#muzan

“I’ll wait,” Do you value yourself so highly? 

Muzan snorted, “Leave. I will not eat.” 

“I will spoon feed you again, Kibutsuji-sama,” A deeper scowl painted his face as he reluctantly sat up, coughing. 

“Don’t you dare, woman.” Your gaze went to the chopsticks on the tray, fingers reaching downwards from where they sat on your lap. Before you could grab them, pale hands snatched them out of your reach. Dark eyes seemed to glare holes into your own, the sickly boy. He was only 16, yet he was already acting like he was 50. The two of you matched ages, which was why they decided that you would be put to personally serve him.

A smile spread onto your lips as he continued to glare at you while he ate. 

“Stop smiling,” A disgusted look now on his face. He didn’t quite understand you. It’d only been 3 months since you had started working there, and your arrival surprised him. You were old enough to marry, so why hadn’t you? His first thought was that you had no suitor, no one had proposed in your village. Till this day that was his assumption. 

“Would you like to walk around the estate today, Kibutsuji-sama?” The boy set down his chopsticks, done with the meal. He didn’t say anything for a moment, a calculating look in his eyes. 

“Fine,”

The grass crunched beneath your feet, a satisfying sound to your ears. Ripples curled through the streams around the lodging. The bright sun reflecting on the surface of the water. The two of you were silent, not uttering a sound as the birds chirped through the sky. 

“Why are you here?” It broke the quiet stillness of the walk. 

You looked at him through the corner of your eye, “Because I was the one that asked you, of course,” You mused, a lopsided smile on your face.

“Not like that, you fool.” He snapped, “Why are you working, and not married?”

You hummed, looking down at your path through the grass thoughtfully, “Because my family is in need of money, I suppose.” Muzan kept his eyes forward, to an outsider it would seem like he wasn’t listening.

“Our village is quite remote, a week or two by foot. No wealthy suitors were available, so my father sent me off to look for one myself.” He glanced at you for a moment, before looking ahead once more.

“I didn’t want to marry quite yet, so I decided to work here,” You raised a finger to your lips slyly, “They believe that I’ve tied the knot already,” A chuckle escaping your mouth.

“How foolish,” Muzan clicked his teeth, “As a woman, your duty is to marry and raise children first.”

“But if I married I wouldn’t be tending to you— would I, Kibutsuji-sama?” 

He only scoffed at that.

Despise was too strong of a word to describe how Muzan Kibutsuji felt about you. He tolerated you and your presence.

“I’m an aunt now, Muzan-sama!” You sat in front of him again, holding up a letter written to you by your older sister. A year had gone by, as quick as a rabbit. Halfway through that year, he granted you permission to call him by his first name— despite his grumbling. 

You had an excited smile on your face, “Her husband’s name is Tetsu Madarame, a suitor came right after I left.” A blank look resided on Muzan’s face, seemingly unaffected by the news. He sipped on his tea, watching you talk animatedly about how you had a nephew.

“What’s the point of being so excited?” The black haired boy’s eyes narrowed at you, whether one of your kin died or was born did not concern him— why you even bothered about it was a mystery.

“It’s a moment of celebration, it’s not like I’m having a child anytime soon,” You rolled your eyes, undeterred by his cold demeanor, “Perhaps I’ll be able to visit him,” You pondered the idea, you shut the thought down after remembering you had to travel for at least a week straight. 

Violet eyes trailed over your form as you continued to read your letter. He silently noted how delicately you held the parchment, your working clothes lightly outlining your figure. You often came by his room with tea whenever you received a message. You hoped that listening to something other than bitter news about his health from the doctor would lighten his load, whether it was working or not was still unknown to you. 

‘Visit?’ “I’m done with my tea,” He placed the cup onto the tray on the floor, twisting back into his regular position on the mat— head facing away from you. You nodded, folding up the paper and tucking it away. You left, closing the shoji door behind you and heading towards the kitchen. Muzan laid back, his head rolling towards the side you sat on moments before. The thought of you leaving the estate for a period of time left a small pit in his gut.

He pushed the idea away, his head rolling back towards the roof. It was a foreign feeling, an uncomfortable one. 

A disgusting one.

“LEAVE!” Hurried clinks and ruffled noised came from the room, a disheveled looking doctor emerged from the door carrying his tools. He glanced at you quickly, before scuttling out into the hallway. A disappointed sigh escaped your lips as you opened the shoji doors to Muzan’s room.

There he sat on his mat, half of his body under the covers while the upper half sat up—panting heavy breaths of air. In front of him were the remains of medicinal herbs, and a spilt bowl of an unknown substance.

His lips curled into a snarl, “I told you to stop sending in those novice doctors, fools who can’t even identify this curse of mine.” He coughed dryly.

You shook your head somberly, “Muzan-sama, you need to explore every option. Who knows, their methods may actually work,” You glanced at the bowl, the greenish-brown liquid slowly spreading its pool on the floor.

“You didn’t even let him finish his remedy,” You sighed as his look of annoyance deepened.

He sucked his teeth, “Tsk. It wouldn’t have done anything.”

“You won’t know until you try,” Muzan eyed your hopeful expression. He only had a few years left to live, what was the point of hoping? It was terminal, period. No medicine would be able to cure him. No medicine would be able to give him more strength. More health. More time with you.

“Pointless,” He hissed under his breath, no longer panting. He laid back down, relaxing onto his mat and pillow.

“I’ll get you some tea, and mochi. I need to clean that mess…” You murmured, shaking your head and turning back towards the shoji doors. A light snort came from him as you left, he wasn’t fond of sweet things. They left a foul taste in his mouth. 

Yet you left nothing but a savory warmth. It was strange.

Tolerated was far from a word that Muzan Kibutsuji would describe you with. He was fond of you. Or perhaps that wasn’t enough either.

He stood alone, outside in the sunlight. The sky burned brightly into his eyes, earning an annoyed scoff from the man. 

“I’m glad to see you outside by yourself more often, Muzan-sama,” He turned to look behind him, you walked towards him—  [h/c] hair blowing lightly from the wind.

“You were going to bother me about it if I didn’t,” You stood next to him, watching the water crinkle in waves. His gaze never leaving you.

A lopsided smile graved your lips, “Shall we return?” The wind blew a strand onto your face. Before you could reach it, a pale hand came up to push it behind your ear. A faint blush painted your face, feeling his small warmth brush against your skin.

“Yes,” He turned, walking ahead—unfazed. 

You trailed behind him, “The doctor has said that your medicine is ready.” He didn’t respond, so you opted to catch up to him. Inside, the doctor sat in front of a small table patiently, waiting. A cup placed onto the young noble’s side of the furniture. Muzan’s eyes narrowed at him, a pleased look on your face as he willingly sat in front of him on his mat. You had finally managed to find a doctor that seemed trustworthy. You had also managed to convince Muzan to put some faith in him.

He was disgusted at the thought of having to rely on a man with such an unnerving look on his face, but you looked content whenever he complied so he reluctantly obliged. You stood near the entrance to his room that led to the outside, the sun framed your sides, warmth along your back. Muzan took the cup into his hands, a scowl once again adorning his face.

“How much longer will I have if I don’t take this?”

“You won’t live into your twenties if you don’t,” The doctor replied, calm as if expecting the question. Dark eyes looked down into the cup, reflecting his sorry state as if taunting. 

“Fine, I’ll take it.” He hissed sourly, lifting the cup towards his mouth. He gulped the bitter medicine, letting it pour down his throat. The blank eyed man nodded his head, moving back towards his corner of the room where his equipment laid. 

You clapped your hands, “I’ll get you some water, Muzan-sama, to help drown the bitterness,” He had always complained of the taste, despite being used to taking unknown remedies. The black haired man let out a grunt as you left to go get water. His stare moved to the outside, gazing at the leafy greens of the trees to the bright blue of the waters. The sounds of stone grinding against mush echoed in the background.

“Muzan-sama, please let me leave for a few weeks,” You bowed deeply, a letter clutched tightly in your hands in front of you. The man in question sat in front of you, strained from having to sit up in shock. He was silent, this was your first time asking for time off. Tension was palpable in the air, your desperation radiating off of you. 

“What for?” His voice cut through the air, sharp and thin. You looked up at him, straight into his eyes. The words caught in your throat, nothing coming out for a moment.

“My… my father has died, and my sister has asked for me to visit before he’s cremated.” Ah. So your kin has died. His dark eyes stared blankly at yours, unfeeling and unsympathetic.

“I see,” He mumbled softly, silent after. You gulped, spit thick with anxiety. You knew that the young noble wasn’t someone who felt sorrow in other’s pain, chances were that he wouldn’t—seeing no point in your departure. His chest, however, squeezed seeing your desperate state. You, looking at him with pleading eyes, with a heart that ached from the recent loss.

He turned his head away from you, looking into the courtyard. 

“Go,” What? Your eyes widened in surprise. 

“W-What?” You stuttered out of surprise. He didn’t look back at you.

“Make it quick. I expect you to be back by the end of the month,” That was only 3 weeks, but it was enough time. 

“Next time-“ He was cut off from the sudden impact of something crashing into him. [s/c] colored armed wrapped around his shoulders, clinging tightly. Muzan’s face was one of pure surprise, you buried your own into his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Before he could respond, you let go— hurriedly rising from your seated position and rushing towards your own quarters. The pale man blinked, still dizzy from your hug. His hand went up to his neck, brushing the place where your arms clung onto him. 

He despised people. He despised this world. Though, just not you. 

Tired. You were practically dragging your feet back to the estate. The heat of the daytime sun finally settled, the cool night breeze blew through your hair. The dirt of the road crunched beneath your feet as you adjusted the grip on your furoshiki in your hand. Muzan had allowed you to carry one, seeing how you had to bring clothes on your journey. You were returning a little earlier than you predicted, only a day or two early.

In the distance, the silhouette of the estate gates reached your vision. Relief washed over you as you picked up the pace. Normally there would be lamps hanging near the entrance, burning brightly along with glaring guardsmen. However, tonight the lamps stayed cold, keeping the entrance dark and shaded. The guards weren’t in their stations either, leaving the gate unprotected.

You didn’t falter, instead pushing through the gate and into the estate. This didn’t bother you, perhaps they were on a break and had forgotten to light the lamps. The inside of the estate stayed dark as well, no lamps or torches lit up the pathway. A chill passed through your spine, you shivered in response as the cold air blew through you again. Your heart began to beat faster, where were the other servants? At least one or two should be scattered about, tending to last minute needs. The grip on your furoshiki tightened, weary. 

A faint scent wafted through the air, familiar yet unknown. The floor creaked beneath your feet, your heart the only sound coming to your ears. You cautiously walked through the halls, towards your room. You gagged, a strong smell hitting the back of your throat. 

“Blood?” The irony tang of blood invaded your nose. You dropped your furoshiki, taking off to find the source of the scent. You ran through the mazes of the estate, left, right, left, left again. Footsteps collided with the floor, rushed. 

You running screeched to a halt.

“Oh gods…” Blood had leaked through one of the shoji doors, it was dry, just like the smudges on its handles. It was one of the other servant’s rooms. Heavy breaths came from you, panting and tired from the run. It didn’t stop, especially after seeing the dry pool of red. A new smell attacked your nose, pulling out another gag. The smell made you dizzy, the stench of rot. Your hand wouldn’t move, no matter how much you willed it to open the door. Whatever that was inside was long gone, long dead, and long rotten. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to filter out the disgusting scent. 

Creaaak.

You finally slid open the door. Your stomach dropped. 

“What… what happened?” Short breaths began to come from you. It felt like something was squeezing your lungs tight. More blood—everywhere. It splattered the walls, the mat, the floor. It all centered around a body, or what was left of it at least.  A woman’s body was splayed out on the floor, limbs detached and left limply shortly away from the body. Skin now deathly pale, and drained. Chunks were missing, giant ones. 

As if she was half eaten and left without care.

You swallowed thickly, “Muzan… Muzan…” Dread pooled in your stomach. Images of a dead Muzan Kibutsuji invaded your mind. His body splayed across his mat, bleeding, eyes without life, mouth contorted as if trying to scream. Bitten chunks out of his body. You took off once more, now towards the noble’s room. You wanted to vomit, you wanted to hurl and erase what you just saw. But there was no turning back. More and more bloodied doors began to appear, only inciting your worst fears.

Ahead of you, a familiar set of shoji doors laid ahead. Dimly, a light seemed to be shining from inside the room. Your dread from earlier began to lightly fade, perhaps he hid somewhere and was safe. Maybe your fears weren’t true.

“Muzan-sama!” You swung open the door, slamming it to its end. [e/c] eyes frantically looked for the black haired man—nothing.

You shakily stepped in, panting with wide, glassy, eyes. The room was empty and clean, no blood to be seen. The corner where the doctor’s supplies were normally stationed was now gone.

Cold limbs grabbed you from behind, pulling you tight against something flat and hard. They wrapped around your arms, caging you. Fear immediately surged through your veins. 

You were going to die, just like the others.

You let out a shriek, elbowing the intruder. 

“[Name],” A velvety voice came from behind. You looked behind you, turning your head to see his familiar face. He held you against his chest.

“Muzan-sama,” A breath of relief escaped your lips, tears pricking your eyes. “I thought… I thought you were dead…”

He was silent, piercing eyes scanning you.

His eyes.

“Your eyes… they’re red-“ You shivered, he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. 

Cold. Why was he cold?

“You’re early.” Muzan murmured into skin, hold tightening on your body. 

“Y-yes, I only stayed for 5 days in my village,” Everything about him now disturbed you. How was he able to hold you so tightly, especially since he was frail? He was steady, and strong. He hummed, his mouth moving upwards—lightly planting icy kisses up to the bottom of your jaw. Despite this, your body stayed cold and unflustered. 

“What happened here?” You whispered, hands clenching, “Muzan-sama.” 

No answer. He stayed quiet, still pressed against your jaw. Your heart beat against your ribcage, awaiting his next words. 

“I’m so close,” He finally spoke, his mouth near your ear. It was a whisper. “To perfection.”

“What-“ Your breath was knocked out of your lungs. You no longer stood near the door, the room spun around you as you were tossed onto his mat. Your wrists were raised over your head, pinned down by his weight with one hand.

“Muzan- what are you-“ He towered over you, slit pupils wide with lust. You pushed against his grip, but no matter how hard you pushed he pushed back harder.

“And when that happens, you’ll by my side,” It wasn’t a question, it was flat— a statement, a demand. His free hand ripped open your clothes, revealing your upper body to the open air. Another shiver, the cold wind of the night blowing freely. His gaze was drawn downwards, from the plump of your chest to the curve of your hips. Annoyance flashed across his face for a second, before he slashed off your sarashi cloth around your breasts.

“Muzan, wait- I’m not ready-!” He ignored your plea, a cold hand trailing down your side instead. He squeezed your hip, pain flaring from the marks being left by his nails.

“Nonsense,” His mouth landing on your collarbone, canines grazing your skin. They dug deeper, your skin stinging from the bite. An icy, wet, muscle licked around the bite, drawing a whimper from you.

“Sweet,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint. Muzan tugged off the remains of the sarashi cloth away from you, his other hand letting go of your wrists for a moment. Before you could pull away, he quickly tied them around your wrists— tight and painful. He moved downward, removing the rest of your clothes. There you laid underneath him, bare as you pulled your thighs close to your heat.

“Don’t- please-“ Wet drops of tears now dribbled down your face. His eyes searched yours, before traveling back down to your pussy. Pale hands gripped at your plush thighs, prying them open to reveal your cunt. You tried closing your thighs, but his grip stayed strong. He bent down, head now positioned at your entrance as your shook your head. Your sobbing didn’t dissuade him, instead spurring him on. 

His tongue pushed out, plunging into your hole. His nose was against your clit, brushing it with every movement. Wet sounds of his tongue fucking into you filled the room, sloppy and inexperienced. Blood rushed into his dick, hardening against his clothes. He grunted, mouth now moving to your clit. It closed around your clit, sucking and nipping like his life depended on it. Fat globs of tears escaped your eyes. You hated how your body was reacting, heating your core. Your back arched, hips bucking into his mouth. Muzan let go of your clit, spit clinging onto his mouth. 

He licked his lips, “You look gorgeous like this,” He released your trembling thighs, now with pink crescent shaped marks. He undid his kariginu, unraveling each layer down to his bear skin. 

Your eyes widened, “N-No, that won’t fit-“ Your breaths came out shorter, panicky. It was thick and long, veins crawling along its sides. You were sure that it would hit your cervix without being in the whole way. He lined up the flushed pink head with your entrance, the tip poking your folds.

“Relax, darling.” His lips met yours, pulling you in for a surprisingly tender kiss. You gasped, feeling it slowly push into your hole. He swallowed your sobs, letting yourself cry throughout the night.

not proofread ⭑.ᐟ

Burning homes is all you can remember from your childhood. Held in the arms of your mother as she races through the forest, the receding view of the village you grew up in being engulfed in roaring heat. The beautiful valley of blue was gone in an instant. The delicate flower petals flutter like scorching embers. Your mother never talked about why it happened or how exactly you escaped such a blaze, but you never asked. Every time you think about how high the flames licked the night sky your stomach wraps into knots. 

What you were told over and over again was the miraculous story of your birth. An apothecary found your pregnant mother, struck with an incurable illness. She was on the brink of death, but the apothecary brought her to the sacred lily village – where the rare blue spider lilies flooded the surrounding area. Your mother said it smelt as close to heaven as you could imagine. There your mother was healed and your unborn life forever altered. A few months later she gave birth to a baby girl with blue hair. When she cried the wispy blue strands on her newborn head faintly glowed. 

Most people thought you were a blessing given to their village by the celestials above, yet as you observe the quiet outskirts of the swordsmith village you can’t help but feel like a prisoner. Having such thoughts twisted your insides with guilt since the people of this village did everything they could to protect you. For once though…you wanted to leap through the corners of the world – your only friend being the wind in your hair. 

A long sigh deflates your chest as you peer down at the book in your hands. The ink was smeared in some places from how often you turned the pages. You only knew the words on the page; not their meaning. Books were the only place you could truly escape in the smallest parts of the word. Gossip carried around the villagers and stories told by the hashira whisked you away to a world you’d never touch. It made your heart flutter to think of fighting demons. 

You’d never seen one of course, but what grasped your thoughts late at night was the tale of their king. Muzan Kibutsuji. Demon King to all the shadows that lurk and stalk. He could shapeshift and had crimson eyes that frightened even the strongest swordsman. This demon posing as a man has done horrible things, but a part of you was drawn to look into those piercing eyes of his. Was he truly evil or just grieving? Did he feel the weight of what people expected out of him as well?

People didn’t come to know you. They came to be healed. They bowed, thanked you, and then called you sacred. Can something sacred not even know what it’s like to have a friend? Bleed? To argue? To fall in love? You were “Lady Lily” or “The Lily’s last Gift”, as if you were nothing close to a person. No one ever asked if you were happy. 

Even when you were a child there was no question if you were allowed to play with the village children. Too dangerous, too rare, too precious. Your mother’s words were laced with fear disguised as care. Rather than feel nurtured, you felt like you couldn’t breathe – the pressure smothering you. 

Now every time someone smiles at you with wonder in their eyes, the ache grows deeper. 

The breeze of the incoming winter slips under the door, chilling the room. You wish mother would let you move closer to the village, closer to the laughter, to the warmth of humanity. Past winding cobble paths was your cottage, tucked into the heaving forest. You were deep in the village, but it felt more like being an outcast than some sacred maiden. You slap the book shut, brushing out the soft blue layered kimono that had been embroidered with a spider lily pattern near the hem. A darker blue obi sash is bound around your waist. White tabi warm your feet as you slip into the zōri sandals near the exit to your home. You clip up your long hair, braving yourself for the outside world. 

It’s a bit of a walk to the main part of town, but you make it there with a triumphant smile on your lips. Of course, some of the villagers stare at you as you pass. Most of them were probably wondering who was hurt. Why else would the divine Lady Lily be in town? 

You should be used to the stares, the eyes filled with fascination and fear. It makes you bow your head, avoiding any eye contact. You just hope you don’t run into your mother during her errands. All you wanted was to go on a little walk, to breathe in fresh air. It’s likely she’d still yell at you for going out of the house without her knowledge. 

A shivering breath escapes your lips as you wander down the main path. Children run past you, playing with a long scarf in the wind. Their laughter echoes in your ears as a melody of what you never got. Your eyes flitter shut, the pain in your heart shooting brambles into your bloodstream. 

Before you realize, you’re close to the edge of the village. An urging feeling wants to push you further down this path, but the consequences and lives that would be at stake if you did would be too great for you to simply ignore. You turn to walk back, but the distant caw of a bird catches your attention. 

You slowly bring your gaze back to the road, squinting down the long winding path. A crow darts through the sky, flapping its wings in circles as the small form of a person appears around the bend. “Oh goodness,” You hiss, frantically looking around for anyone else. The figure limps toward you, holding their abdomen – which was stained red. 

It’s a girl, likely younger than you are, leaving a trail of blood behind her. She lifts her glossy eyes toward you. “Help…” The desperate plea leaves her lips before she collapses near the entrance. Years of training kick in as you almost morph into a different person. 

The girl lays on the ground right before the boundary of the village. You have to ignore the pounding in your heart about stepping foot outside, even if it was for a brief while. You rush to her side, turning her onto her back. Her skin is covered in sweat and lacerations. Even though she’s unconscious her brows furrow in pain as you shift her. “I’m so sorry.” You whisper, feeling around her body for the main source of ailment. You had to heal the major wound first, then you could work on the smaller ones. 

She has the dark uniform you recognize to be a demon slayer, but it’s ripped to shreds on the left side of her stomach. “What were you fighting?” You ask softly as your brow concentrates. This is bad. She’s close to death’s door. If you don’t act quick she’ll likely die from severe injuries and blood loss. 

You place your hands on her stomach, the searing power rippling through your veins. There were a couple things you found out about your powers. For one: music seemed to enhance them, whether you were humming, singing, or a nearby instrument was playing. A lullaby you recall vibrates through your throat. The second discovery was that of your emotions. If they were heightened, so was the surge of your power. As of right now, the swirling mix of anxiety and excitement for being outside the village borders was covering that. You catch a glimpse of your hair faintly glowing and a smile graces your face. It was working. 

Tendrils of blue light flow around your arms, tying your soul to this girl’s. There were a bunch of other weird things your powers did, but the main thing is every time you heal someone with a severe problem – things don’t always work in your favor. 

Sweat beads on your brow as your powers sew her lifeforce back together. You can feel her energy growing back so you lift your hands, severing the connection. You can hear yelling voices and the sounds of the girl stirring from her almost forever slumber, but your vision is growing fuzzy. The noise around you is so muffled and it’s harder to swallow than it was a few minutes ago. Ah, this always happens. Then your head slams into the ground as your consciousness falls away.

—

Your head is pounding as your eyes steadily blink open. The room you’re laying in is lit by candlelight, the yellowish hue flickering against the walls. “Oh praise the lily she’s awake.” A distant voice cries. There’s thumping against the ground and then a voice you recognize. 

“Y/n…” Your mother appears in your vision, a thin line forming on her mouth. “You’re awake.” She glances down at your body before meeting your gaze again. “How many times have I told you not to stray past the village border?”

Really? That’s what she has to say to her daughter that’s been unconscious for who knows how long. “The girl,” your voice is hoarse. “How is she?” Your mother sighs, pressing a weathered hand to her furrowed brow. 

“Alive. The same almost couldn’t be said for you.” She sits gently at the edge of the bed. “Never ignore my word again.” 

If you didn’t go to the girl she would’ve died. A demon slayer – someone who has likely protected you before. “But mother she would’ve-”

“I do not care, Y/n.” Her eyes are dark, even in the candlelight you can tell they hold a great amount of hostility. “You will listen to me. I am your mother.” She firmly squeezes your arm before departing through the door. 

Your lip quivers at the thought of leaving that poor girl to die. “Lady Lily is awake, surely we can stop worrying.” Your heart thumps wildly in your chest as you watch two shadows through the light of the door. 

“Ha…she is divine yet faints after healing now. How long is she going to last? When is her blessing going to turn into a curse for our village? Just like the Sacred village she came from.”

Curse…curse…curse…

Your body feels like lead as you toss the covers off, pushing yourself to a standing position. You take a shaky step forward, groaning softly. There was a shooting pain wrapping around your nerves. Every time you move it electrifies you. You grit your teeth as you push through the door. “L-lady Lily? Where are you going?” You ignore the woman frantically trying to make sure you don’t fall over. You probably looked like hell. 

After what seems like forever you push through the door, squinting at the dashing light of early morning. Most of the village should be asleep, but you watch some scramble in the town below. Much huffing and puffing later you stop near a clothing line, yanking off a couple articles of clothing. 

Limping toward the shed near the gate, you slip behind it. Off comes the stuffy clothing you were still in for some reason and then you pull on the charcoal gray kimono. It’s much too big for you, but it has to work. You fasten the earthy green haori around your arms and waist, bundling it close. Holding the scarf up to your face you realize it’s the one you saw the children playing with all those days ago. You use it to tie up your hair, covering it like a hooded cloak would. This is when you realize in your stupor to escape you hadn’t put any shoes on. 

You peak around the corner of the shed, zeroing in on a pair of sturdy fuka gutsu. Scrambling over to grab them before anyone notices, you step into the large woven boots. You weren’t prepared at all for this decision, but it was time. Time to leave these people behind so your life doesn’t end up being their demise. 

The forest grows dark as you walk down the path. You didn’t know where you were going, but the air against your skin felt freeing more than anything. Night crawls over the valley, slithering around you like a warm blanket. You’d been following the path for hours by now, but it’s still surprising when you hear the bustling music from afar. 

In the distance you can make out a large merchant town, lanterns extending their welcoming hands to you. You were hungry, cold, and exhausted. Soon you find yourself surrounded by strangers, eating and chatting merrily. They don’t look at you passing through the crowd. It feels…wonderful. A smile lifts the corners of your mouth as you look at the hanging signs, trying to find a place to stay for the night. You didn’t have any money, but you were hoping someone would take mercy on you. 

Close by is a man wearing an expensive western coat, the hat on his head covering most of his face. You can tell he’s handsome though as you brush past him. 

His head shoots up as he watches you weave through the swarm of people. What? He glances down to where you’d touched him earlier, the skin under his coat searing with an unbearable heat. His whole being felt drawn to you. He furrows his brows, stalking behind you carefully. This scent was undeniable and addictive. 

“You look lost little flower. First time in a town like this?” His voice is smooth, suave, and it makes you turn on your heel to see who is speaking to you. The man from earlier stands in front of you, the epitome of wealth. He’s the first person to talk to you since you escaped, it’s exhilarating. 

You shake your head. “Just passing through.” It’s not the answer to his question, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he mulls over what you said. 

He blocks someone from bumping into you, shooting a glare at the obviously drunk man. “Ah, so a traveler then?” He smiles, one that makes your stomach churn with an unfamiliar feeling. “How refreshing. Most people wandering around these parts are either jaded or bought.” You swallow the lump in your throat, turning to look in the direction you were headed – not that you knew where you were going. 

The man leans into your peripheral, grinning when you look back at him. “Bought? Like…clothing?” You ponder aloud, curious as to what he means. 

A sly laugh leaves his plump lips, the sound coiling around your insides. “Not quite. Though you,” his gaze dips down your attire. “Do look sweet enough to eat.” 

This elicits a shy giggle from the back of your throat. “Thank you, but I look a little too much like a tree to be eaten.” What a funny man. His words made no sense. 

“You look like temptation.” He runs his tongue under his teeth, a smirk growing on his lips. “And if I wasn’t trying to behave myself tonight I’d have already ruined you.” 

“Ruin me? Like my clothes?” You ask, curiously taking a step closer to him. 

“You truly have no idea what kind of place you’ve wandered into…” He gazes around at the people. 

Your brows furrow in frustration. He may be right, but you wanted to appear like you at least knew where you were going. “I’m not completely clueless. I’m very good at reading people.” You huff, crossing your arms. 

The man chuckles, a low deep sound. “Is that so?” He leans down to eye level with you. “Then read me. What do you see?” 

His eyes…they’re a deep crimson color that merges with the deep void of his pupils that almost form a slit. The man’s hair is dark and curly, falling around his face despite having a hat on. He has sharp features that allude to a well-born bloodline. He’s tall, built, and his voice feels like velvet against your skin. “Mmm…you look like someone important. Maybe rich. Maybe lonely.” His eyes light up with a spark that sends a shiver down the length of your core. 

He straightens to his full height, tilting his head curiously. “Lonely huh? That’s a new one. You’re not wrong though. I am looking for someone.” 

Oh so he’s busy. You bow your head graciously. “Then good luck with that! I hope you find who you’re looking for!” You give him a little wave before trotting excitedly deeper into a red-light district. 

Muzan watches you until you disappear from his sight, but not from his other senses. He can still smell the sweet nectar of your blood wafting through his nose as you spoke. There was no doubt about it, you were what he’s been searching for all these years. His fangs ache from holding himself back. 

You are his cure. The salvation he’d been hunting for. The key to unlocking his ultimate power. It would’ve been wasteful to feed on your blood in the middle of the district, but damn it if he wasn’t going to fantasize about it every second. 

Now all he had to do was get you to follow him willingly. Once you were swayed by his charm he could use your blood for experiments, then simply kill you when he was able to step into the sunlight. A smirk plays with his lips as the image of you sprawled out, begging him to stop puncturing you. He’s stroking his ego when suddenly the image shifts to you crying underneath him. Your blue hair is beautifully splayed out on the silk sheets as Muzan dips his head between your legs. You fist his hair, grinding your sweet little pussy against his nose as he laps up your arousal. 

Wait…what the fuck? Muzan’s eyes shoot open. He’d been searching for the girl with blue hair for testing, experiments, and finally to create a cure. Not – whatever the hell he was just imagining. Was he going crazy because you were so close? His hand clenches and then stretches out. He needed to go kill someone because this was not fucking happening. 

Meanwhile you finally found what appeared to be an inn. There are colorful people wandering in and out, smiles plastered all over their faces in a daze. You excuse yourself, slipping through the curtained entrance. Incense and smoke fill your lungs. As you hack the horrible sensation away the eyes of a nearby woman look you over with disdain. “What are you doing here?” She huffs out the question like an accusation, dragging her gaze over your clothing. When her eyes find your face the lack of interest falters for a split second. “Answer me beggar.” She hisses, waving around a smoking pipe that was emitting a horrendous stench. 

You flinch away from her, accidentally stepping on the dangling edge of your hair scarf. You tumble backwards, the scarf fluttering into your lap. The weight of your hair falls against your back, blue tendrils handing haphazardly in front of your face. “I-I need a place to stay.” You whimper, scrambling to your feet. 

The older woman in front of you has her silver hair tucked nicely in a chignon style, a few ornate pins sticking out. She wears a faded crimson kimono, falling leaves embroidered with golden thread. Her obi is stiff and expertly tied around her thin waist. Her thin red stained lips make the shape of an ‘o’ before they snake into a cunning smile. “A place to stay? Oh my dear,” she circles you, the faint scent of perfume surrounding you. “I have exactly the place for you.” Her delicate hand shoots out to grab your chin, turning your head this way and that despite your grunts of confusion. “And it’s going to make me very, very rich.” 

—

Before the birds had stirred, you were bathed, scented, slipped into silk undergarments, and dressed in the most delicate silk furisode that is a deep indigo that fades into a soft blue. White cranes were embroidered into the fabric and the shape altered to accentuate your body. The long sleeves made it difficult for you to do anything by yourself. Your hair was pinned up in a style you didn’t understand, but when they showed you your reflection it was unmistakable how beautiful you appeared. Pale face makeup was brushed onto your face and the center of your lips painted a cherry red. They had dusted lavender and silver shadows over your eyes, lining them with kohl. You looked uncertain…but ethereal. “Good morning my little ghost,” The older woman from last night slides open the door to your room, greeting you with an excited smile. “I have news. Our highest paying danna wants your first night.” She clasps her hands together. 

You tilt your head, the ornaments in your hair clinking gently. “First night?” A part of you knew what she meant, but the other part was fighting against reality. 

She sighs, dropping her hands. “He wishes to lay with you.” She moves her brows in a dramatic way. 

“Uhm…like…”

“Lord above,” she groans, pressing a hand into her brow. The action reminds you so much of your mother a wave of grief passes over you. You quickly stuff it down. “This danna has paid a large sum of coin to have sex with you tonight.” 

You’d read about places like this in books, but it was nothing like seeing it in real life. Yūkaku were legal red-light district brothels where men could buy entertainment of certain kinds. That made who you were talking to right now the Yarite of this establishment. “But I’m not— I didn’t mean to,” you sigh in frustration. “I’m not a Yūjo…” The word feels foreign on your tongue. 

The Yarite smiles so wide her eyes crinkle. “No, you certainly are not. You are something extremely precious.” She coos, rubbing your shoulders. “You’re my newest oiran, now let’s get you ready for your misekake.” 

Oirans were high-ranking, was it possible for you to be placed into such a role? You smile into the reflection of the mirror, but your fingertips tremble. She’d given you a place to sleep, food, and warm water…what more could you do when winter is approaching? You didn’t have any coin to spend. This way…you could still read…you’d just have to do more… “May I ask your name?” You ask, swallowing down the overwhelming sense of fear. She bows her head near your shoulder, staring at your reflection as well, tying your obi in an elegant knot.

“Of course dear, I’m Yarite Gekka. You can call me Okaasan if you wish.” Your heart swarms with a mix of emotions. You miss your mother, but doubt you’d ever be able to experience something like this if you hadn’t left. What more could you do?

…

Dusk settles over the town as you wait on a couple of cushions near an open window. A sigh escapes your painted mouth. This was your new reality and you had to live with it. The beautiful silk furisode was meant to allure the danna paying for your night. Yarite Gekka had fussed with your hair, unpinning some of it to flow down your back like waves of pearlescent beauty. She replaced the plain pins the kamuro had used earlier with delicate silver lily pins. There was no possible way Yarite Gekka knew your secret, right? Did the tales of your blessing stretch to even this corner of the world? 

You pull the soft white tabi up your legs, admiring the velvet curtains hanging from the wall. Yarite Gekka told you only those who pay are allowed to gaze upon you, so you must stay in this room until the danna enters and so that’s what you did. Wait.

Muzan lifts the entrance curtain, stepping into the main room of the yūkaku. Instantly all eyes are on him, the courtesans whispering behind their sleeves. He’s dressed in dark navy silk robes, the finest money could buy. His hair unbound and falling down around him like cascading shadows. Those crimson eyes searching the room for what he paid for. He looks less like a man and more like a fallen emperor. 

The Yarite he had spoken with this morning glides toward him with a gracious smile lining her cracking lips. “Ah, welcome my Lord. I have what you came for in a private room.” Her eyes crinkle with a teasing look. “She has yet to be trained in the ways of pleasure, but we believe she will be…exsquisite.” 

His lips curl into a smirk. Little did this stupid woman know…he was going to steal her precious maiden tonight. Muzan reaches into his sleeve, plopping another pouch of gold on the ground. The Yarite looks at him with wide eyes. “Sir? But you already paid?”

He can smell you even through all the fuzzy lavender incense. He glares down at the Yarite. “I know.” Humans were constantly swayed by coin and she was no different. 

Muzan makes his way past the chatting women and far too grotesque men. The dim lanterns lining the hallway guide him to the sliding door you reside behind. You see the shadow of a man against the paper of the door. It moves to the side, the soft light highlighting the man in front of you. “H-hello my Lord.” You were looking down, lashes low, hands folded in your lap, but you lift your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are liquid red, they remind you of the man last night, but it’s not possible they’re the same, right?

He slides the door shut behind him, his breath stilling as he takes in the sight before him. You look like a shrine maiden in a den of sin. It makes him want to corrupt you, pluck each petal from your purity until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. His body stiffens at the sudden thought. No, he was here to take what was his. That meant all of you. He clenches his fists before coming to sit next to you with a plop on one of the many cushions. “You’re very quiet my Lord.” You address, shifting toward him. Your furisode slips to the side, hinting at the thin undergarments. “Is it because I am not doing it right?” You question, blinking up at him through your lashes. 

Muzan swallows, slightly startled by your words. “Doing what?” He was the Demon King, why was a girl with blue hair making him jumpy?

You hesitate before continuing. “Enticing you.” You weren’t sure how to make the first move on such a breathtaking man, nor any man for a matter of fact. Everything was so new you were filled with nervous energy. You hope he can’t sense how excited you are to try something new, even if it was a bit daunting. 

His jaw clenches as he watches you lean forward, pressing your soft hand against his thigh. “Should I touch you here?” You ask, genuinely curious if this was what got a man going. 

How could such an innocent woman cause his skin to burn? “Stop.” His voice is low and commanding, but yet you do not move your hand. “You don’t need to do any of that.” He swallows, his gaze focused on how your fingers graze his inner thigh. “I didn’t come here to take you like that.” He breathes, moving his eyes to look at you. That was a mistake. Your hair is falling down your chest, where the loose furisode dips enough for Muzan to stare at your chest. He quickly turns the other way, covering his mouth in any attempt to not devour you. 

He didn’t know you, but he’s been searching for you his entire life. “But you paid for the night my Lord.” Your fingers move in absentminded circles. He collects your hand, silently pleading that you would stop torturing him. 

Muzan holds your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon your skin. “I paid for you.” Your eyes widen. Wasn’t that the same thing? Muzan can sense your confusion so he stands, extending a hand to you. Again, he has to look away because the sight of you on your knees before him was far too…sensual. 

What was happening? Did he want to take you somewhere different? Was that allowed? You didn’t ask Yarite Gekka about this kind of thing. Before you can question why you give him your hand a short biwa cord rings out. “May I ask your name, my Lord?” You question while looking around for whoever played the biwa. 

The man pulls you into him, gazing down at you with crimson eyes and a fanged smile. “I think you know.” Then the ground underneath you sinks away to reveal an infinite pit of platforms and buildings. You let out a scream before the floor swallows both of you up. 

“Muuuuzzaaaan!” You cry out his name as you both careen through a bottomless pit. His grip on your waist tightens, bringing you closer to his chest as everything flies past you at alarming speeds. Just as quickly as you were falling does it all come to a stop. 

You wrap your arms instinctively around him as a platform meets your feet. He looks at you with a smirk, amused by how you huff out a little frustrated sigh. “I could get used to the way you scream my name.” Before he realizes how the words tumbling out of his mouth sound, they’re already there – falling on your ears like a bold confession of his thoughts. 

A few grumbles fall out of your mouth as you release him from your grip. “Well do you usually go so deep?” Muzan’s face feels like it's been slapped. You’re going to kill him. 

He darkly chuckles, leaning toward you. “It was your first time, I couldn’t go too deep.” He watches as your confused expression shifts to a flushed face. 

You whap him on the chest, stumbling back a few steps. “You’re being dirty again!” She exclaims. Muzan has to bite into his bottom lip to refrain from whisking this maiden off to the far corners of the infinity castle and having his way with her. That’s not why she’s here though. He has to keep his hands off until he understands the limits of her power. A biwa cord drops the pair of you in front of a rustic mansion – one of Muzan’s labs. “Where are we?” You take a few curious steps toward the building, admiring the gorgeous structure. 

Muzan can’t tear his eyes off you. “Home.”

—

A strange relationship had formed between the man who was supposed to be your demise and yourself. It’s been three months since you first arrived at one of his laboratories, gawking at the large estate before Muzan gave you a short tour of the most important rooms. He fed you, clothed you, and provided you with anything you asked. There were even times he took you on small trips to places you’d never seen before, but there were things you still had questions about. Unanswered ones that dug deep into your mind. What are you to him?

Then there was the fluttering deep in your stomach when Muzan would get too close or say something too vague about you being a goddess. You were still trying to figure out the meaning of his words and your feelings. “How are you feeling, little flower?” He asks gently, cleaning the clutter of your meal away. It was frustrating to have just enough freedom, but expected to stay by his side with no explanation. Unless…he really did buy you for…

You swallow down the anger in your chest before standing from your chair. “My Lord, you have done a great deal for me,” you glance at him muddling around in the kitchen. He wasn’t paying attention to you. Grumpily you make your way behind him. “I wish to repay you.” You state, fingering the knot of your obi. “In any way you desire.” Muzan turns around just as you pull the fabric free, your kimono slipping open. His eyes flash a deep red, hunger filling his vision as you reveal the pure white undergarments beneath your clothing. He catches the kimono before it can fall off your shoulders. He turns his head away, refusing to leer at you. 

“Don’t do that.” He hisses. Your skin burns from the rush of anger and a new emotion you can’t quite pinpoint. 

“Then why did you bring me here?” You prod, yanking yourself away from his grip, clutching the edges of your kimono. “You tell me you own me, yet you won’t even touch me!” Tears build in the wells of your eyes, threatening to spill over. 

He shakes his head, brushing past you. “You think this is a game? You think just because I haven’t ripped your throat out, because I’ve restrained myself, that you’re safe?” His laugh is low and monstrous. 

You rush after him, the heat rising to such an extent it makes you shiver with rage. “No one asked you to restrain yourself! I wanted to live, but you’ve trapped me here!” Your voice has risen a couple of decibels, echoing around the dining room. “You at least owe me an explanation! Something! I’m sick of being treated like some kind of tool!”

Muzan’s clawed hand rips at the wallpaper, ripping it to shreds. “That’s because you are one!! You are nothing but a tool for me.” He drags his other hand down his face, scoffing. “I am the King of Demons y/n. I could destroy you. Right here. Right now. No one would stop me. Not the gods. Not fate. You would be nothing but blood on the floor.” He spits out the word blood like it disgusts him.

The air is suffocating with his demonic pressure. Your tears finally race down your face, but you don’t move. Don’t cower. Don’t run away. “Then why haven’t you?” You cry out, your voice breaking at the edges of your words. “If I’m just a body to you, just blood—then take it!” You scream, exposing your throat for him. “Stop pretending you’re doing me some favor by staying away. You’re not kind. You’re cruel. You confuse me, and I hate that I want you even when I’m terrified of you!” 

Muzan stills. Slayer of thousands – the Muzan…takes a step back from you. The picture of furious fearlessness. Your blue hair glows in the soft light, emitting a perfect image. Your blood rushes through your veins, pumping throughout your entire body with a scent that engulfs him. He’s in disbelief, but then it hits him. The wave of arousal. Your face is pink, skin heated, for him. “You want me?” He almost stumbles over his words. It’s a dangerous question. One that is bound to shove him off the edge he’d been teetering on ever since he saw you. 

He feels overwhelmed when you nod softly. For the first time since his descent into madness Muzan forgets about wanting to walk in the sunlight. You glow brightly enough for him. 

His strong hand wraps around the back of your neck, crashing your lips together with a burning hunger. “I need you,” you mewl and it drives him feral. Muzan hoists your legs over his hips, keeping you connected to his lips. Your tongue plays with the tips of his fangs, moaning into his mouth when it pricks you. 

Your saliva mixes with your sweet blood, filling his mouth with just enough he’ll never forget the sensation. He carries you to his room, slamming the door to the side. It splinters off its hinges, falling to the ground with a loud thud. Yet you cling to Muzan, the only thing in this world bold or foolish enough to crave the devil himself. 

There’s a mirror off to the side of the bed, a few decorations around here and there. It didn’t seem like much of a home.

Muzan sets you on the edge of the bed, sliding to his knees before you. The Demon King on his knees for you. A gasp flutters past your lips as he places warm hands on the inside of your knees. “Spread your legs for me.” He orders, licking the top row of his teeth as your kimono slips away to reveal dainty cotton undergarments. 

Another gasp from your lips as he pulls the string tying them together apart with his teeth. “W-wait, what are you-?” Your cunt is slick with your arousal and Muzan nearly growls at the sight. He presses his thumb against your clit, eliciting a whimper from your throat. “Muzan.” 

“That’s it, whine for me.” His tongue finds your folds, using the length of it to fuck your entrance. You writhe around on the bed, a moaning mess. Muzan wraps his strong grip around your thighs, holding you in place as he sucks on the mess your pussy is making. You find yourself bucking against his face unconsciously. The wicked sounds of wet slurping was enough to make you come quickly undone. 

Despite your obvious climax, Muzan continues using his tongue to torment your entrance. “Please–Muzan–ah,” you tremble as you reach for his hair, grabbing fistfulls. It felt too good for you to push him away. You grind against the edge of his nose, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh…yes!” Your second orgasm is budding deep within your core and before long comes blindingly out with a silent scream. Finally he backs away from your sopping cunt, your arousal dripping from his mouth. 

He licks his lips, a dazed look crossing over his pinkish irises. “You were made for me to devour.” A heat spreads across your face as Muzan presses his fangs into the plush skin of your thigh. “And I’m going to make sure none of you goes to waste.” At that he grazes the tips of his sharp teeth along your skin, cutting parallel lines toward your knee. 

The pain is shocking as you wince, but then his warm tongue – the same one that was stuffed in your pussy – draws up the wounds. He brings his blood soaked tongue into his mouth, rolling his eyes shut as he stills. You can’t take it anymore. Rather man or monster – you desired him to take your first time. “My Lord, please–I’m yours.” 

Muzan’s eyes open, the pink deepening as he stares down at your welcoming position. He tilts his head to the side, undoing his robes. You gawk at the sheer length of his member as it springs forth. “As you wish, little flower.” He takes his weeping cock and taps it against your folds, collecting some of your release on the head. “Mmm, look at you so open for me.” He hums, pumping himself to the image of your tear streaked face and leaking pussy. “My divine Lady Lily,” the sacred name bestowed on you sends ropes of heat coursing through you. You’d never heard it used the way his lips form around the words. 

Your breath is pulled away as Muzan lines the head of his cock at the entrance of your warm sex. The stretch is beautifully searing, soft pants filling the room from both of you. Muzan hits the limit of your virginity, the tiny moans vibrating from your throat only pushing him forward. “Shhh, shh, that’s it. That’s my girl.” With an inhale Muzan thrusts past your hymen, the thin membrane tearing. You don’t seem to notice a change, except that he’s deeper than he was before. “You’re doing so good,” he huffs, baring his fangs as the pleasure claws up his abdomen. “Feel so fuckin’ divine.” 

Was this what he was searching for? The one who could fully take him as he is. Muzan finds himself caring less about gaining more power and more about fucking you sensless. He wants to make you his queen. Fill your cunt with his seed until there was a chance you would carry his child – something he never thought was possible until you brushed past his arm. Every time he touches you it feels like life is being breathed back into him. You make him feel more human and that kind of terrifies him.

Honestly, not the time to be thinking of such things as he’s balls deep in you, your finger nails digging into the skin of his back. He wants you to tear him up so he can beg you to nurse him back to health. He yearned to grow old with you, provide you with anything you desired. A family, the world, his life.

He pulls back just to snap his hips into place, a lovely moan yelping from your mouth. “S’good, Muzan.” Your voice is a balm to the ailment of his thoughts. “I love it.” You groan as he mercilessly pounds into your greedy cunt. You’re fluttering and clenching around him, the pulsing making his knuckles turn white as they grip the sheets next to your head. 

Muzan dips his head down to nip at your neck which causes you to clench around him, hard. “Hah, you’re already clenching around me like you’re going to milk me dry. Isn’t that right, my Lady?” His words are enough to undo you, stars pricking your vision as you arch into him. A gentle laugh fills the room. “You like that, yeah? Being called my Lady?” He smirks as you pant, desperately trying to regain your breath from that soul stealing climax. 

He doesn’t give you much of a break though, scooping up your damp body while still inside of you. As he shifts his cock thrusts deeper, causing you to whimper into his ear. “S’deep, ngh— ah.” Your eyes flutter shut and you feel Muzan spread your legs open wide, pressing your knees against his forearms which grip your hips. 

“Open your eyes,” you do as you're told, gasping when you gaze back at yourself in the reflection of the mirror. Muzan’s cock is buried deep within your cunt, sticky release spilling down your thighs. You catch a glance of Muzan leaning toward your ear. “Look at your pussy drooling for me. M’gonna fill this cunt.” He kisses your neck, biting down at the same time he thrusts into you. You scream out a moan, your voice hoarse from the countless times he’d made you yelp or moan in the last half an hour. “Watch your belly,” he mumbles as he laps up your purplish blood. 

Your reflection illustrates just how fucked out you are. Eyes glazed over, hair messily sticking to your face, and there it is – a bulge from where Muzan’s cock fills up your cervix. You search the mirror until you find his heated gaze locked onto you. A lazy smile rounds your lips upwards. He nuzzles into your shoulders, fucking into you like nothing else mattered, because it didn’t. “S’too much… Muzan, s’too deep,” you slur, cock drunk and exhausted. You lay back into his chest, fluttering around his length. “M’cunt’s s’full.” He burrows punishingly deep into you, panting low moans into your ear. 

“Lemme stay inside… j-just like this… warm n’ tight n’ mine—” He growls, digging his claws into the skin of your hips. You can’t even form coherent thoughts anymore, splurting cum down Muzan’s cock like some used up whore. Pleading moans and desperate whines make up your vocabulary now. “F-fuck… this pussy… s’tight, s’wet—m'gonna lose it—” Muzan’s thrusts become choppy, loosing any sense of rhythm as he mindlessly pounds into you. He groans out your name before you both slip under the crashing wave of an orgasm, this time cumming together. Hot ropes of cum fill your throbbing pussy, dripping down to mix with yours. “Look at how pretty you are when you take me—fuck—never seen anything like you…” He pants out, slipping his hand up your body to push your head back. He then gently kisses you, both of you breathing hard. Muzan nudges you with his head, already thinking about going another round. 

Kokushibo

Kokushibo senses danger before it reaches you, but the second he realizes you’ve already been hurt, something ancient and furious awakens in him. His reaction is swift, precise—whoever harmed you will die before they can breathe again.

He doesn't show it outwardly—his face remains still, voice low—but internally, it’s chaos. Centuries of control slip for a moment. You getting hurt is something he never accounted for, and it shakes him deeply.

He kneels beside you, hands barely trembling, examining the wound with precision. His eyes—six of them—dart over every bruise, cut, and wince you make. He memorizes your injuries like they’re etched into him.

If there's a demon doctor or someone who can help, he commands them wordlessly. If not, he’ll do it himself. He’s old enough to have picked up every survival trick across centuries, and he uses them all.

He won’t leave you, not even for a moment. Even if Muzan calls, even if there's a war happening—he guards you in silence, sword drawn, like a sentinel carved from stone.

Instead of reassurance, he gives you presence: the warmth of his hand, the way he lifts your head gently, the small nods when you ask questions. Comfort isn’t his strength, but devotion is.

He blames himself, but rather than wallow, he becomes obsessive. You’ll notice him sharpening his blade more often, scanning the horizon even in safe places, training harder—as if to ensure it never happens again.

During recovery, he touches you as if you’re made of porcelain. He’ll sit close, hum old war songs, or wrap a blanket around you with careful, silent hands. There’s reverence in the way he treats you—like you’re a divine thing he failed to protect.

You find him standing near your bed some nights, just watching to confirm you're still breathing. He doesn’t sleep much, but since your injury, he barely closes his eyes. Your fragility haunts him.

He never cages you, but he becomes very stern about risk. He teaches you how to defend yourself—harsh training, but meant with care. “If you must face danger again… you will not fall.”

Muzan

Muzan reacts with instant fury. He’s not worried in the way a normal lover is—he’s furious that his possession, his precious thing, was damaged. It’s an insult to him.

There’s no mercy. Whether demon or human, they’re obliterated in seconds—slowly, painfully. Muzan makes a public example of them, regardless of how minor your injury is.

He summons every medical resource, be it demon science or stolen human doctors. He’ll force recovery upon you, even considering turning you into a demon if your life seems threatened (and expects you to be grateful for it).

While others get wrath, you get a strange, unfiltered softness. He strokes your hair, calls you "my beautiful one," presses kisses to your brow—but there's something intense and possessive beneath it all.

Your injury reminds him of your humanity—and he hates it. He’ll start pushing you to accept his blood, offering you immortality, whispering about how weak human flesh is.

After the incident, Muzan becomes impossibly protective. You’re not to leave the castle, you’re to be monitored by his trusted demons, and anyone who gets too close is warned—or killed.

Even if your injury happened because he sent you somewhere unsafe, he’ll twist the narrative. You shouldn’t have been vulnerable, they should have protected you, the world is too cruel.

He may go from cradling you gently to raging at the world to threatening doctors to kissing you feverishly—all within minutes. Your injury destabilizes him more than he’ll ever admit.

When you’re asleep, or hurt too badly to speak, he sits beside you, silently watching. He might whisper things he’d never say aloud while you're conscious: “Don’t leave me. Not like them. Not you.”

Every step of your healing is documented, micromanaged, and obsessively checked. When you finally walk again, or smile without wincing, he looks at you like you’re a miracle he made happen.

Douma

“Oh! You’re hurt?” His usual smile falters for a split second—not out of concern, but because it’s unexpected. Pain is a distant concept to him. Seeing you in pain? Suddenly real.

At first, he tries to brush it off like he always does. “That looks painful! But you’ll be okay, right?” Then you cry. Or bleed. Or pass out. And he freezes. He doesn’t know how to deal with real consequences to people he cares about.

He immediately scoops you up, cradling you like a broken doll, flitting around looking for help—even though he's technically the most dangerous thing in the area.

He tries. He brings herbs, ointments, and “remedies” that may or may not work. One time he tried to feed you flower petals because someone once told him it “brings beauty back.”

You’ll notice a shift. He starts focusing less on his cult followers and more on you. You’re his “special one,” his “only little pet,” and the only person who gets his full attention now.

While you're recovering, Douma becomes your personal entertainer. He tells ridiculous stories, brings you weird gifts, and laughs at his own jokes—just to see a smile on your face again.

Douma doesn’t feel emotions like others, but this? It’s something close to fear, sadness, even guilt. He doesn’t know how to process it, so he hides behind performance.

“You won’t ever be in danger again! I’ll just never let you leave my side!”

Sounds sweet… until he means it. You’re not leaving the palace, not without his arms around you and 30 eyes watching.

If someone else helped save you, Douma grows weirdly envious. “You don’t need them, right? You only need me. I’m the one who really cares.”

Once you’re healing, Douma becomes extra clingy. Hugs, cuddles, constant attention. You almost dying made him realize how much he doesn’t want to lose you—and in his twisted way, that’s love.