#upper moon

🌙 General dynamic.

Kokushibo was absolutely the “I do not care for such trivial vulnerable attachments” type… until you got pregnant, and suddenly he’s standing there like an awkward 6'3 nightmare samurai who now has to figure out baby logistics.

His demon brain is like “offspring = strength” but his heart (yes he has one, shhh) is quietly freaking out because you’re carrying something that’s half him.

He’s overprotective in a very Kokushibo way — not loud, not gushy, but always watching, always keeping danger 20 miles away. He’s practically your shadow.

🩸 During pregnancy.

His scent obsession goes crazy. He can smell every tiny change in you — heartbeat, blood composition, even your emotions — and it both soothes and worries him.

He starts hunting more before you even mention cravings, just leaving rare demon delicacies and fresh kills in your space like “eat. now.”

You’d think demons don’t have the hormonal mood swings humans do but… yeah, you still do. He just stares blankly through your emotional outbursts, waits until you’re done, and then quietly pulls you against him.

Lowkey hates seeing you fight while pregnant — even if you’re strong enough to win — because his instincts are screaming “protect the heir.”

🌑 His behavior toward you.

When you’re sleeping, he’ll sit nearby with his sword resting against his shoulder, watching both the moon and you.

Refuses to let Muzan overstep — if the Demon King so much as implies interest in the baby for his “plans,” Kokushibo shuts that down with a cold glare.

Doesn’t smile (ever, duh) but his tone softens around you without him realizing.

🍼 The baby talk.

Doesn’t want to admit he’s curious about what the child will look like, but he’s always thinking about it. Six eyes? Your features? Will it inherit both your abilities?

Secretly has a name picked out but won’t tell you until the day the baby’s born.

⚔️ If anyone threatens you.

Ohhh they’re done. He won’t just kill them — he’ll erase them from existence so thoroughly it’s like they never lived.

Other demons know better than to even look at you too long.

❤ Alone.

He feels… peace when his palm rests against your stomach and he can hear two heartbeats. It reminds him that not all eternity is just blood and war.

For someone who’s lived centuries drowning in Muzan’s orders, the idea of having something that’s his — his family, his choice — feels almost rebellious.

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❄️ General dynamic.

Douma doesn’t really get pregnancy in an emotional way at first — like, he knows what it is but doesn’t fully grasp the weight of it. He’s just like “Oh my! How delightful! We’re going to have a little us!” with that empty smile.

Then it slowly clicks that you’re literally carrying his child and suddenly he’s fascinated in a way that’s almost obsessive.

Treats the whole thing like a festival in your honor — constantly telling everyone in the Eternal Paradise cult about “the little miracle” and how blessed they all are to witness it.

🩸 During pregnancy.

Brings you ridiculous amounts of food, even if you didn’t ask — everything from fine meats to rare demon treats, because “I want our little one to grow big and strong!”

Always rubbing your stomach without asking, not even realizing that some days you might be over it.

The king of making lighthearted jokes about the baby like, “I wonder if it’ll be born with fangs! Or maybe those cute little claws~!”

You’ll never lift a finger for anything. He’s carrying you around, fanning you, tucking your hair behind your ear like you’re royalty.

🌑 His behavior toward you.

Extremely handsy in a protective-but-playful way — arm always around you, pulling you into his lap, making you sit sideways on his beanbag throne with him.

Acts like he’s not worried, but his attention sharpens whenever someone gets too close.

Tries to make the pregnancy “fun” — decorating the temple with flowers, throwing little ceremonies “for the baby.”

🍼 The baby talk.

Already has dozens of names picked out, half of which are ridiculously extravagant.

Tells you constantly how “perfect” the child will be — in his mind, it’s an extension of his beauty and yours, so obviously it’ll be divine.

Has probably already started making tiny matching outfits for the three of you.

⚔️ If anyone threatens you.

The smile stays, but the eyes go sharp. He will cheerfully dismember someone while humming if they even hint at hurting you or the baby.

Cult members know better than to annoy you — Douma’s wrath is fast and weirdly creative.

❤ Alone.

He doesn’t think he’s capable of true love… but he does feel something different with you and the baby. There’s this strange warmth he can’t name, and it keeps him hovering around you more than usual.

When you’re sleeping, he sometimes leans close to your stomach and quietly talks to the baby — telling them how they’re going to “see the most beautiful sights with Papa” and “always be adored.”

Part of him is oddly excited to see if this child will make him feel something genuine for the first time in centuries.

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🌀 General dynamic.

The second Akaza finds out you’re pregnant, his whole brain rewires into hyper-protective mode. Like, he was already protective before, but now? He’s basically your walking, talking, growling guard dog.

He treats the idea of you carrying his child as the most sacred, honorable thing ever. In his mind, this baby is his new reason to keep getting stronger — a living legacy.

Very serious about it too — there’s no joking around like Douma, no detached observation like Kokushibo. He’s invested.

🩸 During pregnancy.

Refuses to let you fight, even if you’re strong enough to win. “Not while you’re carrying my child. I’ll handle it.”

Brings you fresh prey constantly — insists on it being the “best quality” kills, nothing stale. He wants you eating well so the baby’s strong.

Will literally sit by you for hours just watching you rest. Not in a creepy way — in a “I’m making sure nothing even breathes wrong in your direction” way.

Gets extra touchy with you — palm on your back when walking, carrying you if you’re even slightly tired, wrapping his arm around your waist.

🌑 His behavior toward you.

Talks to you differently — still blunt, but softer and more careful with his words.

If you start feeling insecure about your changing body, he immediately shuts that down with genuine compliments. “You’re beautiful. You’re carrying our child. No one will ever look better to me than you do right now.”

When you sleep, he always sleeps between you and the door. No one gets past him.

🍼 The baby talk.

Already imagining training the child when they’re older, teaching them martial arts and discipline — he will brag about it too.

Wonders out loud if the baby will inherit your powers or his fighting strength. Secretly hopes for both.

Names are important to him — he’ll want it to have meaning, something strong and honorable.

⚔️ If anyone threatens you.

Ohhh girl… they’re gone. Not just killed — annihilated. Akaza will go full Upper Moon rage mode and it won’t be pretty.

Even other Upper Moons keep their distance when you’re around. The only one who might poke fun is Douma, but even he knows Akaza will snap if he pushes too far.

❤ Alone.

He didn’t think he’d ever have a family again after his human life — and now that he does, the thought of losing it terrifies him.

Sometimes when you’re asleep, he’ll rest his forehead against your stomach and quietly promise the baby that they’ll grow up safe, strong, and loved.

There’s a part of him that’s scared he won’t live up to being a good father — but he’s determined to try anyway.

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⸻

the early spring moon hung low over the trees when you stepped out of your small cottage, pulling your shawl tighter over your shoulders. the firewood was running low, and the chill in the air hadn’t let up yet. your feet crunched lightly on the frost-laced ground as you made your way toward the woods, basket in hand, mind half-asleep.

the woods were quiet, too quiet.

you bent down to collect some fallen branches when you heard it—crunching.

not the crisp, harmless sound of your own feet. this was different. wet. deliberate.

you froze.

your eyes scanned the trees, and that’s when you saw him.

crouched in the shadows just beyond the clearing. long white hair spilled down his back, shimmering even in the dim moonlight. his eyes—wide, glimmering like glass—were locked on something in his hands. you couldn’t see what it was until he shifted slightly.

a body.

half of one, really.

the crunching didn’t stop as he bit into it again, blood trailing down the corner of his mouth, but what shook you wasn’t the gore—it was the expression on his face.

delight.

he was giggling.

you took a step back, then another, heart slamming against your ribs.

then you turned and ran.

your shoulder slammed into something hard, like running into a wall of stone. wind knocked out of your lungs, you stumbled back, eyes wide. and there he was.

in front of you.

his presence was so sudden, so unnatural, you didn’t even have time to scream.

“ah! you’re even prettier up close!” he beamed, eyes flicking up and down your face, then to your trembling hands.

“p-please don’t kill me,” you whispered, voice cracking as tears threatened to spill.

he tilted his head, like a curious child. “kill you? oh no no no—what for? you didn’t interrupt me. you were just… watching, weren’t you?”

his voice was sing-songy, almost sweet. but it didn’t match the blood still wet on his lips.

you swallowed thickly and nodded.

for some reason, he laughed.

“how funny,” he said, backing off slightly. “most people either cry or try to stab me. but you’re just standing there. shaking like a little rabbit.”

and then he was gone.

you blinked, but he had already vanished into the trees, like he was never there.

except the fear clinging to your skin reminded you he very much had been.

and then the visits began.

every night, like clockwork, just as the moon crested the sky, he’d be there. sometimes sitting on your rooftop, humming to himself. sometimes sprawled in your doorway, twirling a bloodstained fan in his fingers.

the first week, you barely spoke. just nodded at his nonsense and prayed he wouldn’t snap.

but the second week, something changed.

“your face!” he had exclaimed, laying sideways on your floor. “you always show everything on it. it’s hilarious.”

“i’m not trying to be funny,” you had muttered, folding laundry with shaky hands.

he grinned. “that’s what makes it so adorable.”

by the time the first month passed, you had learned to sit with him, sometimes even offer tea. the fear was still there, always curled at the bottom of your stomach, but he hadn’t hurt you. not once.

instead, he asked questions. odd ones.

“what do dreams feel like?”

“how do you cry without breaking your face?”

“why does it hurt when humans lie?”

you didn’t always have answers, but you tried. and that seemed to please him.

sometimes, he’d stare at your face while you talked. like he was cataloging every twitch, every wince, every shy smile.

he liked your expressions, he said. they entertained him.

“you’re better than all the cult followers i’ve ever had,” he said once, flopped across your wooden bench with his head upside down. “they’re all so serious. but you—your eyebrows move so much when you talk! it’s so funny!”

you rolled your eyes.

“i’m glad my face makes your immortal life less boring,” you said dryly.

he giggled. “you’re not like the others. not at all.”

then one night, after months of this strange companionship, he appeared as usual—but something was different.

“i’ve been thinking,” he said, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. “you don’t belong in this little box of a house. it’s cold. and lonely.”

you blinked. “okay…”

“come live with me.”

your heart stopped.

“what?”

“in my mansion,” he said brightly. “you’ll like it. it’s never boring. and no one will touch you. i’ll make sure of that.”

you hesitated. “you want me… to live with you?”

he smiled wider. “mm-hmm. i never get tired of you. you make all these silly little faces and noises. and you’re fun to talk to. that’s rare.”

you stared at him.

a demon. a killer. asking you to live with him like you were his favorite pet.

yet part of you… had already stopped seeing him that way. he was silly. and oddly gentle. and in all this time, he never laid a finger on you. never once tried to feed from you or hurt you.

you looked around your cottage. the lonely walls. the silence that filled the space when he wasn’t there.

“…okay,” you whispered. “i’ll go.”

and douma’s eyes lit up like a child being handed a new toy.

“yay! you’re going to love it. i’ll even redecorate. you like flowers, right? red ones?”

from that night on, you were no longer just a girl in a mountain village.

you became douma’s favorite plaything . his “favourite,” as he’d call you while dancing around the halls of his mansion.

you still flinched sometimes, when his eyes got too wide or his smile too sharp. but he’d only laugh.

“don’t worry,” he’d coo, wrapping a silky shawl around your shoulders. “you’re the only human i don’t get bored of. isn’t that romantic?”

and deep down, you knew you were walking a dangerous line.

but you also knew this—douma, for all his madness, kept his word.

and for some strange, terrifying reason… he loved having you around.

even now, in the quietest hours of the night, you’re still scared of douma—never knowing if he’ll eat you, like he did with the others, right in front of you, while they begged for their lives.