Douma Harem + Douma Oneshots

? Muzan x Douma ?

(A/N: 185 followers? Thanks! Also I'm sorry for this horrible oneshot, I was on a 13 hour flight and really bored so I used my final two brain cells to make this. In case anyone gets triggered by this sort of thing, this is not a great relationship between Muzan and Douma...)

The room was cold. But then again, it always was now.

Even Douma's high resistance to temperature didn't help. It was a different kind of cold, one that was affected by the mood in the room.

Douma was standing in the corner, looking out of place. His hand was placed on a desk, glancing down at the papers next to him. His nails were still and unmoving against the hard wood the desk was made out of.

There was a picture on the desk. A faded one, the camera quality bad and blurry. You could barely make out the faces of the people in the picture.

Douma preferred pictures to reality. In pictures, people didn't argue and scream. In the photographic world, there weren't harsh words and mental blows delivered that you couldn't forgive.

In the picture, they had been happy.

Well, as close to happy as a demon with no feelings and a demon who didn't care about anyone except himself could be.

Douma sat down on a chair, facing the man in front of him. He averted his polychromatic eyes, not wanting to look at him. Neither of them really wanted to look at each other.

The silence was awkward. Douma's nails began to move up and down slowly on the wood, as if tapping to an unheard tune. The other demon scowled.

"Stop that," Muzan snapped, finally turning to look at Douma. "It's annoying."

Douma froze in place. He slipped his hand back into a pocket of his oversized coat, the other hand fidgeting with the tassels.

Muzan sighed, reaching his hand out towards Douma. "Can't you just... forget about what happened? I don't see why it's such a big deal."

After a pause, Muzan offered a smile, thought seemed forced. Muzan was trying to be nice, or it would seem. Douma knew he didn't mean a word of it.

Douma didn't reply, didn't move. Muzan pulled his hand away, eyes scanning Douma.

If the Demon King wanted to, he could just make Douma forget. Erase the Uppermoon Two's memories of what happened.

That should be what he was doing. Muzan should be in control of the situation, forcing Douma to do his bidding. Make the demon forget, then it would be fine. That's what Muzan did when he had done this sort of thing before. He would just make Douma forget.

But of course Kokushibo of all people had to see, and he had told Douma. Muzan always found it hard to completely reprogram Kokushibo's mind, so there was no use in doing it. If he made Douma forget, Kokushibo would just tell the Uppermoon Two again.

"Douma. Stop ignoring me," growled Muzan, curling his hand into a fist. "You know what happened last time you ignored me, right?"

Of course Douma remembered. It had taken days to regenerate.

Douma glanced at Muzan, his eyes empty. Like normal.

"Explain."

"I don't need to explain anything to anyone. I'm the Demon King. I can do what I like," hissed Muzan, losing his patience. He'd tried to be kind to Douma, but of course that brat wanted an answer. "It's not like we're exclusive. Sure, we've been 'together' for a while, but it doesn't change the fact you're nothing but a toy."

"I know," muttered Douma. He looked away again. "But Akaza? You did it to spite me."

Muzan rolled his eyes. "How could I possibly spite you, you moron? You don't have feelings, no matter what you try to convince yourself. Plus, it's not like it's the first time this has happened. If you hate me doing this so much, then just stop coming back."

Douma didn't say anything. It was unlike the blond to be so quiet. A year ago, Muzan would have been worried.

Now he just laughed.

"You're pathetic. You can't be upset," sneered Muzan. "You're emotionless."

Muzan's tone changed again. It was softer. Nicer. Fake. "Thats why you're the perfect demon. You don't feel remorse. You don't feel anything. If all demons were like you, Douma, I would rule the world."

Douma's expression remained unchanged. Flattery wouldn't work on him.

Muzan observed Douma carefully. Why was he reluctant to speak?

He couldn't be upset, the emotionless bastard. Why was he pretending he was?

Even if, by some miracle, he had gained feelings, Uppermoon Two shouldn't be upset. Douma was using Muzan for personal gain. Blood, power... that was what Douma wanted.

To tell the truth, they had both been using each other. Douma was a source of entertainment for Muzan. He was just a toy, like many others in Muzan's lifetime - albeit a fascinating one, but still a toy.

Muzan shrugged, his crimson eyes still fixated on Douma. "Talk."

"Why? You hate my voice," Douma said, finally grinning.

Why he smiled at his self-depreciating comment was odd to Muzan, but Douma was odd. More like a spooky child than an actual demon.

"I do," replied Muzan. "So get out."

Douma nodded and stood up. His gaze lingered on Muzan for a second longer than Muzan liked, as if the younger was staring right through him. Then Douma smiled, showing slightly too many teeth, and began to head for the door.

"You do know I don't care, right?" Douma said suddenly, almost entirely through the doorway. When did he get so quick? "I just wanted to see your reaction if I pretended to be angry with you."

"Did I satisfy your expectations?" Asked Muzan, tilting his head. Douma's inhuman smile widened.

"You always do." The Uppermoon Two's voice was sickly sweet. There was a pause, Muzan and Douma staring straight into each others eyes in silence. Douma was the first to look away, pulling his coat around him. "My cult is open to you tonight, just in case."

"I'll be there later," Muzan commented, picking up a piece of paper from the desk. "And make sure Kokushibo isn't there when I come over this time. I don't want to see that again."

Douma gave a mocking bow, his eyes never leaving Muzan. The way the empty irises scanned Muzan made the Demon King's skin crawl.

"Of course. I'll see you then."