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Hey Iâm back after not posting for like 3 yrs, anyway hereâs Akaza + Hakujiâs beautiful back
When Blood Runs Warm
Pairing: Akaza x Douma
Warnings: Doukaza (YES I SHIP THEM OK !!!), violence, detailed gore, blood, broken bones, biting, ripping flesh, death, Douma being his usual self, subby Akaza (canon), male penetration - list is not exhaustive, read at own risk
18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI
A/N: Infinity Castle made me even crazier about Douma so this was inevitable. đ
Anime Masterlist
The mission had been brutal. Not because the opponents were strongânothing of the sort. It was the mess of it that soured Akazaâs temper. Weak humans clawing for survival, children screaming, blood soaking the wooden floors of their shrine.
Heâd tried to make it quick. Efficient. He didnât enjoy carnage. Not like some of the others.
Not like Douma.
The other Upper Moon had arrived late. As always. Glittering fan in hand, robes untouched by filth, a too-wide smile plastered across his perfect face. He made a spectacle of itâtwirling through the chaos, laughing as he cleaved flesh from bone like a dancer pirouetting on a stage built of corpses.
Akaza had said nothing at the time. Heâd simply turned his back once the deed was done, muttering something about Muzanâs commands, and vanished into the churning corridors of the Infinity Castle.
But the fury had followed him. Gnawed at him. It wasnât just Doumaâs crueltyâit was the mockery. The way heâd winked at Akaza as he dipped his hands into the bloodied altar. The way he whispered, âYou missed a spot, Akaza-dono,â as if they were sharing some private joke. As if thisâdeath, filth, demonhoodâwas something worth smiling over.
Akazaâs footsteps echoed now as he stalked down one of the empty wings of the castle, fists clenched, teeth grinding. He needed solitude. Space. Time to remind himself why he endured thisâwhy he still held some fragile tether to control.
But he wasnât alone. Of course he wasnât.
The halls of the Infinity Castle were always shifting, but tonight, they seemed to bend around Akazaâs rageâdoors slamming closed without cause, lights flickering, floors stretching long and lonely beneath his bare feet. His blood still hummed with battle, but it wasnât the satisfying high of a clean kill. It was tainted. Polluted by the echo of laughter. His laughter.
Akaza came to a stop in a narrow corridor lined with paper doors and endless shadows. One hand braced against the wall, the other curling into a tight fist at his side. The scent of blood still lingeredâiron-rich, cloying, wrong. Not from his own hands, but from the trail Douma had carved like an artist painting with viscera. And still, Akaza had said nothing. Just clenched his jaw and walked away. Again.
A soft rustle of silk broke the quiet. He didnât have to look to know.
âYou followed me,â he growled, not turning.
Behind him, Douma clicked his tongue. âMmm, not quite. I simply appeared. The castle likes me better, you know.â
Akaza spun, sharp and sudden. âGet out.â
But Douma only smiledâlazily, almost bored. He leaned against the doorframe like heâd wandered into a conversation, not a confrontation. His robes were spotless, as always, and his fan fluttered idly in one hand like it held no weight at all.
âCome now,â he purred, tilting his head. âYou seem upset. Did I do something to offend you, Akaza-dono?â
The mockery was barely veiled, laced with that eternal, infuriating sweetness. As if he wasnât standing ankle-deep in the blood of innocents just an hour ago. As if he didnât wear that hollow smile like armour.
Akazaâs fists trembled. âYouââ He cut himself off. Words would do nothing. Not with him.
But Douma stepped closer, fan closing with a crisp snap. His eyesâthose eerie, crystalline eyesânever left Akazaâs face.
âI saw the way you looked at me,â he murmured. âAfter I tore the priestâs spine out. You were practically burning, my dear Upper Three. Was it anger? OrâŚâ His voice dropped lower. âWas it something else?â
Akazaâs control snapped like glass underfoot. In a blink, he closed the distance, seizing Douma by the collar and slamming him back into the nearest wall. The plaster cracked, but Douma didnât flinch. Didnât resist. He only laughed, breathless and delighted.
âThere it is,â he whispered. âThereâs the fire I wanted.â
âShut up,â Akaza snarled, his face inches away, breath ragged. âDonât speak to me like you know me. You donât know anything.â
Doumaâs smile softened. Just a little. âBut I do. Iâve watched you for over a century, Akaza-dono. I know what makes you tick. What makes you ache.â
His fingers grazed Akazaâs wrist, featherlight.
âAnd I know,â he whispered, âthat thereâs more than hatred in the way you look at me.â
Silence.
For a moment, neither moved. The castle around them fell still, holding its breath.
Thenâ
Akaza shoved him harder, as if he could crush the words out of existence. But his hands didnât leave Doumaâs robes. His grip was tight. Desperate. Like a man holding back a flood.
âYouâre sick,â Akaza spat. âYou play at love and meaning, but you feel nothing.â
Doumaâs smile faded, and that was new. Rare, even. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
âPerhaps. But thatâs never stopped you from looking at me like you want something.â
Akazaâs chest rose and fell too fast. He could smell the cold sweetness of Doumaâs skinâtoo close, too cloying. His fingers curled tighter in silk.
âSay one more word,â he warned, voice hoarse, âand I swear Iâllââ
âWhat?â Doumaâs gaze dropped to Akazaâs mouth. âKiss me? Kill me? Iâve been waiting over a century to find out.â
That was it. The final fraying thread of Akazaâs restraint snapped. He let go of Doumaâs robes like theyâd burned him, stumbling a step back, chest heaving. His hands hovered in the air as if they werenât his own, as if he no longer trusted them.
âDonâtââ he choked, voice rough and jagged. âDonât do that.â
Douma tilted his head, mask slipping back into place. âDo what, my dear?â
âDonât pretend you understand me,â Akaza spat, each word like broken glass in his throat. âDonât talk like this isnât a game. Like you feel anything.â
He turned, running a hand through his hair, trying to claw his way back to clarity. But everything was too loud. Too close. The scent of blood, the lingering warmth of Doumaâs body against his hands, the echo of that damnable smile behind his closed eyes.
He couldnât think. Couldnât breathe.
Doumaâs voice drifted from behind him, featherlight but sharpened at the edges. âOh, Akaza. Youâve never been good at hiding yourself. You act like I disgust you, like you canât stand to be near me. But you never leave for long, do you?â
Akaza turned sharply, fury blooming in his chest like a second heartbeat. âYou want the truth?â he growled. âFine.â
He crossed the space between them again, not touching, but close enough to suffocate.
âYou make me sick,â he snarled, eyes blazing. âI see you and I feel like Iâm crawling out of my own skin. You twist everythingâevery word, every glance, like itâs some kind of performance. And I hate you for it. I hate you becauseâŚâ
His voice faltered. Because the truth was a blade heâd never dared unsheathe. Douma watched him, quiet now. Unblinking. Waiting. Akazaâs fists clenched at his sides. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Raw.
âGet out of my sight.â
Douma blinked. Slowly. âOh?â
âNow,â Akaza barked, every muscle in his body wound tight, as if he was holding back something far more dangerous than a punch. âBefore I do something I canât take back. Before I kill you. Because if you stay hereâif you say one more wordâI swear to Muzan, I will.â
He meant it⌠Or maybe he didnât. He didnât know anymore. The lines were blurring too fast. All he knew was that if Douma touched him, spoke to him, looked at him like that again, something would snap, and not even centuries of hatred could stop what would follow.
Doumaâs eyes glittered in the dark. But for once, he didnât smile. He bowed his head slightly, as if in mock deferenceâor maybe something else.
âI see,â he murmured, voice quieter than usual. âHow tragic. You feel so much⌠and still think itâs only hate.â
Then he turned, fan fluttering open once more, and disappeared into the shadows without another word. Leaving Akaza alone in the corridor, fists trembling, breath ragged, heart racing with something far more dangerous than anger.
He didnât know how long he walked.
The corridors stretched endlessly, rooms folding in on themselves, but Akaza barely noticed. His feet moved of their own accordâsilent, sharpâlike a hunter stalking prey. Only there was no one left to kill. Not really.
He slammed his fist into a wooden pillar as he passed. The impact splintered it, sent shards clattering to the floor, but it did nothing to dull the ache in his chest. His head was a storm. A mess of fragments he couldnât string togetherâexpressions, touches, words that burrowed under his skin like splinters.
âPerhaps⌠but thatâs never stopped you from looking at me like you want something.â
âYou never leave for long, do you?â
âHow tragic. You feel so much⌠and still think itâs only hate.â
He hated him. He hated him.
Didnât he?
Akaza dragged a hand through his hair, claws digging into his scalp. It was easier to focus on the sting of that than the chaos inside him.
Heâd spent countless decades hating Douma. No, more than thatâdespising him. Everything about him. His cruelty. His emptiness. The way he wore charm like a mask and dismemberment like an art form. Douma didnât feel. He didnât mourn, didnât care, didnât understand. He was hollow. A mockery of existence.
So why the fuck did Akaza still remember the exact pitch of his voice from moments ago? Why could he still feel the silk of his robes between his fingers, the frozen scent of him clinging to the air like fog? What was different about tonight?
Heâd seen Douma kill before. Hundreds of times. Thousands. Heâd been called to missions alongside him, listened to his sugarcoated nonsense, brushed him off like a nuisance. But this timeâthis time he couldnât brush it off.
Because Douma hadnât just been toying with him tonight. Not really. Thereâd been something in his voiceâbeneath the teasing, under the smirk. A flicker of something real. A break in the mask. A line crossed not for sport, but because something inside him had shifted, too. And that terrified Akaza more than anything.
Because it meant Douma mightâve been telling the truth. It meant this wasnât one-sided anymore.
âFuck,â he whispered, punching the stone wall hard enough to split the skin of his knuckles. Blood dripped down his wrist, but it was already healing. Always healing. The body repaired. The mind rotted. He sank to a crouch, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes burning. He couldnât sit still. Couldnât stand up. Couldnât breathe.
For the first time in a century, Akaza wasnât sure if what he felt for Douma was hatred or something else entirely. That was the difference. Tonight, Douma hadnât just gotten under his skin. Heâd gotten in.
The summons came in their usual way; sudden, wordless, and impossible to ignore.
Akaza didnât hesitate. He could feel Muzanâs presence like a nail in the base of his skullâpulling, commanding. It always made his stomach twist, even after all these years.
By the time he arrived in the audience chamber, the other Upper Moons had already gathered. Kokushibo stood at the base of the steps, silent and unmoving. Hantenguâs echoes trembled in the shadows. Nakime plucked softly at her biwa in the corner, expression blank.
And Doumaâ
Akazaâs jaw tensed.
Douma was lounging at the far end of the chamber, golden eyes flicking toward him the moment he entered. No smirk this time. Just a subtle tilt of the head, a glint of something unreadable in his gaze. Akaza didnât look twice. Didnât speak. He took his place near the centre, eyes fixed forward.
Then Muzan appeared. The air turned colder, thicker. As though time itself held its breath. He materialised like mist congealing into fleshâflawless, inhuman, magnificent in his loathing.
âYou disappoint me,â Muzan said, and his voice was quieter than a whisperâbut it filled the room like a scream. âYou bask in your ranks as if they are gifts. But you are weapons. Blades. Tools. And tools that rust are broken and replaced.â
None of them spoke.
âYou will prove yourselves,â he continued, eyes cutting across each face. âOr you will suffer. That is all.â
Nakime plucked a final chord. A doorway opened in the air.
Muzan turned his gaze toward Akaza. âUpper Three.â
Akaza stepped forward without hesitation. âYes, Muzan-sama.â
âYou and Upper Two will go north. There is a slayer faction building beyond the mountain village of Kirisawa. Wipe it clean.â
The silence cracked like lightning. Akaza felt it like a blow to the chest.
You and Upper Two.
Behind him, Douma made a soft sound of delight. Akaza didnât turn, didnât flinch. Only bowed his head lower.
âYes, Muzan-sama.â
Muzanâs voice dropped colder. âFail, and I will make eternity a prison you cannot escape.â
Then he was gone. Just like that. The weight of his presence lifted, but the air didnât ease. The tension remained, thick and blood-slicked, as Nakimeâs biwa strings echoed into nothing. Akaza turned on his heel, already heading for the portal.
âAkaza-dono,â Douma called sweetly. âNo congratulations? Weâre partners again! I do so love our bonding missions.â
Akaza didnât stop walking. âTouch me,â he growled, âand Iâll rip your arm off.â
Douma giggled. âYou already tried that once. Maybe this time, Iâll let you succeed.â
They disappeared into the portal side by side. Bound by command, driven by violence, and stalked by something far more dangerous than hatred.
The air in Kirisawa was sharp with winter. A village tucked into the mountains, cloaked in snowfall and silence. The portal dissolved behind them as Akaza stepped out into the forestâs edge. Pines bowed under the weight of snow, branches creaking softly in the stillness. The moon cut through the trees in slivers, casting ghost-pale light across the frost-covered ground.
Douma followed leisurely, exhaling a dramatic sigh as his geta crunched against the snow. âMmm, what a charming little place. So quaint.â
Akaza didnât respond. He was already scanning the terrainâeyes narrowed, senses stretched wide. The scent of human fear hung faint in the air, trailing from the direction of the village below. Then came another scent. Stronger. Familiar.
Blood. Fresh. Not far.
Akaza turned sharply, boots cutting deep into the snow. He broke into a run, Douma trailing behind at a skip.
They found them just beyond the treeline: three humans, two of them barely adults. A man lay crumpled on the ground, throat torn. Beside him, a young girl sobbed into the chest of her sisterâboth wide-eyed, trembling, frozen in place.
Douma landed lightly on a nearby rock, crouching like a cat. âAh. A family reunion gone terribly wrong, I see.â
Akaza was silent, jaw clenched. The younger girl couldnât be more than fifteen. She stared at them both like she already knew death had come.
Douma tilted his head. âShall I?â he asked, eyes gleaming.
Akaza glared. âDo what you want. Just donât drag it out.â
He turned, already moving awayâbut Doumaâs voice stopped him.
âYou know,â he called, tone too light to be casual, âIâve always found it fascinating how beautiful women bother you so much more than anyone else.â
Akaza froze.
Slowly, he turned back. âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
Douma stepped down from the rock, fanning himself lazily. âYou always get that tight, angry little look whenever I touch one. Like your teeth hurt. Like youâre about to vomit. Is it guilt, I wonder? A sliver of humanity left?â He paused, eyes narrowing. âOr is it because theyâre women?â
Akazaâs fists curled. âDonât push me.â
âBut I must,â Douma sang, taking another step closer to the terrified girls. âBecause I canât tell if itâs a moral compass rattling around in thereâor if itâs the ghost of your mortal life whispering that women are sacred, untouchable. Something to protect.â
Akaza said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
Douma looked back at the girls. The older one had stepped in front of the younger now, arms outstretched, eyes wide with defiance despite the tremor in her hands. He studied her for a long moment.
Then turned away.
Akaza blinked. âYouâre not going to kill them?â
Douma smiled over his shoulder. Not his usual grin. Something smaller. More deliberate. âNo.â
âYou never leave survivors.â
âTrue,â Douma mused. âBut tonight, Iâve already had my fun.â
He wandered back toward Akaza, brushing past him with a whisper of silk. âBesides,â he murmured, âIâm far more curious about what youâll do next.â
The sound of the girlsâ footsteps had long since vanished into the trees, swallowed by snow and silence. Akaza remained where he stood, jaw tight, breath leaving him in slow, heavy clouds. The cold bit at the back of his neck, but he didnât move. Couldnât.
Heâd just watched Douma let humans live. Two girls, no less. The Douma he knewâUpper Rank Two, devourer of beauty, collector of pretty little things until they brokeâwould have killed them simply for breathing too loud. But tonight? He hadnât even raised a hand.
A few paces ahead, Douma adjusted his robes with a hum, unbothered by the blood drying at his collar. Then, without looking back, he spoke.
âAre you coming?â he called over his shoulder. âMuzan-sama would be dreadfully unhappy if we didnât carry out his little task.â
Akazaâs hands curled into fists at his sides.
âYou think this is a joke, donât you?â he muttered.
Douma turned just enough to glance back, a slow smile spreading across his lips. âNo. I think itâs fascinating.â
âFascinating?â
âYes,â he said lightly. âYou. Me. This.â He gestured vaguely between them. âThereâs something so thrilling about the unknown. Youâve never been predictable, Akaza-dono. But tonight?â
He took a few steps closer.
âYou watched me let them go. And you didnât stop me. You didnât threaten me. You didnât even snarl.â
Akazaâs teeth ground together. âYouâre trying to manipulate me.â
âI donât need to,â Douma said, almost gently. âYouâre already unravelling on your own.â
He was too close again. Not touchingâbut close enough that Akaza could smell him. Cold lotus and blood and something else. Something heâd never wanted to identify before.
âYouâre wrong about me,â Akaza said, voice low and dangerous. âIâm not like you.â
âI know,â Douma murmured. âThatâs why I like you.â
For a long moment, they just stood there. Two monsters, centuries old, staring across a chasm that had always existed between themâuntil tonight. Then Douma turned again, this time more softly, his voice lighter once more.
âCome now,â he said, stepping back into the trees. âThereâs still a village to burn. I promise Iâll leave the women untouched, if it makes you feel better.â
Akaza didnât answer. But after a few seconds, he followed. Not because of Muzan. Not because of duty. But because he needed to know. What the hell was Douma doing? And worseâwhy did it feel like part of him wanted to understand?
They found the slayers just past the main roadâhuddled in the ruins of an abandoned shrine, armed with rusted blades and righteous delusion.
There were maybe ten of them. Young. Too young. Not a single Hashira among them. Not even a ranked slayer, from the looks of it. They didnât even see them coming. One moment, the wind whistled gently through the broken beams of the temple.
The nextâscreams.
Akaza didnât even bother activating his technique. There was no need. These boys hadnât faced anything beyond the occasional feral, low-rank demonâand even then, half of them probably missed their strikes more than they landed them.
The first to fall tried to shout a command. His neck snapped before the word left his throat. The second aimed for Douma, blade trembling in both hands. He didnât even flinch when it pierced his robeâjust laughed softly and crushed the boyâs ribcage with one elegant motion.
From there, it was nothing but blood and silence. Two minutes. Maybe less. When the last one dropped to the snow, twitching in a widening pool of red, Douma exhaled a soft sigh.
âWell,â he said, shaking crimson from his fingers, âthat was anticlimactic.â
Akaza said nothing. He stood near the edge of the clearing, breathing steady, arms slick to the elbow with blood. One of the hunters had tried to runâheâd caught him by the throat and slammed him into the shrine wall so hard the wood cracked like dry bone.
Douma stepped over a severed arm, hands clasped behind his back like he was admiring a painting.
âI almost feel bad,â he mused. âThey were children, really. Not a drop of decent technique between them.â
Akazaâs voice was cold. âThen you shouldâve left them.â
Douma raised a brow. âYou didnât.â
âThey were slayers,â Akaza snapped. âThatâs different.â
Douma gave a soft hum, unreadable. âIf you say so.â
He knelt beside one of the bodies, brushing dark hair from a bloodied face. âNo mastery of their breathing style at all,â he murmured. âPoor thing. They should have stayed home.â
Akaza turned away, jaw tight. There was no glory in this. No challenge. No reason for his heart to be pounding like thisâbut it was. Not from the fight. From him. From the way Douma moved through carnage like it was choreography. From the way he looked at Akaza afterward, all amusement and something elseâsomething still.
âAre you satisfied now?â Akaza asked sharply, voice low.
Douma stood slowly, eyes meeting his. âNot even close.â
Snow still drifted lazily from the sky, each flake catching the faint glow of the moon. The scent of blood was beginning to thicken, turning metallic in the cold airâbodies already stiffening where theyâd fallen. But Akaza didnât look at them. He stood just outside the ruins of the shrine, gaze pinned to the treeline. Still. Sharp. Watching.
There was a gnawing sensation at the base of his spine, low and cold and steady.
This was too easy.
Ten untrained boys. No Hashira. No breathing forms worth naming. Not even a competent strategist among them. It hadnât been a battle. It had been a clean-up. And Muzan didnât send Upper Moons for clean-up. He knew that.
Muzan knew everything. So why? What was the purpose of this mission?
Beside him, Douma dipped one talon into the pooling blood at his feet, swirling it with an idle hum like he was drawing a sigil in the snow.
âWondering why we were sent here?â he said without looking up.
Akaza didnât answer.
Douma smiled. âYou always get that look when something doesnât make sense. Like youâre trying to solve a puzzle that hasnât even been handed to you yet.â
Akaza said nothing. His shoulders were tense, muscles coiled like wire.
Doumaâs voice dropped lower. âI admit, I was curious too. Surely even Muzan-sama wouldnât waste both of us on such a pitiful little task.â
Still, Akaza remained silent. Peering into the darkness. Waiting. Because he wasnât convinced they were alone, not yet.
Douma stood, brushing his hands together delicately. âPerhaps itâs a test,â he mused. âOf our⌠cooperation.â
Akazaâs head snapped toward him, eyes sharp.
Douma grinned. âWe have been a little dysfunctional lately, havenât we?â
Akazaâs silence stretched thinner. He didnât trust thisâany of it. Not Muzanâs orders, not the dead-end mission, and certainly not the way Douma was still watching him when there was nothing left to kill.
His eyes returned to the forest.
âDo you sense anything else?â he asked, low.
Douma tilted his head. âNo. But then again, Iâm not the one whose instincts are currently screaming.â
Akazaâs jaw tensed. The gnawing feeling hadnât gone away, and Douma wouldnât stop talking. The blood was still steaming in the snow, the moon high above casting silver shadows across the carnage, and he just kept talking. Casual. Cheerful. Cruel.
ââŚAnd really,â he mused, idly tossing a severed blade into a pile of limbs, âif weâre being honest, they were never going to survive. Poor little darlings. All that bravery, wasted. But I suppose itâs so fitting that you and I were the ones to end it. A poetic duoâdeath and frost, flesh andââ
âEnough.â
The word cut through the night like a blade.
Douma turned, still smiling. âHm?â
âI said enough.â
Akazaâs voice was a growl now, low and ragged and rising with every breath. Douma made an amused sound, then opened his mouth to retort.
Enough.
With a blur of motion, Akaza was on himâshoulder crashing into Doumaâs chest, driving them both down into the snow with a force that cracked the earth beneath them. But he should have never been able to land the blow. Although it pained him deeply to admit, Douma was faster. Stronger. He always had been.
But he let it happen.
Now Akaza hovered above him, breathing hard, his thighs straddling Doumaâs hips, forearm braced against his collarbone. His other hand fisted in Doumaâs robes, half-torn from the fall.
And Douma? He was smiling. Smiling like heâd just won something. Snowflakes melted on his cheeks, blood streaked beneath his eyesâand his tongue swept slowly across his lower lip.
âWell,â he purred, âthis is new.â
Akazaâs heart was a war drum. His body a contradiction of instinct and shame and something darker, something clawing its way up his throat like hunger. He looked down and realised just how compromising their position wasâbodies flush, Douma pinned beneath him, his own breathing laboured in the space between them.
Akaza flinched back, fury and confusion flaring in his chest. He moved to riseâbut Doumaâs hands snapped up around his biceps like iron shackles, fingers digging in hard enough to pierce his flesh. The pressure sent a jolt through his bones.
âGet off,â Akaza snarled, twisting.
Doumaâs grin widened. âFunny,â he whispered, voice a silk-covered knife. âYou were the instigator here.â
And in the blink of an eyeâit changed. Akaza didnât even have time to breathe.
Douma rolled, a sudden, fluid twist of motion, and Akazaâs world flipped upside down. His back hit the snow with enough force to knock the air from his lungs, and now he was the one pinned, arms splayed, Douma straddling him like a throne. The shift was effortless. Humiliating. Intimate. Akaza bared his teeth, but Douma only tilted his head.
âSee?â he murmured, leaning in just enough that his hair brushed Akazaâs cheek. âYou play at control, but your body betrays you every time.â
Akaza thrashed, but Doumaâs grip was unyielding. And still, beneath the tension, the hatred, the heatâsomething quivered in the air between them. A breath too long. A heartbeat too loud.
Neither of them moved, not yet. But then Douma leaned in. Closer. Closer still. His breath ghosted over Akazaâs cheek, warm and sweet, tinged faintly with blood and winter frost. His laugh followedâlight and airy, like musical notes spun into the breeze.
âI can hear your heart thundering in your chest,â he whispered. âHow delightful.â
Akaza scowled, thrashing beneath him, but Doumaâs grip only tightened, fingers digging in like shackles made of ice.
âYouâre imagining things,â Akaza growled, voice ragged.
Douma tilted his head. âAm I?â
Slowly. With deliberate grace. His mouth dipped to Akazaâs neck, hovering just above the racing artery beneath his skin. His lips didnât touchânot at first. Just a whisper of presence. A promise.
Akaza went still. Not from fear, from something far more dangerous.
Thenâhe bit. Fangs sank into flesh with cruel precision, piercing deep, and Akazaâs breath hitchedâa strangled, involuntary sound breaking from his throat as hot blood erupted against Doumaâs tongue. His hips bucked beneath him, body jerking, betraying him in the worst possible way.
Douma moaned, low and soft, as if Akazaâs blood was wine and sin all at once. He drank slowly. Leisurely. Not out of hungerâbut for pleasure. Akaza groaned again, this time through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut as pain mingled with something elseâsomething he didnât want to name.
He could feel Doumaâs smile against his skin.
When the wound began to close, regenerating like all demon flesh does, Douma drew back. Blood stained his lips, his chin, the delicate white of his collar. And his eyesâthose cursed, beautiful eyesâblazed. With mischief. With hunger. With something that looked dangerously close to desire.
In one smooth motion, he dragged a single claw along the fresh seam of skinâjust enough to reopen it, to collect another bead of blood. Then, with maddening slowness, he smeared it across Akazaâs cheekâhis mark, red against pale skin. He dipped the same finger into his mouth. Sucked. Lingered.
âDelicious,â he purred, lips wet. âI knew youâd taste like battle and heartbreak.â
Akaza snapped. He surged upward, teeth bared, forcing Douma back an inchâbut still trapped. Still pinned. Still seething with something tangled between fury and heat.
âI will kill you,â he snarled, voice shaking. âI swear Iâll tear you apart.â
Doumaâs smile softenedânot mocking, but knowing.
âNo,â he murmured. âYou wonât.â
He leaned in once more, foreheads nearly touching.
âBecause if you meant it, Akaza-dono⌠you wouldnât be trembling.â
It happened in an instant. Akaza, panting, furious, humiliated, aroused, reached up with trembling hands then seized Douma by the back of the head and ripped him forward. His teeth sank into the pale column of Doumaâs throatâdeep, brutal, tearingânot like a demon feeding but like a beast claiming. Douma gasped, a sharp, high sound of pain-turned-pleasure as blood gushed into Akazaâs mouth. His claws responded instinctively, raking through Akazaâs scalp and tearing skin as they curled into his skull. Flesh peeled. Blood spattered. Neither of them stopped.
Akaza spat a thick chunk of flesh to the ground beside them, jaw slick, teeth red, breath trembling. And Douma⌠Douma moaned. Face slack, eyes fluttered shut, ecstasy etched into every line of him. He opened them slowly and stared back at Akaza like heâd been reborn.
Akazaâs chest was heaving. His mouth smeared with blood. His pride shattered.
Doumaâs smile returnedâfanged, feral. And thenâwith enough force to pulverise a mortal body into pulpâhe shoved. Akazaâs back slammed into the earth with a force that cracked rock, creating a crater beneath his spine. His collarbone shattered, a sickening crack echoing through the forest. White-hot pain bloomed through his chest.
His hands flew upward, out of instinct, reaching for Doumaâs throat. But Douma moved first. He dipped his head, slow and deliberate, and licked the blood from Akazaâs lips.
Akaza froze, and for one suspended moment, time fractured. In that brief flicker of hesitation, Douma struck. His lips parted, and he sucked Akazaâs bottom lip into his mouth. Bit downâhard. Blood welled again.
Akazaâs eyes rolled back. A strangled, broken sound tore from his throatâhalf snarl, half moanâand before he could even register it, his hands werenât attacking anymore. They were pulling. Gripping.
Fingers curling around Doumaâs waist, dragging him closer. His body betrayed him, and Douma didnât let up. He kissed him like a predatorâmessy, possessive, tongue tracing the wound heâd just created, lips parting over Akazaâs with heat and hunger.
âYouâre mine,â Douma breathed between kisses, voice hoarse, no longer sweet. âYou just donât want to admit it yet.â
Akazaâs claws dug into his back, but he didnât push him away. He couldnât. He didnât know how to anymore. So, he kissed him back. Hard.
Akaza surged up, lips crashing into Doumaâs with brutal force, hands tightening around his waist as if he could tear him apart or keep him closeâhe didnât know which. Their mouths moved with frantic violenceâbiting, tasting, panting between kisses. The snow beneath them melted from body heat alone, steam rising between growls and gasps.
It felt wrong. So wrong it burned. So wrong, it felt right.
Akaza moaned low in his throat, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and Douma responded with a growl of satisfaction, grinding down into his lap like he wanted to fuse their bodies together. Fangs scraped lips. Nails clawed flesh. They were losing themselves.
Neither noticed the air splitting behind them. Neither felt the pull of space warping, a presence reaching through dimensions like a hand through silk. Not until the ground vanished beneath them.
And thenâthey were falling. Akaza tore from Doumaâs grasp mid-descent, the cold suddenly replaced with dizzying, oppressive heat.
By the time they landed, the air was thick with power. Akaza hit the stone floor hard, knees digging into polished obsidian tile. He barely caught himself on his hands. Douma landed opposite, graceful as ever, spine perfectly straight, not a hair out of place.
The silence that followed was crushing. Thenâa voice. Low. Terrifying. Patient. Deadly.
âSo this,â Muzan said, âis what becomes of two of my most trusted creations.â
Akaza froze. Doumaâs smile flickered, just for a second.
Muzan stood atop the stairs of the audience chamber, his gaze colder than the void beyond life itself. Unblinking. Unforgiving. Watching them both.
âYou were sent to destroy a threat,â he continued. âInstead, you debased yourselves in the snow like rutting animals.â
Akazaâs breathing was still erratic, chest rising and falling far too fast. He tried to speakâbut no words came.
Douma chuckled, softly. âYou called us back so soon, Muzan-sama. We were in the middle ofââ
Muzan was in front of him before he could finish. Doumaâs face snapped sideways, blood spraying across the tile from a blow too fast to see.
âYou forget your place,â Muzan said, voice like crushed bone.
Then he turned his gaze to Akaza, and it was worse. Because he said nothing at all. He just stared. Piercing, knowing.
Akaza dropped his eyes to the floor. His lips still burned, his hands still trembled. And inside, where no one could see, a terrifying truth pulsed like a second heartbeat. Heâd wanted it. And heâd want it again.
The silence after Muzanâs blow was suffocating. Douma still knelt where heâd been struck, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, staining the pristine white of his collar. His head was bowed, golden hair veiling his expressionâbut the corners of his lips twitched upward. He was smiling.
Akaza hadnât lifted his head once. He remained where heâd landedâon his knees, back rigid, hands pressed to the cold obsidian floor. His throat was tight. His breathing forced through clenched teeth. The taste of Douma still lingered on his tongue.
The echo of Muzanâs presence crushed against his spine.
âIf you hadnât carried out the task set, you would cease to exist.â
His words fell like ash.
âGet out of my sight.â
Akazaâs nails dug into his palms. He forced himself upright, head still bowed, and turned without a word, disappearing into the shifting hallways of the Infinity Castle. His feet were silent. His pride was in ruins.
Douma rose more leisurely, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He spared a glance toward Muzanâbut didnât meet his eyes. That wouldâve been foolish. Still smiling, he bowed. Deep, elegant. And then followed Akaza into the dark.
Akaza sat on the stone floor, legs folded, hands resting on his knees. His breathing was controlledâbut just barely. The edges of his vision pulsed with every heartbeat. He was still bleeding, somewhere beneath the skin. Not from wounds. From memory.
He kept seeing it. The glint in Doumaâs eyes. The bite. The sound he made when their lips finally collided. The way his body had responded, traitorous and desperate.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. This wasnât him, this wasnât who he was. He was a warrior. A demon. A weapon forged by loss, hate, pain. He wasnât someone who let his enemies crawl into his blood like a virus.
He wasnât someone who liked it.
Youâre mine. You just donât want to admit it yet.
He inhaled sharply, deeper this time, grounding himself. Trying to remember who he was before tonight. The castle was silent around him. Endless stone, still air. A cocoon. A cage.
Untilâ
Tap.
A soft sound above.
Tap.
Something shifted in the darkness above the high ceiling. Barely audible. Like breath. Akazaâs eyes snapped open.
Douma dropped from above, silent as snowfall, landing in a crouch just a few feet away. Like a cursed bat, or a spectre summoned by desire and denial. Like heâd never left his side at all.
Akaza was on his feet in an instant, blood roaring back to life in his veins.
âYouâre not welcome here,â he spat, voice low and cracked.
Douma rose slowly, fluid and feline, robes still stained from the mission, his hair tousled from the fall. He smiled, soft and dangerous.
âYou say that,â he purred, âbut your body said something very different earlier.â
Akazaâs fists clenched. âGet out.â
Douma stepped closer, unbothered. âYou look shaken. Poor thing. Are you⌠meditating?â
He gestured lazily to the circle Akaza had left in the dust on the floor. âYou were centring yourself, werenât you? How precious.â
Akaza didnât speak. His chest was rising too fast. His hands trembled.
âYou can pretend this was nothing,â Douma continued, voice silken and slow. âThat it was just blood. Just instinct. But we both know it wasnât.â
He took another step forward.
âCome here.â
Douma stood in the low light of the chamber, robes darkened with old blood, his hair tousled from the fall, but his expressionâhis eyesâwere crystalline control. His gaze pinned Akaza like prey. Still. Unmoving.
âIâm waiting.â
The silence between them stretched thin. Too thin. Akazaâs pulse was thundering again. Just like before. His body tensedânot in defense. Not yet. In something that tasted too much like anticipation.
He should say no. Should snarl, rage, lunge. But his feet didnât move.
Douma tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwardânot quite a smile. Not yet. Just the hint of one. As if he already knew Akaza was about to betray himself.
âI let you pin me earlier,â he said softly. âDo you want to see what it feels like when I donât hold back?â
Akaza didnât answer. Couldnât. His throat was dry, his fists still clenched. But his legsâ
He took a step forward. Doumaâs eyes flashed. Like a star refracting through broken glass.
âGood,â he murmured. âAgain.â
Akazaâs jaw locked tight.
âI said,â Doumaâs voice cracked like a whip, slicing clean through the stillness,
âCome here.â
It wasnât a request. It was a command dressed in silk and steel.
Akaza moved before he could thinkâbefore reason could catch up to instinct. One step, then another, until there was no space left between them. They stood chest to chest, breath mingling, heat coiling between their bodies like smoke.
Thenâsnap. Doumaâs arm shot out, his fingers wrapping around Akazaâs throat with crushing precision. Not enough to cut off airâjust enough to remind him who held control. Akaza let out a low, strangled soundâhalf-snarl, half-moanâhis hands twitching at his sides, unsure whether to strike or cling.
Douma leaned in, breath brushing over Akazaâs cheek, his smile a blade sheathed in pleasure.
âYou want me to show you, donât you?â he whispered, eyes gleaming. âOh, what a delicious turn of events.â
His grip tightened, just slightly, thumb tracing the rapid pulse at Akazaâs throat.
âAkaza,â he purred, âthe proud, untouchable Upper Moon Three⌠now willingly and completelyââ He dipped closer, lips nearly brushing his ear. ââat my mercy.â
âPlease.â The word tore itself from Akazaâs throatâraw, rasping, broken. Crushed between Doumaâs fingers, it barely made it out.
But it was there. Real, undeniable. And it was all Douma needed.
He froze for half a second, stunned into stillnessâthen let out a laugh so violent, so unhinged, it ricocheted off the stone walls like thunder cracking bone. His head snapped back, neck arched, muscles straining as the sound tore through him. Not delight. Not amusement. Euphoria.
âYou begged,â he hissed through laughter. âOh, Akaza, you begged.â
His smile returned, sharp as everâwider now, feral, eyes glowing like fractured gemstones.
âSince you asked so nicely,â he purred, voice dripping with glee.
Then he crashed forward. His lips smashed into Akazaâs with bruising forceâteeth clashing, blood spilling anew between mouths already split from violence.
It wasnât a kiss. It was possession.
Akaza gasped against him, choking on breath and heat and shame, but his hands moved againâgrabbing Doumaâs sleeves, dragging him closer instead of pushing him away. Douma moaned into his mouth, delight blooming in every fibre of him as he deepened the kissâtongue slick with blood, claiming every part of Akazaâs resistance and swallowing it whole.
The kiss shattered whatever was left of Akazaâs self-control. It wasnât gentle. It wasnât loving. It was violent, fuelled by over a century of rage, repression and something else neither of them had ever dared name. And Douma drank it all in. He pressed harder, teeth grazing split lips, tongue curling past Akazaâs as if to stake a claim. His handsâonce so delicate, so composedâwere everywhere now. One tangled in Akazaâs hair, yanking hard enough to draw another strained gasp. The other slipped beneath torn fabric, dragging claws down his spine, slicing through muscle with practiced care.
Akaza groaned, the sound low, guttural, desperate. He should have thrown Douma off. Should have fought, snarled, escaped. But insteadâhe leaned in.
His hands gripped Doumaâs hips, claws biting through silk and skin alike, and pulled him flush. Their bodies collidedâblood-warm, battle-scarred, trembling with hunger not fed by flesh alone.
Douma laughed against his mouth, breathless and electric. âThere you are,â he whispered, voice a reverent curse.
He kissed him againâdeeper now, less violent, but no less consuming. His hips rolled against Akazaâs with slow, devastating rhythm, and the groan it tore from the demon beneath him was involuntary.
Akaza arched up into him, neck bared without thoughtâoffering. And Douma didnât waste the chance. He dipped low, fangs grazing the already-healed wound at Akazaâs throat, then bit down again. Blood surged into his mouth, and he moaned, obscene and trembling, as if thisâthisâwas the moment heâd waited 137 years for.
Because it was.
Akaza gasped, hands flexing against Doumaâs back. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire, flooded with sensation, heat, shame, need. This wasnât supposed to happen. He wasnât supposed to want this. But now, with Douma above himâon himâsmiling like the monster he was, Akaza couldnât remember why heâd resisted for so long.
âSay it,â Douma murmured against his throat. âSay you want this.â
Akazaâs eyes fluttered shut.
âSay you want me.â
A pause. A moment of silence. Thenâ
ââŚI want you,â he rasped. Barely audible. Broken.
But Douma heard it, and he lit up.
âOh, Akaza-dono,â he purred, licking blood from his lips. âYou have no idea what youâve just unleashed.â
And he dove back in.
Clothing shredded under clawed hands, torn from skin like it had no right to be there. Akaza barely registered the fabric scattering to the floorâhis mind was fog, his body fire.
Douma was everywhere. Mouth against his throat, his collarbone, the curve of his chestâbiting, licking, marking. Each scrape of fang pulled a new sound from Akazaâs lips; a gasp, a grunt, a helpless moan heâd never made in his existence as a demon.
He was on his back, legs parted by Doumaâs knee, body writhing beneath him, and not once did he try to stop it.
âLook at you,â Douma whispered, dragging his tongue along the ridges of Akazaâs ribs, blood-slicked and gleaming. âThe mighty Upper Moon Three⌠trembling like prey.â
He grinned, baring bloody teeth.
âAnd you love it.â
Akaza didnât speak. His voice had been reduced to ragged breathing and curses slurred through gritted teeth. But when Douma dipped lowerâtongue flicking, claws digging into his hipsâAkaza arched, back lifting off the stone floor as his hands flew into Doumaâs hair.
Douma groaned in return, delighted by the reaction, and shifted between his thighsâgrinding down, slow and intentional. Flesh to flesh. Nothing between them now but heat and blood.
âBeg for it again,â Douma murmured against his stomach. âSay it like you did before. Say please.â
Akaza growled, twisting in frustration, but it wasnât rage. It was desperation. It was need.
âPlease,â he hissed, clawing at Doumaâs shoulders. âDo somethingââ
Douma sank his teeth into the inside of Akazaâs thigh in response.
Akaza cried out, head snapping back, his body jolting under the sudden surge of pain and pleasure. The wound healed instantly, but Douma only laughed again, licking the blood from his lips as he moved back up.
âYouâre exquisite like this,â he whispered. âAll mine.â
Then he lined himself up, dragged the tip of himself along the crease of Akazaâs bodyâand thrust in.
Akaza howled.
There was no other word for the sound he madeâraw and guttural, ripped from the deepest part of him as Douma seated himself fully, forcing Akazaâs body open with no pause, no mercy. His claws scraped the floor. His eyes rolled back. His lips parted in a snarl that dissolved into a moan.
Douma didnât wait. He set a pace that was punishing, relentless, perfect. Each thrust sent Akazaâs body sliding against the stone, each drag of Doumaâs hips angled to strike that one spot deep inside him that made his thighs twitch and his hands clench into fists. The pain was exquisite. The pleasure was worse.
âSay it again,â Douma demanded, voice breaking with lust as he leaned down, mouths inches apart. âSay you want me.â
Akaza stared at him, eyes glassy, lips bloodiedâand said nothing. So Douma bit his lipâhard.
âSay it.â
Akaza gasped, bucking up to meet him, finally snappingâ
âI want you,â he growled. âFuck, Iâneed you.â
Douma snapped his hips forward at that, harder than before, and they both shuddered. Their bodies moved in perfect violenceâmatching rhythms, trading sounds, both monsters reduced to something primal and ruinous and so painfully alive. Blood smeared across skin. Teeth marked shoulders. Hands gripped hips and hair and anything they could anchor to while the world narrowed to nothing but this.
When Akaza cameâloud, breathless, writhingâit was with Doumaâs name on his lips. Douma followed with a moan that vibrated against his throat, fangs sunk into Akazaâs shoulder as he spilled inside him, shaking, lost.
The stillness afterward was worse than the storm.
Akaza lay beneath him, chest rising in jagged bursts, body twitching with the aftershocks of release. Douma didnât move. He simply smiledâgenuinely, for onceâthen licked the blood from Akazaâs cheek like it was the final touch on a masterpiece.
âMine,â he whispered.
Akaza didnât argue. He couldnât. Because for the first time in over a century⌠He didnât want to.
douma and his goofy kids đ

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The big three but they're nezukofied
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