#doma

[mafuyuh]

Douma | Infinity Castle Movie

[satoruined]

NSFW HEADCANONS

MDNI 18+ CONTAINS: muzan ‧ kokushibō ・dōma ‧ akaza | fem!reader . explicit sexual content . headcanons

鬼舞辻 無惨 KIBUTSUJI MUZAN

❅ ── edging is one of his many cruelties, and he’s exquisitely sadistic about it. he’ll watch you squirm, listen to your begging, and only allow release when your voice cracks into sobs. not that he’s merciful, but because he finds your swollen eyes and runny nose unbecoming.

❅ ── control disguised as generosity. he’ll make you ride him, but only so he can sit back and watch how pathetic you look scrambling for your own pleasure, while he corrects your pace with a lazy hand on your hip.

❅ ── takes particular delight in humiliating post-climax rituals: watching his spend leak out of you, ordering you to push it back inside with trembling fingers while he scolds you about how wasteful and ungrateful you are. his tone is closer to a lecture than dirty talk, but the cold authority in it makes your pussy clench all the same.

❅ ── aftercare is selective at best. he might smooth your hair back or examine the marks he left with the detached eye of a critic, as though checking a painting for flaws. if he’s feeling magnanimous, he’ll even hold you for a while, though his embrace is stiff, his skin unnaturally cold. affection offered as a favour, not a given.

黒死牟 KOKUSHIBŌ

❅ ── isn’t vocal in the conventional sense, but he mutters in a low rasp when he’s close, words half-intelligible, praising and damning you in the same breath. his dirty talk is sparse, they take the form of orders (“spread your legs wider. hold still.”) that leave no room for refusal.

❅ ── values control above all else. if you try to assert power over him, he will correct you with severity.

❅ ── cannot resist marking you. loves sinking his teeth into your shoulder or throat, leaving half-moon dents and dark bruises that blossom under his mouth, but he stops short of blood.

❅ ── often corrects your posture during sex, and you do it because his displeasure is rarer than praise and therefore terrifyingly precious.

❅ ── has a fixation with filling you. presses in deep, keeps you spread open until his spend is dripping out, and still thrusts shallowly to push it back inside.

❅ ── slow thrusting that turns into violence only when provoked. he can be methodical for hours, then ramp up suddenly with a directive so small you almost miss it and find yourself sobbing with the force of it.

❅ ── soft moments are almost always conditional. a whisper of praise, a chaste kiss to your temple, they are rewards and you will crave them because they are so seldom given.

童磨 DŌMA

❅ ── doesn’t really feel desire the way most do, but he recognises a shallow level of lust like one recognises hunger: a gnawing, bodily itch. so he follows it with zeal, as though fucking you is simply another form of consumption. and dōma is enthusiastic to the point of unnerving, praising you between mocking giggles, all while splitting you open on his cock as if he’s sharing an inside joke with himself.

❅ ── foreplay is essentially provocation. doma delights in pissing you off. his usual antics include nuzzling along your jaw without actually kissing you, circling your clit with a frozen fingertip until you’re thrashing.

❅ ── verbal degradation is his lingua franca. “such a greedy little thing, can’t believe you’d sink so low for me” paired with a smile so saccharine it almost sounds like a compliment. the jolly cadence creates a dissonance, because he never drops the cheerful act.

❅ ── has an air of cheer even while being cruel. especially then. no matter if you’re begging or crying or even cursing at him—he only laughs, clapping his hands as though you’ve told a particularly good joke.

❅ ── finds your tears hilarious and hot, usually licks them right off your cheeks while laughing.

❅ ── overstimulation. keeps you in his lap, while he tsks about how sensitive you are, how silly it is that you’re trying to wriggle away when your cunt clearly doesn’t want to let go. if you cry, he cups your face sweetly and coos, “adorable! i knew you’d look prettier like this.” (he genuinely thinks he’s complimenting you)

❅ ── doesn’t understand aftercare in any genuine sense. wiping you down, holding you close, murmuring soft reassurances etc. those are things he mimics because he’s seen people do them, like an actor reciting lines from a play. the gestures are hollow, but his smile is so bright enough you believe he means it.

❅ ── cums inside you every single time because… well. why wouldn’t he?

猗窩座 AKAZA

❅ ── soft dominance is his default. doesn’t degrade you, won’t even tolerate you degrading yourself in a non-sexual context (he gets viscerally upset) . instead he builds you up with firm praise.

❅ ── refuses to finish before you. it’s a code of conduct, carved into him as deeply as his martial discipline. whether it’s his tongue flattening against your clit, his fingers curling inside you, or his cock stretching you out, your orgasm is the opening act, and his the encore.

❅ ── loves testing your limits, but not without consent. he’ll push you harder, but the moment you use your safeword, he halts as though your word is law. nothing makes him prouder than coaxing another orgasm out of you while you’re trembling: “just one more, you’ve got this. i know you can.” this is essentially a form of devotion, his belief that you are stronger than you think.

❅ ── his refractory period is basically nonexistent a.k.a he gets hard again real fast, but rarely pushes for more unless you initiate. when you do, he smiles almost sheepishly, like you’ve just given him another reason to be grateful for your existence.

❅ ── aftercare with akaza is meticulous to the point of ritualistic? he wipes you down with care, kneads the strain from your muscles until the ache fades. his body runs hot, and he uses it like a blanket, wrapping you against his chest, one broad hand stroking your back in steady passes until your breathing evens. always keeps watch while you sleep.

[redundantz]

Sketches

[yanderslutt]

𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮…

yandere ! douma finds you after years... of running

f/a: @/66628nim11

i tried to scream, but lilies clouded my mind thе petals softly floating into my eyes

summary ; in which after many years of escaping the grasp of your former lover he finally finds you.. and when he does... he finds out you've been hiding a big secret..

cws ! yandere themes, stalking, captivity, coercion, dubcon undertones, emotional breakdown, manipulation, child/family obsession, breeding kink, explicit sexual content, threats of violence.

-

the evening was supposed to be ordinary.

your basket was already half-full, the weight of fresh vegetables pressing against your hip as you lingered by the stall. the villagers greeted you warmly, exchanging small talk, a laugh here, a smile there. for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this was real...that this peace was something permanent, not borrowed.

but the sky betrayed you.

it shifted too quickly, colors bleeding from soft dusk into a dull, bruised gray. the chatter around you blurred into background noise as your stomach tightened. you noticed the crows first. they were darting across the rooftops, too many of them at once, wings frantic as if fleeing something unseen.

your fingers tightened around the coins in your hand. you placed them gently on the stall’s counter, forcing a polite smile. “thank you,” you said, voice steady, though your gut twisted. you turned, the basket heavier now, not from the produce but from the weight of unease. the villagers kept speaking as though nothing had changed, but you could feel it—something pressing down on the air, something that didn’t belong here.

your eyes swept the street, catching shadows stretching too long in the corners, catching the way the wind seemed to hush as though waiting. you adjusted the basket against your hip and reached down, fingers finding the small, warm hand you cherished more than life itself.

“come on,” you murmured softly, tugging your son close as the crowd thinned. he looked up at you with those wide, curious eyes that always seemed to notice more than you wanted him to. “mama… why do you look scared?”

the question made your breath hitch. you forced a smile down at him, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “i’m not scared, sweetheart. just… tired, that’s all.” he didn’t seem convinced. his gaze flicked to the basket. “what did you get? is it for soup again? or the rice cakes?”

the simple questions should’ve soothed you. they should’ve grounded you back in normalcy. but your heart wouldn’t slow down, not with the air so heavy, not with the sky churning gray above you. “yes,” you answered, voice a little too thin, “for soup tonight.”

your son’s face brightened, but then his brow furrowed again. he tugged at your hand, lowering his voice the way children did when they sensed something was wrong. “mama… you don’t look well.”

his words struck harder than you expected, as if he had peeled back the mask you were trying so desperately to wear. you crouched a little, enough to look him in the eyes. “i’m fine,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “but listen to me, alright? you stay close. no matter what happens. you don’t let go of my hand.”

he blinked, confused, but nodded slowly. “okay…” the silence between you both stretched for a beat too long. and then, a shadow stretched across the cobblestone, creeping toward your feet like spilled ink.

the air dropped colder, as if the sun itself had recoiled.

he stepped out from between the narrow stalls, movements smooth, unhurried, like he owned the cobblestone beneath his sandals. taller than you remembered, his frame sharper, his presence heavier. his hair spilled down his back in long silver-gray strands that shimmered against the dimming sky, as if he had been carved from the storm itself.

your breath caught. “well, well…” douma’s voice rang out, light and lilting, but soaked in venomous sweetness. “look at you. i half-expected you to be bones in the dirt by now. instead—” his eyes slid over you, cold, glimmering, unblinking. “—you’ve gone and made yourself a little life. how precious.”

your throat worked as you swallowed hard, heart thundering so loud you swore he could hear it. instinctively, your grip on your son’s hand tightened until his small fingers pressed into your palm. you said nothing. couldn’t...

douma’s lips curved into that same smile you thought you’d never see again. it hadn’t changed. eternal, painted on, as cruel as it was empty. “did you miss me, little flower?” he teased, tilting his head just so, his voice sing-song, mocking. “all those nights, did you think about me? wonder if i’d come back for you? mm, you must’ve. because here you are, shaking like a leaf.”

he still hadn’t acknowledged the boy at your side. not yet. and that omission made your blood run colder than anything else. your son tugged at your hand again, whispering, “mama?” you shushed him softly, never taking your eyes off douma, every instinct screaming that the nightmare you had spent years outrunning had finally caught you.

you shifted, half-stepping in front of your son, the basket of vegetables nearly tumbling from your arm. your body curled instinctively, shielding him with every inch of yourself, as if you could block the weight of douma’s gaze with your own trembling frame.

but his eyes had already found him. douma stilled. the air itself seemed to freeze as his sharp gaze slid down, settling on the small boy at your side. your son looked up, wide-eyed, sensing the stranger’s attention.

the smile on douma’s face didn’t change, but something flickered behind it—interest, amusement, a cruel sort of delight. “oh…” his voice dropped to a near whisper, as if he’d stumbled on some divine revelation. “and who is this?” you pulled your son closer, your hand gripping his small shoulders so tightly he flinched. “he’s nothing to you.”

douma chuckled, a low, airy sound that made your skin crawl. “nothing? mm, no, little flower. children are never nothing.” his gaze sharpened, gleaming like ice under the moon, studying the boy’s features—his dark lashes, the curve of his mouth, the faint trace of something achingly familiar.

he tilted his head. “when was he born?” your heart plummeted. douma’s smile widened, the sharp edge of his teeth flashing. “he looks…” he hummed, drawing the word out, savoring it. “…a great deal like me, doesn’t he?”

your throat locked up, every lie you’d prepared dissolving under the weight of his stare. “tell me, darling,” he crooned, stepping closer, the air thick with his presence, “is he mine?”

your chest heaved as you pulled your son tight against you, his small body nearly hidden behind the folds of your robe.

“he is none of your concern,” you snapped, voice raw, trembling but loud enough to cut through the thick air. “you don’t get to ask about him. you don’t get to touch him. you have nothing to do with this, douma!”

for a heartbeat, silence. then—cracks. the smile didn’t vanish, but it warped, twitched, stretched too thin. the edges of his voice trembled with something darker than amusement.

“nothing to do with this?” he echoed, his laugh ringing out sharp, brittle, unhinged. “i’ve missed half of his life. half, little flower. do you know what that does to me? all those years i could have been watching him grow, hearing his first words, teaching him to obey.”

he stepped closer, his voice dipping into a hiss, the mask of joy bleeding into rage. “you stole that from me.” you shook your head, eyes blazing despite the terror clawing at your insides. “you don’t deserve him. you don’t deserve any of this—”

his foot hit the cobblestone hard, the sound cracking like thunder as his composure finally shattered. “shut up!” the word roared out of him, startling villagers in the distance, his voice a whip that lashed through the street. the child flinched, clinging tighter to your robes.

douma’s smile was gone now, his teeth bared, his eyes wide and gleaming with fury. “if you don’t come back with me, i’ll kill you right here.” his gaze cut to the boy, then back to you, deliberate, cruel. “and then i’ll take him. i’ll raise him myself. oh—don’t you think he deserves to know his real father?” his tone dipped low, venomous and sweet, the threat sinking into your bones.

“comply, little flower,” he whispered, grin crawling back across his face like a demon reborn, “or i’ll bury you at his feet.”

your arms wrapped around your son so tightly his small frame shook against you, his face buried into your chest as tears blurred your own vision. every step you tried to take backward felt like walking into quicksand.

“please…” your voice broke, a trembling whisper meant for him and him alone. “don’t look. just keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.” but douma was already there.

his hand—cold, unyielding—slid around your waist, fingers pressing cruelly into the fabric of your robe, anchoring you against him. the gesture looked gentle, guiding, but there was no softness in his grip. “that’s better,” he murmured, smile stretching once more as if your despair fed him. “you see? just like old times. you fit right here, don’t you?”

you stumbled as he tugged you forward, steering you as though you had no will of your own. the street faded behind you, the dimming sky swallowed whole as the shadows of his domain opened. your son clung tighter, whispering, “mama… i’m scared…”

the words shattered what was left of your strength. hot tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unending, as you tightened your hold around him. “hush,” douma cooed mockingly, leaning close so his lips brushed your ear. “don’t cry. you’re coming home. back where you belong. back where you should’ve stayed.”

each word dripped with possession, with rage disguised as love. and though your body moved, guided by his hand at your waist, your soul felt trapped in the cage of his mansion already—the place he had always called home, the place you swore you would never return to. yet here you were.

the walk to the mansion felt endless, yet far too short. the gates loomed, black iron curling like the claws of some beast, and beyond them—the place you had sworn to never see again.

douma guided you inside with one hand still at your waist, your son clinging silently to your side. his little eyes darted everywhere, confused, frightened, but too small to grasp the true horror of where he was being led. “look at this,” douma sang softly, as though giving a tour of paradise instead of a prison. “your new home, little one. so grand, so beautiful. you’ll learn to love it here, just like your mama did.”

your son’s grip on your robes only tightened. douma’s stride never faltered as he brought you up the winding stairs, down a candlelit hall lined with tapestries and vases too delicate to touch. finally, he pushed open a carved wooden door. inside: a bed, too large for a boy so small, soft quilts folded neatly, the windows latticed to let in just enough moonlight.

“your room,” douma announced with a flourish, releasing you only to spread his arms wide. his tone was bright, cheerful, wrong. “do you like it? it’s all yours. every corner, every pillow. you’ll be so comfortable.”

you swallowed hard, running a trembling hand through your son’s hair as he pressed against you, refusing to move toward the bed. “go on,” douma coaxed gently, crouching down until his eerie smile met the boy’s frightened stare. “settle in, little one. mama will stay with you until you fall asleep. isn’t that nice?”

then he straightened, his gaze sliding to you. his smile stayed fixed, but his voice dipped lower, meant only for your ears. “and after you put him to bed…” his breath brushed the shell of your ear, icy and sweet, “…you’ll come to me. in my chambers. don’t make me wait.”

you sat on the edge of the bed, basket long forgotten, your son curled into your lap. he clung to your robes with small fists, his body trembling, his eyes glossy with fear he couldn’t put into words.

“mama… who is that man?” he whispered, voice shaking.

your heart clenched so tightly you thought it might stop. you smoothed his hair back, forcing steadiness into your tone though your tears hadn’t fully dried. “don’t worry about him, sweetheart. i’m here. i won’t leave you.”

he blinked up at you, searching your face for truth. after a long moment, exhaustion from the day’s weight pulled at him, his small body giving in to sleep as you hummed softly, the tune fractured by the tightness in your throat.

you waited until his breathing evened, until his tiny hand loosened its grip on your sleeve. gently, you laid him down and tucked the quilt over his shoulders, kissing his forehead with trembling lips. but when you straightened, the door was cracked open.

a sliver of candlelight spilled across the floor. and in that light—douma’s silhouette, waiting. you froze, breath caught in your lungs. he leaned against the frame as if he’d been there the whole time, watching. his eyes flicked to the boy once, then back to you, and his smile curved slow and deliberate.

“good girl,” he whispered, voice soft as silk, sharp as glass. “now… come to me.” he stepped back into the hall, leaving the door open, the command hanging heavy in the air like a noose.

“years,” he said, voice thin, trembling—not with weakness, but with rage tightly leashed. “years i searched for you. and you… you were raising my son in secret?” your lips parted, words caught in your throat.

he crossed the room in two long strides, hands shooting out to seize your chin, forcing your face up to his. his grip was cold, unyielding, fingers pressing into your jaw hard enough to bruise.

“you dared to run from me?” his tone sharpened, the softness stripped away, replaced by the bite of something feral. “you thought you could keep him from me? half his life, little flower, stolen.” his breath fanned hot against your skin as he leaned closer, his expression a mask of delight stretched too thin.

“i should break you for this.” yet even as his words dripped with violence, his thumb dragged along your lower lip, slow, deliberate, as though savoring the tremble there.

“but…” his smile reappeared, bright and brittle, eyes wide and glassy. “i missed you too much. i should be furious—and i am—but seeing you again…” his lips hovered at your ear, his voice breaking into a shiver of laughter. “ah, it makes me want to devour you whole.”

he pushed you back until your spine met the silken wall, his hand still locked on your waist, pinning you in place.

“you belong here,” he hissed, teeth flashing in something between a grin and a snarl. “to me. to this house. to our son. i’ll never let you leave again.” his forehead pressed against yours, too close, his laugh airy and cruel.

“after all…” his tongue traced the corner of his mouth, gaze blazing with obsession, “what kind of father would i be if i didn’t reclaim what was mine?”

your throat burned as his grip pinned you against the wall, his forehead pressed to yours, his words cutting through every ounce of resistance you had left. but something in you cracked.

“you don’t understand,” you choked out, your voice breaking, trembling against his hold. “every night in this place… i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t even think without feeling your eyes on me. i was trapped, douma—trapped in your mansion, trapped in you. i thought if i didn’t leave, i’d lose myself completely.”

your hands pushed weakly against his chest, not to fight, but to steady yourself as your tears came harder. “i spent nights curled up, crying into my hands, wishing i was anyone else. wishing i could feel free, just once. you call this home, but to me…” your voice fractured, collapsing into a sob. “to me it was a prison.”

his eyes widened, almost childlike with fascination, as though your pain were something he could taste. “a prison?” he repeated softly, tilting his head, lips curving. “mm… how dramatic. but look at you now—crying in my arms again. just like before.”

you shook your head, the words tumbling out faster, uncontrolled. “i ran because i thought it was the only way to save myself. and when i found out about him—” your hand covered your mouth, muffling the sob, “—i couldn’t let him grow up like me. i couldn’t let him feel this… this chain around his neck.”

your knees buckled, but douma’s grip didn’t let you fall. instead, his arms closed tighter around you, caging you to him as your tears dampened his robes. “oh, little flower,” he murmured, voice honeyed, soothing, yet laced with venom. “you sound so broken. so sad. all these lonely nights, all that suffering… and for what? you still ended up back here. back with me.”

he laughed lightly, pressing his lips to your temple in a mockery of comfort. “all your pain did was prove how much you need me.” his fingers slid into your hair, tilting your head back so your tear-streaked face was bared to him. “but don’t worry. i’ll take care of you now. i’ll take care of both of you. you’ll never have to think again. isn’t that what you wanted?”

your chest shuddered with another sob, your body betraying you as you sagged into his arms—terrified, furious, yet so bone-deep exhausted that the fight slipped from you in waves. and douma, smiling wide and cruel, held you as though you had just proven his point.

his fingers dug into your waist, cold and possessive, while his other hand cradled the back of your head as though you were something fragile. his eyes shimmered with something dangerous—rage, longing, obsession—blurring together until you couldn’t tell which drove him more.

“you think i didn’t suffer too?” douma breathed, his voice no longer sing-song but ragged at the edges. “all those years without you, i thought i would unravel. every night, i imagined your face, your voice, your warmth pressed against me.” he leaned closer, lips brushing your cheek where the tears had fallen. “i was starving without you.”

you shivered, turning your face away, though your body betrayed you by trembling against him. “stop… you don’t mean that. you don’t care about me—you never did.”

he laughed, low and sharp, his breath hot against your skin. “oh, little flower, i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. your pain, your anger, even your hatred—it all belongs to me. you belong to me.”

his lips pressed against the curve of your jaw, soft at first, then lingering, burning. your breath hitched, your hands rising to push at his chest, but the strength in them faltered. because part of you—traitorous, weak—still remembered.

the nights he’d held you close, whispering nonsense in that sweet tone until you fell asleep. the way he could make the world feel distant, muted, when he wrapped you in his arms.

you hated him. you hated that you still wanted the comfort, the charm, the cruel tenderness only he could give.

“no…” your whisper cracked, tears spilling as your head pressed back against the wall. “i can’t—i can’t let myself—”

“shh,” he cooed, silencing you with a kiss against the corner of your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek as if to soothe. “don’t fight it. i can feel how much you missed me. your body’s shaking for me, not against me.”

his lips ghosted over yours, not quite kissing, just close enough to make your heart pound in betrayal of your mind.

“you ran, but here you are… melting into me again.” his grin widened, though his eyes glistened with something deeper, something raw. “and i’ll never let you leave. not now. not ever.”

his lips finally claimed yours, crushing and sweet all at once, tasting your tears as though they were nectar meant only for him. the kiss was overwhelming—demanding, merciless, the kind that stripped away every defense you had left.

you pushed at his chest weakly, but his grip on your waist only tightened, pulling you flush against him. “don’t…” you tried to whisper between gasps, but your voice broke when his mouth trailed down to your throat, teeth grazing your skin like a promise.

“don’t what?” douma breathed against your pulse, the smile in his voice maddening. “don’t take back what’s mine? don’t remind you how good it feels to be wanted?”

you shuddered, fingers curling into his robes, torn between pushing him away and clinging to him. your mind screamed no, but your body… your body betrayed you, arching into the cold press of him.

“see?” he murmured, his tongue flicking against your collarbone as though savoring you. “your heart beats for me, even after all this time. your body remembers me, even when your mind tries to lie.”

his hand slid up your side, cold fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, your shoulder, before cupping your jaw to force your eyes to meet his. his irises glittered, too wide, too bright, pupils dilated with something feral.

“look at me, little flower.” his tone sharpened, commanding. “you ran, you hid, you lied—but still, you’re trembling for me. admit it. you wanted me, even in your loneliness. even in your freedom.”

hot tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t look away. your lips trembled as you shook your head, whispering, “i wanted… peace.”

douma laughed, low and airy, pressing his forehead to yours again. “peace is boring. peace is empty. but me?” his lips brushed yours again, a cruel tease. “i make you feel alive.”

his hands pinned you there, body caging yours against the wall as his kiss deepened, rougher now, every movement laced with the fury of years he believed you stole from him.

and though your mind screamed, your body betrayed you again, answering his hunger with your own desperate, confused need.

“that’s it…” he purred between kisses, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “cry, fight, break all you want… you’ll always return to me. because i’m the only one who can ruin you this perfectly.”

the evening air was charged with tension as douma's lips claimed yours once more, his kiss demanding and possessive. his hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your flesh as if he wanted to leave his mark on every inch of your skin. you could feel the anger and desperation radiating from him, his need to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.

despite your mind screaming at you to resist, to fight against his touch, your body betrayed you. you found yourself arching into his cold embrace, your fingers clutching at his robes as if you were drowning and he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

douma's lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, trailing down your neck, leaving a path of searing kisses that made your skin burn. his hands slid down your back, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

"mine," he growled against your skin, his voice low and feral. "you're mine, little flower. always and forever."

your mind rebelled against his words, but your body was already surrendering to his touch. tears pricked at your eyes as you felt yourself falling under his spell once more, your resolve crumbling with each brush of his fingers against your skin.

douma's hands moved to the ties of your robe, deftly unfastening them and pushing the fabric off your shoulders. the cool air of the room sent goosebumps across your exposed skin, but the heat of douma's gaze kept you from feeling cold.

his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and plane, his hunger evident in the way his pupils dilated. he reached out, tracing the curve of your breast with a single finger, smirking as your breath hitched in response.

"you see?" he purred, his voice smooth as silk. "your body knows who it belongs to. it remembers my touch, even if your mind tries to forget."

you wanted to deny it, to push him away and run, but your body was no longer listening to your mind's commands. instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your skin craving more of his caresses.

douma was all too happy to oblige, his hands exploring every inch of your exposed flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake. he worshipped your body with his touch, his lips following the path of his fingers, kissing and nipping at your sensitive skin.

as he lowered you onto the bed, his body covering yours, you knew that you were lost. douma had you under his spell once more, his obsessive love consuming you both. and as he moved within you, his eyes locked on yours, you knew that there was no escape from the chains of his love.

you were his, body and soul, and he would never let you go again.

douma's lips curved into a wicked smile as he trailed his fingers down your stomach, pausing at the edge of your undergarments. his eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours as he slowly slid the fabric down your legs, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.

"you're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with want. "every part of you is perfect, little flower. and all of it, every inch, belongs to me."

he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. he inhaled deeply, a low growl emanating from his chest. "the scent of your arousal is intoxicating," he purred, his tongue darting out to taste you. "i could spend hours just breathing you in."

you whimpered as his tongue made contact, your hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation. douma's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he began to feast on you in earnest.

his tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your essence with long, slow strokes. he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing the sensitive bud until you were writhing beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"please," you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. "i need more."

douma chuckled against your flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. "so impatient," he teased, his tongue never ceasing its ministrations. "don't worry, little flower. i'll give you everything you need."

he slid a finger inside you, curling it to hit that perfect spot within. you cried out, your hips bucking against his mouth as he worked you with his tongue and finger in tandem. he brought you to the edge again and again, only to back off at the last moment, leaving you a whimpering, pleading mess.

"please, douma," you begged, your voice cracking with desperation. "i need you inside me. please."

douma lifted his head, his lips glistening with your arousal. his eyes were black with lust, his expression feral and possessive. "say it again," he demanded, his voice rough with desire. "tell me who you belong to."

"i belong to you," you gasped, your hips rolling, seeking relief. "i'm yours, douma. always and forever."

he surged up your body, his robes falling away to reveal his lean, muscled form. he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"never forget it," he growled, his eyes locking onto yours as he thrust deep inside you.

you cried out at the sensation, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness. he filled you completely, his pelvis grinding against your clit with each snap of his hips.

douma set a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to rattle the bed frame. he leaned down, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste your screams of pleasure.

"you're mine," he grunted with each thrust, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you in place. "you'll always be mine. i'll never let you go again."

your body coiled tighter and tighter, your climax approaching with the force of a freight train. douma reached between your bodies, his fingers stroking your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"come for me, little flower," he rasped, his hips slamming into yours harder, deeper. his eyes burned with obsession as his words tangled against your lips. "i’ll make it up to myself… to us. i’ll give you another child. one i don’t miss half a life with."

he grinned, wide and wicked, his voice dropping lower, more feral. "we’ll start over. i’ll breed you again and again until we do it right this time. you’ll give me another son, another daughter… as many as it takes."

his hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as he drove into you mercilessly. "no more running. no more hiding. you’ll stay here and bear my children until you remember you were always mine."

his words sent you hurtling over the edge, your body spasming around his as your climax crashed over you. douma followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself deep inside you, his seed painting your walls with his ownership.

you collapsed onto the bed, your body spent and replete. douma curled around you, his arms holding you tight against him, as if he never wanted to let you go.

-

whew.. anyways..

[wkbsrco]

Looking for the perfect kissing gloss with your boyfriend is like . . .

Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!

You’ve been kissing him for an hour on his bed, but he’s still not yet satisfied—at this point, you think, he never will be.

“Angel, try this one next…” he purrs, handing you the small sparkly tube of gloss.

The goal was to find the perfect kissing gloss, and you had a vast collection. Of course, sponsored by your disgustingly rich and hardworking boyfriend (maybe sugar daddy).

You wipe your lips with a new piece of wet wipe and apply the gloss he handed you. Plop! You puckered your lips, giggling as he looked up at you.

God, he looked so cute when you sat on top of him.

“I could die like this…” he says, awestruck.

You laugh, rolling your hips, knowing how to make it ache. “Like this?”

“You’re so cruel, angel.” He pouts.

For the nth time, you lean down and grab his face. “Then maybe you should punish me.” You whispered before crashing your lips onto his.

Seems like your boyfriend was really getting his money’s worth with these glosses!

Satoru Gojo (Nerdjo), Choso Kamo, Doma, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Toru Oikawa (TS), Atsumu Miya (TS)

© This work belongs to @wkbsrco, DO NOT repost

[kyojuuros]

[animepopheart]

★ 【athéko】 「 Obsession 」 ✔ republished w/permission ☆ follow btt’s fanart twitch stream!