𓂃⋆.˚ ( kny ) "shut up, mom!" prank on kny men part 2 !
⤷ ゛tanjiro, inosuke, zenitsu, douma, kokushibo, gyutaro, akaza ˎˊ˗
tw yelling (as part of the prank), threatening to
harm genitals, threats of violence, actual physical violence
part one here
masterlists
────────────────── kamado tanjiro
It takes a little self-motivation to go through with it, unsure of how your husband will react to it. But, you go ahead and tell your daughter to complete one chore or another - you don’t actually need her to do anything. She completed her chores hours ago when Tanjiro was at work.
“Shut up, mom!”
There’s the sound of breath hitching from across the room, a little distance away from where you’re lounging on the couch. Your daughter glances at you after saying her line, anticipating the worst. She sees the way Tanjiro’s shoulders tense and the deceptive calmness with which he places his book down and turns away from the bookshelf, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.
“What was that?” he asks smoothly, approaching the two of you. “Am I hard of hearing or did you have a bad day?”
Your daughter swallows thickly and huffs out a breath through her nose. “I’m just t-tired of her nagging!” she manages, failing to loosen her tongue and not stutter in the face of her father. “She always wants me to do something!”
Tanjiro nods and sits on the couch, motioning with a finger for her to follow and take the empty loveseat in front of him. “Why do you think that is, the nagging and insistence?”
You’re hoping he’s not convinced that you nag - he’d have another thing coming.
Your daughter takes the seat as instructed. She only manages to maintain eye contact with Tanjiro for a few seconds before she averts her gaze and looks at you instead. Understandably, she looks awkward and unsettled by the whole prank - regardless of the fact that she was the one who saw it on her social media feed and suggested that you two do it.
“Hm?” Tanjiro prompts.
She blinks and shrugs, a half-hearted answer of someone who doesn’t feel like their words can do them justice in the present situation.
Tanjiro’s brows furrow at that. “Aside from the hours she spent pushing you out of her body, your mother is the one making sure that the money I bring in goes towards every hot meal you eat and each warm blanket you use. She is the one utilising my money to make sure that everyone in this household is happy and needs for nothing.”
She nods, still not able to articulate herself from the tension weighing her down.
“Do you think your reaction was appropriate, then? Considering your mother’s care and effort in everything she does for us - for you?”
She shakes her head. “No, dad. I’m sorry.”
Tanjiro mimics her movement and glances at her, then you pointedly.
She takes the hint and turns to you again. “I’m sorry, mom. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“It’s alright,” you say calmly, smiling. “It’s just a prank, after all.”
Tanjiro makes a choked sound. “What?”
“Yeah,” you and your daughter say simultaneously.
He sighs and pulls his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table. The sparkle in his eye returns and he huffs out a laugh at your giddy expression.
────────────────── hashibara inosuke
"Shut up, mom!"
Inosuke whips around to face the source of the voice, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. His daughter is staring straight at him, a challenging look in her eyes - a reflection of her father's.
"Hah? What did you say?"
Glancing at your husband, you feign dejection and sigh heavily. "This is what I get for trying, I guess," you mumble, inhaling through your nose to snuff out the laugh in your throat.
Inosuke shakes his head. "Nah, you listen to me," he grunts, pointing a finger at his own daughter. "That crap isn't allowed here. You get me? What, you think your mom asks you to do things just to be a pain in the ass?"
Pursing her lips, your daughter nods.
Inosuke laughs at that, incredulously. "Have you lost it, kid?"
When she doesn't respond, he grabs her shoulders and pushes her (gently, mind you) upstairs, towards her bedroom. You take care to follow after them discreetly, softening your steps even as you walk on the plush carpets. If your life was more novel, your ears would have already perked up like a bunny's at Inosuke's disciplinary tone.
"I'm talking to you here because I can't be angry at you without your mother hitting me," he says plainly, standing before his daughter who is sat on the edge of her bed.
She snorts out a laugh, failing to catch herself. Inosuke grunts and bends down so that he is eye-level with her.
"If I hear you speak that way again - especially to my wife - you're not getting food for a month."
She gapes at that. "Wha—c'mon! It's not that serious!"
"What?" he practically shouts.
"Nevermind, you're completely right," she mumbles, quick to avert her gaze and be completely conformist. "Sorry, dad. I won't do it again."
He eyes her carefully, raising a brow when she stares at him. It goes like that for about thirty seconds before he nods his head and awkwardly points towards her bedroom door. "Uh, that's all. Apologise to your mother."
The door swings open. She looks over her shoulder and yells, "it's a prank!" before darting out the room and rushing downstairs, giggling like a child.
You sigh, laughing under your breath. Inosuke stands frozen, as if slapped. He has that dumbfounded look on his face that makes your breathy laugh turn loud.
"Were you eavesdropping, woman?"
"Obviously."
"Damn you."
────────────────── agatsuma zenitsu
After asking him to clean his room, your son yells, "shut up, mom!" It is after he yells that does Zenitsu finally sit up straight on the couch, his ears twitching in sync with his right eye.
"Did he just...?" he mutters, turning to you as if to confirm whether or not you heard the same. You nod, resting your chin on your palm.
"Unfortunately. Seems he needs to be dealt with, hm?"
Zenitsu locks in. His wife just got disrespected and she's clearly upset. He must step up and defend her honour, even against his own son.
He stomps over to the teenager and crowds his space, raising a brow. When he says nothing, his son glances at you. "Did you... need something, dad?" he asks quietly, awkwardly.
Zenitsu grabs him by the ear and brings him closer, his breath hot against the side of his face. "If you ever talk to her like that again, I'm going to cut your balls off."
"W-what?"
He gets all up in his face then, grip still tight on the boy's ear. "Did I stutter, boy?"
Said boy shakes his head. "No, sir. You've made yourself very c-clear."
You move forward and nod, satisfied with Zenitsu's reaction. But just when you're about to tell him it's a prank, he grabs your son by his head and turns him to you. The younger man yelps in surprise, startled by the subtle pain in his neck at the forceful movement.
"Apologise."
"I was going to—"
"Ah!" he cuts him off. "Nothing but an apology."
Your son smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, mom."
With a devilish grin, you pull your son out of his father's tight grip and pet his hair. "How many times do you think he's going to fall for these?" you ask the teen, seeing his eyes sparkle with mischief reflecting yours.
"Fall for what?" Zenitsu looks between the two of you, now rather unsettled by your sudden companionship.
You ignore him and walk back into the kitchen with your son in tow. "Hot chocolate?" you suggest, to which he nods eagerly.
"Wha—honey! What did you mean by that? Am I missing something?"
Ignored - again. He only finds out about it all the next morning.
────────────────── douma
Douma's smile was always plastered on, sometimes toothy, other times flat and unamused. Whatever its condition, it was deceptive. To you, not so much anymore. You'd had trouble decoding him initially, wondering if the man you were in love with was to remain an enigma, but you gradually found bits and pieces of him to memorise.
That comforted you - knowing your husband a little better than anyone else did. You had a right to!
'Anyone else' was unfortunately inclusive of your son. He was your pride and joy, and while he had an amazing relationship with his father, he tended to confide in you when needing a straight answer that wasn't glossed over with subtle threats and almost menacing humour.
The best way about this was to not leave your son's side, even when he yelled, "shut up, mom!" He falls silent then and waits for something - anything - to happen.
A few silent seconds pass and you're almost encouraged to ease the tension in your body. Only when you exhale on the sixth second does Douma suddenly flicker into existence before you. That freaky teleportation of his was enough to knock your son's heart back into his throat.
"Is that a protective stance?" he asks you, laughing softly at the way you and your son stand side-by-side, arms pressed together. Douma strokes a hand down your hair. "Silly girl. Why are you protecting him? Do you know what I'm going to do to him?"
You deadpan. "Nothing, even if I weren't right here."
Your husband exhales through his nose, then his eyes dart towards his son. His sweet son, the boy who looked too much like him and too little like you; the boy who was too much like him in nature and so unlike you with your warmth and harmless sarcasm.
"If that is what you dream, my sweet," Douma coos at you, "then I shall tell you, here, what I am going to do."
You stare at him, unflinching, so ready to laugh at how seriously your husband is taking this. Your son, on the other hand, is about to wet his pants.
"Those eyes that he so graciously took from me will be popped out, but as I do not look to upset you, I shall only take one. I will allow him to have an eyeball to shed his tears, and so that you may watch as he does,” he says calmly. “That is the extent of my mercy today.”
“Douma,” you say lowly, warningly.
“Oh, do not fret,” he sighs, reaching a hand up to pat his son’s head tenderly, claws scratching against the boy’s scalp ever so slightly. The younger man has to resist the urge to flinch. “I know this is another one of your little jokes.”
“Wha—” you sputter. “How?”
He practically giggles and kisses the back of your hand almost reverently, looking up at you with unrestrained adoration. He doesn’t answer you, but he doesn’t need to. You know how he is, what he’s like. He’s aware of threats before they’re made, whether serious or lighthearted. You’re just glad he managed to pick up on this one and not be blinded by the rage simmering in his chest.
“Do not attempt such foolishness again,” he growls, lips still brushing against your skin but curled as he addresses his son. “Not at the expense of my wife.”
────────────────── kokushibo
So you were scared, to say the least. To execute this meant you had to be on edge the entire time, ready to call it off if things got overwhelming or, quite frankly, fatal. You were more terrified to do this than your son was - he was giddy on the idea that he could enrage his father. Why, you had no real understanding of. You had never suffered the consequences of angering or frustrating him that left the bedroom.
“Sweetie, can you—”
“Shut up, mom!”
You deadpan, turning to your son and lowering your voice into a whisper. “I didn’t even get to finish my line,” you mutter, smacking his arm lightly.
He grins. “He just needs to hear mine for this to work, mom,” he whispers back.
The two of you are out in the garden, tending to the flowers and taking pictures to send to friends and family, when you see a shadow cast over the flowerbed your son is observing. Before he can turn around, a familiar hand grabs the back of his neck and squeezes tightly, using the leverage to pull him up from his knees and to his feet. The teenager coughs and sputters at the sudden pressure.
“Michikatsu!” you gasp, brows furrowed. You launch to your feet and grab your husband’s arm, tugging him away from your son. “Unhand him!”
“It is a shame this boy has not truly taken to being humourous,” Kokushibo says, voice a low timbre in his throat. “This disrespect will not be tolerated.”
When you open your mouth to intervene, your son shakes his head and smiles at you - a wordless “it’s alright. I can handle this.”
“I didn’t—ow—mean it disrespectfully, dad,” he rasps, lightly slapping his father’s hands.
“So you lack sense, too,” the man growls, tightening his grip but turning the boy to face him fully. The teenager swallows thickly at the murderous glint in his father’s eyes. “You are my blood, but I have shed that of my own,” he warns. “You are not exempt from my wrath, boy.”
“I know, dad.”
“You know? I highly doubt that.”
“Michikatsu,” you repeat, now digging your nails into his thick arm. “Release him at once!”
This time, he heeds your command - albeit reluctantly. His mouth twitches when you smack his chest rather roughly. “You will not threaten our son!”
His canines flash when his lip curls up further, making your heart race. “He will not be allowed to speak to you with such insolence. I shall deal with him—”
“It’s a prank,” your son announces, holding his hands up. “Mom can attest to that.”
You huff, frustrated at his eagerness, but nod nonetheless. “We were just trying to test your reaction, dear.”
Kokushibo turns to you then, his thumb urging your chin up so that you may look up at him. “Truly?”
When you nod, he pulls you into his arms carefully, as if handling a porcelain doll. You instinctively relax in his embrace, your head resting on his chest and your arms wrapping around his torso. He doesn’t utter a word, content to hold you and ignore his son’s presence entirely. He is not a heartless man, but in this instance, he will pay no mind to the boy. He wants his wife and only her, preferably in his arms and away from the childish antics of the little devil he calls his son.
────────────────── gyutaro
It doesn’t last long, pranking Gyutaro. It never does. You don’t anticipate that this attempt will be any different.
The moment your daughter yells out the words “shut up,” directed at you, you know to focus and rapidly become aware of your husband walking into the bedroom, his eyes twitching and his nails digging into the skin on his neck.
“Haaah?” he snarls, approaching the two of you with a curious glint in his eye. “Did you finally cough out your last brain cell?”
Your daughter’s jaw drops at that, offended but not truly hurt - only startled by her father’s audacity.
He stalks closer, approaching you first. You smile weakly and grip his arm carefully, rubbing your thumb along the protruding veins. He’s not amused, but there’s a softer sparkle in his gaze as opposed to the initial vengeful glint. You fail to stop your heart from fluttering when he leans over, bony figure hunched over, and kisses your forehead.
More than that, he doesn’t indulge in.
One of his hands whip up and grabs his daughter’s jaw, a movement quicker than you can keep up with. By the time you register what he’s doing, Gyutaro has already placed his thumb on her top front teeth and began applying pressure. She tenses at the threat.
“Shall I use your own teeth to cut your tongue out?” he offers, as if proposing an alternative alongside it.
“Gyutaro!” you startle, landing a death-grip on his wrist and pulling his hand away. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Is she high?” he rasps, pointing in the general direction of your daughter.
“She’s pranking you. And even if you weren’t, you don’t threaten to cut out her tongue!”
He grunts and turns his head, averting his gaze. “Whatever.”
You sigh and kiss your daughter’s cheek apologetically, ushering her out the room before he decides to give her a stern talking-to instead. Only when the two of you are alone does he move closer and rest his chin on the top of your head, his lips pursed into something that resembles a pout.
“You’re annoying.”
“You’re too protective.”
“One is better than the other,” he mumbles.
You poke him in his ribs and he flinches like an unsettled cat.
────────────────── akaza
“Shut up, mom!” your daughter groans. There was no need to yell, Akaza was in the same room as the two of you. Even if he weren’t, he didn’t need to strain his senses to hear this particular retort.
You hear the beads of his accessories rattle before his breathing, all before you even manage to see him. He appears behind you, trailing a hand down to caress the base of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. His blood heats for a reason aside from anger when your breath hitches, even more so when your lips part as he kisses you.
Your daughter knows to avert her gaze - not because you forbid her from seeing her parents be affectionate. She does it for herself. She doesn’t want to see her parents devouring each other’s faces a few inches away from her.
Except the kiss doesn’t last long and Akaza moves on. He stands behind his daughter now, his eyes darkened but not unkind. When the tension in her shoulders alerts him that she has acknowledged his presence behind her, he rounds the couch and stands in front of her instead.
“D/n. Apologise.”
This is the reaction you expected from him. If there was one thing Akaza wouldn’t do, it was raise his voice or hand at the women in his life. That, you were grateful for, but it didn’t mean you weren’t curious to know if there was raw rage rising in his chest.
“Sorry, mom,” she mumbles.
He nods, satisfied, and that’s all it takes for him to calm down.
You grin at him, so infatuated with the tenderness reserved for those he deemed worthy.
He catches sight of your expression and raises a brow, amused by your unprompted grin. “What is it?”
"You're so protective. It's cute."
He blushes deeply and squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to control his flustered expression. "It's my job."
"You're cute while doing it."
Instead of leaving the room entirely to cool his face down and calm his racing pulse, he lays his head in your lap and twists his lips oddly to stop his smile.
You never tell him that it was a prank. You want to let him think that he successfully defended you because it fuels him to do it more.
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dōma never understood the appeal of abstinence until he met you. for more than a century, he had obeyed the simplest of creeds: hunger should be fed, desire fulfilled, pleasure taken whenever it presented itself.
tonight is no different. while his appetite in the physical sense was already glutted, his carnal desires never waned for you. and curse that freakish stamina of his! judging by the hardness nudging your thigh, it was clear that he could’ve kept going without pause, had it not been for your human limits.
four drawn-out rounds and still, he could not leave you alone. after being denied the comfort of staying inside you, dōma sought consolation elsewhere, mouthing languid kisses to your shoulder, in both quiet worship and tender defilement. (it wasn’t morality that stayed his fangs from tearing into your arteries—to dōma, it was more of a game. curiosity turned self-inflicted torment. he’s somewhat of a masochist.)
you mumbled half-heartedly about needing rest, but he ignored it entirely. “just one more kiss. pleasepleaseplease pretty please?” you both knew one kiss would never suffice—greedy thing that he was. cold lips trailed down your neck, nipping lightly. you evoked an instinct to consumeconsumeconsume, but for now he’d leave just a trail of shallow marks, little crescents fading to bruises by morning. proof that he’d been a ‘good’ lover and a ‘bad’ upper moon.
before you could squirm away, he caught you around the waist and tumbled you back onto the futon in a careless sprawl of limbs. laughter spilled out as he pressed you down, his birch-coloured hair framing your face like a halo of moonlight. “where d’you think you’re going?” he chirps, the very picture of mischief. “can’t leave me all alone— that’s just cruel!”
when he trailed lower, tongue flicking out to tease your already-sensitive nipple, you swatted his shoulder. “dōma!” you hissed, exasperation colouring your voice.
“what in the world has gotten into you?”
“ouchie! now was that really necessary?” dōma whined, lower lip jutting in a pout that belied the gleam in his rainbow eyes. “i was just tasting,” his words muffled as his hot wet tongue flicked once more. “you’re so cute… i could eat you right up.”
he propped himself on an elbow, watching you with a dopey, lovelorn smile. one you’d come to expect from him, and often it made you feel as though the two of you were in on some bone-chilling farce. for behind those hypnotic, iridescent irises, there was usually nothing at all.
but something shifted. and dōma must have felt it too, because for the briefest instant, a shallow crease appeared between his brows, uncertainty marring the usual placidity of his face. quickly followed by the rosy blush dusting his cheeks, wholly out of place. he blinked, once, twice, as though surprised by himself.
and then, the mask was back on place. whatever had just passed—some errant chemical mimicry of emotion or simply a trick of nerves—he dismissed it without a second thought. familiar vacancy settled back in, tranquil as ice reforming over water. a soft chuckle escaped and when he bent down again, brushing his lips against the curve of your throat, there was tenderness. whether it was genuine or only another act in his repertoire, you could no longer tell. it scarcely mattered.
❄︎ Douma is basically the embodiment of gluttony. Not just when it comes to devouring humans, but in how he wants to utterly consume every pretty, lively, warm thing he can get his hands on. And you? Of everything in the world, it’s you he wants most. He doesn’t even know if it’s love in the human sense - he probably wouldn’t know how to describe it even if you ever asked him to - but every time you smile at him, it sparks something strange in that hollow chest of his. He’ll cup your cheeks with those ice-cold hands and whisper with a grin, “Ah, little lotus! I feel weird inside! My stomach is all wobbly, but it’s not like when I got poisoned before… Does this… Is this what love feels like for humans?!”
❄︎ He calls you every saccharine pet name imaginable: my lotus blossom, little snowflake, pretty petal - sickly sweet, over the top, but always in that sing-song voice of his that makes it hard to tell if he’s mocking you or genuinely adoring your presence. He just loves watching how you react.
❄︎ Douma’s clingy in an almost childlike way. And he doesn’t do personal space. In fact, Douma doesn’t seem to understand the concept at all, and even if he does, he simply chooses to ignore it. That’s why the rainbow-eyed demon will drape himself across your lap, rest his chin on your shoulder when you’re focused on some task, poke your cheek with a claw just to see you flinch.
❄︎ He loves gracing you, literally. Flowers braided into your hair, little ribbons placed to your shoulders, anything to make you look even more like a living doll. You’re his favorite ornament in the entire Infinity Castle.
❄︎ Douma willingly listens to you ramble about anything. You’ll start rambling about something random or meaningless, and he’ll just tilt his head left to right like a curious puppy, even giving you a nod or two, sometimes letting out soft “mhm” or “ahh, I see” sounds, all with that empty smile plastered on his face. It’s because he’s amused by how your voice changes as you speak. “Mhm, mhm… Say that again, snowflake. I love how your voice hits that word, hahaha!”
❄︎ He often presses you against the walls of the Infinity Castle - or even the walls of his own temple - on purpose while you’re just walking together, just to hear your heart skip a beat. He leans in close, nostrils flaring as if sniffing out your fear, cold breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. In that syrupy-sweet, sing-song voice, he coos, “Why are you shaking like that, little petal? What’s got you so scared? Ah, calm down, calm down, lotus! You know I’d never eat you, silly!” Of course, he does it purely for his own amusement, savoring the thrill of your fear and the tension that radiates from you.
❄︎ Douma’s kisses are overwhelming. One second he’s all smiles, the next he’s crushing his mouth against yours, stealing every bit of air until you’re trembling and pawing at his chest, begging for oxygen. Abruptly, he’ll pull back with that angelic smile gracing his lips, pretending innocence while his rainbow eyes gleam with pure lust. “Oh, dear, forgive me, I think I got carried away again! But you don’t mind, right?”
❄︎ Douma doesn’t get angry often, but when he does - it’s terrifying. Though he usually hides behind that sing-song politeness, there are moments when the mask cracks. His smile doesn’t fade, but it changes. It stretches too tight, his words drip honey that suddenly feels poisonous. If you question his ways, defy him or suggest leaving, that saccharine tone of his sharpens like glass. “After all I’ve given you, lotus, you’d really abandon me? How cruel of you! Lord Akaza is mean enough to me already, hmm? Even our Master scolds me sometimes! You don’t need to be rude too, little lotus… That’s not very nice. I don’t approve of it, you know.”
❄︎ One of Douma’s favorite activities (besides devouring females and then whining about the dirty floors or the wooden bridges over his precious lotus pond) is having you brush his hair. He’s always so meticulous about his appearance. When you comb through his platinum hair, occasionally rubbing his scalp while softly humming his favorite melody, the demon goes completely weak in the knees. He leans back with that playful grin, eyes sparkling as he whispers, “Ah, little lotus… Just like that, don’t stop. You have no idea how good it feels… Your hands… They make me feel oh, so good.”
❄︎ Then there’s Douma’s secret room. The only place in the Infinity Castle nobody else goes into, where he keeps his collection - skulls arranged like trophies, vases holding preserved female heads with hair still cascading down. He’s oddly proud to show you this place, leading you in with his usual cheerful tone, “Look, aren’t they breathtaking? I couldn’t possibly let such beauty go to waste!” The air in there is heavy with decay, suffocating, yet Douma treats it like a truly sacred chamber. Sometimes he’ll brush and braid the hair of one of the heads, humming some melodious tune. Douma often glances at you, rainbow-coloured eyes glinting too brightly. “Don’t you see, sweet lotus? They’re just like you! Lovely things deserve to be kept forever!” And that’s the thing - letting you see that room is Douma’s twisted version of trust. But it’s also a trap. Because once you’ve been in there, you can’t just walk away. You’re bound to him, whether you like it or not.
Ohhhh yes. Since I cosplay Douma whenever I get the chance, this is super self-indulgent :,)!!
gn!reader, fluff
“Oh, isn’t that from my closet?”
Douma stares at you with his rainbow eyes, and for a moment, you think he might get you out of the clothes you’re wearing. And not in a good way!
You’re wearing his signature turtleneck top; the red one that looks like black ink was splatter onto the neck and sleeves. It’s so soft, fits you perfectly and smells of him. Him seeing you wear it so shamelessly in your bedroom like it’s your god-given right to do so was not planned.
You’re curled up on your shared bed, blankets draped all around you, bowl of some snacks you stole from the kitchen is resting on your stomach, with a random book in your hands.
“Darling, you’re mean! Shameless!” He cries, wandering over to you, tossing the bowl onto the floor and letting himself crash down on top of you, forcefully pushing all the air out of your lungs.
You feel it shake beneath you at his weight, almost toppling your bowl over. “I get to sit there and nod along while they mope and whine about their sad, tragic lives,” Douma vaguely gestures off towards the main ceremony chamber. “all while you rob me of my shirt, my food and my bed? Are you trying to break me?”
You can’t suppress your smile. “It’s our bed, wnd whatever is yours is mine.” You retort, nudging him with your knee to try and roll him away from on top of you, but Douma just makes himself heavier in retaliation.
“I envy you.” He mumbles, hooking his fingers against the turtleneck of your (well, his, originally.) shirt and pulling it down. With a dramatic sigh, he buries his face in your neck.
“Oh? Didn’t notice.” You snort. At that, his arms snake around you, trapping you completely against him and he finally rolls over, taking you with him. Douma begins to pepper kisses all over the sensitive points of your neck, nipping against your skin with his teeth every now and then.
You squeal. “DOUMA!! I’ll give it back! I’ll give it back just let me go!!” You wiggle against his imprisoning grip and laugh as he tickles you with his kisses while his fingers begin to poke against your sides. Bastard!-
“No no, keep it! You look absolutely ravishing in it.” Douma grins against your skin. “But I won’t mind taking it off you for now, if you’ll just let me..”
“No! Hands off. And release me!!”
“But I worked so hard today! C’mon, pretty please?”
“I said no! Now let me go, you oversized imp!! And stop tickling me!—”
idk if you write smut but if you do! Can you do a NSFW alphabet with douma
︵‿︵‿୨♡ Ｎｓｆｗ Ａｌｐｈａｂｅｔ ♡୧‿︵‿︵
A- Aftercare, How are they after sex?
He wants to relax with you after sex. I can imagine him pulling you close and then taking his pipe out and smoking while you fall asleep in his arms. He always waits for you to fall asleep then he might take a nap for a little while but most of the time he just watches you sleep
B- Bodypart- what's their favorite body part of theirs and their partners.
He likes his fingers because of how good he can make you feel with them, they're so long and he knows how to curl them just right to make you go crazy. He likes your thighs, he loves being between them, laying on them, fucking them, leaving marks on them. It doesn't matter what he's doing with them he loves it all.
C- Cum, anything to do with cum basically
He likes to get it everywhere; he likes coming on your face, chest, thighs, stomach anywhere he can see that he made a mess of you.
D- Dirty secret, A dirt secret they have
He touches himself to the scent of your perfume sometimes if you're not home and he's needy.
E- Experienced, how experienced are they?
He's very experienced. He's been alive for hundreds of years, so he's seen pretty much everything and knows how to pleasure his partner.
F- Favorite position
Doggy style. He loves fucking you into the bed from behind, being able to pull your hair and whisper filthy things in your ear. He loves seeing you on all fours gripping the sheets because of him.
G-Goofy, are they serious or humorous in the moment
He's definitely a mix of both. It really depends on what mood he's in. If he's in a good mood and he just wants to spend time with you, he'll definitely be a bit goofier but if he's stressed and he wants to have sex to blow off steam he's a lot more serious.
H- Hair, how well groomed are they?
He's very well groomed, I can see him not really liking the feeling of hair on himself and he keeps himself very well groomed.
I- Intimacy, how intimate are they?
I would say he's intimate and romantic like 70% of the time. Sometimes he just wants to have sex to get stress out and when he does that he's not very romantic
J-Jack off
he doesn't really need to and has never really needed to. He has you now and before he had you, he had multiple of his followers who were willing to help him. He might occasionally if he wants to get off and he doesn't feel like waiting for you but that's not very often.
K- Kink, one or more of their kinks
Biting. He loves leaving marks and bruises on your neck and he loves the feeling of you biting him even if it won't leave a mark.
L- Location, where do they like to do it?
Literally anywhere. He is willing and able to give it to you anytime, anywhere.
M-Motivation, what gets them going?
He likes it when you initiate things. When you show him that you want him.
N- No, things they won't do, turn offs
He's the type of guy where if his partner isn't happy, he's not happy. So, anything that you don't like and turns you off turns him off as well.
O-Oral, do they prefer giving or receiving
he prefers receiving. He loves it when you give him head it's one of his favorite things to do with you.
P-Pace, are they fast are slow
He is fast and rough. No matter how much he tries to go slow or try and be gentle he gets lost in the pleasure and ends up going fast and rough.
Q- Quickie
He doesn't like them. He doesn't like being in a rush with you. if he's going to have sex with you, he wants to take his time and have a few hours with you.
R-Risk, do they take risks?
Absolutely, he'll try anything with you and is always up for risks.
S-Stamina, how many rounds can they go?
Oh, he can go for hours. He can go all night if you'll let him.
T-Toys, do they own them? How many?
I can see him owning a few but I don't think he'd use them often
U-Unfair, how much do they like to tease
he LOVES teasing you, sometimes he goes till you're in tears begging him to touch you
V-Volume, how loud are they?
he's VERY loud, he does it on purpose sometimes, he likes his followers or whoever is in the other room to hear how good you feel to him.
W-Wild card, random headcannon
He loves making out, it's one his favorite things that gets him in the mood
X-Xray, what's going on under those clothes
He's def bigger than average, I'd say like 9 inches.
Y-Yearning, how high is their sex drive?
Very high, he needs to have sex everyday sometimes even a few times a day.
Z- Zzz, how fast do they fall asleep after?
Since he's a demon, he doesn't really need to sleep and most of the time he doesn't, and he'll just lay with you while you sleep.
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requested, If it's okay I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something like your Late Nights with Sanemi but with Douma? - ANON
When Douma comes back into your shared room from his worship section of his temple, his eyes trail the moonlight that spills across the floor. He is greeted by silence, which wasn't out of the ordinary—it is quite late at night, far too late for his pretty darling to be awake. He knows you're asleep—you always fall asleep before he comes back, not that he minds. He likes to tease you about it.
It's late, far too late, and yet there you are, curled up under the futon with one hand loosely clutching the blanket. And Douma can't help but stare at you, how could he not with your features etched so soft in his eyes, you're so fragile and delicate. He knows he should feel nothing, and he does, truly feel nothing—that's what is true.
But there's just something that presses agasint him to feel that aching need to have you in his possession. How you're so utterly beautiful and fragile, it's sickening, but you're his, and he's claimed you as his—they want to care for someone like you.
Douma slips under the sheet, donned in a soft yukata, and he sits there beside you quietly, his eyes drooping as he analyses your sleeping figure. He lets out a sound that could almost be mistaken for a sigh before he lets his cold tips of his fingers trace a loose strand of hair away from your cheek as he finally slides beneath the covers next to you.
The instant his body presses against yours, you twitch faintly, your body adjusting instinctively to his body close to yours. And he can't help but freeze up for just a moment, though he can't believe it himself, he is still not used to the way your warmth feels agasint his skin. Douma discards the feeling before wrapping an arm carefully around your waist.
Your body heat seeps into his skin, and Douma feels it all the way into his marrow. You stir a little, a sleepy noise tumbling out of your throat, feeling the cold seep into your own skin—it wasn't unpleasant, it was something you actually liked.
"Douma?" you mumble, and you were so quiet you swore to yourself you didn't actually say anything, but thankfully, nothing can miss Douma's demon hearing, something of which you know of.
"Shh," he hums quietly, and the sheer sound of his voice almost lulled you back to sleep. His lips brush the side of your temple, a content sigh leaving your lips at the comforting touch. "Don't wake, pretty."
But, you do, the best you could, at least, halfway. You turn around toward him, maneuvering to your other side within his arm. You didn't even bother opening your eyes, most likely not being able to see anything, or you would be too much in a hazy state, too, drowsed from sleep. Your upper leg moved over his own, and your hand on his chest as you pressed closer to him, head nuzzled up into his arm.
"You're cold," you murmur, your hand curling the red fabric donned on his chest.
A light chuckle leaves his mouth, a genuine one, not that theatrical laugh he gives to others. The sound, like before, almost had the ability to lull you back to slumber. "You're here to warm me up."
Your body shifts even closer, pressing into him. The movement makes him still, momentarily taken aback by how gentle it feels—no matter how many nights among nights he and both of you do this, it still feels like a new feeling to him. You nuzzle up higher into his neck, your voice soft and slurred from sleep, "Kiss?" you say sleepily.
"Of course, sweet thing," he replies as his lips meet yours in a delicate kiss, your body relaxing further into his, letting yourself melt agasint him completely. Before he can even think of something teasing to say to you in reply, you're asleep again, breathing softly agasint his throat.
He doesn't dare to move after curling tighter around you, holding you up more against his body. Though he quickly decides against not moving, his opposite arm moves over to cradle your head, his cold fingers sliding through your hair, cradling you close.
"I'm going to tease you so much tomorrow, pretty thing," he murmurs contentedly, softly biting his bottom lip.
Do not copy, steal, modify, etc.
Relogs and like are appreciated.
"I know.. it doesn't really mean anything to you, but can you hug me anyway?" you whisper it in the silence of the night. often times, you sought douma out because you found him to be an enigma. yes, he was dangerous and far from the divinity that his cult was based on, but none of it deterred you from falling for him.
you suppose maybe it was the security of knowing he could never reject your feelings because he couldn't feel them anyway. that, and he let you linger around him despite your knowledge of this. he enjoyed keeping you around like a loyal pet and didn't mind you seeking him out for your pointless human desires. you didn't care either, to be fair.
the closeness was all you wanted.
just two dysfunctional beings laying side by side; limbs entangled, morality entombed.
"c'mere," he smiles and brings you close, his arm around your waist while he drapes his divine coat over your shoulder. you were already wrapped in a blanket while you sat with him but you wouldnt deny his gesture because it was comforting to you. "is this better, lotus?"
"mm-hm," you rest your head on his thigh and he caresses your warm, supple cheeks as if to lull you into slumber. "thank you, douma." he smiles and seems to be proud. he hums an old tune and soon enough, you're off to dreamland in the arms of a demon who could eat you right here and yet still spares you.
he may not be capable of feeling, but thats okay.
all you really need is the illusion of it anyway.
.
.
.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ m.list
note: i genuinely hate this guy but he'd give the best hugs (iykyk)
warnings !!: no warnings, this is fluff. douma ragebaits u
The snow fell softly around the ruined temple, muffling the sound of footsteps that stopped just outside its crumbling threshold. You stood tall, blade at the ready, heart hammering louder than it should’ve.
You had heard the rumors. Villagers disappearing, a strange “paradise cult” up north, and behind it all, whispers of a powerful demon. Upper Rank Two. And there he was. Sitting cross-legged on a faded cushion like he didn’t have a care in the world, Dōma, Upper Moon Two himself, looked up at you with those rainbow-colored eyes that sparkled like sunlight through ice.
“Oh?” he cooed, tilting his head. “Another visitor? I must be popular tonight.”
Your grip on your sword tightened. “Cut the act. I know what you are.”
He blinked.
Then smiled.
“Guilty as charged! But wow, you’re cute when you're serious. What’s your name, little slayer?”
You blinked. “Excuse me?” He rose smoothly to his feet, twirling one of his fans with theatrical flair. “I like to know the names of pretty girls who try to kill me. It makes things more... personal.”
Your face heated up against your will. You blamed the cold. “Are you... flirting with me?!”
He grinned. “Why, yes! Is it working?” “No?!” “Well, that’s a shame.” He sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me more deeply than any sword ever could.” You didn’t know whether to swing your blade or just walk away out of sheer confusion.
This was not how demon encounters were supposed to go. He lunged suddenly, and you met his strike with a sharp clang of steel against ice. The fight began — graceful, dangerous, and weirdly conversational. “You're very fast,” he commented mid-swing. “Elegant, too. A little wild, but I like that.”
“This is a fight, not a date!” you snapped, ducking under a fan laced with icy wind.
He gasped, eyes twinkling. “Why not both?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Guilty again.”
You danced through attacks, narrowly dodging deadly shards of frost and retaliating with precision. But despite your best efforts, he didn’t seem like he was trying very hard. more like he was... playing.
Eventually, you both stood at a distance again, panting. well, you were panting. He looked annoyingly calm. “Had enough, cutie?” he asked, tapping his fan against his chin. “Because I certainly have.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Giving up?”
“Not at all. I just think it would be a shame to ruin that lovely face of yours.” He gave you a wink. “And maybe I’m hoping we’ll meet again.”
You hesitated. Just for a moment. And he saw it. that tiny flicker in your eyes. Interest. Curiosity. Annoyance wrapped in reluctant amusement. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like dying tonight,” you muttered, sliding your blade back into its sheath. “Let’s call it even.” He beamed. “Oh, how romantic. A draw between enemies! I’ll treasure the memory.”
You turned to leave before your blush could betray you again. “Don’t follow me.”
“No promises~!”
As you vanished into the snowy forest, heart still racing for reasons you refused to examine too closely, a single thought lingered at the back of your mind: ...Maybe just one more meeting wouldn’t hurt.
*ੈ♡‧₊˚༺♡༻*ੈ♡‧₊˚
SORRY IM SO LATE U GUYS BUT I PROMISE I WILL ALWAYS COME AROUND TO IT.
this is the request and I hope u liked it for whoever askeddd
