself a piece of happiness? Why cling to suffering when I offer comfort? What am I saying that is so scandalous, to make your face flush so easily, little lotus? You’ve suffered, haven’t you? Doesn’t my little snowflake deserve comfort and pleasure?"

His thumb pressed deeper into the base of your neck, coaxing another shiver from your body. The pressure was perfect, almost painfully good, untying some hidden knot you hadn’t realized was there. Douma’s voice threaded through you like warm honey, sticky and irresistible. “Let me take care of you, just this once. Let me play with all those tired little muscles until you’re sighing like a lamb in springtime. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

You wanted to protest, to guard what little dignity remained, but the weight in your muscles, the ache of loneliness buried deep in your bones, and the deliberate insistence of Douma’s cold fingers kneading the nape of your neck all conspired against you. Against your better judgment, your resolve began to crumble, melting like frost beneath the first hesitant rays of spring. “I… I suppose there’s nothing wrong with a moment or two of happiness…” The words trembled on your lips.

Douma’s eyes sparkled with delight. A soft, amused hum rolled from his throat, vibrating against your skin. “Ahhh! That’s what I like to hear,” he purred, pressing the tip of his long finger gently atop your head. 

The subtle tap made your body lift slightly from his lap.

“There,” he stated, voice velvety and light, “Up you go, little lotus. Come with me. I have somewhere special to show you! I’m sure you’re gonna love it, ha!”

You rose to your feet slowly, muscles still trembling from your previous position curled against his lap. 

Douma extended his arm with deliberate grace, and, hesitating just for a heartbeat, you accepted it, your fingers brushing against the smooth, cool sleeve of his robe.

The two of you walked slowly across one of the wooden bridges that arched gracefully over the vast lotus pond. The water below was clear and still, dotted with floating blooms that tilted in the gentle breeze, their pale pinkish petals brushing the surface like whispers. The place exuded a rare tranquility - a sanctuary Douma allowed to no one, but you were the exception.

You were his favorite human. The one who made him feel… Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he felt. He had never quite known what it meant to feel happy, not truly; emotions had always been a blurred, distant concept to him. And yet, with you near, his chest loosened, a strange warmth blooming inside - a sensation he didn’t yet have the words to name.

Soon, you reached the massive wooden shōji.

The last glance toward the chamber, the place that had been your resting haven just moments ago, seemed a world away as Douma carefully slid the massive door closed behind you, the echo of its lock sealing the sanctuary from the rest of his temple.

Douma’s hand tightened slightly around your arm as you walked through the dimly lit corridors of the Eternal Paradise Faith temple. He glanced down at you, a huge grin plastered across his face - so wide, so sharp, that it made your skin crawl.

You didn’t like it when he looked at you like that; in these rare moments, he reminded you of what he truly was: a predator, a real threat, a demon.

You remembered the night you caught him - robes discarded, the unmistakable evidence of human flesh in his hands. You assumed it had been a woman. Were you scared? Yes. Terrified, in a way that rattled your very bones. 

Douma had known you saw him, witnessed the raw, primal hunger beneath the charming mask he often wore. Yet instead of killing you on the spot, he had spared your life. “Too adorable and sweet to be devoured, yet,” he had whispered.

Yet. That word hung between you like a knife, a promise and a warning intertwined: the reprieve was conditional, dependent on his whims, and you knew - oh, you knew - that the key word was his alone to wield.

You walked beside Douma slowly, each step echoing softly against the wooden flooring of the dim corridors. Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, like the air before a storm. 

As you rounded a corner, a large chamber opened up before you. The high ceilings echoed with the rhythmic scraping and clatter of brushes and brooms. A handful of Douma’s disciples were busy cleaning, kneeling to scrub the floors or dust the carved wooden beams. The moment their eyes landed on their lord, they snapped to attention, bowing deeply, murmuring respectful greetings.

And then their eyes fell on you.

The faintest frown crossed their faces, subtle yet unmistakable, as they processed your presence perched near their leader. You felt their judgment, even without words, the unspoken question of why their lord favoured you to accompany him so freely around the temple. Their hands tightened on their tools, postures rigid, yet they did not speak; fear and respect warred with disapproval.

Douma, however, seemed oblivious - or perhaps deliberately defiant. His grin widened, impossibly sharp, as he glanced down at you, his fingers brushing lightly against your nape in that familiar, insistent gesture. “Do not mind them, little lotus,” he whispered to you, his voice soft like the finest silk. “They will never understand the choices of my heart. What I desire, what I cherish - it is beyond their mortal comprehension.” 

Turning to face the disciples, Douma’s tone shifted, warm and gracious, almost ceremonious. “The care with which you tend this temple, the precision of your work - it does not escape my attention!” The cult leader exclaimed, eyes scanning the room as though weighing each one’s efforts. 

As you watched him, the smile he wore - the wide, practiced curve of his lips - never quite reached his rainbow-colored eyes. They glittered with their usual kaleidoscopic mischief, a flicker of predatory sharpness that reminded you he was never truly genuine.

You felt the gentle press of his hand along your arm again, guiding you past the chamber. “Keep your gaze on me, little lotus,” he told you. 

As the corridor narrowed beyond the chamber, leaving the disciples’ whispers and bows behind, you walked with a careful blend of awe and comfort beside Douma. 

A pair of grand shōji doors loomed ahead, painted with delicate winter scenery - bare trees, cranes in flight, the moon a pale coin suspended over still water. Douma halted there and turned to you, his eyes flashing like a kaleidoscope catching firelight. “My own little safe place. Not many have seen it, you know.” He slid the doors open with both hands, the movement smooth and reverent, and the scent of cold air and sandalwood poured forth.

Inside, the chamber was startlingly serene. Pale walls, unadorned save for a single painted scroll depicting a lotus blooming through frost. Candles burned in shallow bowls, their flames steady and gold. A lacquered stand bore a small crystal vase filled with white chrysanthemums. And at the center, impossibly ordinary among such aesthetic restraint, lay a futon.

The sight of it struck an odd chord: disbelief first, then quiet curiosity. The idea of him sleeping seemed absurd, almost comical. Douma was a demon after all, untouched by mortal fatigue.

He noticed your hesitation immediately; amusement bloomed across his features like a sunrise. “Surprised?”

A soft breath escaped before words formed. “I… didn’t expect you to have that.” You gestured faintly toward the futon, the pale sheets folded with perfect precision. “You don’t need to sleep, do you?”

“No, of course not.” He glided past you, robes whispering against the tatami, and sank gracefully to his knees beside the futon. “But isn’t it a charming idea? To lie down, pretend to dream, pretend to be human for a while.” His laughter was soft, a shimmering sound that lingered in the air. “I like to play make-believe sometimes.”

He leaned back on his hands, head tilting, eyes half-lidded in lazy delight. “Besides,” the blonde-haired demon added after a pause, “Humans open up so easily in places meant for rest. A futon, a pillow, a quiet corner, it makes even the most frightened little lambs forget that the wolf is sitting right beside them! Isn’t it funny?!”

The words should have chilled, yet his tone wrapped them in silk, turning menace into melody. The flicker of candlelight gilded his platinum hair, turning every strand to molten gold. His gaze lifted to you again, bright and tender. “Now then,” he murmured, patting the empty space beside him, “come sit with me, little lotus. The night’s far too lovely to spend standing so far away.”

With measured steps, you headed closer, caught somewhere between wariness and an inexorable pull. The futon’s edge whispered under your hand as you knelt. 

Douma’s smile curved slowly as his gaze softened. One hand rose to your face, his knuckles brushing the curve of your cheek. His thumb moved in a slow arc along your jaw, and his voice followed in a silken murmur. “Such a sweet face,” he uttered, almost wistful. “Always so obedient. You’ve no idea how lovely you are.”

His fingers lingered a heartbeat longer before retreating, the chill of his touch lingering on your skin like a ghost. Then his tone changed, bright and light again, like a musician switching keys mid-song. “Now then, let’s get ready, shall we? It’s terribly hard to do a proper massage with all those layers in the way.”

You lingered in place, arms folding loosely across your chest, fingertips tracing slow circles over your forearms as your eyes drifted anywhere but toward him.

He made a vague gesture toward your sleeves, the motion airy, dismissive, as though the suggestion were harmless. “Nothing scandalous, little lotus,” he added with a half-laugh. ““Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s just fabric, after all! You needn’t be shy. I’ve seen more naked women than I can possibly count.”

The words fluttered somewhere between reassurance and command, leaving no room for refusal.

Without waiting for your reply, he rose, his movements fluid as he crossed the room toward a low cabinet carved with lotus petals. The faint clink of glass followed as he retrieved a small bottle filled with an amber-gold liquid that caught the candlelight like trapped sunlight. He uncorked it, inhaling with a sigh of theatrical pleasure. “Mmm, camellia, and the faintest hint of citrus,” he mused aloud, eyes glimmering in a hundred shifting hues. “Perfect for weary your little shoulders!”

Douma poured some into a shallow, ornamented bowl - its rim etched with the symbols of the Eternal Paradise Faith - and held it carefully over a nearby candle flame. His hand moved with delicate precision, tilting the bowl this way and that, ensuring the oil warmed evenly. The fragrance began to bloom through the air, soft and intoxicating.

And though his tall body was turned slightly from you, those kaleidoscopic eyes remained locked on your reflection in the polished lacquer of the cabinet door. Watching. Measuring. The faintest curve of his lips suggested satisfaction at your hesitation, your stillness, your uncertainty.

No words passed between you for a long moment. Only the muted crackle of the candle’s wick and the faint sound of Douma’s humming, low, melodic and eerily sweet.

When he finally looked back at you fully, the smile had vanished. His expression was unreadable, all glitter stripped from his face. Only the weight of his gaze remained, heavy as a command.

After a small, nervous swallow, your tongue brushed over lips gone inexplicably dry as you got up to fulfill his wish. Fingers moved with hesitant care as they found the fabric of the obi sash at your waist, loosening it little by little until the kimono’s folds began to ease apart, sliding lower from your shoulders in a slow, uncertain motion. 

Layers of fabric gradually loosened, first sliding from your shoulders, exposing the gentle curves of your collarbones, until your breasts spilled free, unrestrained by the garment that had held them moments before. You shifted slightly, turning your back to Douma as the kimono slipped down to pool at your feet, leaving your naked body fully exposed to his gaze. Heat rushed to your cheeks, burning hotter with every passing breath. Embarrassment crawled up your throat, leaving it tight and dry. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet the demon’s eyes, though you could feel them on you, sharp and hungry, studying every flicker of hesitation like a predator savoring the tremble of its prey.

He tipped the bowl slightly, testing the warmth of the oil with his fingertip. A single drop gleamed against his nail before vanishing into his skin. His rainbow eyes fixed on your body again, taking in the slightest curves. “Oh, don’t be so shy, you’re mesmerizing, Y/N!” He claimed, and his voice was soft again. “Now, let’s see if I can make you forget the world for a little while.”

He crooked a pale finger toward you, his voice lowering into a melodic whisper. “Come here, my lovely lotus. The floor’s cold, and you’ll catch a chill. Lay down, right there, on my futon.”

Your knees felt unsteady beneath you, a strange mixture of dread and reluctant curiosity anchoring your steps. For a moment you hesitated.

Douma tilted his head, his expression the picture of patient amusement. “Don’t make me ask twice, hmm?”

The teasing lilt in his tone burned straight through your soul, and you quickly lowered yourself onto the futon. The fabric was cool against your heated skin, every breath of air whispering against your exposed body. You folded your arms loosely over your chest, but even that gesture felt futile under the weight of his gaze.

He moved closer with unhurried grace, kneeling beside you. “Good,” he praised, reaching for the bowl again. “That’s better, isn’t it? Now, relax, let me see that pretty tension melt away. Turn on your tummy.”

The shame hit harder as you obeyed, your lashes fluttering shut. After laying there for a second, you felt something warm being poured onto your back. 

The oil was trickling down your spine and over your hips, creating a sensual trail of warmth. 

Douma set the bowl aside and began to knead the oil into your skin, his strong yet gentle hands working out the knots in your muscles. He traced the line of your spine, his fingers dipping into the small of your back, then moving lower to your firm, round ass. You let out a soft moan, your body truly relaxing under Douma's skilled touch.

Douma's hands moved lower, his thumbs spreading your soft lips, revealing your slit. He slipped his long, index finger between them, rubbing your entrance with slow, deliberate circles. 

You drew in a sharp gasp, your hips lifting instinctively from the futon as though your body sought the demon’s touch before your mind could catch up.

Douma leaned in, his voice a sultry whisper as his warm breath fanned the column of your neck "Are you enjoying this, little one?” Only a single word slipped past your lips: “Yes.”

“Good,” Douma purred, laughter curling at the edges of his voice. His hands left your pussy and roamed lazily over your oiled skin. “Ah, you really are exquisite, you know that?” Douma mused, voice honey-sweet and cruelly soft. “So soft, so warm, like you were made just to tempt me. Every inch of you begs to be adored.” He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear, “How could anyone look at you and not want to worship?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse drumming in your ears as his words sank in, coating your mind in a dizzy haze of heat and disbelief. His touch was too much to bear, and you had to squeeze your thighs together to prevent yourself from moaning his name. Each slow, circular motion of his hands drew the air right out of your lungs. You tried to steady your breathing, but the warmth of the oil and his teasing voice made your resolve crumble. “Douma-dono…” 

He chuckled lowly, the sound bubbling up from his throat like he was thoroughly entertained by your helplessness. “Oh, don’t say my name like that, my dear. You’ll make me think you actually need me.” His hands never stilled - they glided up the slope of your spine. His thumbs pressed into the small of your back again, drawing small circles before slipping lower, kneading the flesh of your thighs with languid precision. “You’re trembling again,” he pointed out, leaning over you, his rainbow eyes flickering with delight. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came out. No one had ever spoken to you like that before. No one had ever looked at you like that either. Your voice trembled when it finally broke free.  “… No one’s ever said so many nice things about me before,” you admitted softly, your cheek pressed against the futon, eyes half-lidded. 

Douma paused for a heartbeat. Then, his fingers trailed lightly down your shoulder, tracing invisible lines across your oiled skin. “Mhm… That’s because most people rush through life, my dear,” he claimed, his voice dipping into a silken murmur. “They don’t stop to see what’s right before them. They only glance, they don’t appreciate. But me? Oh, I have all the time in the world. I can take centuries if I wish, haha!” He leaned closer until you could feel the faint brush of his lips against your earlobe. “And when I find something truly mesmerizing, I don’t mind spending decades just worshipping it.” His hand slid down your back again. “That’s the advantage of being a demon, you see. Eternity gives you time to savor what others rush to forget.”

You heard the faint rustle of fabric behind you - silk whispering against skin, the quiet tug of a belt slipping loose, the soft sound of a haori sliding from his shoulders. It was unmistakable. Douma was undressing.

Your pulse stuttered in your throat. For a fleeting second, uncertainty flickered through you - what you were doing, what this all meant - but the thought melted away beneath the warmth coursing through your veins. 

You didn’t dare look back, though every part of you wanted to. Your heart was still pounding, wild and insistent, but amid that chaos bloomed a single, undeniable truth: this was what you wanted. The tension, the forbidden closeness - it was all you could think about. You swallowed hard, your fingers curling against the sheets.

He crawled onto the futon, his body pinning yours to the mattress. 

You could feel his hardness growing against your slit. 

Suddenly, Douma grabbed a fistful of your hair, jerking your head back, just as the head of his dick slipped between your pussy lips, sliding easily into your soaking wet pussy.

He groaned and chuckled, his voice ragged. "Your pussy is so tight and wet, just I've imagined, haha! My beautiful lotus."

You moaned, your body writhing beneath him - it all happened so fast. One moment, he was giving you the best massage you’d ever experienced, and the very next, his dick was stretching your pussy.

He held your head stretched back so far that you started having difficulty breathing. Douma fucked you harder and faster, pounding you hard into the mattress from behind. 

You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes - the pleasure was too much, too intense to bear.

"I could fuck you forever,” the blonde-haired demon grunted. He let one hand wander between your thighs, pressing and circling your clitoris with deliberate precision while his cock was splitting your pussy open. “Your pussy feels so so good on my cock!” Douma praised, spanking your ass. “Oi! Haven’t felt anything this good in ages, truly! It’s been far too long!”

Your body began to tremble, your orgasm building like a storm. 

He felt your pussy tighten slightly, signaling to him that you were about to cum, and he suddenly pulled out of you, denying you that release. “Not yet,” Douma claimed while easily flipping you to your back.

Before you could even respond, the demon leaned in, claiming your lips in a sudden, consuming kiss. His tongue traced along yours, teasing and exploring with a careful dominance that stole your breath. One hand pressed firmly against your hip, kneading and holding you close, while the other curled tightly around your throat, tilting your head just so, anchoring you to him completely. The kiss deepened, pulling you into a dizzying mix of heat and tension, and every sense screamed with the intensity of his touch.

When he finally pulled back, all you could do was gasp, your wide, pleading eyes locked on his.

He slipped a finger into your pussy, and soon pushed his cock in, too, filling you up to the brim.

Your head lolled back to rest against his futon, and a soft, breathy moan slipped quietly from your lips.

His teeth dug into your neck, shoulders and arms as he fucked your pussy hard, just until you felt your pussy tighten around his cock. 

Douma pulled out again, leaving you screaming and begging for release. He kept his rainbow eyes locked on your body as he slowly jerked his cock, spreading your juices all over the rock-hard shaft. Occasionally, he teased the slit on his tip with his thumb. “So beautiful,” he praised again before leaning forward to lick on one of your nipples.

Soon, he pushed his long dick in again, setting a brutal pace from the start. 

“D-Douma!”

His hand reached up to softly stroke your cheek, praising you for how well you were taking his cock.

Your pussy was overstimulated, and with every thrust he delivered, your body was jerking upwards, so desperate for the release. 

"You feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "Your pussy is so tight and so wet, just for me!" Douma sung, fucking you harder. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. "Harder," you begged, "Fuck me harder." The demon obliged, and soon he was pushing so hard that his tip was bruising your cervix.

Your bodies slapped together, the sound of your fucking filling Douma’s chamber. 

"Yes!" You cried out.

Douma chuckled loudly as he felt your pussy clenching rhythmically around his dick. You were oh so close to cumming. Your bodies were slick with sweat as you both chased your releases. Your tongue darted out, wetting your upper lip. “Douma-dono, I think I’m going to cum…”

With a roar, Douma buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he emptied his balls inside your pussy. “Oh, my little lotus, you’re so so good to me! I wish to live in that sweet, tight pussy of yours, forever!” You cried out, your pussy clenching around him as your own orgasm crashed over your being, your velvety walls milking every last drop of his thick, cold seed.

Douma chuckled softly, leaning down to press his lips to yours, his movements gentle and deliberate. "My little lotus, your warmth, your presence, I want you by my side forever."

You returned the kiss, your hands resting lightly on his back. "I’m not going anywhere," you whispered, holding him close. “I… I love you, Douma-dono.”

He brushed his fingers gently across your cheek. "My little lotus.”

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