Douma X Reader 18+ ⚠️

Chapter 1

Note:
Please do proceed with caution as this story contains mature topics!
Thank you for understanding!

The temple grounds were always lively. Always busy with heavy foot traffic as people made the journey from one end of the compound to the main sanctuary in search of guidance, reassurance and the fortification of their adopted faith that only the revered leader could hope to provide. The richly furnished room wherein all devout followers were received was nestled in the far back of the premises, ensconced by tall, stretching red maples, which made walking through the mizugaki almost feel like stepping into another world.

Everywhere you looked was red; crimson clouds of tightly knit branches that were so intertwined with one another you could only make out small patches of blue sky up above and the resulting blood-red downpour of fallen leaves littering the ground like heavy, torrential rains. The inner fence was red too, as were the columns holding up the sloping awning of the roof and the massive oak doors leading inside. Red. Red. Red. It swarmed your senses, hazy and dreamlike in equal measure. Something between a waking nightmare and the most comforting fantasy you’d ever dared entertain, the sharp contrast in sensory input leaving you drunk on your feet.

The cloying smell of incense wafted through the heavy air and tickled your nose long before you ever reached the entrance, adding to your stupor. You were sleepwalking, for all intents and purposes, but so was everyone else. Only new initiates to the Eternal Paradise cult stopped to take in their surroundings, as awed by the preternatural aura encompassing these hallowed grounds as they were disconcerted by it. You’d been like that too, once. It seemed like eons ago since you’d first stepped foot into this holy place and now all you could think about was reaching him.

The man who’d taken you in during your lowest low, when no one else would so much as look at you twice.

The divine figure who’d given your life purpose and meaning. A reason to live out what remained of your time on this earthly plane without worries about what was to come or regrets about the past.

Your spiritual savior. 

“Douma-sama.”

Humming in acknowledgment, the robed figure shifted on his throne of plush cushions and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. One of his fans came up, snapping open with a sharp thwack, which he used to hide the lower half of his face from any prying eyes within the congregation.

“Oh my,” He said, quiet enough that only you could hear. “Aren’t you looking just delectable today. Lift your head so I can see that pretty face of yours, little lamb. Quickly now.”

Pulse slamming into overdrive at his words of praise, you happily obliged and straightened out of the deep bow you’d prostrated yourself in before him. Your head came up, shoulders rounding, but you didn’t dare look directly upon him just yet. It wouldn’t do to be so presumptuous in front of the venerated head of Eternal Paradise, after all, so you focused your gaze on his delicately poised fan instead.

It seemed to please him all the same though and Douma issued a quietly approving hum. “Such a lovely girl. I’m so glad you were able to find sanctuary here with me. It would’ve been a terrible shame to watch you wilt away to nothing.”

Your cheeks warmed slightly and you squirmed on your knees. He was very concerned about your figure, you’d noticed. But it was hard to deny the thrill of excitement that rushed through you whenever he commented on your body in his own indirect way. You’d been nothing more than skin and bones when you stumbled into the temple just a few short months ago but with regular meals and having the daily work evenly distributed among the followers, you were putting on a healthy amount of weight now. It seemed to delight Douma to no end and for that, you were forever grateful.

“Thank you, Douma-sama. I have only you to thank for my prosperity.”

He laughed, warm and breezy, but the vague note of something darker lurking just below the surface ignited a fire deep within your gut. It twisted and knotted your insides, setting every nerve ending it touched to vibrating fever pitch and you swayed almost imperceptibly as the room started to spin around you.

Blinking, you tried to clear your vision but it was no use.

Rich, deep shades of crimson winked back at you from just over his shoulder, an ornate painting that covered half the wall and which depicted a sprawling field of spider lilies. It only added to the dreamy quality of this place and sucked you further into the illusion of floating through a scarlet tide. Everything was red stacked on shades of red like a never-ending vortex; Douma’s burgundy shirt hugging the curves of his torso, the soft silk, apple red curtains draping down from the high rafters that were adorned in black stitched flowers and the pile of cushions he reclined on which ranged from a dainty raspberry hue to vibrantly fierce maroon.

You were being swallowed up in it like a sailor lost out at sea, bobbing helplessly with the rise and fall of the waves sweeping you further away from the shore. That you were doomed was glaringly obvious - the bloody haze closing in around you from every side attesting to that fact - but you were content. At peace. Your end would be a welcome one and you eagerly leaned forward with rapt attention when he drew a tentative breath to speak again, entirely unconcerned about the mortal danger you were no doubt in.