Douma Harem + Douma Oneshots

? Douma & Akaza ? (Not a ship)

(A/N: this is a long ass chapter. Tysm for 93k reads and 140 followers! I never thought I'd get so far.)

The ceiling moved overhead, and the walls kept swirling into different places. It was a place you could never truly explore, the Infinity Castle. Its myriad of dimensions constantly changed, one second a small hut, the next an imposing fortress.

Douma was stuck here.

Not that he was lost, but the Uppermoons - including him - had all been placed under high surveillance after Muzan suspected one of them was relaying information to the Demon Slayer Corps. The Demon King didn't know which one, so he'd forced all of them to stay in the fortress for the time being.

Douma had grown increasingly bored. Although he couldn't feel anything in his chest - or brain, as that's what it was that supplied emotion - he could know when things got tedious. Just like all the Uppermoons, he lived for excitement, and the lack of it was annoying all of them, even Kokushibo, no matter how expressionless he attempted to be. Douma had spent the best part of a century studying emotions, so he could see how the slight, almost unnoticeable, twitch of an eyebrow meant that the Uppermoon One was annoyed. Or that the way Akaza's fingers could never stop shaking meant he was scared, or perhaps just hyper-vigilant.

When Gykokko's pots shook slightly, it meant the demon inside was excited. He didn't bother analysing Hantengu's emotions, when he was in his non-clone form, the Uppermoon Four was always agitated or cowering. If Daki glanced at her immaculately done nails, or started to fidget with that one strand of hair on the left-hand side of her face, she was getting very impatient. Gyutaro was an open book, his emotions obvious.

Douma was getting carried away with asserting everyone's emotion. Well, to be fair; it was the only entertainment he'd get. None of them seemed interested in sparring with him. A shame really, as Douma knew about all of their lust for power, and sparring with the second most powerful demon moon would definitely hone their fighting skills.

He was sitting in his Lotus Room, the blood of a woman's arm dripping into the water and staining it. Whatever. Nakime would replace it, just like she always did when blood got into the fortress. Since he wasn't allowed to leave, the human had just dropped from the ceiling, still alive. She'd probably been teleported here.

He bit into her arm harder, savouring the flesh. It had gone a bit too cold for Douma to properly enjoy, but the underlying taste was pleasant, not sweet and with a bit of toughness that Douma found to be the one that gave him the most power.

He could just absorb her, but doing that was reserved for desperate times, or if he had a special meal. His dear Kotoha had been absorbed, and he planned to eradicate the remaining Kocho sisters and do the same to them.

He finished his meal in silence.

Afterwards, he flicked his wrists, and unformed ice spiralled out of his fingers. They hurriedly became thinner, stretching out into thin lines. An icy cloud hovered above them. He moved the ice vines, wrapping them around each other, forcing them to bend and buckle. He smoothed them down, chiselling them with a war fan. The separated ice soon became one chunk, and started to take shape. It became a small figurine of Douma, but in a way more childlike; innocent.

In a way it was. It hadn't seen what Douma had, didn't know what Douma knew.

Douma began to rapidly talk to it, gossiping about anything that came to mind. Kokushibo's flute he'd found when he'd gone snooping in the aforementioned's room, the hairpin that Gyutaro had in a box. Why the gold that was on Hantengu's clone's clothes was probably faker than Douma's emotions, the way Nakime's heartbeat had intensified when Daki had threatened to break her biwa.