Douma Harem + Douma Oneshots

ʕ•̫͡•ʔDouma x Kokushibo ☻

A/N: will do the smut soon. I'm just so fucking tired and agh don't wanna vent here but my friends are replacing me and I just feel like crying for other reasons as well but oh well. Enjoy this cuz if I'm sad, I write angst. Fuck it. Also, partly written in time for before D becomes demon. And here K and D are dating cuz yeh. Italics=past. Can't remember who requested angst to fluff. It's not very good, as you can tell im not having the greatest time rn. Sorry that it's not Doukaza, but we need a change in ship, eh?

Like flowers, people wither away and crumble. But some, some fade while alive, once bright blooms dulling into sickly colours. And when that happens to someone, it hurts to watch.

"Mum! Can we play?" Asked an excited child, bouncing up and down. His mother looked down at him, smiling.

"Of course darling. Hide and seek?" Replied the woman, fondly gazing at the child.

"Yeah! One, two, three..."

It's fun, being a child. Not worrying about the pain and sadness of life, with the main problems being what you're having for dinner that evening. Of course, some children don't grow up like that; some live in a version of Hell that is unique. But this child lived a moderately happy childhood.

Up until he was about ten, that is.

Things get worse. That's reality, even if it's shit. Reality burns and gnaws away at empathy and joy, leaving you an empty husk of what you once were. Reality is painful, it can hit you as soft as a snowflake or as hard as a fist. But it's what he lived in. Because his father had taught him not to believe that everything would be fine, since that would be like living in a fantasy world.

"Mum! Can we draw toge-" began the child, before being cut off.

"Not now, Douma. I'm busy." Snapped his mum, glaring at him with eyes that used to hold so much fondness.

"Oh. That's okay!"

Okay. Such a meaningless word. It's not okay. When he said he was, every time, he felt a little piece of himself break.

"Mother. May we talk?" He asked, warily stepping toward her.

"Mmmm- wait. Who- who are you?" She slurred, loosely gripping a beer bottle.

Alcohol is the first step to killing a flower. The poison slowly seeping into the veins and brain, fuzzing everything over.

"Mother."

"Don't call me that."

Hatred is the second step. The loathing of everything around you, the desire to rip someone's face in half and watch as they cry and try to stitch themselves together. (A/N: or is that just me? N and A, you're on my list of people I wanna do that to.)

Douma remembers it like yesterday. The betrayal of his father, the anger of his mother. The blood.

Oh god, why was there so much blood?

Douma watched as his mum plunged the dagger into his father, again and again as she screamed about his infidelity. The young boy should probably feel terrified, but all emotion had been taken away from him by those he used to feel love towards. Instead he only mildly noticed the coppery stench of blood, noting that he'd have to get the servants to clean it up. Then his mother lifted a green bottle to her lips, gasping as she did.

Soon, they both lay on the floor. Dead.

It was ages ago now, but Douma couldn't forget it. Why? Why couldn't he just erase his human memories? Akaza couldn't remember his, nor Daki and Gyutaro. Why couldn't he be like that? Why was he so imperfect and worthless?

He lay on his - no, this room wasn't his, it was some else's that he'd stumbled upon and was too tired to get out of - bed. The ceiling was different in this room, clouded with painted stars. He used to enjoy looking at the stars before he became a demon. They were pretty. Now he was always too busy with either the cult managing or mission to enjoy simple pastime pleasures to look at the enchanting lights in the sky.

The door opened, and a tall figure walked in.

"Fuck."

(A/N: wise words, I know.)

"......What are you.... doing in my room?" Asked the demon that had entered. Ah, so that's who the owner of the immaculately tidy room was. Uppermoon One.

"Reminiscing."

"Oh.....Leave." Kokushibo stated, trying to keep conversation to the bare minimum. He didn't really feel like talking with anyone, and while that usually didn't include Douma, as he actually quite liked him, it did today.

"Nah."

(A/N:mood)

Kokushibo huffed. From experience, once this childish demon had made up his mind, there was no changing it. He graciously placed his katana down on the rack, before swinging his legs over on to the bed next to the sprawled out Douma. The aforementioned looked over at him.

"Did you paint the stars?" Asked Douma, a wistful look in his normally dull eyes. "If so, they're gorgeous."

"....yes I did."

"I like them. I don't like a lot of things, but I like you and the stars." Commented Douma. "Both of those things are beautiful." He turned to look at Kokushibo. "Can I have a hug?"

Kokushibo was temporarily frozen, brain going into lockdown mode. He wasn't very good with physical contact (A/N:you and me both, mate) and Douma seemed to quickly remember that.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable in your own room. I'll leave, I'm being a nuisance anyways."

"Get out Douma! You're an annoying brat, and being an utter nuisance!" Screamed his father as Douma walked into the room to get his book.

"Sorry Father. I'll leave, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

It's hard to break childhood habits. Over a century old, and he still apologised for such little things that the majority of the population would just laugh about later.

"No...you can stay - but nothing sexual." Murmured Kokushibo, already his eyelids drooping. Beside him, Douma chuckled.

"Alright. Good night, Kokushibo. I love you."

Douma may have loved Kokushibo, but he sure didn't love himself. When your parents yell at you for the entirety of your childhood, it's hard to forget.

"Emotions are weaknesses."

"Worthless! Well, except for one thing. Your looks bring in money!"

"Brat. Just leave me the hell alone, you moronic idiot."

But he was recovering. With someone else by his side, he didn't feel as if he was drowning in loneliness anymore. He had something to anchor himself to; a reason to live. A reason to wake up the next day.

Because when he was young, he certainly didn't have that kind of support.

"............love you too, Douma."