Freaky

“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.”

@pixelcafe-network @unhinged-bratty-boy @mmari-07 @chiharuhashibira

@fayrt4tte9383 @cemetarygoth @zoldyckbitch @aotdump @shonen-brainrot

"Just a little while longer.." You say as you add brush strokes to your canvas, tired eyes glance from the unfinished painting to the demon in front of you who smiled sitting with his legs crossed on a chair holding a prop delicately in his hand. "Take your time Painter." He spoke before going back to posing. That demon, is your muse without a name.

In a dark past your desperate attempts to perfect your art skills had you praying to whatever God to give you the drive and inspiration to paint again and instead of the bright light God you were answered with a black shadow spreading across your messy art studio and in the corner of the room, red eyes stared back at your desperate ones. Now that demon has became the soul and body of your art, your muse and model. No name was given to him but two words escaped your lips as he reached his hand out to you for the contract. "My Muse." And for the rest of your short painter life you will call him that.

"We must wait for this layer to dry, good work today My Muse." You say standing at your easel Your demon looming over you fixing his jacket as he looked at the unfinished painting. "How flattered I am to have my portrait done by a famous painter." He says with a charming ring to his voice and you nod looking at your other works. They were all him, different angles, places and clothes all paintings made with care and detail not even a eyelash or strands of hair missed. "It was all thanks to the Muse who gave me my inspiration." You say cleaning your mess before looking at the canvas again, pausing over your brushes. "I'm sleeping at the studio for tonight I need to make adjustments." You say tilting your head and frowning. Your Muse sighs "Must you? Don't overwork yourself, remember the state you were in when we met?" He says putting his hand on your shoulders gives you a light massage. "Relax, it can wait." His alluring voice tempts you but you shrug it off. " I must work- paint until our contract is done I feel my time is limited- I must work." You seem frantic honestly you aren't in your right mind and Your Muse knew of it. Your condition was worse in the beginning you would sleep on your studio floor and skip meals trying to perfect his portrait you would get nose bleeds as you sketch in your book, blood dripping onto your paper and you just draw right over it. Your Muse has to pry you out of the studio so you don't kill yourself before he takes your soul.

Your Muse spun you around holding you as if you were to start ballad at a ball. "Master I suggest you spending time with me, remember the paint needs drying let us walk out to watch the sunset I'm sure you will find your inspiration there." He suggested and you look up at him your dozed off eyes finally look at him not whatever your manic mind is trying to focus on. "You're... Yes you're right let us go." You say gently breaking away from his grasp. "Great, I'm sure fresh air will do you some good." He says grabbing your coat and walking to the door, his demon hearing notices you trying to quiet yourself as you russel through paper. "Leave the sketchbook." He demanded, his red eyes glaring at you giving you a rather mean side eye. Reluctantly you stumble away from your book kicking your feet. "So cruel of you, telling a painter not to paint. You wound me .." You pout as he helps you put on your coat. "I'm telling a painter that they must rest before their hands fall off." He jokes and you smile nodding in silent understanding.

It was beautiful outside, it's about autumn close to winter. The breeze was fresh and bearable with the leaves crushed below your shoes as you take a stroll through the sorta country side you live in. The sky is a bright orange and purple gradient and for a while you saw the outside not just as a background for a painting but as just the outdoors. "Beautiful." You whisper and the demon next to you smirked. "As I told you, you need to stop locking yourself in that room I'm sure the paint is getting to your head." He jokes looking down at you and you look back stopping in your tracks staring at him rather intensely. Eyes darting around at his features and before you knew it a gloved hand covers your face. "I know what you're doing Master stop thinking about painting." He sounded annoyed and you lay your weight in his hand for support letting out a laugh. "But the sun hitting your face was just perfect enough to show the glint of red in your eyes. I can't help it." You say, he could feel another rant coming along.

He swears he has figured every expression out on your face your blank stares and focused artist eyes even when you paint you make faces. Others might not see it but he pretty much knows you like the back of his hand. "Yes, yes painting is a nice hobby and passion but you must not drown yourself in it until your fainting from days and nights of work." He scolded his hand taking the weight of your head and swaying you around before letting go making you stumble into balance.

You pout and look back at him then to the ground in silence. "..Just a little more paintings? Five? Maybe three? How about two more? Till you take my soul?" You mumble your body shaking with fear. The demon laughs a laugh that makes you feel like a joke, he finally stops with a sigh putting an arm around your shaking frame. "I'm not a patient demon, Painter. But I'll make an exception as my ego is much more greedy than I thought. You may have your last painting, finish the one of today and make it the most gorgeous representation of me as your muse. Show the future artist the loyal and desperate faceless painter and their detailed beloved Muse." He says squeezing your shoulders giving you little reassurance as you breakdown into tears as the devil ironically rests on your shoulder a sharp grin spread across his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What a lovely painting." A human said looking at the piece in front of her. A worker of the museum hummed. "Ah yes, you have a good eye this was around The Romantic Era fitting age for these paintings." He says looking around the room. "The artist is unknown we barely know where they resided or when they passed, this gallery is a mystery but we do know one thing- this painter sure did love their muse." He explained showing the person around and well of course the whole room was filled to the brim with paintings of the same man over and over again. They even had a leather sketchbook with sketches of that man.

But one stood out from the rest. In a small dark lit room just big enough to fit one painting was again another portrait but unlike the others, colorful and lively oozing with adoration and tender affection, this one the Muse sat on a black thrown carved sharp and detailed. You would say black was the primary color in the painting the accent colors where red, white and the color of the man's skin more pale and dead then the other paintings. It was harsh, depicting wolves bearing their teeth ravens flying in distress, in the corners feathers scattered around them and an octopus wrapped itself around the chairs leg and back and the Muse he was smiling at anyone who stands before him but this smile wasn't the gentle or cheery one it was mocking the angle was downward like he was looking down on you like you where nothing but a melee peasant another detail was his ungloved hand black nails with a what seems to be a tattoo. On the back of his hand. An old man joked with the other visitors. "I guess they broke up." And most laughed while some couples seemed awkward in the room.

"See? I told you doesn't he look like you?" My master said pointing at the painting and I tilted my head in amusement. "Hmm I suppose so." My~ what was that painters name again? Well it doesn't seem to matter. My master read the writing detailing the painting. "Huh.. This was the last painting ever made by this guy. Was this... actually you? it has your sigil and everything.." Master whispered. "Well I was quite popular back in the day I think one of my former contractors was a painter now that I think of it.." My master thinks before asking. "Do you not feel hurt at all by how they drew you? I mean look at it you look like a villain or a—" "demon." I spoke I couldn't help but grin I can feel my masters fear it was delicious. I look back up at the painting. "It was their last painting because it was their last wish. I told them to paint me, as what I symbolize and what they fear of me. This painting isn't putting me in a negative light it was showing what I truly am, it is simply a perfect definition of “depiction” a normal unfiltered portrait." There was silence. "Is that all you needed to know master?" I say smiling more calmly and my contractor gulped "uh..no um wow ok." I turn my head. "Let's visit the other exhibits shall we?" I say walking away the human following right behind me. "Ah yes photography I would say I love these more than boring old paintings."

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A/N: nothing to say but I've been getting into black butler again I would say I have a love hate relationship with Sebastian yes he is ver pretty and I love his voice and personality but something about him urks me. Anyways