The Nature of Politics
𖹭 Muzan x Yoriichi's Daughter! Reader 𖹭
CW: Mild Dubcon, Age Gap, Power Imbalance, Loss of Virginity, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Creampie Pregnancy, Misogyny
WC: 13.6k
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It all started with you being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
You were assisting your aunt with her newborn son while she slept. Your uncle, Michikatsu, was still home, but on a video conference with his boss. All of their older children were all at school, so you naturally stepped up to help. Raising four daughters and two sons — one being a newborn — wasn't for the weak. It didn't help that your uncle was also currently recovering from a minor surgery.
After rocking the baby for so long that your arms were sore, he had finally settled. You raised his arm a little to double check that he was fast asleep. If his arm remained limp, you had succeeded. If he startled, you'd have to start over again.
You took a breath and released his little arm. It remained slack. He was fast asleep and ready to nap with his momma. She would be able to nurse him when he woke up for milk. Gingerly, you set down the sleeping infant beside his exhausted mother. Her hair was a little tangled, tied back in a disheveled low ponytail to avoid her son's iron grip. The shirt she wore was covered with dried milk stains at her leaky breasts. Like most newborns, your little cousin had the unfortunate habit of unlatching during milk letdowns. It was a blessing that this instinct prevented choking, but it unfortunately resulted in messes that could always be cleaned.
Before exiting the room, you set out a fresh change of clothes for your aunt, leaving behind a note that said you would watch the baby while she showers. She deserved a nice, hot bath with a glass of wine. But your father would be there to pick you up soon. Your uncle's boss was a bit of a tyrant, so sadly, he wasn't much help.
As you stepped out of the room, a notification on your phone popped up right on queue. A text from your father saying that he was on his way to get you.
Talk about perfect timing.
He and your Uncle didn't always see eye to eye when it came to politics. Both were heavily involved in political matters, but in different ways. Your father worked as a workers’ rights activist under the prestigious Ubuyashiki family. They had pledged their lives to philanthropy as well as bettering work conditions, something your father deeply believed in. It warmed your heart to have been blessed with a kind father who dedicated himself to such a noble cause.
Whereas to your knowledge, your uncle worked as a secretary to a sketchy politician. Admittedly, you were a little sheltered and didn't understand the full extent of what they stood for. You just knew that the two of them had clashing viewpoints on certain matters. You were always told it wasn't your concern and to just focus on your studies. Or as of recently, assisting with the baby.
From outside your uncle's home office, you hear him talking to another man. Most likely that shady boss of his. You went to knock but hesitated, your knuckles stopping midair just in front of the door, curled fingers relaxing as you procrastinated.
Of course, you had been told to inform your uncle of when you'd be taking your leave, or if something was really wrong with the baby. But you really didn't want to interrupt.
After a breath of courage, your knuckles rasped against the door., “Uncle, may I come in?”
“Excuse me sir…Yes Y/n?” Michikastu internally sighed, a little embarrassed to be interrupted while working. As you entered, he inquired, “Is the baby okay?”
“Yes, I just got him down.” Anxiously, your head lowered to the ground, unable to hold his intense gaze. He had always left you a little unnerved, especially as a child. As your eyes flickered upwards, you caught a brief glimpse at his boss. He was much cuter than you remembered. While handsome, retaining a relatively youthful appearance, he was far too old for you. “My father will be here soon.”
“Is that all?” Michikastu's voice came out stern, but you weren't in any trouble.
“Yes sir.”
He offered a small nod of his head. “Very well. Go wait for your father.”
Michikastu's embarrassment only worsened as you shut the door behind you. His boss, Muzan Kibutsuji, was far too fixated on your presence. He hadn't heard you refer to Michikastu by the familial term. Your voice had been far too muted through the door. So he assumed your presence in the household had to have been indecent.
“My, what a pretty little thing you have in your home. Very wise to get that surgery when you have a pretty, young girl to deflower prancing around.”
“Sir, that is my niece.” Michikastu visibly recoiled at the thought. The revelation of your lineage was far more amusing than the notion of Kokushibo having an affair. To Muzan, it was as though Kokushibo had offered up some kind of war prize. Who better to take out his frustrations on than that damn man's daughter?
“I wasn't aware you had a niece.” Muzan brushed off his own improper speculation. “How old is she?”
He wasn't subtle in the slightest. Michikastu's blood ran cold, but he didn't let it show. “I presume you're asking if she's of age?”
“Yes.”
Michikastu's intuition screamed at him to lie to Muzan, to pretend you were much younger than you actually were for your safety. But it would be a waste of breath. A futile effort.
Muzan would eventually find out he was lying.
“She's an adult,” Michikatsu reluctantly admitted. It was cold. Calculated. For your benefit, and his own too.
“Tell me about her,” Muzan ordered, completely ignoring the much more important tasks they had at hand. Obsessive, petty vengeance took over any logic or reason he had.
“Very well,” Michikastu agreed, “She's currently taking a year away from college to assist my wife with our youngest child. She’s a little too much like her father in some regards.” But not quite. Yoriichi was a grown man. Foolishly tender hearted? Absolutely. Naive? Not by a long shot. Not in the way a young girl would be. Michikastu couldn't say that. But he didn't have to.
Muzan already knew.
“She sounds delightful.” He didn't have to ask any follow up questions. Muzan had already made up his mind. “I would like to meet her.” He didn't have to ask if your heart belonged to another. If it did, he could just get rid of them. He had many assets at his disposal. Most people were swayed by money, but there were other methods if that failed.
Muzan just had to have you. Ruin you. Corrupt you.
He had to destroy that man's pride and joy.
The air in Michikatsu's lungs went stale, drying his mouth. His next breath wasn't relaxing, instead filling his heart and soul with dread. This wasn't the kind of predicament he had ever wanted to be involved in. It wasn't one he had ever imagined. It was beyond repugnant. There were millions of girls in the world just like you.
So, why did it have to be you?
“You wish to pursue my niece, sir?” Michikastu's voice remained steady despite his growing unease, refusing to falter.
“Would that be a problem?” Muzan scowled through the screen, testing his subordinate. Michikastu said nothing in return. “Because if she does well, you know she will want for nothing by my side. It would be really foolish to pass on this opportunity.”
Naturally, Michikastu held his boss in high regard. Mr. Kibutsuji came from a pedigree family, holding merit of his own. If Michikatsu aided in orchestrating this predatory affair, you'd be beyond taken care of. Muzan was making a fair point in that regard. Young men were reckless, immature, financially unstable, surely unfit for taking care of someone so dear to him.
Didn't you deserve better? Didn't you deserve the best?
His no good brother had it coming. So really, was it that wrong?
Finally at ease, Michikastu informed Muzan of when you'd be over to babysit next, making peace with the situation.
Better Mr. Kibutsuji than some boy.
The following day, your uncle took an unusual amount of interest in your presence. Normally, he kept a healthy distance, allowing you to do what you needed to.
Now? He paid attention to every time the baby did so much as spit up on you, insisting that you change into some spare clothing you had in a guest room. At first, you didn't think much of it. Your uncle had always been rather rigid in how he ran his household. But then you realized why: his boss was coming over. Unusual? Yes. But, who were you to question it?
The moment you caught a glimpse of Muzan Kibutsuji stepping out of his vehicle through a window, your heart skipped a beat. Then dread sat in.
Despite listening to your uncle's wishes to clean yourself up, you wished you had been properly warned. You could've picked a cuter top, or put on a bit of makeup if you had known.
Instead, you resigned yourself to the fate of potentially having the attractive politician, a man who probably rather spend evenings with models, seeing your bare face. Sure, this was definitely a “shaving everything before a concert just in case” scenario. But a girl could dream.
A cry tore from the baby's lungs from another room. Michikastu took that as a sign that he was doing the right thing. A sign most would view a bad omen.
As you moved instinctively to help your aunt, a deep voice called out to you. “Y/n, you are to let Mr. Kibutsuji in. Perhaps you can give him a house tour while I'm tending to my child.”
You caught your breath, forcing you to exhale a small, “Yes sir.” As you walked away, a small grin tugged at Michikastu's lips. You were always so obedient. You would do splendidly by Muzan's side. No wonder so many rich men seemed to trade in for a younger model. You can't treat an old bitch new tricks. Michikastu almost found it laughable. Yoriichi had truly raised the perfect potential bride for his political adversary.
As you opened the door, you were immediately starstruck despite knowing deep down that you shouldn't be. But the handsome allure was pulling you in.
The cherry on top was knowing that your parents would immediately disapprove of him. A cherry soaked in poison was still sweet.
A little rebellion was normal. Healthy even! Of course you didn't actually want to disappoint them. But it was still an appealing immature thought that bounced around the back of your mind.
Plus, he would never actually give you a second glance. Right?
You took a final look at his face, your own heating up with coy embarrassment. You kept your head lowered as he stepped in, eyes averted to the ground. Then he spoke to you with a smooth charisma that only further enticed you. “You must be the lovely niece that Kokushibo was telling me about.”
Kokushibo?
You couldn't dwell on the alias for long. Did this man just call you lovely? Your heart raced, practically skipping a beat. “Yes sir,” you answered, following your response with a timid nod before lowering your body to bow to him, “It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Kibutsuji.”
While the formalities only enhanced the obvious, inappropriate age gap — a turn on for the older man — he needed you to be comfortable with him. To give the illusion that you were equals. “Please, call me Muzan, my dear.” The word please felt foreign on his tongue, but he had to feign gentleness. A doe only flees when frightened, and Muzan would not want to scare his prey away.
You felt like you were floating on air. Was that really allowed? He was your father's age, if not a little older. Never in your life had you been so informal with a man of his stature. Not to mention, if you messed up, it would be relayed back to your uncle and you'd never hear the end of it.
“Are you sure that's okay, sir?” You looked up at him with a trace of innocence in your eyes, desperately trying not to fidget with your hands.
“Quite. Just don't tell anyone.” Muzan raised a finger to his lips. “I have an image to uphold.” The hidden meaning beneath the surface of his words were lost on you. But still, you giggled. Perhaps your father had exaggerated about Mr. Kibutsuji? He seemed rather pleasant all things considered.
“As you wish, Muzan.” Your head lowered again, this time completely to hide your bashful expression. “May I have the honor of giving you a tour of my uncle's home?”
“That sounds splendid, my dear. Lead the way.”
As you turned around, his saccharine grin didn't fade. Kokushibo was right. You were a rare gem in a sea of fools gold and clay. He just needed to polish and refine your captivating qualities. If he decided to pursue this as more than just a night between your legs, it would be required. The age gap in itself would be controversial. He didn't need you presenting yourself to the public as his unsophisticated, unripened wife.
As you strolled ahead, discussing meaningless nonsense, Muzan took the opportunity to examine your assets, finding them all visually appealing to the eyes. No wonder Yoriichi had kept you hidden away from the public eye. If he had found out about you sooner, he would've already had you in his bed. It was better when there was still innocence to desecrate in a woman, watching the purity fade from their eyes while realizing they let a monster mount them was truly something indescribable.
Muzan thought to himself, Tsugikuni had raised a man's fantasy.
“It seems like my uncle is still busy.” You had circled back to the front, quietly as to not disturb your aunt and newborn.
“That's quite alright.” The way he looked at you made you want to melt. Deep down, you knew it was a look of desire. But the forefront of your brain told you that was too good to be true. Why on Earth would he want you when he could have anyone at his side? And even if for some miraculous reason he did decide to pursue you, your father would kill him.
“Are you alright, my dear?” Muzan took a step forward examining your expressions, taking his time to work his claws into you. Kokushibo knew better than to interrupt personal affairs.
Your teeth scraped the thin flesh of your inner cheek as you nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Yes. My apologies, I'm just a little nervous.”
Good, Muzan thought. You were smart to be nervous.
“There's no need for you to be nervous. In fact, I should be the nervous one. It's not everyday I get doted on by such an opulent beauty.” He laid it on a little thick, attempting a cheesy approach with wooing you. Almost every word was a poison-soaked lie. You should be nervous. He could have any woman he desired beneath him on the daily. The only truth was his physical attraction towards you.
Your face flushed, the tips of your ears burning. “Thank you, sir.”
“Muzan,” he corrected, a hint of smugness laced in his tone.
“My apologies for possibly being rude, but why do you insist I call you by your given name?” Naturally, you felt stupid for even daring to ask such a question. You should've just played along.
Muzan smiled back at you, pleased that you already understood your place. “It’s not rude at all, my dear. It is rather unusual, isn't it?” Typically, people bore him. Particularly women. They could be quite the chore. Under most circumstances, he would have no string attached rendezvous. But with you? He was enjoying just simply watching you squirm.
“May I ask why you're giving me permission to address you in such a manner?” His reassurance felt like wind under your wings, giving you the false confidence to try to fly. But deep inside your heart, you knew he wasn't a constant star. Something was screaming at you to run — to hide. But you were lost in his surface level charm and could barely see anything else. It was reckless, but you convinced yourself otherwise.
He took a step forward with an undeniable glint in his eyes. “This may be a bit sudden and perhaps a little forward, but I would like to become better acquainted with you. It's not often I come across such a competent tour guide, and certainly never any as beautiful as you.”
That surprised you. What on Earth would a middle aged politician have in common with the likes of you? Now you REALLY wished that your uncle had warned you to wear make up. Maybe it was possible that someone like him could be into someone like you.
“Now I must apologize for being forward.” You covered your mouth with your fingers, lowering them slowly to force yourself to continue. “Would you like my number?”
“My, my, cutting right to the chase. You're just as no nonsense as your uncle.” His praise felt backhanded, but still you clung to it. “You must be mature beyond your years.” His hand brushed against your arm. “Your family must be so proud.”
“Thank you, Muzan.” The infantile infatuation tugged at your heartstrings.
He had dodged your question.
“A woman such as yourself deserves princess treatment.” He took you by your unsteady hand. It took all you could muster to force it to stop trembling. “I will ask your uncle for your contact information. It's only right to receive your family's blessing before pursuing you.” He raised your hand to his lips, pressing a chaste, gentlemanly kiss against your skin. His lips brushed so gently against your skin, physically cool to the touch. “How does that sound?”
“Lovely.”
“Excellent.” He gave your hand a tentative squeeze. “I'll go wait for him in his office. Let us hope for his approval.”
Michikastu was already waiting for Muzan; the baby hadn't been too terribly fussy. He was still struggling to latch, even at six weeks old. His wife insisted they used bottles, but Michikastu reassured her that he would eat “properly” if he got hungry enough.
“I wonder how such a thorn at my side managed to raise such a delight.” Muzan wasn't visiting for business matters — not really. “Although, she was a little easy for my taste. Kokushibo, tell me, is his little girl a whore?”
For a moment, Michikastu blinked, taken aback by the question. After a moment of silence, he finally answered, “While my foolish younger brother is far too lenient with her and permits her to date, to my knowledge, she's never had a boyfriend.”
Muzan scoffed. What kind of a father would allow their daughter to date before finishing their degree? That's just asking for trouble.
“What a pathetic excuse of a father that brother of yours is. Indulging her like that is so disgraceful.”
“He would do just about anything for his darling.” Just the tip of Michikastu's nose scrunched up, the rest of his face remained stoic. He couldn't wrap his head around that kind of fatherly dotting. That was the mother's job, and a son’s needs superseded that of a daughter’s. Girls matured quicker. They didn't need to be coddled.
“Is that what he calls her?” There was a hint of amusement in Muzan's voice. How cute. Very childish, but admittedly cute.
“Not as often as he did when she was a girl. Now he normally refers to her by name.”
No wonder you were such a delicate, little flower. You had been infantilized so much. Your innocence brought Muzan a rush in the likes he had never felt before. You would be such a well-deserved spoil of war, so willing to accept your destruction.
“Kokushibo, you are to email me her contact information at once. I simply have to have her.”
“Very well sir.”
You had been exchanging texts with Muzan for about a fortnight. Each message he sent made your heart beat only louder for him, brightening your day in a sea of cumulus clouds. You were hypnotized by what you assumed were lies, yet he still had you completely at his mercy. Muzan Kibutsuji had broken countless hearts, and it seems you might be next in line.
His responses back were typically slow, which you understood. He was such a busy man. It was a wonder that he managed to make any time for you. The way he talked to you made you feel practically giddy, like he had done something as miraculous as hanging the moon for you.
Each word was a stroke of art, thoughtfully and intentionally placed just for you. As inexperienced as you were with men, it was quite obvious that Muzan was flirting with you. It was impossible for it to go over your head when he told you that you were mature for your age.
Every girl knew what that REALLY meant.
Despite the undertones of that specific message, he was such a gentleman towards you. So unlike guys your own age. His texts were flowery, yet succinct. A far cry from the typical “wyd” text from some douchebag at three A.M. Guys your age just weren't classy or debonair. Not in the way Muzan was. All they had going for them were unwashed asses and mommy issues. What woman would want to deal with that?
So naturally your crush blossomed and flourished. You couldn't help it. Your father knocked on your door, entering as you twirled your hair and kicking your feet, swooning over the most recent flirtatious message you had just received. Yoriichi wasn't dense. He could tell that someone had won over his little girl’s affections. It made sense that you were a little shy to spare any details. Most girls would find it embarrassing to share those details with their father. But you kept everything hidden away from your mother as well. That was the odd part. However, they both trusted you to make the right decisions when it came to dating, knowing that they had raised an intelligent, young woman. You could navigate dating on your own without their meddling.
You planted your phone face down on your bed, shoving it beneath a pillow as if to hide the obvious evidence. “Hello, father. Is something the matter?”
“No. I'm just checking in on you.” He kept a calm demeanor, playing along with your feigned innocence.
“Everything is wonderful.” You grinned ear to ear, really trying to sell whatever image you were trying to curate. Lying to your father usually yielded minimal results. He had always read your body language well, so why even bother making an attempt?
“Is it that boy you're talking to?” Yoriichi had the faintest whisper of a smile cross his face. What father wouldn't be elated seeing his daughter fall in love for the first time?
For weeks now, he could hear your giggles carrying through the walls. Noticed the way you had suddenly begun wearing makeup a bit more often. Even going so far as to ask your mother to get manicures together.
Sure, you could’ve been doing all these things for yourself. But no normal person switched up on their previous interests this quickly. This was for a boy.
“How could you tell?” You just wanted to bury your head into the pillow and die.
Well, maybe not die per se.
You had slowly been receiving more and more suggestive messages. Those you planned on taking to the grave, not somewhere accessible in your death.
“Your heart starts beating harder whenever you look at your phone now.” He glanced at your pillow, then back to you. Oh, so you had been way too obvious. Although, it didn't matter how hard you tried to keep this under wraps. Nothing got past your father.
“Oh, uhh…” Your phone vibrated under the pillow. You could feel your body sink further into your mattress as amuse flickered in the forefront of your father's eyes. There was another sign that Muzan was bad news. You couldn't openly discuss your crush on him with your father. He was expecting some boy, not a man his senior, and certainly not Muzan Kibutsuji. They clashed way too hard. The only viable option was concealing the truth.
“I'll leave you to it.” Before you could even blink, he was gone. You would certainly take advantage of his respect towards your privacy. What other choice did you have? Muzan was just that dreamy.
Typically, Muzan would've already made a move to bed you. But you were something special. He couldn't quite place it, but he wanted to take his time unraveling you.
He wanted you to make the first move.
He wanted you to want him.
But, you wouldn't take the bait.
Not entirely.
So he called Kokushibo into his office to figure out how to convince you to take a leap of faith. Perhaps Kokushibo could subtly coach you, or even train you to his likings. While your naivety was admittedly alluring to Muzan, it also vexed him.
“What does she like? How do I get her to take the hint?” Muzan leaned back in his office chair, watching Kokushibo rock his little boy to sleep through the screen. It was highly unprofessional, but he allowed it. Kokushibo was technically supposed to be on paternity leave anyway.
“Sir, with all due respect, I wouldn't know. And quite frankly, she wouldn't either.” Kokushibo was sure you had flirted with boys before. But unless you had already gone behind your father's back before, this was the first time a man wanted to take it to the next level. “I'm sure she wouldn't be comfortable on the lavish dates you normally take women on. So perhaps something quaint?”
Muzan didn't do quaint. He sighed and carded his hand through his short curls. “What do you suggest?”
“Try mentioning picnics. Her parents used to take her on those rather often when she was a girl.” A pang of guilt ate at Kokushibo. His wife had a photo of you hung up in the living room having a picnic with your stuffed animals. To him, you were still just a little girl, the girl he would play horsey with. He remembered one time you and two of your younger cousins forced him and Yoriichi to “get married” as horses. The worst part? He had to be the bride. Yoriichi found it funny when it was far from, winking at him as the children were shouting at them to get on with the ceremony. Safe to say, that wedding ended in a runaway bride.
“Isn't that kind of juvenile?” Muzan's lips curled upwards in amusement.
“Women are simple creatures,” Kokushibo concurred, sparing his little boy a proud look. He gave his infant a squeeze on his chubby, little cheek with the rough pad of his thumb, ignoring the way his son moved his head in an attempt to latch on. “They crave nostalgia.”
Muzan thought about it for a moment, contemplating where he would even take you for a picnic. He could and frankly should take you to a park. It would be more classic, simple. Probably more like what you're accustomed to. But there was the issue of being seen together. If seen with you too early, your father would put an end to the spark between you, stomping it out before Muzan could even properly fan the spark into a flame. If he took you to his property, he could show off while operating within your comfort zone. “I see.” Muzan's hands folded neatly on his desk.
“Sir, I must ask…What are your intentions with my niece?” Kokushibo instinctively felt protective over you. You were his young kin after all. It was only right to worry. Any tempted, predatory man would pounce on veal if given the opportunity. A single proposition is all it would take.
“I will be taking her innocence.” Muzan scoffed as though that were obvious, offended that Kokushibo could believe you served a purpose other than sex. He wished to lay you in his bed on crisp, white linens, continuing the fantasy in his mind with him keeping blood stained bedsheets as a trophy.
As proof that he fucked Yoriichi Tsugikuni's whore daughter.
“Do you have any intention to marry her?” Kokushibo knew this was wrong, but needed to justify it. He knew what his boss was doing was wrong, completely and undeniably wrong. But he still couldn’t find it in himself to completely vilify his boss, faithful to him first and foremost.
If you were Muzan's wife, you'd be taken care of, mind, body, and soul. You'd be rich to the point money could buy happiness.
“Marry her?” Muzan laughed, amused by the asinine suggestion. It was absurd. He only needed to ruin you, not claim you as some political prize.
“My brother will eventually get over her having sex. He wouldn't get over you as his little girl's husband.” Kokushibo struggled to hide the urgency laced within his voice, dripping honey into the poison as if it would make the gravity of the matter far less exploitive.
“Is that so..?” Muzan mulled it over a bit more.
The longer he thought about it, the more tempting it became to have you as his bride. But how could he keep your father at bay? Yoriichi was a menace, a royal thorn in his side. It was as though Kokushibo could read his mind, having an answer, but deeply disliking it. Swallowing down both his pride and a thick lump of bile, he finally set aside the charred remains of his conscience.
“If I may sir, I have another suggestion.” Kokushibo hit the head of a nail into a coffin, lodging the metal only halfway, winding up to strike once more as Muzan granted permission. “Pregnancy.”
“Pregnancy?” Muzan repeated, unsure if he enjoyed the way that word rolled off his tongue. He had never had a strong inclination towards fatherhood, going as far as considering a vasectomy to prevent such a thing. Why would he willingly breed with you?
“My brother would have no choice but to welcome you into the family.” Kokushibo knew Yoriichi would never hurt the father of his grandchildren, or even the husband of his daughter.
But, he also knew Yoriichi was peculiar, occasionally straying from traditions.
It was possible Yoriichi wouldn't pressure you to give birth in wedlock, lacking the shame a father should have when his child is a disappointment.
The notion of taking you on the ground and impregnating you right away like a common whore did have appeal. But Muzan wasn't entirely sure you would give it up on the first date, and he wanted you to want him to add to the blow. So manipulating or coercing you into bed was out.
Unfortunately, he would have to be the perfect gentleman.
At least for now.
Later, during a contact nap with your young nephew — soaking in the baby cuddles — you got a notification on your phone. Your heart began to race when you noticed it was from Muzan, asking you which picnic blanket he should purchase from a variety of color options.
Was he asking your favorite color or was this more than that?
It didn't matter. You simply shared your opinion with him, then sent a follow up text reading that you also enjoyed picnics. It had been years since your father took you on one. As a teenager, you needed a bit of space from your parents. But as an adult, the childish pastime screamed nostalgia. Overexcited, eager thumbs flew across the keyboard to ask if the two of you could go on one some time. Your nerves jolted with electricity as you pressed send, body vibrating, almost trembling with anticipation as he opened it.
For a moment, he didn't respond, sinking your heart with dread.
But then he responded, “Your uncle will pick you up at noon on Saturday 💕” followed by “Wear something cute, my darling.”
Making casual conversation with someone so much older than you was a challenge, one that you hadn't initially anticipated when asking Muzan out. You lacked common interests outside of physical attraction for one another. His wealth was nice, of course, but your parents still provided you with everything you could possibly need. But you had to admit that his estate was far beyond your wildest dreams, located on the edge of the city on a large plot of land, and it wasn't even his only property.
With wealth like that, you knew you should play your cards carefully. But Muzan had been nothing less than a perfect gentleman towards you. And certainly your uncle wouldn't lead you astray.
Frankly, you didn't care about his political power, nor did you fully grasp the full gravity of what it entailed. Your parents had sheltered you a little to the harsh nature of politics, and even more so from the apex predator handing you a glass of wine. A far cry from the grape juice your father and you had shared when you were a child.
You knew all too well being in the public eye could be a detriment. Even your father, a kind hearted man, wasn't received without backlash. Muzan was far more controversial. Although, even you had to admit, there were some perks to his infamy. Perks paved in blood were still perks.
This picturesque date was nothing like the lavish ones Muzan had grown accustomed to. But he couldn’t risk your father finding out about the two of you being involved — not yet. Not after how far he went to get you where he wanted you. Sending sickeningly sweet declarations of his so-called affections. Having expensive bouquets of flowers delivered to your uncle's house for you (he wouldn't dare send them to your family home). It wasn't as if Kokushibo would stop his advances, and his wife was too out of it to even notice something was going on.
“You have a keen eye for fashion.” Muzan swirled the crimson liquid in his glass. “Perhaps I should take you on a shopping spree sometime. I would enjoy watching you model for me.”
It was a challenge to meet his imposing gaze, but his face seemed to soften as he looked at you. Maybe he really did like you. No man offers to spoil a girl to that extent as a second date unless he had sincere intent.
That, or he was after another thing.
But to your knowledge, Muzan had been a perfect gentleman. Neither he, nor your uncle, would tell you that Muzan watched you on the nanny cam whenever there was footage of you having down time.
You began to subconsciously fidget with your hand against your lap, fingers clenching onto the fabric of your skirt as if to calm yourself with the sensation of the soft fibers. Muzan found your anxious antics amusing, almost enthralling. It would be so easy to lay you onto the blanket and raise your skirt, granting him easy access to your untouched cunt.
But he had to be patient. So he placed his hand over yours, holding it as if it were a prized possession. “There's no need to be nervous, my dear. I'm sure a beautiful woman like yourself has been on a plethora of dates.” His charm was intoxicating, his heart was a paradise full of poison.
“One or two, sure,” you admitted, allowing him to lace your fingers together, “But always with someone my father approved of.”
That's right. Your father didn't know you were seeing Muzan behind his back. How could he? He'd only scold you like a child. Muzan treated you like a woman.
“Perhaps your father has poor judgment in character, seeing as you're here with me today and not them.” The cool glass pressed to his lips as he took a sip, leaving you in a sort of stunned silence.
Maybe he had a point? Those relationships weren't terrible by any means. But evidently, they weren't the right match. And a little bit of rebellion could be a good thing — healthy even.
“Please don't insult my father.” Your eyes fixated on the rustling of water of the man made koi pond you sat in front of. It mimicked nature very well, almost an extension of it.
“I wasn't insulting him, my darling. I would never degrade a man who raised such a kind girl.” He would, but knew to hold his tongue, hoping to not get caught in a lie. “This is a date anyway. We should talk about you. Do you enjoy taking care of your young cousin?”
“I do.” You swirled the ruby liquid, mimicking the fish in the large pond. “Babies are just so cute.”
Until they pull your hair, Muzan mused in silence, observing the subtle way your face lit up when talking about the baby. It was admittedly cute how excited you were to nurture little ones.
Hesitantly, you raised the wine glass to your lips, tipping it to allow the drink to spill into your mouth. The alcohol burned the back of your throat, but went down smooth enough.
While you were mid swallow, Muzan asked, “Do you want children?”
The liquid got caught in your throat as you were taken off guard. Your diaphragm stuttered as you coughed into the crook of your elbow, struggling to catch your breath as he watched you sputter for air.
“Children?” you gasped, chest still rising at an uneven rate, “Isn't it a little early to discuss children?”
Muzan only chuckled in response, squeezing your hand. “My darling, it was only a hypothetical.” He loosened his tie, allowing the setting to become slightly more casual. "You are a paranoid little thing.” Maybe you were just paranoid. But it made sense that he would want children soon. He was getting older with no heirs. Of course it wasn't that weird of a question given the context.
“I'm sorry.” You finally made eye contact, getting lost in his eyes. “I do want kids, just not yet.”
“That makes sense, my darling.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest, allowing you to soak in the false comfort he brought. “You are still young after all.”
This was certainly not the picnic you were accustomed to, but Muzan was treating you as a princess. Just as your father had while you were still just his little girl. Not the young woman holding hands with his political adversary. Part of you knew to be wary. But his attention felt comforting. Muzan made you feel like a crisp, warm blanket on a cold winter's day.
Your father didn't need to know that.
This was just a fling.
Muzan would move on soon enough.
“Father, what do you know about Muzan Kibutsuji?” Yoriichi nearly dropped his chopsticks hearing you bring up that man's name, but retained his composure.
You were having a small dinner with your father. The two of you were seated at the chabudai. Your mother was away, working a night shift.
“Why are you bringing him up all of a sudden?” As far as he knew, you were far too busy to dive very deeply into politics. But surely he had raised you better than to admire someone so morally skewed.
Lies had become commonplace, slipping easily off your tongue. “Some of my friends think he's cute.”
“Your friends should be thinking about boys their own age.” He could tell that you weren't sharing the whole truth. “Kibutsuji is in his forties, Y/n. Far too old for a girl like you.”
You knew the age gap was unconventional, but Muzan had been the perfect gentleman. You didn't have to do so much as touch a door while with him. He was kind of sweet.
“Is he a bad person?” you asked before taking another bite of food. You knew your father didn't like Muzan, but he never really mentioned him. He couldn't have been that bad. Right?
“His reputation is mostly decent, but that doesn’t mean he is, darling. Men like that crush whoever is in their way.” Yoriichi had lost his appetite. It was so obvious that your uncle had introduced you to his boss.
The downside was he knew forbidding you from seeing Muzan would only push you into his arms. Plus, it wasn't like Muzan was interested in you anyway. So there was no harm in you having a crush on the man — no matter how polarizing he may be.
As much as he hated it, Yoriichi continued, “I'm not telling you it's wrong for you to feel that way with men like him. But be wary of those who reciprocate those feelings.” Yoriichi couldn't imagine pursuing a girl your age, and was well aware that the only men who did were creeps. Men like that would go younger if it didn't involve legal consequences.
“Yes father,” you replied, but only took away that Muzan was a decent guy and to keep your relationship secret. Not that Muzan had asked to be your boyfriend or anything.
No.
You were talking it slowly, and that was okay. Muzan said you were worth the wait.
After weeks more of uneventful dates, Muzan was beginning to grow impatient. He could very easily force himself on you, perhaps even have Kokushibo hold you down for him. But that wasn't satisfying. He wanted you to want him too. Yet, every time he made a move on you, you shied away from him. That was the downside of pursuing someone based on the merit of their innocence. They wanted to cling to it.
He had deflowered countless girls over the years. Why wouldn't you yield to him in the same manner? It was frustrating to no end. Using other women to warm his bed stopped working after that initial date. Muzan had even found dissatisfaction in his favorite sugar baby. Her lips weren't as pretty as yours. Her touch wasn't as delicate. The farthest you had let him go was holding hands. It was pathetic. He was a grown man, not some school boy.
He needed to turn up the notch. He needed to make you owe him. There would be no way to deny him access between your pretty legs if he spoiled you.
Or at the very least a kiss.
A knock at his office door interrupted his train of thought. Just as he was about to reprimand the intruder, he saw you in his doorway, carrying a small wicker basket. Instantly, his features softened.
It was second nature at this point. Muzan needed you to see the best in him, yet part of him wondered if it was just him being a predator on the prowl. Or was there something more to it with you?
“My darling, what are you doing here?” He wasn't sure whether or not he should thank or punish Kokushibo for your presence. You were interrupting him, which he hated, but you looked so sweet while doing it.
Muzan motioned for you to enter, painting on that smile he wore just for you. His perfect, innocent fantasy. Coyly, you took two steps into his office, extending your arm to show off your basket of baked goods. Inside was an assortment of macarons you had made after begging your uncle to tell you what Muzan liked. He gave you recipes from your uncle that he made you swear to follow like gospel, ensuring that you understood to do everything by the book, and not to touch the internet. Apparently he had tried them while on a business trip in France and enjoyed them. They weren't overly sweet, and we're kind of airy, which he enjoyed.
“I made you these while my cousin did tummy time. He's already reaching for toys, and early too.” You set the basket down on his desk, and his lips twitched. “It's remarkable how quickly children reach milestones when they have older siblings.”
For a moment, Muzan just stared at the basket's contents. A weird flicker in his stomach rang, similar to one he had felt before as a child, but not quite the same. All he knew was that his mother had occasionally prepared them for him as a boy. He had been very ill, so it was a special treat his mother had given him every day he had to spend in the hospital. Should she have given him small child treats that often? No, but she was just glad he didn't end up deaf or with brain damage. Anything to make her son feel better.
He picked up a raspberry macaron, examining it closely. “My mother used to take these.”
“Used to?” The moment the words slipped out, you instantly regretted them.
“Yes, my darling. Used to.” He set the cookie back neatly in the basket. “She died when I was a teenager.”
“I'm so sorry,” you gasped. Of course you knew Muzan's mother was dead. It was public information. But hearing and seeing the effects are two different things.
“Mm, it's quite alright.” The warmth had already spread. “Just promise to make me more of these soon.” Had you brought him anything else, he'd likely have thrown them out. Muzan could tell that you had put a lot of effort into them. Macarons were notoriously challenging to bake. Even the ones in France didn't compare to his mother's.
“I promise.”
Muzan scowled at the sight of your uncle peering in the doorway to collect you. Couldn't Kokushibo see that you were busy?
Kokushibo bowed politely to his boss before turning to you. “Are you ready to go? Your father is expecting you home soon.”
“Oh yes!” You frowned a little, glancing at Muzan's face. He looked upset, perhaps a little angry, as if he didn't want you to go. Twiddling your thumbs, you asked bashfully, “Uncle, could you turn around for a second? Please?”
With a sigh, your uncle agreed, hair whipping along his back as he made a sharp turn. He clearly refused to watch whatever was about to transpire.
Your insides burnt as you quickly darted around Muzan's desk, catching him by surprise with a chaste kiss to the cheek. As you pulled away, the scent of your chapstick lingered, holding him ransom under your kind charm. As you walked away, Muzan raised a hand to his cheek, touching the dewy print of chapstick with uncharacteristic longing. What had you done to him?
Before he knew it, he found himself in the hall, loudly but also gently commanding you to return to him. As you made your way back to him, he found satisfaction in how easily you obeyed him. “I've been unfair to you,” he stated, the lie rolling off with tongue with ease akin to melted butter on a hot pan. Your body froze, confused by his words as you slowly closed the gap. “You've been so good to me the past few weeks and I feel guilty for not properly reciprocating. What would you like to do for a date tomorrow night?”
“Me?” Your heels clacked against the ground until you finally closed that gap, inhaling a slow, steady breath, trying to ground yourself before adjusting his tie. “Take me on a tour of that garden of yours. I've only seen the pond.”
Muzan took you by your hand, pressing a kiss along your knuckles. “It's yours.”
“The tour?”
“The garden.”
“O-okay.” A puff of air left your nostrils, face heating up with how easily he agreed to your date proposal. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”
He tentatively squeezed your hand before releasing his grasp. “Tomorrow, my darling.”
When Muzan found himself back in his office, he stared at the basket of macarons, hesitantly grabbing one, expecting to be met with mild disappointment. Instead, in that moment, he decided you would be the mother of his children.
And that he would marry you, as Kokushibo wished.
You were perfect.
You had been strolling with Muzan in the moonlight for about an hour, discussing your family while holding hands with one another. The scent of flowers drifted on the breeze. The subtle aroma of romance within the ambiance of the garden. Leaves rustled as tree branches danced to the wind. What else could you have asked for?
“What's on your pretty little mind, my darling?” Muzan squeezed your hand in his much larger one. “You're a little quiet.”
“Why don't you and my father get along?” Your mouth felt a little dry, but it had to be asked. You weren't completely naive to their disdain towards one another.
Luckily, he found your question amusing, giving you a small chuckle and just the faintest hint of a smile. “My dear, your father is a threat to the economy. He cares far too much about the working class, and not enough about the collective.”
“But people are suffering.” You wanted to believe him, truly. But you were your father's daughter. “Surely there's a way to help everyone at no one's expense.”
“You are remarkable.” He side-stepped in front of you, grabbing your other hand. “I could really benefit from having someone so empathetic at my side. That is, if you're serious about this.” He made a point of informing you that you were the one chasing him, not the other way around. That you weren't a victim. Surely you couldn't be. You clearly knew what you were getting yourself into by being involved with an older man.
“Of course I am.” Your head hung downcast in embarrassment.
He released one of your hands and slid a finger up your chin, forcing it upwards. “Don't you dare hide that lovely face from me.” This brat is too spectacular to be his.
“Yes sir.” As those words slipped out, you just wanted to bite your tongue off. The age gap was seriously messing with your head. “Ah, I'm sorry. It's jus-”
“Not another word.” Muzan cut you off while plucking a white lily from the garden, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other placed the flower in your hair. Your desire to have her grew more immense seeing how beautiful you looked donning a flower from his garden. The aroma of the flower only made you more alluring, pulling him in. You knew he was planning on kissing you now. But for once, you didn't fight it. You didn't have to. You finally felt safe with him. You could trust him.
Your father was overreacting. Fathers always hate when their daughters’ date. It ruined the illusion that their daughters were still just their little girl. Not a woman with needs.
You were the one to finally close the gap in its entirety, pressing your lips to Muzan's for the first time. Fire crackers went off in your heart. His lips were so soft, moving in tandem with yours. You allowed him to take the lead as his movements were more refined, while yours were a little clumsy.
Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him even closer. His hands found your hips, drawing you into until your bodies were tightly conformed to one another. Your body felt as thought it had been set aflame, burning for him. Within your heart, you began to yearn for him.
Then you felt him through your skirt. A tent had formed within the confines of his pants. Muzan's erection pressed firmly to your thigh as you squirmed a bit. The grip he had on your hips wouldn't budge.
Panicking, you broke the kiss. “Wait, I've never…”
Muzan was elated, but didn't let it show. "Never what, my darling?”
“Had sex,” you admitted, breath caught in your throat from sheer embarrassment. The white lily was blown from your hair, drifting on the wind.
“Let me show you.”
You felt his hand drift higher up your thigh, this time sliding under your skirt. Your eyes shot open in shock. This was moving so quickly. One moment you're sharing your first kiss together. The next you're in his bed. You pulled away, unable to meet his intense gaze out of sheer embarrassment.
“You pulled away.” He didn't bother hiding the disappointment in his voice.
“I'm sorry,” you squeaked out, unsure how to proceed, “I just don't really know what I'm doing. I'm not sure I'm ready for that.”
Muzan gingerly grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look him in the eyes. In that moment, you felt so small, like you had failed him. Everyone did it, so why couldn't you? It was so easy. Probably like riding a bike?
“My dear, are you not as serious about me as I am about you?” He expertly laid down the trap. “Were you not the one who agreed to join me in bed?”
Frankly, he considered manipulating you into giving it up to him as a kindness. He could easily take you by force. But here he was, giving you the opportunity to make the right choice.
“Of course I'm serious! It's just…” Your voice depleted at the end, sizzling out from embarrassment.
“Just?” Muzan began to grimace at you, slowly losing his patience.
“I've never…you know.” Your head tilted downwards as he dropped his grip on your chin. “And I'm not on birth control either. What if you get me pregnant?” It was so embarrassing to admit that to a man who could have just about any woman. Why would he want to be with someone inexperienced? You'd be bad at it.
However, that revelation was something Muzan delighted in. Your father had unintentionally blessed him with untouched, ripe forbidden fruit. He'd watch as the innocence faded from your eyes as he tore into you. His cock strained painfully in his pants. He needed to bed you, and quickly. The lack of birth control only amplified his lust for you. Hunger clouded his eyes as the desire to bed you increased with each unsure beat in your chest.
“Now now, there's nothing to be embarrassed about.” He gave you a contorted grin. His voice was smooth, almost comforting, “And as for contraceptives, I can pull out.”
An easy lie. Pulling out would be such a waste. Not only would it dull his orgasm, but the thought of impregnating Yoriichi's pesky brat was very alluring. And you'd learn to accept it. If a pregnancy took, perhaps he'd take you as a wife to improve his reputation.
He couldn't be that bad of a person if that man's daughter was willing to marry him. Willing to bear his children.
You'd make for such a cute, little broken broodmare. Your father would be devastated. Unable to do anything about it. And Muzan would finally have a moment's satisfaction.
“I don't know…” You still weren't convinced.
“Maybe you're not as mature as I thought.” He stood up, looking down at you like you were an immature fledgling. Not yet ready to fly. You swore you could see a flicker of resentment.
“I am…jus‐”
“Just what, my darling?”
“Nothing.” You bit your lip and slowly looped trembling fingers around the hem of your top, slowly raising it past your head.
You could do this.
Muzan's expression softened again as he was getting what he wanted. It was almost adorable how you thought you could put up a fight. He took a step forward, leering at the black lace covering your breasts. So the little tramp did want it, dressing like that, Muzan thought to himself, almost thankful your father was foolish enough to allow his daughter to own such provocative garments. “My, you look positively radiant.” Muzan sat beside you again, donning his mask of refined charm once more.
“Really?” You smiled softly and looked down to hide your flustered appearance. You laced your fingers together and stretched out your arms, elbows nearly touching, squishing your breasts together. A clumsy gesture on your behalf that made Muzan nearly scoff in your face. To him, you knew what you were doing.
“Yes. Now unhook your bra for me and lay down.”
You nodded and immediately obeyed, covering your chest with your arms to make up for the loss of clothing. While he found your youthful attempt at modesty amusing, it wasn't visually pleasing. Muzan wished to desecrate every inch of your body, something couldn't very well do with you hiding from him.
“My darling, don't be like that.” His hands looped around your wrists, slowly lowering your defenses. “I want to love all of you.”
Without thinking, you whimpered, “Yes, daddy.” Your face heated, and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip to prevent further unexpected verbiage from slipping out. Muzan found your embarrassment delicious, the cherry on top to the sordid fate of you calling him that.
He almost felt foolish for not having thought of having you call him that on his own. His cock throbbed from further arousal. There were no deities, but if there were they had blessed him that night. He had that man's virgin darling calling him daddy, and willing to spread her legs.
Loosening his tie with one hand, he used the other to cup one of your breasts. Soft and supple, the women his own age could not compare. Every inch of your flesh was perkier, untouched silk. Not worn out like the used hags he begrudgingly grown accustomed to.
“Remove your skirt, darling.” Muzan began peeling off layers of his own clothing.
Something felt off. But the moment you saw him remove his undershirt, revealing a lean, toned body, your skirt came sliding off. You were left only in matching, lacy panties. To Muzan, this was affirmation that you planned for him to bed you that night. To you, it was just a haphazard precaution, something for just in case it happened.
With two fingers, he pushed your panties to the side and examined your cunt, almost clinically. His finger slid along your untouched hole, gathering its slick. Despite your hesitation, your body knew how to properly respond to his.
He hummed as he pressed one finger into you in a misogynistic attempt to ensure you were telling the truth. Checking for your hymen, rather than trying to warm you up. A second finger slipped in, watching as your body adjusted to what he considered foreplay.
Waiting any longer wasn't much of a viable option anymore. He had given you enough with the minimal prep work he gave you. If you knew what was good for you, you were to take him without a word of complaint.
His fingers slipped back out, covered in a thin coat of gloss. For a moment, you laid there with your eyes closed, rethinking your decision to go through with this. Muzan had been very affectionate towards you, very patient towards you. You didn't want to lose him to a woman who would give him what he needed. Men loved sex, right? Plus, it wasn't a big deal. Just sex right? Everyone has it.
Noticing your hesitance, Muzan took a risk. “I do love you, my darling. Let me show you.”
He what?
The butterflies in your stomach flitted up to your heart. Of course it was sudden, but you wanted to believe him. “I love you too.”
Yes. You could do this.
You pushed down your panties, kicking them off at your ankles while listening to the intimidating sound of his belt buckle, followed by clothing shuffling. Your gaze had been averted, but you couldn't help but sneak a glance, just to instantly regret that decision. A shiver of fear ran up your spine at the sight of his unveiled erection. “Muzan, that's not going to fit.”
“Of course it will.” He took a step forward, sliding his swollen, pink tip against your leaky entrance. “Trust me.” The ego boost you gave him only made him harder, cock twitching painfully at the thought of tearing you apart. Precum weeped from his tip, craving to watch you cry for him. The linen below was pure white, craving to be tainted.
Before you could reconsider any further, you gave a small nod of your head. “Okay…you can put it in.”
Slowly, his engorged tip breached your virgin walls, scorching your insides as he tore into delicate, innocent tissue with a firm shove. His lips vibrated as he suppressed a groan, melting into the way your tight walls fluttered around him. Metallic, crimson droplets rolled down like tears onto the previously pristine, pure, white sheets. Every trace of your innocence vanished, becoming nothing more than infernal stains. Muzan pulled out, leaving only the tip inside, pleased with the way your pussy had painted his cock with a thin coat of cherry veneer.
As his hips rocked forward once more, you breathed out, “S'full.” You were practically feeling him nudging into your diaper, preventing you from taking a proper breath. Your lungs retained the stale residing within them before fully deflating, stuttering as you struggled to inhale, focusing on the tearing of your intimate tissue being torn.
“You can take it.” Such simple words were spoken so smoothly that you could not sense the ill intent. Not that Muzan was sure he even still had any malevolent ambition stirring in the center of his brain. The raw stinging sensation, the burning from hasty penetration, all slowly melted away. Your tight, virgin hole stretched, molding into the shape of his cock as if your body were made for him, weeping in carmine and sheer gloss as it adjusted to the magnitude of your bodies becoming one.
Beneath him was the most beautiful woman Muzan has ever laid his eyes on, writhing beneath him in discomfort, in the process of fluorescence as your distress unraveled. A pretty sight he intended on stealing for himself for the rest of his life. Planning on planting his seed within your fertile womb, with or without your permission. You were saffron, his pure bride that had renounced her faith through consummation.
No, not saffron — you were priceless. You were ambrosia, rejuvenating him in ways only a young woman could.
Your eyes were heavy, looking at him in a half-lidded sultry gaze. The muscles in your body had melted from their previous apprehensive state; relaxed, finding comfort in the snug stretch. You familiarized yourself more thoroughly with him as he began to make shallow thrusts into your slippery core. Arching your back, you took a cursory inhale, breathing out a delicate, “Daddy” as you clung to him for dear life.
You truly had no idea what you were doing to him.
Warmth enveloped his chest, an unfamiliar sensation Muzan detested. He had only intended on impregnating you as a trophy of sorts. So why did he suddenly feel as though you were more remarkable than he initially believed?
Leaning down to kiss you once more, he maintained the smooth and sensual sway of his hips. He had enjoyed the way tears pricked your eyes, but for some reason did not wish to see them spill. You would look lovely as a broken, sobbing mess. So truly, Muzan could not comprehend his inaction.
He finally had the Tsugikuni girl speared on his cock. He should be taking advantage of the opportunity, getting off on defiling you. Yet, he wasn't.
Muzan was making this pleasant, drinking in your moans he held ransom by the sweet aroma of your sakura perfume mixing with perspiration; with your entrancing pheromones.
Then Muzan realized something. Tsugikuni's daughter could more than clean up nicely. She was an enchantress.
You weren't a mere fantasy. No, you were a siren leading him to his own demise. Yet, he couldn't pull out. Your taut, little cunt had him under a spell.
He broke the kiss to bellow out a torrid “Fuck!”
Your pupils dilated as you mewled, “H-harder!” with saliva dribbling past the corners of your lips. Muzan began rutting into your snug, silken walls, watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head when he nudged your sweet spot. “Right there!”
He pounded into your g spot with renewed vigor, finding it mildly difficult to keep up with your insatiable fixation. Luckily, he was your first, so you lacked the ability to compare him to an age appropriate lover. With each thrust, you could feel neat, coarse curls brushing over your clit. A spark to the flame ignited in your abdomen. Heat pooled with each flicker of arousal incited. Sweet, melodic moans filled the air, along with the rhythmic echo of skin slapping together. A pornographic grunt vibrated in Muzan's larynx, tying the symphony of sex together as your bodies began to crescendo.
You clung to him, blinded by an intense euphoria of the likes you had never known before, grasping at the sullied sheets below you as he brutally bullied your pussy without respite. Your pussy clenched his cock, wordlessly begging for him to flood it with his virility.
For a glimpse of a second, Muzan considered remaining faithful to his oath. But the thought of your father's anguish held an allure almost as beautiful as you. His cock nestled into your cervix, flooding it with a steady stream of white fluid. He couldn’t help himself but grin in satisfaction as he pulled out, watching his cum leak from your beautifully bred pussy. .
“I don't think you pulled out.” You stared at the ceiling, chest heaving as you came down from cloud nine. “You said you would.”
Muzan wanted to laugh. Only a weak man would not properly claim his territory. “My darling, I tried.” He feigned innocence. “We can get you the morning after pill.”
By the morning, he would've weaponized bribes, ensuring you were given a placebo in its place. Perhaps a sugar pill. Surely a virgin wouldn't know the difference?
“It's fine.” Your hands folded over your stomach like a bad omen. “It was only one time right?”
“Right.” Muzan knew he could not do this twice. But you wouldn't notice if he slipped off a condom while he had you bent over.
Yes. He'd still get what he wanted.
“Can we cuddle?” Your bottom lip poked out every so slightly, eyes glimmering with excitement. This had meant everything to you and your infatuation with the man had only grown. You had given him a piece of you that you could never give back.
“Let's get cleaned up.” Muzan took you by the hand to assist you into a sitting position, cock still semi-hard and eager to have you learn oral in the shower.
“Okay,” you agreed, melting into the way he wrapped his arm around your waist. As he led you to the restroom, he gave the bed a final glance, smirking at the oxygenated blood staining his sheets.
Kokushibo was certainly getting a generous raise for his taboo efforts.
After about a month more of seeing Muzan, you began to feel nauseous, unable to retrieve baby bottles from the kitchen without feeling ill. You couldn't understand what was wrong with you. The kitchen was spotless, so why did you want to throw up every time you opened the fridge?
You were confused until your aunt handed you something on your way out. A small, cardboard box that fit inconspicuously in your purse.
A pregnancy test.
At first, you tried to deny it, telling yourself that it was impossible for Muzan to impregnate you so quickly. Couples that actively try for a baby rarely find success on the first try.
But why else would your aunt give you a test?
When you got home, you tore along the opening of the box, pulling out the wrapped test between your fingers. Dread filled your soul the way it crinkled beneath your touch. It felt so loud. What if your father knew what you were doing?
No. Forget him. Just figure this out, and fast.
After a moment, you had the test results. Two little, pink lines.
Muzan had gotten you pregnant.
It was far too early for children, but you didn't feel necessarily negative about the test result. In fact, the worst part would be facing your father. He would not be pleased that you had slept with a man older than him. Not that you could blame him. What father would be pleased by that revelation? Your inhale was shaky, like a leaf blown by the wind. You couldn't tell your father yet. Of course you'd have to eventually, but it was still early enough to hide.
So you made the reasonable decision of shoving the test to the bottom of the trash can, washing your hands free of any regret, then drying them on a fluffy pink towel before placing your palms on your stomach, cradling the little embryo as if it could sense your presence too.
A knock at the door interrupted your emotional trance. Your hands flew to your sides. As you opened the door to leave, your father was already there, holding a small trash bag in his hands.
“Oh, I can take care of that father,” you smiled sweetly, extending your arm out to take the bag. Ideally, you wouldn't have to do this. But it was far too early for him to find out.
“Your aunt already told me she gave you a pregnancy test if that's what you're trying to hide.” Yoriichi could see the tip of the paper packaging poking out. Your jaw was agape, you hadn't accounted for that. “Are you going to tell me the result now?”
“Are… are you mad, Papa?” The way your head hung in shame told him everything he needed to know. Before him, he saw nothing more than his little girl frightened over an accident. He had known you were talking to some man, but he hadn't anticipated a pregnancy. Not when you hadn't even brought the guy home.
“I'm not mad at you, darling,” Yoriichi admitted in a minute whisper. “It's okay.” He didn't care if you had gotten pregnant out of wedlock. He only cared whether or not you were okay.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Your father wrapped his arms around your body, embracing you in a warm hug. His voice lowered into a whisper as he asked, “Now tell me, who's the father?”
With how distressed your aunt sounded on the phone, Yoriichi regretfully wondered the worst about his elder twin. He was supposed to be the only man you were around…
But then the name, “Muzan Kibutsuji” rolled off your tongue.
At first, Yoriichi felt a wave of relief rush through him. Then his body went stiff, muscles contracting painfully at the realization. Not only had Kibutsuji taken advantage of and impregnated his little girl, your own uncle facilitated it.
How else would Kibutsuji get a chance to sink his claws into you?
Sink his…
Bile rose in the back of Yoriichi's throat, singing the flesh of his esophagus. His raw flesh burned, the acid felt like magma he had to contain for your sake. Holding onto you tighter, refusing to let go.
“Did he force himself on you?” Yoriichi had heard unsavory rumors about Kibutsuji's sex life. He had to make sure you hadn't become a statistic.
“What? Father, no.” You let out a relieved chuckle; one that was tainted by the acute offended undertone, “He was the perfect gentleman.”
He pulled away, a little taken aback. “Kibutsuji? A perfect gentleman?”
“He treats me right,” you insisted, nodding your head very eagerly.
Your father's heart broke seeing you so infatuated with the sketchy politician. His mouth went dry.
“What do the two of you do together?” Besides the obvious.
“He takes me out on dates pretty often. It took weeks for him to even kiss me. Muzan is very patient with me, father.”
“Do you want to be with him?” Never in his life had Yoriichi had a violent bone in his body, but now? Now he wanted nothing more than to maim that old pervert.
But your needs came first.
“I-I think so? It's really fast, but I am pregnant with his child.” Your hands pressed to your nonexistent baby bump. “It's only right… right?”
Your father looked at you in pity. While he knew you would say that, a small part of him wished you had the self preservation instincts to choose differently.
“I'll need to talk with him first.” He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, “He'll need my blessing after all.”
“I know what you did,” Yoriichi deadpanned as he raised his tea cup to his lips, swallowing jasmine tea and Muzan's pride. “And I have an assumption as to why you did it.”
After many days, he had come to terms with the fact that his little girl was carrying devil spawn. He could accept that. What he couldn't accept was Muzan finding any satisfaction in what he'd done. He would have to atone for his sins in one way or another.
“My, that's a bold statement.” Muzan's eyes flickered to his lawyer's legal pad. The attorney scribbled down every last word, writing flicking quickly. “Pray tell, what did I do?”
“I wouldn't be here right now if you didn't know.” Yoriichi remained calm and collected, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine.
Muzan smugly took a sip of his strong, bitter coffee. He was well aware of what he had done. That's why he chose to meet publicly at a coffee shop with lawyers on stand-by. Legally, Muzan had done nothing wrong. But he expected Yoriichi to ask something of him. So he required legal protection present.
“Are you referring to my relationship with that sweet, little daughter of yours?” Muzan smirked, cocking his brow.
"She is sweet. Undeserving of some truly foul men in this world.” Yoriichi didn't waver, setting down his cup. “She is also pregnant. We found out the same day we received that little gift of yours at our front porch.” Muzan’s lawyer quickly wrote down notes, as did Yoriichi’s. “As per tradition, you're supposed to marry my daughter, so as to not have a baby out of wedlock.” His finger danced along the rim, face completely stoic as he looked Muzan dead in the eyes. “Let me be clear, I think that is a load of crap.” Yoriichi had never really cared for traditions. Not to the extent the rest of his family had with the exception of maybe his mother. He would've happily accepted you raising Muzan's child alone, or other alternatives.
“So why do we have lawyers present, Mr. Tsugikuni?” Muzan waved his hand dismissively.
“Because anyone who knows more about you outside of your appearance can tell that you are one. However, my daughter wishes to maintain that tradition, and has made it clear that she’s more than happy to have a family with you. And neither of us would want to disappoint her, right?” Yoriichi truly couldn't stand this man, but he had the strength to do it anyway. “She says you're a gentleman, and you will remain one for her sake.”
Muzan's smirk fell into a deep grimace. “I have been nothing less than a man of honor with your daughter.”
Yoriichi scoffed, astounded by the delusion Muzan regurgitated. “Honorable men don't bed girls half their age.” Not young women. Girls. “I knew you were shady, but this is a new low. Have you no shame?”
Muzan's lawyer stopped writing.
Shame? Shame for what? Muzan wondered to himself. You were a grown woman for crying out loud. He found your father ridiculous. As an adult, you chose to spread your legs for him. Hardly his fault.
“There's nothing shameful about matters of the heart,” Muzan mused, taking another drink of his hot beverage.
“You ruined her life with a single selfish act,” Yoriichi took a deep breath, steadying himself. “She won't be able to complete her education because you failed to pull out when you promised her otherwise. She will be far too busy raising your child.”
“She will want for nothing as my wife. There's no need for my darling to pursue her education.” Muzan's grimace deepened but his tone remained even
“Are you implying that you want a wife that lacks a proper education?” A low chuckle rumbled in Yoriichi's chest. “I get it. It's much easier to control a girl with no life experience. You want a subservient wife, correct? You're trying really hard to prove me right.”
Muzan's fist collided with the wooden table as Yoriichi calmly drank his tea. “You arrogant pr-”
Yoriichi raised his palm, both silencing and affronting Muzan. “You are to go ahead and do the right thing and marry my daughter.” Yoriichi lowered his arm, neutralizing his stance. “But I expect changes. And there will be many, many changes. After all, a man like you should be worthy of my darling, little girl.” He leaned in, placing his elbows on the table as his gentle, maroon eyes peered into Muzan’s devilish soul.
Who does this pathetic excuse of a man think he is? The nerve! Muzan’s further thoughts dissipated into a void absent of all emotion except one: fear. He couldn’t figure out why he was feeling this way, like every nerve and bone in his body was held in a vice, and his heart was being suffocated by barbed wire.
You really were your father’s daughter. Both Tsugikunis had a hold on Muzan. But where you held him with your tantalizing presence, Yoriichi’s held an aura of command. One that left him unable to do anything else except sit back down in his chair. He looked around as he did so, watching as bystanders recorded everything that had unfolded, including his outburst, and how easily your father dismantled his psyche with a simple hand gesture.
There was nothing else he could do, except say, “What are your demands?”
“Your father is over a lot lately,” Muzan whispered in your ear as he sat beside you on the couch. Yoriichi was on the floor, reading a book to your eight month old daughter, smiling to himself as her uncoordinated, little fingers reached to tug at his long, tied-back hair.
He closed the board book to tousle her short, black curls, a trait your father insisted she got from him despite the noticeable lack of red pigment on the ends. It pissed your husband off to no end, but you insisted your father was just teasing him. Muzan wouldn't say much after that. He was like a feisty kitten when it came to you. All talk, no bite.
“I think it's sweet that my father wants to be so involved in her life.” You closed your laptop and rested your head on Muzan's shoulder. “You should be thankful. Without my father, we wouldn't have had the time to make another.”
You had tested positive with your second pregnancy only weeks prior. Pregnancy had been no easy feat the first time around. Due to his geriatric sperm, you had developed both gestational diabetes and pre eclampsia. Things you were very high risk for this time around as well.
But you didn't mind. The bubbly sound of your daughter's laughter filled the air.
It was worth it.
Yoriichi beamed at you, then pointed at your laptop, telling you, without words, to get back to work.
Luckily, you didn't have to drop out of college. Instead, Muzan brought in tutors to help you privately because you took online courses. Doing all that with a baby and a second on the way made traditional university impossible, something Yoriichi had bargained for during that meeting over a year ago in exchange for his silence and your hand in marriage.
Rumors spiraled and people began talking about just how awful Muzan treated the “anonymous” victim. And with his outburst having gone viral for a short time, he had to change his image fast.
So Muzan conceded for his sake, and to ensure he got to keep his trophy wife. You were to get the best education, and later decide your career path on your own.
Muzan was also not to so much as lay a finger on you or his grandchildren. Should you even say your husband had so much as yelled at you, his life would be over.
Yoriichi also forced Muzan to invest in things that benefited the public. No more bribes. If he could not be an honest man, Yoriichi would not allow this union to be.
Yoriichi scooped up his giggly granddaughter into his arms then raised her above his head. “She has a play date tomorrow.”
“Your friend's grandson?” You didn't look up from your work, typing in time with Muzan's heartbeat.
“Yes, of course.” Yoriichi lowered the infant into his arms to cradle her, but she only pushed away, wanting to be on the ground, newly invested in the art of crawling. “Her and little Tanjiro are so cute when they play together. He just learned how to blow kisses to her.” Ever since your daughter's birth, your father and his friend, Sumiyoshi, had set up playdates between their grandchildren. Baby Tanjiro was only a month older than your daughter.
“Yes, well they're only children,” Muzan scoffed, hating the mild implications.
“Perhaps,” Yoriichi agreed, setting your baby on the floor to explore her toys some more, “But you never know.”
Muzan's scowl deepened, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer, “My daughter won't date until she's thirty.”
“Our daughter,” you corrected without skipping a beat.
Yoriichi raised a brow, as if to say, “Ironic…” but didn't say a word.
He'd let you keep your peace.
Superficial or not.
