[愛] content warnings - dark romance, manipulation, emotional coercion, power imbalance, possessive behavior, consumption of blood
[愛] a/n - forgive me if some of the details are inaccurate regarding demon transformation (╥﹏╥), but this was really fun to write
you fit too easily in his lap.
that realization alone makes your stomach twist, not because you’re uncomfortable—no, that’s the worst part—but because your body relaxes into him as if it belongs there. douma’s legs are crossed lazily beneath you, one arm looped around your waist, the other resting against your thigh with feather-light touches that feel more intimate than any firm grip ever could.
“you’re tense,” he hums pleasantly, voice warm and melodic right by your ear. “i don’t like that.”
his fingers smooth up and down your arm, unhurried, affectionate. not restraining. never restraining. douma doesn’t need to trap you—he knows you won’t leave.
you swallow. “you’re asking me to give up… everything.”
“no,” he corrects gently, tilting his head so his cheek brushes your hair. “i’m asking you to stop losing things.”
you can feel his smile even when you can’t see it.
he presses a kiss to your temple, soft, almost reverent. it would be easy to forget what he is like this—no blood, no madness, no hollow-eyed followers chanting his name. just warmth, just closeness, just the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your back.
“you’ll grow old,” he continues lightly. “you’ll get sick. tired. fragile.” his hand slides to your stomach, thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your clothes. “and i’ll stay the same. watching.”
your breath stutters despite yourself.
“that sounds lonely,” he adds, voice dropping into something quieter. more sincere. “for both of us.”
you shift, turning slightly so you can look at him. his eyes meet yours immediately—bright, patient, adoring in a way that feels almost too intense to be real. like you’re something precious he’s been waiting to unwrap.
“i don’t want to pressure you,” douma says, and his fingers lace with yours, squeezing gently. “i’d never force you. i just…” his brows knit, a perfect imitation of concern. “want to be with you. truly with you. forever.”
the word settles heavy in your chest.
“i’m scared,” you admit quietly.
his smile softens, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers behind his eyes.
“of course you are,” he murmurs. “that’s only natural.” he shifts you closer, your back flush to his chest now, chin resting on your shoulder. “but tell me, my dear—what exactly are you afraid of losing?”
you open your mouth, then stop.
friends? distant. fading.
a future? one that already feels empty and uncertain.
douma feels your hesitation and hums thoughtfully. “see? you’ve already let go of so much.” his lips brush your ear, voice velvet-smooth. “i’m offering you something instead.”
his hand lifts your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze again. there’s no rush in him. no impatience. just certainty.
“strength,” he whispers. “beauty that never fades. a body that will never betray you.” his thumb sweeps beneath your eye, tender. “and me. always me.”
your heart pounds. this is wrong. you know it is. but it’s hard to cling to morality when it’s never given you anything back.
“it’ll hurt,” you say faintly.
he laughs softly—not mocking. almost fond. “only for a moment.” then, quieter, “i’ll be right here. i won’t let you go through it alone.”
his forehead presses to yours, noses brushing. his grip tightens just slightly, grounding, possessive without being cruel.
“you trust me, don’t you?”
the question isn’t a demand. it’s worse—it’s an assumption.
what do you really have to lose?
when you nod, just barely, douma’s smile blooms slow and radiant, like he’s been waiting for this answer all along. he kisses you then—gentle, lingering, sealing something unspoken between you.
“good,” he murmurs against your lips.
his arms wrap around you fully now, cradling you as if you’re already his in every sense that matters.
he locks eyes with you, patiently awaiting your response.
his arms tighten around you the moment the you express your agreement to his offer.
not possessive. not panicked.
“that’s my sweet girl,” douma hums, pleased in a way that makes your stomach twist. “you always understand me in the end.”
he shifts, adjusting you more comfortably on his lap, as if this is something delicate he wants to do right. one hand slides up your arm, warm despite what he is, fingertips tracing slow, absent-minded patterns meant to soothe.
“look at me,” he says softly.
his eyes are beautiful in a way that hurts—rainbow-bright, gentle, utterly inhuman. there’s no hunger in them yet. just anticipation. reverence.
“i want you calm,” he murmurs. “i don’t want your last human moments to be afraid ones.”
your breath shudders, but you nod.
douma smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. then another to your temple. each one slow, lingering, like he’s memorizing you this way.
“you trust me, don’t you?” he asks lightly.
you hesitate only a second before whispering, “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”
that seems to delight him more than anything.
his fingers slide to your wrist, lifting your hand gently. his touch is almost tender as he presses his lips to your knuckles, teeth grazing skin just barely—not enough to break it.
“this part is important,” he says quietly. “i need you to drink my blood after. don’t fight it. don’t stop halfway.”
you swallow. “and before?”
“before,” he says pleasantly, “i’ll take what i need.”
he turns you slightly, angling your body so your neck is exposed, resting against his shoulder. one arm locks securely around your waist now, not letting you pull away—not that you try.
his breath fans across your skin.
“relax,” he whispers. “i’ve got you.”
the pain comes sharp and sudden.
his fangs pierce your neck with terrifying precision, and you gasp, fingers clawing into his clothes as something hot and overwhelming floods your senses. it hurts—but not in a clean way. it’s dizzying, draining, like your body is being gently unmade.
douma holds you tightly as you weaken, murmuring praise into your skin.
“there you go… such a good girl… just let go…”
your vision blurs. your limbs feel heavy. your heartbeat thunders, then stutters.
you barely register it before he brings his wrist to your lips, slicing his skin open effortlessly.
“now,” he says softly, guiding your mouth. “drink.”
the blood is thick. burning. wrong.
you choke at first, instinct screaming at you to stop—but douma’s hand cups your jaw, steady, encouraging.
“that’s it,” he coos. “don’t waste it.”
the moment it slides down your throat, everything changes.
fire spreads through your veins, violent and consuming. you cry out, body convulsing as pain overtakes every thought. it feels like you’re burning from the inside out, like something is tearing itself apart just to rebuild wrong.
douma holds you through it all.
he doesn’t let go. doesn’t flinch. just rocks you gently as you writhe, whispering affection and delight in equal measure.
“i know, i know,” he soothes. “it’ll pass. you’re doing wonderfully.”
for one horrible, endless moment, there is nothing.
air floods your lungs though you don’t need it. sound rushes back too loud, too sharp. you can hear everything—his breath, the distant creak of the building, the faint echo of blood moving in bodies far away.
you tremble violently, clinging to him.
douma laughs softly, delighted.
your senses scream. your body feels wrong—stronger, colder, alive in a way you’ve never been before. your throat burns. your mouth aches.
you pull back slightly, meeting his gaze.
“welcome back,” he says. “or… forward, i suppose.”
he brushes your hair away from your face, thumb smearing away tears you didn’t realize were falling.
“no more fear,” he murmurs.
then, pleased and possessive, he presses you back against his chest, arms closing around you like a cage made of silk.
“you’re mine forever now.”
not during the pain, not during the transformation—after.
you’re curled against him on the floor, head tucked beneath his chin, fingers weakly gripping his sleeves when a dull, aching emptiness blooms in your chest. it spreads fast, gnawing and insistent, until it’s all you can think about
douma notices immediately.
“hm?” he hums, fingers stroking through your hair. “what’s wrong, darling?”
your throat burns. your stomach twists. it’s not a feeling you’ve ever had before—not hunger, not exactly. it’s sharper. louder. demanding.
“i…” you swallow hard, brows knitting together. “i feel… bad.”
“bad?” he echoes gently, amused. “how so?”
you whine before you can stop yourself, the sound small and embarrassed, pulling from somewhere instinctive and new.
“empty,” you mumble. “it hurts.”
his expression softens into something pleased and knowing.
“already?” he chuckles quietly. “you really are perfect.”
your fingers clutch tighter, frustration bleeding into your voice. “don’t laugh—i don’t know what’s happening. i just—i need… something.”
douma tilts your face up with a single finger, eyes glittering as he studies you. you look different already—brighter, sharper, more his.
“you’re hungry,” he says simply.
the word makes your mouth ache.
“hungry?” you repeat, breath hitching.
he nods. “that’s your body realizing what it is now.”
he shifts, settling back against the wall and pulling you fully into his lap again, holding you there like you belong.
“don’t worry,” he says lightly. “i planned for this.”
you squirm, whining again despite yourself. “it’s really bad, douma…”
“shh,” he coos, thumb brushing under your lip where your new fangs ache. “i know.”
then, without hesitation, he brings his wrist up and presses it gently to your mouth.
“here,” he offers warmly. “have mine.”
he smiles, radiant and indulgent. “of course. it’s too much of a hassle to go out and find a human for you, and i’d rather your first indulgence be something safe.”
his eyes soften. “something familiar.”
your instincts scream yes even as your mind hesitates.
“it won’t hurt me,” he adds cheerfully. “and i happen to be quite fond of sharing.”
you tremble, hunger roaring now that the source is right there. your lips brush his skin, breath shallow.
“go on,” he encourages. “you’re allowed.”
your fangs sink in instinctively, and the relief is immediate—warmth flooding your body, the ache easing as something rich and powerful fills you. you cling to him, embarrassed little sounds slipping out as you drink, completely unaware of anything except how right it feels.
douma sighs contentedly, one arm wrapping around you, the other steady at your back.
“there you go,” he murmurs fondly. “see? i’ve got you.”
when he finally pulls you back—gentle, careful—you’re dazed, breathless, still clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
he laughs softly, wiping a thumb at the corner of your mouth.
“so needy already,” he teases affectionately. “i think i’m going to enjoy taking care of you.”
then he hugs you close again, pleased and possessive, voice warm in your ear.
“don’t worry,” he whispers. “you’ll never be hungry alone.”
© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form
