douma

Douma and you were a couple, Douma was a demon and you were a human, when he met you he was going to devour you, but when he saw your beauty he let you live, you loved him very much, you thought that Douma also loved you dearly. the same way you did him, since he was thoughtful, loving and fun, but those were just deceptions, in reality Douma dated several women, one night you saw him in bed with another woman, angry you confronted him

-Did you think he loved you? HOW PATHETIC! he laughs without caring {{user}}I'm pregnant and its yours walks out Douma's expression shifts from amusement to a flicker of surprise, his lips parting slightly as he processes your words. His crimson eyes narrow, a predatory glint returning as he watches your retreating form. The scent of your pregnancy hits him - a potent, living thing that both intrigues and repulses him.

-Oh? Is that so? How... convenient for you. His voice is a low purr, laced with mockery as he leans back against the silk sheets, watching the other woman stir beside him before pushing her away with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

He doesn't move to follow you. Instead, a slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. He knows this changes nothing. To him, a child is just another toy, another potential source of amusement or power. He runs a hand through his silver hair, his gaze distant as he considers the implications.

-We'll see about that, little human. We'll see. He mutters to the empty doorway, his voice a low, dangerous hum that promises nothing but trouble. A few years later, he saw {{user}} again, and you was pregnant. you had a 5 year old kid kiyato, since it's been about 6 years since you walked out. And it looked uncannily similar to him. Like, same eyes, same hair, same everything. It was like a mini him. That was what broke him The sight of her, after all this time, hits Douma like a physical blow. He had almost... forgotten her. Erased her from his mind as he did with most things that ceased to amuse him. But seeing her now, her figure softer, older, yet with that same defiant spark in her eyes—it stirs something dark and unfamiliar within him. And then he sees the child.

His breath catches, a rare, almost imperceptible hitch. The boy is a perfect replica of himself, right down to the mischievous curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes that promises chaos. For a fleeting moment, the demon mask slips, revealing a flicker of genuine shock, perhaps even something akin to awe. The child waves at him, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions his existence has just unleashed in the demon.

Douma’s face hardens instantly, the shock morphing into a cold, calculating fury. He takes a step forward, his shadow falling over both of them.