Douma Kny - Tumblr Posts

‘ DEAD GIRLS TELL NO TALES! — douma.

☰ ft : douma x f! courtesan! reader

+ synopsis : a young little woman like you walking the streets at night in favor to gain money from the cravings of men, but all runs cold when you turn into the wrong alleyway. | est. 2.0k wc

cw/tw : sws + dark content, non con, gore, predator pray dynamics, size difference, manipulation, no prep, public sex (alleyway), pet names, cervix fucking, douma has a god complex, biting/marking, douma scratches reader, brain washing(?), mind break, implied that reader dies :(, creampie, douma is just pure evil, as he is.

the blacktop streets you walk upon stretch onwards into loops of dizzying alleyways; dozens of paths flow into one another. most are sworn with pitched infinite darkness, no light from the dim, flickering street lamps to leak through with.

and those you have always told yourself to stay far from.

always hearing the whispers of the stories of past women who had heed for their own.. who had only walked blissfully unaware of the alluring eyes watching their every move, and waiting till the click of their heels to step even a mere inch into the cast of shadows to soon be dragged beneath the blanket of forever night shone..

your legs have always moved a little faster when you had to walk by a deep alleyway. not even batting an eye into it either, only focused on the tight grip you hold around the heavy robes you wear; lifting the many fabrics from pulling you down into a tight fisted clutch.

and there's always a spike of an adrenalin rush to pound at your heart, feeling it throb against your ribs as if you can feel those predatory eyes hidden away, watching you. as if you can feel shadows prying from the aisles and casting to tug at the hem of your clothes like spawned terrors filled with greed and vicious intents for a little woman like you.

but soon as you luckily break past the atrocity, you always take in a deep breath, though it's shakey, you feel grateful you could even suck in life after walking past those murky alleys. and when you do, you dare not to ever look back in hopes if those shadows of hands were not real, but just your imagination toying with you, pulling at those strings of natural human fear–of fight or flight–to push you faster.

“home, home, home.. just one more street to go.”

you try to focus your mind, trying to steady your senses that still tremor, still feeling the lick of shadows crawling over you.

you even try to count your steps, but that heavy feeling looming above you still grips onto you tightly.

and that's when it hits you, this street isn't familiar.

this feeling is all too foreign. yes, you've always been scared, but this..

this was different.

you've never felt this much fear course through you when walking the streets at night in favor to gain money from the cravings of men.

this was almost sickening.

feeling how your stomach churns with heat boiling in your core before catching in your throat when everything seemed to have sped up around you.

feeling how anxiety creeps against your skin before puncturing through your chest to snake around your heart, to constrict it with the realization of the impending if you can even move any faster. if the liminality between the realization of death and the desperation for life with each hard step you take was even liable anymore.

now feeling how that anxiety draws at you harder, hearing how the shadows steps become of its own, becoming a true cast of a towering man that dwells closer to you. and that anxiety snaked around you constricts you till you burst, feeling how your world sinks beneath your feet as a rough hand clips around the bone of your shoulder and tugs.

“excuse me, miss.”

a blithe voice lures you in as your body was heaved away from the direction of your home and close to the chest of a sauntering man.

eyes wide and largely dilated catch into the gaze of bright ones, of soft and dull eyes, yet they held such fierce and bold colors; glimpsing how each brand of new arc swirls into a different and vivid hue, as if they've been sprayed with the graffiti of an euphoria of heavens.

the man's eyes are bright, just like his milky skin that seems to glow beneath the shone lights blinking across the empty streets and so as his flowing hair that drapes and concaves around his sharp features.

your body freezes, tensing into the tight hold he bares against you, and that large smile he curls only pokes at your tension even more.

“i’ve finally caught up to you, i’ve been trying to give this back.” the other hand that's free from your skin holds out towards you, his fingers uncurling to reveal the deep shine of your earring resting in his palm.

your eyes illume.

“i saw it fall out when you were passing the street.” the man adds with a gleam.

you can't tell if your heart slowed just yet, seeing how maybe this man was only truly trying to give back your missing jewl, but still feeling how his hand still holds roughly at your shoulder makes you feel otherwise..

“you were walking so fast, i had to catch up to you somehow. i can tell that this is expensive and suited for only a woman like you, not in the hands of some grime sulking the streets.” you almost want to nod in agreement or even in appreciation that he would go out his way to hand this back to you and not just sell it, but your senses still feel shocked.

“you were moving so fast..” he repeats.

“it was.. cute.. like a scurrying little bunny trying to run.” he says, in a voice not as amiable as before and your brows furrow, heart picking back up its race.

the man leans over, “helplessly trying to run because of fear, knowing bigger beasts are lurking down these streets at night, yes?” he asks and you can feel the cold sharp of his breath wisp against the tip of your ridden nose.

you nod.

“then why come here knowing you can be eaten alive?” the confusion dawning at you doesn't cease the further he queries you.

“f-for work. it's for work sir, i work along these streets.” you've always been honest, and never humiliated for your risky, yet well-paying job, and you simply wanted to be let go, trying to answer the man quickly in hopes he would.

“ah, a lady of the night, i see,” a gentle smirk tugs at the corner of his glossed lips, “its quite dangerous, could practically be your last night if you step into the wrong territory.” and as his lips peak open at each ominous word, you can't help but notice the sharp point of his teeth, fang-like that hint with a white shine.

“yes, so it would be best for me to get going now then.” you try to dip under his hold, but a faint crack echoes through your ears.

it all happened too fast to even comprehend the pure feeling of your bone snapping so easily. your senses were all too strung up on the thought of running, not ever minding for the point of your fragile bone that prods against your skin; a small bump threatening to pierce through it.

your mouth hinges in shock, and a silent cry falters from between your lips. trembling eyes graze over the sight of your arm that now falls limp against your side; it looked so surreal, fake even.

“and you, darling, hopped into my territory.”

you wish—you beg your body to let a scream rip out raw from your throat or even to kick or slap away at this sauntering man. but it was only going against you; staying stuck in a paralyzed state and mind, body falling limp into his strong hold that roughly tugs and pulls at your limps, and hastily drags you to the nearest shadowed alleyway with ease.

your skull is quickly met against a sturdy wall of bricks; feeling the rough contact almost shatter your fragile bones. the man used enough force to scrape that skin against your temple to slide upwards; loose flesh peeling apart, an opening for blood to trickle down your ridden face. and that large hand that cups the back of your head roughly digs cruel fingers through the fine strands of your hair, threatening to pull them from the root.

he's quick to boot your trembling legs open too, kicking them apart with his foot and settling between your smaller body before you could close them. his free calloused hand shoves away the many layers of your robes, frilling the fabrics over that soft mound of flesh till a clear view of your panties were shone to the cast of his brute eyes.

“you got me all excited, hearing how your heart was racing as you feared to get away from me.” he admits, the hand practically scalping you tugs your head back, forcing your neck to strain as his own dips between that soft curvature.

“and now, that sweet rush of your blood pumping with pure terror makes me tingle.” you can hear how he chuckles deeply at the shake you tremble with beneath him.

a silent whine prys out from your mouth, feeling all pointed teeth and no tender lips draw against your soft pulse point. that retching feel of his teeth sinking into your skin goes far beyond from any comfort. feeling how the man bites down with enough brute force to break through that tough flesh.

even hearing how your tender skin rips into the divot shapes of his fangs makes you daze; deep holes creating into your neck that concaves around the sharp bones aligned in his mouth.

instantly, warm crimson of fresh and rushed blood spills into his mouth and melts against his tongue, and he can't help but shudder at the sweet taste, relishing the flavor of this claret that's pumped through fear.

and yet, this feeling for you makes you twist and turn. it felt as if he was chewing out your neck, almost ripping your windpipe open raw. and you try to wiggle away fast in moments in his hold but he's faster; his large hand grabbing ahold of your wrists, clutching them together tightly, and you can hear your bone pop at the uncomfortable and quick sharp twist.

“don't fight something you can't win.” he brawls his tongue over the weeping slits that leak past his lips. they shine in a ruddy mess, some trickles of crimson bead down to his chin, clumping up at the point before dripping in thick strings.

“mm~! blood that's rushed with fear is the best kind,” the quick swipe of his long tongue sweeps up the drool of blood clinging to his lush lips, “but blood that's rushed with arousal is too one of a kind.” he jeers.

“please, please let me go.” your voice is shot, below a whisper but he chuckles at your desperation.

“little bunny, i will do as i please.. i am a god.” he sneers, and the rasp that drags out his throat is threatening, making your head spin.

“i am your god, douma.”

his words are sharp to your ears, almost drilling, and in his mind, he knows deep down he's far from one, but having such power over such a small being like you made him feel otherwise.

“and douma is the name i want to hear you scream as i fuck you full with my cock, so don't fight it, and instead, be thankful to have such an honorable opportunity!” douma elucidates.

you shake your head with trembling eyes.

you can't even focus on the cracked cement below you; hot and fat tears bubbling over your sight, some swelling before breaking free and lolling down the fat of your cheeks.

“that's an order, human.”

feeling how the pinch of his nails poking at the sides of your hips was hard enough to dig the shape into your flesh, and let alone, the heavy presence he holds against you felt as is the air was too thick to breath in, almost suffocating.

“so, let me hear you praise my name as it's deserved to be!” your brain was too fogged to even have noticed when he popped his cock free from his confines and shifted your panties over the fat of your lips.

face contorting into one as if a child who had their candy stolen from; lips rising to create a howl, eyes trying to bat away the swell of tears pricking at them, and face ridden with pure distress. pure agony resonates through your features, feeling your poor little cunt stretching to the shape of douma’s fat cock.

and douma relishes the resisting feel your pussy weeps in as he tries bullying the crown of his cock through your puffy lips.

his blood-painted tongue smacks against the roof of his mouth, savoring the tight squeeze you clench around him as he finally breaks through with one strong buck of his hips; shoving his cock in till his base met against the soft plush of your ass, burying deep in your pussy till the fat tip of his cock kissed your cervix, and heavy tight balls hitting against the soft puffy bulb of your clit.

your fingers curl sheepishly around his wrist as a safe haven as his cock invades your body brutally. you can feel your core being torn, ripped into two at the brute force of his cock impaling your poor little cunt, and compelling you to stretch around his length.

douma let's out a low guttural growl, feeling how the force of his cock makes your pussy slicken itself, trying to ease up the pain. and the wet messy feel coating his cock makes his pigmented eyes wide, crazed like, even the veins encircled around the strong of his forearms bulge with rushing blood.

“you love it. you love the cock of a god stuffing you.” he draws his hips back, the tip of his cock mere inches from popping out from your warmth, only to clash with you once again.

your stomach aches.

the tearing feel of your insides makes your teeth grind, almost chipping the harder you tried holding in your wanton moans.

the buck of his hips snapping against your begins to establish a cruel rhythm; his hand that holds at yours tightened, almost popping the bones in your wrist as the other lures your head further back, forcing an arch to form, and the holes dug into your neck split further open, more thick liquids to stream out, making his movements more violent.

this sight made him crazed with the basking of a need; such a pitiful woman you are with such little power, only accepting your fate.

accepting the drag of his heavy cock pistoning in and out of your gummy walls, and each draw was sharp, hard enough to make your body jolt forward with a quarrel.

this smell too only adds to the mind debleating pleasure that wisps at his thoughts; inhaling the rich scent of your blood still trickling free from your open wounds made his senses tremor. but all was too little, he needed more. he needed to break open more of your tender skin, to mark you with deep imprints of his teeth till you were left empty.

and douma strides a broad stroke of his tongue against your shoulder that layers with a rise of goosebumps. he inhales deeply for the sweetest spot before curling his lips when he does, letting the pearls of his teeth sink into a new locale close to your neck, and forcing that flesh to break around him with ease.

your bobbing throat stings in agony, the burning of the cavities drilled through your skin boil with immense toil, feeling how the ones marked into your neck now begin to itch from the drying blood. but the new and fresh imprint draws your attention, feeling the puncture of his teeth drag up, almost pulling at your skin as if he was going to tear it off.

the strings of your heart tighten as douma litters another pair of marks into your shoulder. the pricks scar at your skin till your back is left inked with spirals and trails of crimson flowing till you felt hazed.

“sweet blood. sweet, sweet, sweet blood.” douma groans with an unhinged smile playing at his ruby-stained lips.

each wet slap of your lower halves meeting carves deeper ingraineds into your mind than his bites do; a relic of shame erected in your wake, feeling how your stomach coils in that familiar elicited sensation.

“your sweet blood given to a god like me, you should feel happy to give such rich wine like yours to me. sacrificing it all for me.” douma groans out each exclamation of pleasure he receives from using your blood-ridden, limp body, reducing you into his very own ‘hole’ to toy with at his leisure.

and it's almost as if his words crawl through the canals of your ears and burrow they're way to nest into your brain, settling with the thought he might be rolling the truth off his tongue..

fuzzy mind pondering how such a man can be so distinct in features, eyes of a rainbow, sauntering frame that towers with pure vitality, and the control and power of a..

god.

you fall into his cruel thrusts.

douma drags out a long, languid, stroke, fully intending the sweet feel of your insides to clamp down around his invasive length. and soon as he feels your body finally fall pliant and soft into his mercy, he can't help but feel his balls tighten.

his rough hand frees your skull, head almost thrashing back into the brick wall at the sudden release.

he claws into the flesh of your hip, and ramming his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix– until he can see how the translucent coat of your cream blankets around his cock.

he smirks at the sight of having you finally wrecked around him, body littered in beats of purple and red, blood trailing down and between your shivering body, and now, creaming his cock.

douma swears he could feel his cold heart pump with awakened palpitations he's never felt arise before, feeling and letting the euphoria consume him, to wash over him as he stripes down long, deep chains of his nails down your sides.

he closes his eyes to bathe in this, to let himself be cleansed and washed over with this wildly ecstasy, to let his cock pump into your worn body before coating your walls with hot ropes of warm cream and thick white. his strong hips stutter as your sore cunt flutters and clenches around him, milking him more and sucking in his cock in deeper.

douma shivers as he pumps you full, filling you to the hilt before slowly dragging his softening cock out from your, abused, stretched, and sopping pussy.

and he watches closely with bright eyes, catching how white dribbles out your quivering hole, and the red leaking from your back now spilling over your sides, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing into fuschia when it drips to the concrete.

“such a sweet smell too.”

he inhales the color, sucking it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel that ridden craving he still bares with.

soon as he frees his jarring hold against you, your shaking legs buckle; cold knees meeting and grating against the cement. and as you sat there, coated in your own blood, and other undesirable fluids, your mind was gone.

so far from this reality, you couldn't tell if you were even human no more. the numbing was overbearing, consuming you till you casted your own shadows in the deep alleyways..

“may this blessing relish you for your servings tonight, little bunny.”

Im just leaving this here. Im crying please 🤣😭

I was talking to @0ikawasmilkbread45 who has never seen demon slayer before and we had a massive discussion about how hot certain anime characters were before moving onto demon slayer. And after me saying I’d leave Giyuu’s bedroom to punch shinobu in the face (Giyuu supremacy) tell her I’m glad her sister died and then go off to fuck her sisters killer I moved on to Akaza. Now everyone knows he looks like a basketball, but she did not so when I described him as that she promptly wheezed in confusion before proceeding to message me this 💀💀💀

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fem!Reader, shibari

Synopsis: Douma initiates you into the world of shibari

Author: @dumadono

A/N: Welcome to another day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration Today's prompt: shibari

Masterlist

Douma's heart is captivated by artistry, and what greater embodiment of artistic expression is there than the ancient Japanese art of bondage, known as shibari or, in its traditional form, kinbaku? 

_________________

That day, he embarks on a journey from mere admiration to active engagement and beyond. This is why the two of you find yourselves strolling along this quiet, desolate dirt path, burdened with an array of tools and paraphernalia, ready to delve into the world of bound passion and creative intimacy.

"Have you ever ventured into the art of shibari?" you inquire, your voice hesitant like a gentle breeze.

"A few times, yet I never fully mastered it, lotus," he responds, his words flowing like a tranquil stream.

"How so, Douma-sama?" you question, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

"Shibari, my little lotus, is an art of intricate knots and delicate ties," he answers, his voice a seductive whisper. "It requires patience, precision, and a deep connection between the one tying and the one being bound. I believe we share such a connection."

You blush at his words.

You now find yourself at a single-room wooden dwelling. Douma has frequented this place, studying its secrets, delivering various items, and readying the weathered edifice you now encounter for its current purpose. For several months, no soul has ventured here, and this aligns perfectly with Douma's intentions. Silence reigns, a tranquility he diligently maintains.

Now that you are both inside, and you undress completely.

In complete silence, Douma's actions speak volumes. His kisses and tender caresses trace your body with affection, focusing on your breasts and ass. As you sit on a small stool, he carefully unravels coils of rope. One end is guided through the first of the eye bolts, draping down to your shoulders. The length is matched with the other end, and a secure knot is tied at the eye bolt. With your arms extended, Douma has you hold a sturdy bamboo rod behind your head, spanning from one hand to the other.

Methodically, deliberately, and with deep affection, Douma begins to weave the ropes around you, starting at your underarms and winding them around until they reach your hands. Ornamental knots adorn each hand, and then the ropes are guided back up, securing them to the same eye bolt. Your upper body is now firmly bound, your arms suspended about three feet above the floor. Despite only four points of suspension, the bamboo and the rope's intricate threading ensure your weight is evenly distributed.

Next, another rope passes through the far eye bolt, and it's employed to secure your ankles to another bamboo rod intended to maintain your legs apart. A third rope descends, slipping beneath the small of your back, alleviating most of the weight from your ankle restraints. Two additional ropes loop under your back, the first just below your breasts, and the second halfway between the first and the rope near your hips. All of this consumes a substantial amount of time due to the meticulous knot work being executed.

At this juncture, you are suspended from the eye bolts with only your head left unsupported. Douma brushes your hair, "You're such a good lotus, so obedient to me."

You're now completely bound. 

“How are you feeling, my precious lotus?” Douma asks, his tone lacing with sweetness.

“I’m good, master,” you reply, offering him a smile. “Keep going.”

Removing the stool, Douma stands back to assess his handiwork. To a casual observer, it might appear as if you are being tortured, but the reality is quite the opposite. In truth, you are utterly comfortable and at peace. You feel more liberated than you have ever felt before. You have surrendered yourself completely to Douma and have no decisions to worry about.

The height at which you are suspended is carefully selected to grant Douma ideal access to your pussy while he occupies the stool. His eyes remain closed as he skillfully employs his mouth and tongue, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm while you hover weightlessly in the air. He possesses an innate sense of timing, allowing just enough respite before resuming his attention. Overwhelmed by ecstasy and a profound sensation of boundless pleasure, your passionate cries fill the space. This experience is unlike any you've ever encountered, an unprecedented expression of love and desire.

Douma's skilled tongue dances slowly on your clitoris, occasionally gliding down the slit to your sweet entrance, which emits juices he adores so much. He places tender licks here and there, occasionally applying a gentle suction to your lips, all while humming with delight.

You inquire about him, expressing your desire to please him in return.

Douma responds, breaking his silence for the first time since your arrival, stating that this experience is for your satisfaction, and you need not worry about his release at this moment. It's also unlikely that you'd be in a condition to attend to his needs after this intense scene.

After a few hours, you are lowered from your suspended position. You're tired. Exhaustion has taken its toll, and Douma gently carries you along the deserted dirt road back to his shrine while weariness overcomes you, and you eventually fall asleep in his comforting embrace.

"I love you so much, little lotus," Douma whispers, placing a tiny kiss on your temple.