#douma x reader insert

When you were certain that you were not being watched — and there was no way for you to be absolute on this judgement save for the calm beat of your heart pressing you on — you slipped away from the shelter of your hiding spot.

Immediately, you hear footsteps behind you, along with a flash of white gold; Douma was an expert predator if he needed to be, and in this moment he had ceased all teasing to pursue his you. Goosebumps traversed the length of your arm as you pushed yourself forward senselessly, going forth to where the night stole through the cedar crown in a scintillating dance of illumination.

The wind danced through your hair, the comb securing your knot in place having slipped and fell somewhere on the forest floor; there was no time for you to recover it, however, as you shunned low branches and skipped over rocks. Hitching up your kimono, you gained a longer stride, the weight of Douma's eyes on you spurring you forth.

Before you, the trees thinned out into a clearing, and as you stepped into the wide, irregular circle, you felt the cold crisp air fill your lungs. Whether by exhaustion or sheer awe, you sank into the ground, your eyes drawn to shower of stars that drenched the earth in its illumination. Beneath its magnanimity, you could only close your eyes, and bathe in its ceaseless pour.

How long has it been since you saw the sun? There were only candles and curtains in the abode where you lived, and you yearned for the warmth on your skin. In its absence, you learned to be content with its inverse: the coldness of the night and its unchanging atlas of constellations, true and constant.

Behind the drawn curtains of your lids, you saw a pair of eyes that were not your own: bright and youthful and green as a summer's glade.

"Pinky promise, pinky promise..."

"One day, we'll leave this place," Kotoha whispered, her hand drifting from where it stroked the soft hairs of her child's head as he nursed on her breast. "I promise."

The smile on her face was soft and serene — yet you could discern the strength beneath it, that undercurrent of determination and rage. Her hands, too, were brimming with a restless warmth, and it flooded your heart with an unspeakable disquiet as you watched through half-lidded eyes, pretending to be asleep.

"Caught you!" Douma's giggles interrupted your thoughts, and you opened your eyes. The crescent moon a scintillating diadem behind him, Douma looked down at you, his gold hair feathering around his face as he tinkered with the golden fan in his hand. From where you knelt before him, he could not be any different from a god that had descended from the Heavens, whose smile was at once full of mercy and without.

Is this not the eternal paradise you were promised?

You touched your cheek, and found your fingertips wet with tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, crouching down beside you and wiping your cheek with his thumb. Despite the softness of his hands, his long nails were sharp against your flesh. His voice dropped to a sweet, hushed whisper: "Did I scare you?"

His hand wandered from your face, dancing along the starched collar of your kimono to your obi; all the young, unmarried women of the sect wore their knots in the front, and Douma undid it with familiar precision. The belt tumbled into the grass, and he shrugged the layers of tanmono and linen until you shivered beneath the cold night air.

Douma's lips were ice against your warm, flushed skin as he kissed your neck, tongue tracing over your pulse. His hands cupped your breasts, kneading the supple flesh and toying with the pricked nipples. To this, you mewled, and earned yourself a faint chuckle as Douma traced over your ear.

"Let's have a little fun, shall we?" he asked, dragging his forefinger down the trembling planes of your stomach.

Sparing no hesitation, he dipped further beneath to your loins, where you anticipated the trail of his hands along your sex; it dripped readily and knowingly even before he reached your seam, and a trill fell from your lips when he teased you over your clit in tight circles and broad strokes.

"Such a good girl," Douma purred, his lips brushing over your temple to give each of your closed lids a soft kiss. His arms tightened around your body, keeping you close to him. "You shall be duly rewarded for your piety..."

Your eyes fluttered open to see his opalescent gaze studying the softness of your face, the words etched within them darkening as you felt his manhood stir against your belly. Without another word, Douma pushed you back onto the grass before crawling between your legs; your kimono bundled around your hips as he propped his shoulder beneath your knee.

His long nails clinked against the metal clasps of his buckle; Douma took his time as he unfastened his trousers, pulling them just enough for his cock to pivot free from its guard. The sillage of honeyed white florals envelops your body as he pins your hand above your head, securing it with the belt he just unwound.

Not that you would run away from him; just as how he chased you through the woods, this was all rehearsal, a dance before the days to come, when he will take his most faithfull followers with him.

A land without pain nor worry; neither anger nor sadness — peaceful and content as a still lake reflecting the heavens for all of eternity; it would weld with the pleasure that flows and ebbs through your veins as Douma cajoled himself into your depths, its sweet, throbbing tightness drawing a low growl bubbling in his throat.

And yet, Kotoha had been happy, had she not? She had a child, and she was always singing to him; songs that you have never heard...

Perhaps this was why she was shunned from the doors of salvation, you thought; unlike her, you sang only the praises for eternal paradise — and you were happy to be here, to breath the air of your saviour who now panted over you. His long hair tickled your nose as he nudged that sweet spot inside you, the insistent burrow of his cock teasing you ever closer over the precipice. His nails, too, carved into your shoulder as he steered you over his length again and again, each thrust bringing you a thrill unlike any other.

"Douma-sama," you begged, your bound wrists straining against his belt while your hips met his relentless thrusts. Through the haze of mounting euphoria that melted you into Douma's arms, you felt the soaring creast of your peak on the horizon — to first of many to come, for sure, so long as the night was young and your pliant body beneath him.

"Come for me, darling," he beckoned, hand disappearing once more between your legs to stroke your clit in time with the shove of his hips.

And you answered the call of your saviour, serving your flesh and its joys into his arms and bared teeth; his brilliant, gem-like eyes that glittered even in the absence of light was the path on which you had devoted yourself, and following its trace you found its intense brightness inside you — white-hot lashes of pleasure that swept through your body in unceasingly waves, each sending you in a quivering tangle of breathless cries and arching hips.

If this was paradise, you would never desire anything else again; in its benevolence — no, in Douma's benevolence, you were buoyant and resplendent, a shining balefire of faith and longing. Douma purred and tucked his face into your neck; he was still stiff, and would be as long as he was adamant to bring you to climax once more, until you would forget all worldly woes and thoughts of straying even an inch from him. You would be his to take, to possess — unlike the others who left and disappeared; unlike Kotoha and her child.

Afterall, why would you leave, when you were on the edge of eternity?

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