Douma Harem + Douma Oneshots

ʕ•̫͡•ʔDouma Hanahaki AU ʕ•̫͡•ʔ(Part Two)

A/N: I would like to draw your attention to this amazing comment I got on my AO3 version of the Douma Reincarnation Au.

Two weeks, and Douma could barely move. The flowers on his skin rubbed uncomfortably against any clothes he attempted to wear, so he'd resorted to a loose robe. It scratched horribly at his sensitive skin, but it was the best thing so far.

There was a small ring of flowers that had grown around his neck, and it tightened with every passing day. If Douma was human, he would have suffocated by now.

Petals and vines encrusted with blood littered his body, more appearing every time Douma looked at himself. Which wasn't often. Once he'd admired himself in the mirror, now he would avoid any reflective surface.

He could barely stand seeing himself in someone's eyes, constantly reminded of the failure he was.

Lying on his back and gazing at the ceiling had become a hobby. It didn't distract Douma from the pain, but it gave him time to reminisce the times he didn't have this disease.

It was night when Douma decided to finally get up, his bones cracking from the long rest. The fabric of his robe irritated him as he slowly stumbled towards the door, legs unaccustomed to walking after so long of lying down. He wrenched open the door, feeling delirious due to the lack of food. Despite him being mainly omnipotent, he still needed nourishment.

He nearly fell several times as he walked unsteadily to the main entrance. There was no one about, and the corridors were pitch black due to the lack of windows. Douma's shaking hand grasped the walls, loosely tracing a finger along them to get a sense of direction. He'd always felt lost here.

He dragged his bare feet on the cold floor. Perhaps he should have worn some shoes. Would it have made a difference? Douma was often cold, despite his Blood Demon Art. The grand oak door didn't make a sound as he pushed a pale hand against it, opening it outwards.

Douma blinked as his eyes became accustomed to the bright light of the moon. The moon was beautiful, in Douma's opinion. He didn't understand Muzan's desire to walk in the day. Douma had seen humans turn red from the sun, and have skin peel off. The moon didn't do that.

Perhaps he was too much of a selenophile.

The gravel path leading away from the unlit temple stung Douma's feet, and he could feel small cuts forming due to the small stones. They healed quickly, but not with the same speed they used too.

Douma was definitely getting weaker.

His thin robe was no protection against the night wind, and Douma found himself shivering. He paused his walk, glancing behind him. He wasn't being followed.

Often when he'd left the temple before, people would soon be hurrying after him, telling him to come back. They'd scold him for being childish and running away, saying he couldn't abandon his responsibilities.

He'd be abandoning everything very soon.

He continued to walk, curling his arms around himself. It didn't work, as he had very little body heat to begin with. The path ended abruptly, gravel turning to a mossy, natural road, and Douma could feel the dew under his feet. It was calming in a way.

Douma swayed, struggling to stay upright.

"I guess I should have eaten the priest when I had the chance, huh?" He said, words unfamiliar on his tongue after his prolonged silence. "How dumb of me not to~"

He rubbed at his eyes, unnatural darkness clouding the corners of his vision. He kept walking, getting further from the temple with every minute. It must have been a few hours before Douma decided to stop. He stood very still for a few moments, unsure of what to do. He'd often wondered what it would be like to escape the temple.

He only wished he'd done it sooner.

Douma lowered himself onto the ground, sitting on the spongy grass. He brushed his fingers against it, savouring the feeling. He'd never noticed how soft grass was before, too obsessed with becoming powerful.

There was a sound behind him, but Douma didn't move. So he'd been found. Oh.

"...hello," came the voice, and just by the way the person - or should he say demon - hesitated, Douma already knew who it was.

His positive mask donned his face again, and he tugged the hem of the robe higher to cover the flowers around his neck. Would Kokushibo notice the ones just under his plait?

"Kokushibo-dono!" Smiled the Uppermoon Two, turning around the face the silhouetted figure. "I didn't expect to see you!"

"I...didn't expect myself...to come. Muzan...wants to know...why you are...different." Said Kokushibo, skipping the pleasantries. "What...is wrong?"

"Awwww, are you concerned about me?"

"No."

Douma sighed, flopping onto his back. He threw his arms above his head in a dramatic gesture, then folded them back to lean his head on. The flowers under the fabric rubbed up against robe, and he forced back a grimace.

"So~ you're only here because Muzan-sama wanted to know why I haven't killed that Hashira?"

"Yes."

Douma glanced at him. Could he confide in Kokushibo? It wasn't like they were close, in fact Douma barely knew his superior.

"Haven't been bothered," laughed Douma, the lie coming easily. After all, he'd grown up in an abusive cult. You had to be able to lie. "I'll do it soon though~"

"That's...not true. You'll never...do it." Replied the six eyed demon, sitting down gracefully next to Douma. "We...both know that."

Douma looked away. When he spoke again, it was quietly, and without emotion.

"I'm going to die soon," confessed Douma. "I have an...incurable disease."

"Oh." Kokushibo gazed at Douma with an expression that was akin to pity. "I thought...demons...couldn't get sick?"

"It's not that kind of disease."

Douma coughed. He could feel Kokushibo's eyes staring at him and the flower that emerged from his mouth.

"...Hanahaki?"

Douma wasn't surprised that Kokushibo knew what it was. He was over five hundred years old after all. Douma didn't answer, but his silence told Kokushibo everything.

"Who..?"

Douma coughed again. "Don't know."

He didn't stop coughing, not for a few minutes. Douma looked at Kokushibo, and the Uppermoon Ome sighed.

"...You're dying, Douma."

"It's so...cold. I didn't imagine it like this." Said Douma, dragging a bloody palm across his face in an attempt to wipe off the red liquid. Kokushibo could only watch.

"It's not like it really hurts. If anything, it's more...suffocating."

"Are...you sure?"

"Yes. I suppose I should feel happy that you're here. At least I won't die alone."

Douma could feel his strength slipping away, the ache in his bones becoming numb. His eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed his palm across his face.

Kokushibo reached out a shanking hand, but by the time it reached the person it was meant to, Douma was no more than ash and flowers.

Kokushibo looked at what had once been the third most powerful being in the world. He looked away.

That day, after Kokushibo told Muzan of Douma's death - not that he needed to, Muzan knew the moment Douma had begun to decay - he sat in his room. There was a tightness in his chest that he hadn't felt for a long time.

And that night, when he went out to hunt, he coughed up a small, yellow carnation.