Imagine Book 2

Frosted Reverence- Douma (Kimetsu no Yaiba)

Fem Y/N

𝔖𝔪𝔲𝔱 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤

TW: Sadism, Masochism

The grand hall of Douma's temple was as lavish and breathtaking as its master—a glittering sanctuary of decadence and deceptive serenity. Walls gleamed with golden filigree, intricately carved to mimic blooming lotus flowers. The scent of incense hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint chill that always accompanied Douma's presence. This space was a trap disguised as paradise, and its congregation was none the wiser.

Among the sea of devout followers knelt Y/N, Douma's favourite. Unlike the others, she was permitted luxuries they could only dream of: extended conversations, playful banter, and private moments in his presence. To her, these privileges were not merely gifts—they were divine blessings from the deity she adored. And while Douma entertained his followers with feigned compassion and honeyed words, Y/N could sense something more in his gaze when it landed on her: intrigue.

Tonight was no different.

"Y/N, my little flower," Douma's voice chimed, as melodic as a silver bell, beckoning her toward him. He reclined on his opulent dais, a vision of grace and lethality, propped up by an array of silk cushions. His multicoloured eyes sparkled like jewels under the flickering lanterns. "Come. I find myself in need of your... delightful touch."

Y/N's heart leapt, though she masked her excitement with a demure nod. Rising gracefully, she approached him, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. Douma extended a languid hand, gesturing toward the cushioned space at his feet. Obediently, she knelt before him, her movements fluid and reverent, as though bowing before a true god.

"Ah, there you are," he purred, stretching his long legs out before her. He tilted his head, watching her with an almost feline curiosity. "I've been looking forward to this all day. Your hands are quite... miraculous."

"You flatter me too much, Master Douma," Y/N replied softly, her voice laced with sincerity as she began unfastening his sandals.

He laughed, the sound light and lilting. "Oh, but it's the truth! You must know how special you are to me, don't you?" He leaned forward slightly, the proximity making her pulse quicken. "My little favourite."

Her cheeks warmed under his gaze, but she said nothing, instead focusing on her task. Her fingers worked deftly, removing his sandals before pressing gently into the arch of his foot. She began to knead the taut muscles with practised care, her thumbs moving in slow, deliberate circles. Douma sighed, a sound that could have been mistaken for contentment, though the smirk tugging at his lips hinted at something else.

As she worked, Y/N couldn't help but admire him. Everything about Douma was mesmerizing: the sharp angles of his face softened by his perpetual smile, the cascade of silvery hair that framed his features, the otherworldly beauty that made it easy to forget he was a monster. She had always found herself captivated by him, but in moments like these—when she had him all to herself—her devotion bordered on obsession.

"Such dedication," Douma murmured, his voice like silk as he observed her. His eyes flickered down, lingering on her bowed head, the way her delicate hands moved over him, and the soft rise and fall of her breath. Something dark and primal stirred within him. He didn't miss the way she shivered ever so slightly under his gaze, the way her lips parted as though to speak but thought better of it. She was utterly enthralling, and for a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the power he held over her.

"You look lovely like this," he said, his tone deceptively light. "On your knees before me. Devoted. Obedient."

Y/N froze for the briefest of moments, her breath hitching. The words sent a thrill through her, though she quickly masked her reaction, resuming her ministrations as if unaffected. But Douma was perceptive. His smirk widened, a predatory gleam entering his eyes.