the idea of MUZAN having a wife is addicting, a beautiful woman kept away from the insanity of the demon slayer corps. one that has him wrapped around her finger. one that has no fears of disagreeing with him, despite knowing how powerful he is.
one that teases him, after a long evening trying to understand the mystery of the blue spider lily—she comes behind his chair, rubbing his tense muscles slowly. “my love, haven’t you had enough?” she would whisper, a small smirk curling on her painted lips.
muzan wouldn’t answer.
too frustrated to play into his wife’s stupid antics, but that wouldn’t deter her. in fact, it would only egg her on even more. so much so that she leans in forward, pressing her lips against his neck, cooing at him.
“muzan.. come rest for a bit.” she would whisper, voice low and intertwined with hidden meaning.
muzan would really try to ignore her, he needed to find this god forsaken flower, but her voice was so low, so playful, it was agitating.
and a turn on.
so, like any good husband would do, he would shut his book tight, then take her hand before leading her to sit on his lap.
he truly hated how she always found herself under his skin, he was the king of demons—and if he wanted to he could kill her, but his chest swirled with someone so sickeningly close to love it angered him. yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.
Hello! I love reading your headcanons! I was having a tough day and the recent headcanons with insecure reader made my smile!
Can I also request for some headcanons? Uppermoons, Muzan and yoriichi with a s/o who feels the aggressive affection towards them? Like how we normally feel with cute things or the person we love and would out of nowhere hug them tightly, cooing and squealing sweet words or just bite them— like on cheek or arm?
I’m so so soo glad you liked it !! And I simply loveeee the idea !!! I believe my love language is actually aggressive-affection lol thank you so much for requesting it I’ve never thought about it before !!
The GIF speaks for itself he's pissed lol... but secretely likes it.
At first he was just so flabbergasted like genuine shock.
"Why are you...squealing ? And biting me for... ?!"
He would often freeze anytime you'll attack him with those then relax.
He would sometimes grith his teeth or gruff in annoyance but notice how he lets you ?
He got so used to it that it became so predictable.
He'll just start dodging your bites attacks or anything that could physically "cutely harm" him when he feels like it.
Just to annoy you.
He likes the hugs the most. (But would never admit it even if you threaten to bring back Yoriichi to life)
Despite the scowl, he never steps back. His arms twitch like they want to hold you. But they never do. Not yet.
"Enough."
"But-"
"That's the 113th space invasion of the day"
"Well talking about personal space, you did invide Ubuyashiki's mansion-"
"That's diiferent-"
"That's space invasion still."
"..."
He braced himself for the 114th one...
𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈...
Literally lets you tackle-hug him mid-battle and just smiles. 🥺
The first time you bit him, he paused before gently laughing like : "That was unexpected..."
He finds your affection healing. After leaving a life of lonliness, your love and presence feels like a new light.
THAT MAN BLUSHES!
Every time you would bite his cheek or arm he would look confused, then blush, processing what you just did.
"Is this your way of showing fondness?"
His responses are always innocent, trying to understand the why you did that.
He finds it really cute.
He'll quickly get accustomed to it and will do the same.
He doesn't even resist or show any negative feelings toward it, while he's usually the composed and soft one, a bit of lovely chaos in his life is not for him to refuse!
But he'll be more on the gentle clingy side not straight out aggressive.
He'll hold you close, cage you in between his arms cooing at you, trying to make you laugh and never let go.
He's like a golden retriever, always ready for your little stunts and never gets tired of them.
"You are the most curious soul I've ever met. Please stay the way you are..."
𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐎...
Completely shaken.
Your random tight hugs or kisses on his cheek leave him STUNNED.
"Is this… affection? I am… not accustomed to such warmth."
He’s still learning how to interpret physical affection (MY SHAYLAA)
He doesn't really know how to return that much energy at first, he's used to being calm and composed so having an energetic s/o like this completely shatters that part of him.
He would be lying if he said he didn't like it.
The first time you bit him oh THAT MAN FLINCHED.
Not because it was painful but because never in centuries someone had done that to him EVER.
He's sooo touch starved but has no idea know how to initiate, so deep down he's very thankful that you're the one initiating it.
He would act like he doesn't like it at first. But secretely loves it!
He tried to bite you in return once, little did he know he created a kink.
Sometimes when you go under his radar and manage to "surprise" him, all six eyes blink slowly, staring down at you.
Processing your affection like it’s a puzzle before relaxing and sighing. (I promise he loves it tho)
*sees you approaching in his periphical vision*
"Don't."
"I haven't done anything yet!"
"You were going to."
"I wasn't...well okay please just one more bite-"
*he teleported somewhere far away from you*
𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀...
ABSOLUTELY LOVES IT.
Finally someone who matches his energy!
Whereas bites, squeals or hugs he loves them all!!
He would wrap his arms around you and spin you in response everytime, with both of you squealing like idiots.
It's like a never ending mix of fun and banter.
He exaggerates every reaction just to make you laugh.
You would kiss his cheek ? He would fake-die dramatically.
The first time you bit him he just paused like "...", before smiling creepily.
And right there you knew you were done for...(Run if you still can..)
You're both biting each other now and he clings to you any chance he gets.
And that shi hurts fr tho like have you seen those FANGS ??
But deep inside… that affection means everything. He never had love like this.
"You know you can't hide from me right ? No matter where you are I'll always find you ~ My bites don't even hurt that bad I promise I won't bite you this time! I just want to feel you close again." he coos, looking for you.
"There you are."
"DON'T-"
*bite*
𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐀...
He would FREEZE then relax.
His body just naturally tenses at any contact after being so conditioned to react quickly if any fights were to occur.
You would bite his cheek softly and giggle. And he doesn’t react. Not at first. Until he exhales and whispers, (more to himself) "You’re dangerous…"
Not because of your strength, but because of how easy it is for him to let his guard down around you.
Over time, he starts seeking it.
And he'll start living for it. He acts like he’s unfazed but he adores how affectionately feral you are.
Like you could literally lunch yourself at him and he would catch you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And if you ever stop being aggressively affectionate — if you go quiet one day, that’s when you’ll realize how much he craves it.
"Hey. Bite me or something. I’m starting to think you’re mad at me..."
𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎...
He literally glitches like Muzan but worse. Affection?? For him???
If you bite his hand or cheek teasingly, he stares like you just unlocked a secret part of him.
"Wh...what are you doin’? Stop that! …No wait… don’t ?"
He thinks you’re making fun of him at first.
But when you kiss his scars like they're the most beautiful piece of art or call him cute names, he just melts.
Understanding that what you're showing him is just pure energetic affection and not mocking in any way, just a new kind of affection he never had access to before.
He would look away and blush at every cheek kiss or bites, feigning annoyance, muttering under his breath as if he wasn't craving it.
At first, he wouldn't know how to say thank you or reciprocate this aggressive affection.
So he would let you do it again. And again. Until it feels safe.
He eventually starts biting you back, but gently of course he's quite aware of his fangs ( *cough* not like a certain cult president) and playfully. His excuse ?
"Well YOU started it..."
⋆˚✿˖° Hey there!!! Hope you guys liked this one as well it was funny making it thanks for the request once again! And as said in my previous post I'm trying to post as much as I can like in the following days and might take a small break after! I apologize again, the requests might, as you can see, not come in orders! Ignore any grammar mistakes or misspelling once again please lol 😭 I'm sorry I'm trying my best!! Sending lots of love, xoxo. ⋆˚✿˖°
just muzan with a nasty breeding kink because he needs a strong heir
muzan had you bent over the edge of the bed, his body a cage around you. his breath ghosted over your ear, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“this cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “made to take my seed and give me an heir.”
you could only whimper in response, feeling the thick, hard length of him nudging at your entrance. he was already slick with your arousal, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your folds.
“answer me, wife.”
“yes,” you gasped. “only for you.”
he thrusted in one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs. the squelch of your wetness welcoming him was obscenely loud in the quiet room. he didn’t give you a moment to adjust, his swollen balls slamming against your ass with a sharp smack each time he buried himself to the hilt.
“so deep,” he grunted, one hand tangling in your hair. “i can feel your pretty little cervix kissing the tip of my cock. you feel that? that’s where i need to plant my child. right in the deepest part of you.”
the wet squelching sounds filled the air along with your choked cries. he was was so deep, you could swear that you could feel him in your lungs. you were drwoning in a sharp, breathtaking pleasure that made you see stars.
“gonna fill this fertile womb,” he said as his pace becoming more frantic. “gonna pump you so full of my cum it’ll be dripping out of you for days. you’ll remember who owns this cunt with every step you take.”
with a final grunt, he thrusted into you and you felt the hot rush of his release flooding your swollen cunt. he held himself there, pulsing inside you, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.
when he finally pulled out, a gush of his cum followed, dripping down your thighs. he turned you onto your back and pushed your legs apart, his gaze fixed on your used and dripping cunt.
“look at that,” he said, tracing a finger through the mess of cum and arousal. he held your gaze as he pushed two fingers back inside you, stuffing the dripping seed back into your cunt.
“not a single drop wasted,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you with a unfamiliar tenderness. “until it takes. we’ll do this as many times as we need.”
Demon Slayer x injured!reader- Demons edition (angst!)
Akaza
The moment he sees you hurt, something in him snaps.
He doesn’t even think. The second he sees your blood, hears your gasp of pain, he’s already moving — fast, lethal, violent. If there’s an enemy nearby, they don’t even get the dignity of a death scream. They're gone before they realize what happened.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is low, trembling — not from fear, but from rage and guilt.
Akaza doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he sees you breathe. Everything else — the chaos, the blood, the fading adrenaline — fades out. You’re hurt. You’re in pain. That shouldn’t happen. That can’t happen.
He kneels beside you, scooping you up into his arms with practiced ease. Despite his monstrous strength, he treats you like glass. His hands tremble more than yours. His voice is soft. Like he's scared you’ll shatter if he speaks too loudly.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
He’s not sure if he’s saying it for you… or for himself.
Akaza has never been weak. But when he sees your blood and doesn’t know how to fix it — how to help — it terrifies him. For the first time in centuries, he’s not sure what to do. You’re human. You can die. That knowledge grips his heart like a fist.
He blames himself.
Even if he wasn’t nearby. Even if it wasn’t his fault. He should’ve been there. He tells himself that over and over. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve known.” And he’ll mean it — deeply, painfully. You’ll see it in his eyes.
He hates how fragile humans are… and loves you all the more for it.
Watching you hurt reminds him of just how breakable humans are. It should push him away — but it only makes him cling tighter. You, with your heartbeat, your warmth, your stubborn spirit — you are everything he can’t be anymore. And that terrifies him.
He becomes fiercely protective after the injury.
After you’re hurt, he changes. He walks beside you more often. Sleeps closer. Starts training you in self-defense, even if you’re already strong. He wants you to know how to fight back, how to survive — because he never wants to feel that helpless again.
He stays during your recovery. Every second.
He doesn’t leave your side. If you’re bedridden, he’ll sit at your bedside. If you're unconscious, he talks to you anyway. He’s there when you wake up. When you cry. When the pain spikes. He never complains. Not once.
Seeing you fight through pain, smile through exhaustion, whisper “I’m okay” even when you’re not — it undoes him. You are stronger than you realize. And Akaza sees you as the strongest person he knows.
He confesses things he never meant to say.
Late at night, when you’re resting and the pain meds are finally working, he holds your hand and whispers things he’s never said out loud.
“I can’t lose you.”
“You're the only thing that makes me feel human.”
“If something ever happened to you, I… I don't think I'd come back from that.”
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.
Thank you so much for reading and thank you @stawberypie for the request! 🩷
Hi! I was watching tangled the other day and I got an idea. Reader's mother was sick with the same illness that Muzan had and got ahold of blue spider lily which cured her. But reader ended up inheriting the same characteristics Rupunzel had but instead of blonde hair she had blue hair. Muzan finds out about this and makes a journey to find reader n end up falling in love n stuff. 🤭🤭🤭
You can expand on this idea if you'd like! I just thought it was kewl 😼
I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOU!!! I have taken ages to answer this, partly because I wanted to do it justice and partly because life slapped me across the face. I LOVE THIS IDEA SO SO SO SO MUCH!!! IT'S BEYOND GOOD!! AHH I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BRAIN!!!! Thank you for this brilliant request! (also Tangled happens to be one of my FAVORITE Disney movies so the fact you requested this made me squeal!!)
The Last Blue Lily | Muzan x Spiderlily fem!reader
warnings: NSFW, MDNI, manipulation, death, trauma, red-light district (is this some sort of troupe I have with Muzan???), obsession, stealing away (kind of consentual kidnapping?), cruel words (and not in the sexy way), blood, oral (fem!receiving), blood play, biting, virgin sex, raw sex, overstimulation, pussy/cock drunk, creampie, mirror sex, tummy bulge
wc: 7.4k
a/n: this was unbelievably fun to write and I would love to expand on it further in the future!! Sav you beautiful beautiful human <3
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.
But then…something that hasn’t happened to the King of Demons since he gained that title stills him. In the chest of what most would call a monster, beat a heart long forgotten. Last time he checked, demons don’t have beating hearts.
Muzan Kibutsuji had spent his life staring into the mouth of death. Every failing heartbeat, every ragged breath, every day spent wondering if his body would give out before he reached tomorrow—he had learned to live in contempt of his own flesh.
But then the new doctor came. A man not long in practice, unproven in the eyes of others, yet unrelenting in his search for a cure. And against all expectation, he had done it—he had given Muzan a chance to live. His medicines were unlike anything before, potent enough to hold death at bay. The cost, however, was agony. The treatments seared through Muzan’s veins, left his body frail and trembling, poisoned with side effects that made each day a trial.
Still, Muzan endured. Because Muzan had always endured.
The door slid open.
It wasn’t the doctor. It was you.
The daughter.
You moved into the room with the gentleness of a dream, carrying a tray of broth and medicine. When you knelt beside his bed, your hands trembled slightly as she dipped a cloth into water and pressed it against his fevered brow.
Muzan froze. Not from relief—he despised the idea of needing anyone. But from the pull of something primal.
Your face. Untouched by hardship. Your eyes. Innocent, unclouded. Your very presence—it was unbearable in its purity.
He stared, and for the first time, weakness did not fill him with rage. It filled him with hunger.
“You should drink,” you whispered, raising the cup toward his lips. “Father says you’ll be stronger soon.”
Stronger. He would be. He had to be.
His gaze tracked your every movement—the curve of your cheek, the pulse fluttering at your throat, the soft way your lips shaped each word. His body ached, but beneath the pain throbbed something deeper: a single, absolute truth.
You were his.
“Why are you here?” His voice was low, rough, carrying the weight of his claim.
You startled, but steadied yourself. “Because you need care. Not just medicine.”
Care. Such a small word. You didn’t understand what you had just bound yourself to. You thought you were offering comfort. You thought you were tending to a patient.
But Muzan’s thoughts twisted darker.
If you left, he would find you. If the world tried to take you from him, he would crush it. If death itself tried to reach for you, he would tear it apart with his bare hands.
Your kindness was not a gift—it was a chain. You had tied him to you without knowing, and Muzan had no intention of ever letting it loosen.
For the first time, death did not frighten him. What frightened him was the idea of you slipping away.
And so, as he lay in his sickbed, body failing and breath shallow, Muzan’s will hardened into something merciless.
Not to survive for survival’s sake. But to claim. To possess. To keep you, forever.
—-
Muzan felt the strength returning to his body. The fever that had burned through him for weeks had finally broken, and his limbs no longer shook with weakness. He could stand, could breathe deeply, could think clearly.
He found the doctor in his study, reviewing notes, and stepped forward with measured, deliberate movements. “Doctor,” Muzan said, his voice low but firm, “you did what no one else could. You saved me.”
The doctor looked up, nodding slowly, the weight of the past weeks evident in his eyes.
Muzan set a heavy purse on the table. Gold spilled across it, enough to secure the doctor’s future many times over. “Take this,” Muzan said. “It is repayment for your skill… and for your courage.”
Muzan’s gaze sharpened. “There is one more thing,” he said, almost reluctantly, though a fire burned beneath his words. “I have grown fond of your daughter. I want her as my wife.”
The doctor’s expression darkened immediately. “No,” he said firmly.
Muzan’s chest tightened, a flare of anger rising. “No?” he repeated, voice rough with frustration. “You risked everything to cure me. You knew what I am capable of, yet you deny me this?”
The doctor did not waver. “I took the risk of curing you so you would not harm any other doctors,” he said evenly. “I acted knowing exactly what kind of man you are. But my daughter—she is not yours.”
Muzan’s hands clenched. “I would never hurt her,” he growled, every word heavy with conviction. “She would be mine. I would not let anything—or anyone—stand in the way.”
The doctor remained calm, voice steady and unshaken. “I am sorry,” he said. “But I cannot give you my daughter. She will not be yours, no matter what you say or do.”
The heat of obsession coiled tighter within him, a dark promise forming in his mind.
You would be his.
———————
Weeks passed, and Muzan’s strength returned fully. But while he healed, his mind never left you. Every movement, every soft word, every careless laugh haunted him as surely as any fever had.
Then one day, the unthinkable happened.
A carriage accident, the town whispered. The doctor, her father, was gone—killed instantly. You were left alone in your home, the walls echoing with emptiness, the absence of your parents pressing down on you like a physical weight. Muzan, watching from the shadows, felt a cold satisfaction tighten in his chest.
He had sent his men. A simple command, precise and silent. He could not allow anyone to stand between him and what he desired.
He entered the house quietly, his presence filling the space, overwhelming yet composed. “You have no one left,” he said, his voice low, steady, almost soothing. “Let me take care of you. Let me be your husband. Your life should not be spent in fear or loneliness.”
Your gaze lifted to meet his, red-rimmed from grief, lips trembling. You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper, “Y-Yes…”
Muzan’s chest tightened with dark pleasure at your answer. A small, sharp smile curved his lips. “Good,” he murmured, his voice almost gentle but carrying an unmistakable edge. “You will be happy with me. I will care for you, protect you… and you will never be alone again.”
Even now, still human, he felt the surge of possessive obsession coil tighter around him.
—-
The night of your wedding had arrived, and you stood quietly in your chamber, the silk of your gown brushing your arms as you tried to steady your shaking hands. The candlelight flickered across the room, casting soft shadows that seemed to mirror the turmoil in your heart. Tonight… you thought, your stomach twisting with nerves. Tonight would be the night Muzan expected you to be his entirely.
A servant stepped closer, noticing the tremor in your hands. “My lady,” the woman said gently, taking your hands in her own, “do not worry. He will be good to you.”
Your gaze met the servant’s, hesitant. “I know,” you whispered, a soft, almost nervous smile on your lips. “I… I know.”
The servant nodded, her expression warm but knowing. “Look at him. See the way he gazes at you? As though you are something rare, something only he has found. He wants to protect you… to claim you as his own. That is not cruelty, my lady. That is care.”
Your smile softened, a faint glow of reassurance flickering in your chest. And yet, as you turned your gaze inward, a quiet unease lingered. You could not shake the feeling that the intensity in his eyes—the way he regarded you like a secret treasure—was overwhelming, consuming, something that both enthralled and frightened you.
Why did it make you feel so uneasy?
Your fingers twisted the edge of her gown, heart quickening. You wanted to believe the servant, wanted to trust Muzan’s care. But the thought of surrendering completely, of giving yourself wholly to him, pressed on your chest like a weight you could not lift.
———-
A soft knock echoed on the chamber door. Your heart jumped, Your hands clutching the folds of Your gown. “Come in,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
The door creaked open, and Muzan stepped inside. His presence immediately filled the room, commanding and overwhelming, every movement deliberate.
The servant, noticing him, bowed quickly and whispered, “Good night, my lady,” before retreating quietly, leaving you alone with your husband.
Muzan’s eyes immediately found yours. Without a word, his hands slid to your waist, pulling you gently yet firmly closer. You stiffened, a shiver running down your spine at the contact. His gaze darkened, intense and possessive.
“My beautiful wife,” he said, his voice low, smooth, carrying a weight that made your chest flutter. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?”
Your breath caught, and you instinctively tried to steady herself. “I… good evening, Muzan,” you murmured, voice trembling slightly.
He tilted his head, studying you with an almost hungry fascination. “You are mine now,” he whispered, tightening his hold just slightly, enough that you could feel the strength in his arms. “And tonight… you will see how devoted I am to you.”
You swallowed hard, a mix of anticipation and unease twisting in your chest. The warmth of his hands, the closeness of his body, and the intensity of his gaze pressed against you like a tangible force. You wanted to step back, yet something in his hold held you still, as if surrendering even a little was inevitable.
Muzan’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured, his hands resting possessively on your waist. “I will take care of you. You will be happy… with me.”
Your hands trembled slightly at your sides, caught between nervousness and the undeniable pull of Muzan’s presence.
Muzan leaned closer, his lips pressing to yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hands rested possessively on your waist, pulling you gently toward him as he guided you across the room. Each step was measured, deliberate, his dark gaze never leaving yours even as your lips stayed locked.
Your heart raced, nerves twisting in your stomach, but you found yourself moving with him, drawn by the intensity of his presence. The warmth of his body, the steady strength of his hands, and the insistence in his kiss left you breathless, caught between fear and a strange, compelling trust.
“Stay close to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low, commanding, yet tender. “I will take care of you tonight.”
You shivered, your hands instinctively rising to touch his shoulders, trying to steady herself while your pulse hammered in your chest. Every movement, every brush of his fingers against your waist, carried a possessive weight that made the air between you both almost unbearable.
Muzan’s lips finally parted slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “No one else matters. Only you, only me.”
Your breath caught, your eyes widening slightly. The intensity of his words, the darkness behind them, made your heart pound in fear as much as it did in anticipation. You nodded, but it was hesitant, a flicker of intimidation shadowing your features. You were painfully aware of the power in his gaze, the absolute certainty in his possession.
You laid back on the bed, the soft sheets cool against your skin. Vulnerability coursed through you—exposed not only in body but in heart—your nerves taut as you felt the weight of Muzan’s gaze on you. Every movement of his was deliberate, commanding, yet tempered with a possessive tenderness that made your pulse race.
He leaned closer, the heat of his presence enveloping you. His voice was low, almost a growl, carrying a weight that made you tremble. “You do not belong anywhere but here… with me,” he murmured, each word pressing against you like a dark promise.
Your chest heaved, caught between fear and the strange pull of his presence. You felt completely seen, completely claimed, and the intensity was overwhelming. Even in your vulnerability, a part of you wanted to trust him, to surrender to the certainty in his possessive attention.
Muzan lowered himself until he was hovering over her, his dark gaze drinking in every detail of you, unwavering and intense. “Every moment with me will make it impossible to forget how much you belong in my world,” he whispered, voice edged with obsession.
The night passed with you both together, your body pressed close to his, his presence both protective and consuming. For you, it was overwhelming—your heart and mind caught in a whirlwind of fear, awe, and the undeniable magnetism of his obsession. You slept fitfully, each movement of his, each quiet murmur, echoing in her mind, leaving you both reassured and unnervingly aware of how completely he dominated your world.
By dawn, you lay still, exhausted, and strangely comforted. Though the intensity had been overwhelming, you had survived the night, and you had felt the undeniable weight of his devotion, possessive and unwavering.
————
Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in a gentle glow. Muzan stirred, his dark eyes opening to find you still lying there, her chest rising and falling with quiet, even breaths.
He watched you for a long moment, a rare softness touching his features. Even in sleep, you seemed otherworldly—innocent and fragile, yet somehow luminous, as if the morning itself had chosen to rest upon you. An almost reverent thought passed through his mind: you looked like an angel, untouched by the darkness that clung to the world outside.
His hands itched to brush a strand of hair from your face, to trace the delicate curve of your shoulders, but he held himself back, savoring the quiet intimacy of simply watching you. The room was still, except for the faint sounds of your breathing, and Muzan felt the pull of an obsession tempered by awe.
You were his now, in every sense that mattered to him, and the sight of you, serene and vulnerable, only deepened the intensity of his fixation.
Muzan leaned back slightly, letting the moment linger, committing every detail of your face, every gentle curve and line, to memory. You were his treasure, fragile and radiant, and even in your sleep, she held him utterly captive.
The soft light of morning grew warmer, and slowly, your eyes fluttered open. Muzan’s gaze fell on you immediately, drinking in every detail as you stretched slightly, a quiet yawn escaping your lips. Your hair fell messily around your face, and you blinked up at him, still groggy, not fully aware of his presence. Muzan’s lips curved into a small, almost indulgent smile. You looked utterly adorable, delicate and unguarded, a living vision he wanted to protect and claim completely.
He leaned closer, dark eyes fixed on you as he lowered his head and pressed a slow, possessive kiss to your lips. The kiss was gentle, yet carried the weight of his desire and obsession, making your pulse quicken.
When he pulled back just slightly, his gaze never leaving yours, he murmured, “Your warmth is mine, and I will take it as I wish.”
The words made you shiver, a tight knot of fear and unease forming in your chest. The weight of his unwavering gaze pressed down on you, leaving you feeling exposed and small, entirely at his mercy.
Before you could even speak, Muzan leaned closer, his presence overwhelming, pressing against you in a way that left no room for hesitation. You felt the undeniable force of his intent, the way he claimed you completely in that moment, and all you could do was lie there, trembling under the intensity of him.
————-
That morning, steam rose gently from the bath as your servant helped you undress and step into the warm water. Your body still felt sore, your movements slower than usual.
As the servant poured water carefully over your shoulders, she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Does that hurt, my lady?” she asked softly, concern lacing her voice.
You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
The servant hesitated, then brushed back a strand of wet hair, revealing the faint trace of teeth and the dark bloom of hickeys along your neck and collarbone. “Here,” she whispered, almost apologetically.
Your eyes widened as you looked down at yourself, realizing your skin bore the unmistakable marks of the night before. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly lowered your gaze, your face burning with embarrassment.
“I… I didn’t realize they were there,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above the sound of water rippling around you. The words felt clumsy, your chest tightening as the memory of Muzan’s intensity flickered sharply in your mind.
The servant gave a small laugh, her tone playful rather than professional. “That’s alright, my lady. I only hope you enjoyed your wedding night.” She leaned a little closer, smirking at the sight of your flushed cheeks. “Oh, just look at you—our blushing young wife.”
Your face only grew hotter, your hands curling against the water as you tried to sink lower.
But the servant continued, voice light with teasing affection. “Well, he must certainly feel the masculine pride of having such a beautiful wife. And soon enough, you’ll make him even prouder—by giving him the most adorable children.”
Your breath caught, and you whispered almost to yourself, “Children…?” as though the word was strange on your tongue, something you had nearly forgotten existed.
The servant smiled knowingly and nodded. “Yes, my lady. Giving heirs is a woman’s greatest consolation in this life.” She poured another bowl of water over her shoulders, the warmth cascading down your skin.
Before you could respond, the servant’s grin turned teasing once more. “And by judging from Lord Muzan’s… enthusiasm,” she said lightly, “I daresay you will give him many.”
Your burned scarlet, your eyes widening as you quickly averted her gaze
