#muzan

[doumadono]

MUZAN & UPPER MOONS fucking you in public

characters featured: Muzan, Douma, Akaza, Kokushibo, Gyutaro Warnings: semi-public s*x, female reader, creampies, filth, language DEMON SLAYER MASTERLIST

𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐍 Muzan fucks you like you were created for no other purpose than to sate his pleasure - and he makes damn sure you never forget it. 

In the velvet-draped gallery of the theatre, his hand slips beneath your dress before the first act even begins. His fingers are cold and merciless, tugging your panties aside and sinking into your pussy without hesitation. The demon king finger-fucks you until you’re trembling. Pearly-white juices seep out of your pussy, making the cushion beneath you darken with dampness. Muzan’s lips brush the shell of your ear, voice silken and cruel all at once, “Stay quiet. Do you want them to hear what a whore you are for the world's wealthiest demon?”

By the next act, you’re already astride him, straddling his lap on the narrow seat. The hem of your dress is shoved high, bunched up against your stomach, leaving your white garters and stockings gleaming in the low light. You hardly have time to breathe before the hiss of fabric and the snap of a button announce the opening of his fly. Muzan doesn’t bother with tenderness - the rock-hard head of his cock nudges between your labia and pushes deep, splitting you apart by degrees until you’re full to the brim of his manhood demonhood.

“Pathetic,” he sneers, his hands bruising your hips as he begins to drive into you. The tempo is merciless from the beginning. It gets faster and harder though, until every thrust rips a strangled sound from your throat. The thick vein beneath his shaft drags over every sweet spot inside your needy cunt, each roll of his hips pulling you closer to breaking right here and right now, in his arms.

Below, the orchestra swells - violins rising, horns blooming in elegant unison - while Muzan clamps a hand over your mouth to silence your desperate gasps. His breath tickles the edge of your jaw, smooth as velvet and sharp as poison at the same time. “You hear that?” Kibutsuji whispers, “They believe this stupid spectacle to be the height of beauty. But I know better. The true performance is here. Your body breaking for the demon king while those mere humans sit beyond the curtain, enjoying what they call art.”

His nails dig into your waist as he lifts and drops you onto his cock, guiding you like a marionette. You shudder and arch into him despite yourself, trembling with every snap of his hips as your back rests against his chest.

Kibutsuji licks his fingers and puts them on your labia, spreading your lips and rubbing them up and down, occasionally spanking your clitoris.

Muzan only smiles, dark and joyless, watching you crumble as his cock splits you open again and again and again until he cums deep inside you, painting your velvety walls white with his seed. “That’s it,” he growls, his lips almost tender at the column of your neck as he keeps on fucking you deep, even after cumming inside you just a moment ago. “Break for me again, doll. You were made for nothing else.”

𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀 The temple is still full of his worshippers cleaning after the latest mass when Douma pulls you away, his pale fingers lacing with yours. This is just another one of his whims. 

His laughter sparkles through the altar chamber, sweet and crystalline, while he presses you to a marble pillar. His lips brush over the column of your throat, tongue flicking where your pulse jumps the fastest. “So sensitive already,” he croons, delight dripping from his voice. “How precious. You’re like a little bell, my lotus petal - one touch, and you ring just for me.” His smile is wide, but when his mouth claims yours, the kiss is unhurried, almost tender, his tongue stroking yours as though he wants to taste every breath you give him.

Moments later you’re completely naked and sprawled across the temple altar, legs parted for the Upper Two, your skin lit golden by the lanterns hanging at the ceiling. He kneels between your thighs, fumbling at his hakama with boyish impatience, cock already flushed and straining the material of his pants. “Ahh, look at this,” he sighs as he frees his cock and guides it into your slick, pinkish pussy. “All I needed was a glance, a kiss, and now I’m hard enough to burst. You must be a little succubus, hmmm? Sent here to ruin me.” His giggle bubbles up as his hips snap forward, burying him inside until your walls flutter around him. Your head rolls back and you gasp at the sensation.

The chants of his disciples echo from the next chamber like background music for his sin. 

Douma throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, sweet lotus! If only they knew what their god was really doing, what he has his hands full of.” His thumb strokes your cheek affectionately as he leans down to kiss you while he pounds his cock into you, rainbow eyes glittering with lust.

Your hands grasp his forearms tightly as your eyes meet his. Shallow gasps, quiet moans and his name escape your slightly parted lips, the signs of the overwhelming pleasure swallowing you whole.

He presses his palm over your mouth and nose when your moans grow louder, watching your lashes flutter with oxygen-starved desperation. “There, there, my doll,” Douma soothes, though his hips don’t slow. “Be good for me and I’ll let you breathe. Wrap those legs around me, yes, just like that, so my cock can kiss your cervix! Don’t you love me enough to risk dying on my cock?”

When you sob that you can’t take more, your pussy swollen and red from the hard sex, he only hums and proceeds to fuck you even harder. “See? You said you couldn’t take it anymore, but your pussy’s still sucking me in! Such a greedy doll you are, Y/N.”

The moment your cunt clamps down around Douma’s dick, fluttering tight in desperate climax, he spills instantly inside you, groaning in sheer bliss as your spasms milk his dick dry. Douma’s grin softens when he sees your face: mouth parted, eyes glazed, chest rising fast. “Ahhh, look at you. My lotus. My little masterpiece! You’re such a good girl! You’re making me so proud!” He pulls out with a wet squelch. Douma’s eyes glitter as he watches the mess of his seed leak from you, thick and white, slipping down your folds.

“My pretty doll looks even prettier glazed in white,” he coos as his fingers smear the mess over your clit, circling it slowly until you twitch. He licks his thumb and index finger clean and beams down at you. “Don’t wipe it away. I want my little lotus to wear me all day long.”

𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐀 Akaza has you pinned against the shrine gate, moonlight striking his tattooed skin like paint on a war god. The red torii creaks with every violent slam of his hips, your body bent against the wooden beam as he takes you without pause. His fists dig bruises into your waist, growls tearing through the silence of the moonlit garth.

“Don’t look away,” Upper Three snarls, yanking your head up by your hair, forcing your eyes to meet the blaze of his yellow irises. His thrusts are relentless, brutal, the gate rattling beneath his strength. “I said look at me. Watch the man who’s breaking you.”

Every snap of his narrow hips rips cries from your throat, but he devours them in a bruising kiss, teeth clashing, tongue claiming yours until you taste the sharp tang of copper where his canines split your lower lip. His hand drops to your throat, squeezing it - not enough to choke, just enough to remind you who owns you. “You’re strong,” he growls against your lips, his breath hot, “But not stronger than me. I’ll pound you into the earth until your body only remembers the shape of my cock carved in your pussy.”

His rhythm of his thrusts is savage, punishing. 

Then you both hear it - voices. The shuffle of sandals, low murmurs as worshippers finish their vigil. 

Akaza slows his pushes, hips dragging deep and slow instead of frantic. His lips peel back in a snarl, fangs flashing as he whispers, “Filthy weaklings. I’d love to smash their heads like fruit but you…” His thrusts slow down and he drags his dick out of your wetness until only his cockhead stays in your pussy, “... You keep me busy like no one else.”

The voices fade, footsteps carrying the humans away, leaving only the pounding of your heart and the sharp creak of the gate. Akaza picks up pace again, rutting into you like a dog in heat, his head rolling back until the moment his whole body tenses. He buries himself to the hilt, cock twitching as he spills hot inside you, forehead pressing to your nape, his voice breaking into a softer tone, “You’re my only weakness.”

𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐎 Your bedroom is dimly lit by the faint glow of the moon spilling through the curtains, the shadows stretching across your cozy bed. 

Kokushibo’s six eyes glint in the darkness as they drink in every detail of your trembling curves beneath him. Each thrust from behind makes your body shudder, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your cunt as he pins you to the mattress. “You are such a disgrace to your family,” he rasps, centuries of disdain curling around his words, “And yet absolutely exquisite in your shame.” His massive hand twists your wrists behind your back, lifting them slightly so your spine arches perfectly for his pleasure.

You gasp, knees trembling against the soft sheets, and Kokushibo chuckles low and dark, the brush of his teeth along your ear making you whine quietly. “Just like that. Scream for me, woman,” he utters, voice velvet and cruel, vibrating deep from within his muscular chest.

The demon chuckles suddenly, and your pulse quickens. “Your parents, in the next room, asleep, oblivious that their precious little girl lets a demon ruin her insides. Let them stay unaware, my little, pathetic piece of meat.”

You tremble, a heady mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your entire being - partly from the thrill of being so exposed to Kokushibo, and partly from the thought that someone from your relatives could walk in on you being fucked by a demon.

A flicker of courage rises in your chest, and you tilt your head back just enough to meet his gaze, voice trembling yet daring as you speak, “I… I’m not just a piece of meat, am I?” You bite your lower lip, breath hitching in the quiet room as you curl hands in fists, tugging onto your sheets. “Because your cock wouldn’t swell so fast inside me if I were.”

His free hand hovers over your hip, and you feel him throb inside you, twitching against your slick heat. Then he pounds harder, deliberate and punishing, every thrust sending shivers through your body as he pushes so deep inside your dripping pussy that he takes your breath away. A low, dark laugh rumbles from his throat, “Perhaps not,” he states. “I’ll give you that, mortal.”

You shiver beneath him, caught between fear and lust, wetness pooling thick and hot between your thighs, dripping down even as he fills you completely with his massive dick.

This is not the first time he has claimed you. For nearly a month, he has come to your bed night after night. The first time, fear coils in your chest - you were certain he would devour you as any demon would - but when you satisfied his primal, male needs, he spared your life. Since then, he has returned without fail, marking you, claiming you, and leaving you aching long after he vanishes, slipping away before the sun can catch him.

“Yes, take it all,” Kokushibo coos between brutal thrusts. “My little morsel, shivering and leaking for me. Only I get to claim you, ever.”

As his climax nears, he releases your wrists, letting your exhausted body slump against the sheets. Yet even then, he does not let go, large hand gripping your nape, pressing your head firmly toward the mattress as he bends you to his pleasure. When he finally comes, and when a low growl escapes his lips, sharp spanks mark your ass, each leaving a red handprint of Kokushibo’s palm. He watches with dark amusement as your flesh jiggles beneath every spank he delivers.

Slowly, he pulls out, flipping you onto your back and spreading your thighs to admire your reddened, slick pussy, still leaking his seed. “Do not think I am done with you yet,” he growls, voice low and possessive.

Before the fog of overstimulation swallows you whole, the last thing you feel is the tip of his massive cock pressing back into your ruined, quivering pussy once more, and you know that tonight he will claim you completely again and again and again, with the house and its residents oblivious to your debauchery.

𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 The alley reeks of blood and rot, lanterns flickering weakly against the damp stones. 

Gyutaro has you pinned against the brick wall, the shadows of the Red Light District shimmering above your heads, your dress shoved high above your hips, revealing the soft skin of your thighs, abdomen and pubis. His wiry body leans over yours, every jagged, vicious thrust tearing your pussy open, marking you as his. “Hahhh! Yeeaaaah,” he croaks, drool glinting at the corner of his mouth. “You dirty little thing, lettin’ me use you out here, where anyone could see. My perfect little whore.”

His nails dig into your waist and the back of your thighs. Every thrust drives you harder against the wall, his narrow hips forcing your legs to curl around him, splitting you wide and filling you so completely that you whimper helplessly.

“Say it,” he hisses, voice hoarse, “Say you love bein’ ruined by me.”

You tremble under him, heat pooling thick between your thighs, your pussy slick and aching. “Y-yes!”

He leans close, teeth brushing your shoulder, and a guttural, broken laugh rumbles from him, “That’s it. Such a good little pet for me,” he praises. “Mine, all fucking mine.”

Passersby laugh in the distance, and a group of drunk men finish their sake in the alley next door. You clamp your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle your desperate cries, but Gyutaro peels your hands away with a rough tug. “No, no, no. I wanna hear all of it,” he growls into your ear, “Every filthy, needy sound you make as my cock splits open that pathetic, whorish, little cunt of yours.”

As your pussy grows slicker, dripping and trembling with need, signaling that your climax is close, Gyutaro can’t hold back any longer. He slams his long cock deep into your cunny, pressing your body fully against the cold wall. His crooked hands find the décolletage of your dress and tear it roughly apart, freeing your breasts to spill into his grasp.

Without hesitation, his mouth wraps around one of your hardened nipples, teeth grazing lightly as his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teasing and torturing every nerve. His hips jerk violently against yours, each short, erratic thrust driving straight to the tip of your nerve endings, humping you with animalistic desperation.

Your cunt clamps around him violently, and he moans, letting his dead seed spill into you, thick and hot, filling you to the brim. His long hands cradle your body, holding you close. “You’re mine now,” he snarls, his cock swelling and pulsing inside of you, painting your inner walls with his semen again and again. “Yeah, just like that, my little pet, take it all.” He doesn’t pull out, letting it coat every inch of your walls, the damp coldness clinging to you.

“Ruined, just like me. That’s how I like you the most,” Gyutaro coos, stealing a kiss from your lips.

@pixelcafe-network

[that-damn-virgo]

Upper Moons × Seven Deadly Sins ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ inspired by ☆𖤓

[faintrustle]

I wasn't expecting this kind of KIBUTSUJI MUZAN:

[c0rvusx2]

╰┈➤ 𝑻𝑶𝑳𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬. ★

── .✦ Heian era!Muzan Kibutsuji x AFAB!Reader

⭑.ᐟ IN WHICH you, Muzan’s personal servant, invade his life—slowly inching your way into his heart. You should’ve stayed away…

⭑.ᐟ WARNINGS: 18+ 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏. MINORS DNI. NON-CON, pussy eating, cunnilingus, kissing, groping (?), mention of death of a family member, GORE (?), blood, death, somewhat slowburn, historical inaccuracies…

「 ✦ 𝑨𝑵: I had to research ALOT about the Heian period for this one. Lots of clothing inaccuracies honestly. Been thinking about something like this for a while lol ✦ 」

Hate wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how Muzan Kibutsuji felt about you. He despised you, and your presence. Though, he despised everyone in this accursed world.

“Kibutsuji-sama, I’ve brought you your lunch,” You opened the shoji doors to his room, lightly bowing.

“Leave, woman,” He hissed from where he laid on his mat, a deep scowl on his face. “I am not hungry.”

“If you do not eat, you’ll become more frail than you are now,” You were blunt, something most of the servants in the estate avoided being towards the young boy. You walked towards the him, setting down his tray and folding your legs underneath you.

“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

── .✦ C0RVUSX2

[dreaisgrayte]

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.  

[meeisemm]

Don't Leave Me - 2

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! 🩷

[baylleart]

Audio credits: TheKyleHighClub (on either insta or tiktok)

I realize I have been unknowingly influenced by a very messed up fnaf comic I used to read when I was 14 in my springtrap design.. (I hate this comic now, just found out about how messed it up was a couple months ago, but when I made this I didn't realize how similar my design was to the one in there)

The Villains I drew are: 1. Springtrap (FNAF) 2: Eggman (SONIC) 3: Muzan (KNY) 4: Flowey (undertale) 5: Megamind 6: Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls) 7: Discord (mlp) 8: King Candy (Wreck-it-Ralph)

[yanderslutt]

❝𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲.❞

– a mafia AU scene with Yandere!Muzan Kibutsuji

summary: You escaped the man who ruled the underground, child in arms and fire in your chest. But love like Muzan’s doesn’t die—it festers. It tracks. It waits. And when he finds you again… he doesn’t want an apology. He wants surrender.

cw's ; yandere themes, dubcon tones, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, smut, mild degradation, obsession, toxic relationship dynamics, captivity undertones, implied stalking, rough sex, aftercare absent, Muzan being unhinged as hell.

-

(oneshot!)

The grocery store was quiet. Too quiet.

Just the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the creak of her shopping cart as she pushed it down the cereal aisle. Her daughter was seated inside the cart, one chubby fist clinging to a box of animal crackers. Y/N smiled down at her—small, safe, sweet. She hadn’t smiled in weeks.

Maybe… maybe they were finally safe.

The new city. The burner phone. The apartment under a fake name. She’d been careful—god, so careful. Never using cards. Never staying too long. Her heart still raced at every knock on the door, but maybe… maybe she’d done it.

She reached for a box of formula.

And froze.

There was a white rose in the formula bin.

Fresh.

Perfect.

Cold dread slid down her spine as she turned—slowly, slowly—expecting a ghost.

But it wasn’t a ghost.

It was him.

Muzan Kibutsuji, in a black silk shirt and gloves, standing at the end of the aisle like a nightmare dressed in couture. Not a hair out of place. No expression on his face. Just a stare. A terrifying, beautiful, endless stare.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t need to.

Y/N’s chest caved inward. Her daughter gurgled softly in the cart, unaware.

"You look tired," Muzan said softly, stepping closer. His voice was velvet and steel. "Running must be exhausting.”

“Don’t,” she warned, backing up. “Don’t come near her.”

He paused, tilted his head.

“Oh?” He smiled faintly. “You think I came here for you?”

Y/N’s blood went cold.

“I came for her.” He looked into the child’s eyes, then back at Y/N. “But you… you’ll follow. You always do.”

She grabbed the cart handle tighter, trying to move—trying to think—but his voice pinned her like a blade.

“I gave you everything. My name. My protection. A child born of my blood. And you repay me by disappearing?” His eyes darkened. “Tell me, Y/N—do you truly believe you can outrun me? That there’s a single place on this planet where my reach won’t touch you?”

“I don’t belong to you.”

“You never did,” he said simply, stepping forward now, slow and merciless. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

He reached into his coat.

She flinched—

But it wasn’t a gun.

It was a pacifier.

Her daughter squealed with joy.

Y/N’s breath broke.

“Let’s go home,” Muzan murmured, sliding the pacifier into the toddler’s hand. “You’ve played house long enough.”

The silence inside the car was unbearable.

Smooth leather. Blacked-out windows. The faint scent of sandalwood and danger.

Y/N sat stiffly, her daughter asleep against her chest, her hand cradling the toddler’s head as if shielding her from the darkness seated only a few feet away.

Muzan.

Legs crossed, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes lazily tracking her like a lion watching its prey breathe for the last time. There was no driver. The car drove itself, custom-built like everything else he owned. Including her.

She finally spoke, voice shaking. “You planned this.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, unbothered. “You think I found you in a grocery store by chance?”

Her mouth went dry.

“I’ve been watching you since the day you left,” he continued softly. “Your new apartment? Cute. Your neighbor—the woman who watches your daughter while you work? She thinks I’m your brother.” He chuckled. “She even gave me your spare key.”

Y/N blinked, heart plummeting. He wasn’t lying. He never lied. That was the worst part—he didn’t have to.

“I don’t want your money,” she whispered. “Or your power. I just want peace.”

“You don’t get peace,” Muzan said, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. “You had my child. That makes you mine. You stole from me when you ran.”

“I didn’t steal—”

“You stole a life that belongs in my world,” he snapped, voice low but cracking with fury. “Do you know what that does to a man like me, Y/N? Knowing my daughter was eating store-brand formula while you hid in a one-bedroom walk-up with paper-thin walls?”

She flinched, but he wasn’t done.

“I offered you safety,” he continued, calmer now—eerily calm. “Luxury. A future where no one would dare even look at you the wrong way. And you threw it away.”

“I was suffocating.”

“You were adored.”

Silence.

He stared at her—gazed at her like he was trying to memorize every piece of her face again. “Do you know I kept your toothbrush? The one you left behind. I had it sealed. Preserved. It still smells like you.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly.

“Because you need to understand, Y/N…” he leaned closer, voice brushing her skin like silk. “You don’t run from me. You can’t. You never could. I let you go because I needed you to see what life without me would feel like.”

His eyes dropped to the sleeping child.

“But now that you’ve had your little rebellion, your tears, your cheap apartments and discount formula…” he smiled—deadly, cold. “Now we go home.”

“I’m not going back to that house,” she hissed. “I won’t let you control me again.”

He nodded slowly.

“Alright. Then I’ll build you a new one.”

She blinked.

“You want control?” he murmured, inching across the seat until he was right in front of her. “Then take it. Raise our daughter where you want. Sleep when you want. Call the shots. But know this—there is no version of this world where you exist… without me in it.”

He lifted a hand—slowly, giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t.

Fingers brushed her cheek, soft as breath.

“You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m done pretending you’re not."

-

Velvet drapes. Gold accents. Fresh orchids on the marble counters. The skyline spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows like a kingdom he owned—and in many ways, he did.

Y/N sat stiffly at the dining table, dressed in a silky black slip that had been laid out for her on the bed. Her daughter was asleep in the adjacent room—guards posted outside the door. Muzan had made it clear: she was safe. But she wasn’t.

Dinner was served by no one. It simply appeared—plated, exquisite, and steaming hot.

Muzan poured her wine.

She didn’t drink it.

He chuckled softly. “Still scared I’ll poison you?”

She glared.

He sat at the head of the table like a king with no opposition. Black-on-black suit. Gloves. Gold ring. Unbothered. He cut his steak with calculated grace.

"You’re quiet," he murmured.

She didn’t respond.

He smiled. “You always gave me the silent treatment when you were angry. But that was before I put a ring on your finger. Before you gave me a daughter. Now you don’t get to shut me out.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered. “You hunted me. Tracked me down. You don’t love me—you own me.”

He paused mid-bite. Set his knife down.

Then: “Do you really believe I don’t love you?”

She flinched.

“Every minute you were gone felt like a century,” he said, tone clipped with heat. “Do you know what it’s like to have everything and still feel empty? I could’ve filled this room with gold and it would’ve still felt hollow without the sound of your voice in it.”

“I left because I couldn’t breathe.”

“You left because you were afraid of how much you loved me.”

Y/N stood abruptly, the chair scraping.

“Don’t do that,” she warned. “Don’t twist it.”

“Twist?” He rose too. “I built a world for you. For her. You left because you thought I was dangerous—but I never laid a hand on you. I protected you. Worshipped you.”

“You controlled me!”

Silence.

And then—she grabbed her wine glass and hurled it.

It shattered against the wall beside his head, crimson streaking the white wallpaper like blood.

Her chest heaved.

Muzan didn’t move.

Not even a blink.

Instead… he smiled.

Dark. Slow. Unholy.

Then he whispered: “Good.”

He stepped forward.

“I like when you fight.”

She stepped back.

But he didn’t stop.

“You think I want a doll? Some obedient thing that bows when I speak?” He reached her. Caged her in between the table and his frame. “No, Y/N. I want you. The woman who screams. The woman who throws things. The woman who tried to run with my blood in her body and thought I wouldn’t chase her.”

His gloved hand reached up—brushed her jaw.

Her breath hitched.

“You still love me,” he said, voice low. “You hate that you do. But your body remembers. Your heart remembers.”

She trembled.

He leaned in—his breath brushing her lips. Not kissing. Just there.

“You can pretend you’re free. But even now, look where you are.”

Her eyes filled.

He tilted his head.

“I missed this. The fury in your eyes. The way your hands shake when you want to slap me but don’t. You’re still mine, Y/N. Even in anger.”

And then—he backed away.

Just like that.

Leaving her breathless. Teetering on the edge of a thousand repressed feelings.

He poured himself another glass of wine, casual. Unbothered.

"Eat something," he said, without looking. "You need your strength."

-

The air conditioner hummed softly in the bedroom, but Y/N couldn’t sleep.

Her daughter lay curled beside her, tiny fingers fisted in the blanket. Peaceful. Dreaming.

Y/N’s eyes, however, remained open. Her body still hummed with tension—rage, confusion, and… something worse. Something warm. Something traitorous.

Her feet touched the carpet.

She stepped into the living room in silence, heart still hammering from earlier—dinner, glass, his words. His hands.

And then she saw him.

Muzan.

Out on the balcony.

Shirtless. Smoking.

The moon spilled across his pale skin, sculpting every inch of his back into the body of a god. He leaned against the railing like he was made for it, like the entire skyline bowed to him.

She hated how beautiful he looked like that.

She hated that her body still remembered.

“You can come out,” he said, without turning. “I know you’re there.”

Her hands clenched at her sides, but she stepped out anyway, barefoot on cold marble.

He didn’t look at her. Just took another slow drag of his cigarette. Exhaled toward the stars.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said.

“I can’t sleep when I feel like a prisoner.”

He smirked.

“You’re not a prisoner, Y/N. You’re my wife.”

“You’re insane.”

“That’s not a denial.”

She glared, crossing her arms. “Why are you out here?”

“I needed to cool off. You got under my skin tonight.” He turned now—slowly—and the sight of him made her stomach flip.

His body was lean, powerful, tattooed across his ribs with crimson ink: a thorny sigil she'd never asked about. His eyes glowed faintly under the moonlight—wolfish. Waiting.

“You fight so beautifully,” he murmured, stepping toward her. “But even now, you came out here. You could’ve stayed in bed.”

“I came to tell you to stop.”

“Liar.”

He was in front of her now. Close. His heat swallowed her.

“I know that look,” Muzan whispered. “That trembling in your fingers. That little shiver in your spine. You’re not scared of me, Y/N. You’re scared of what you want.”

She shook her head, but he caught her chin.

“Still lying,” he said, voice velvet. “Let me help you remember.”

And then—he kissed her.

Slow.

Burning.

One hand on her cheek, the other splayed low on her back, pulling her into his bare chest. She gasped into his mouth, fists curling in protest—until they didn’t.

Until her nails dug into his shoulders.

Until her body remembered too much.

He deepened the kiss with a growl, mouth rougher now, tongue sliding against hers with greedy reverence.

“I hate you,” she whispered, breaking the kiss with a pant.

“Then show me,” he whispered back, dragging his lips down her neck.

She slapped him. Hard.

He blinked… then smiled like the sick man he was.

“Again,” he rasped. “Let it out.”

But instead—she yanked him back into her mouth, this time biting his lip, kissing him like it was the last thing she’d ever do.

He grunted, hands now gripping her hips, dragging her flush against his body. She could feel everything. Every hard, dangerous inch of him pressing into her, aching with restraint.

“Say it,” he hissed against her mouth.

“No.”

“Say you missed me.”

She bit his shoulder. “Never.”

He spun her—pinned her against the glass of the balcony.

The city glowed beneath her. Her reflection stared back at her in the window—hair messy, lips bruised, breath fogging the glass.

Muzan was behind her, panting against her ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice shaking now. “I fucking dare you.”

She didn’t.

Instead—she pressed her hips back against him.

He groaned like he was breaking apart.

“I hate you,” she whispered again.

And he smiled.

“Then hate me louder.”

Her palms pressed against the glass, breath fogging the cold surface. Muzan's bare chest burned against her back, the heat of him unbearable. Possessive hands skimmed under the hem of her silk slip, tracing the line of her thighs with the reverence of a god rediscovering his temple.

"You want to be punished for leaving, don’t you?" he whispered, voice low and lethal against her ear. “All that running… you knew I’d catch you. Did the chase make you wet, sweetheart?”

She didn’t answer, but the tremble in her body did.

He smiled.

With a sharp tug, the delicate strap of her slip fell down her shoulder. Then the other. He peeled it off like a gift he’d been waiting to unwrap—slowly, deliberately, letting the silk pool at her feet. She stood bare before the city, heart thundering in her ears, completely exposed in the hands of the man she hated. The man who knew her better than anyone else.

“You’re shaking,” Muzan murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But not from fear. No… this is something else.”

He dragged his gloved hand down the curve of her spine, fingers trailing fire. When he reached the dip of her hips, he cupped her from behind—pressing into her warmth, palm molding to her heat like he was claiming it. Like he was reminding her whose it was.

“Still mine,” he breathed. “Even after all this time.”

She bit her lip, refusing to cry out, but he was relentless.

With one arm, he wrapped around her waist, dragging her hips back to meet his—her body arching, spine curving perfectly into his chest. His other hand slid between her thighs, gloved fingers moving with practiced control, spreading her open with obscene intimacy.

“You feel that?” he growled, grinding his hard length against her backside. “This is what you ran from? You thought you could live without this? Without me?”

His fingers teased her entrance—just enough to make her gasp, just enough to deny her the release she was already begging for with every twitch of her thighs.

“I should bend you over right here,” he whispered, pressing her harder against the glass. “Make the whole fucking city watch you fall apart for me. Let them see how quickly the woman who ran from the devil comes crawling back for his cock.”

She whimpered.

That was all it took.

He spun her around.

Now her back hit the glass. Her chest rose and fell in shallow waves, nipples hard from the cold and from him. His eyes—dark, ruby, carnivorous—devoured every inch of her.

"Bedroom," she gasped.

He shook his head slowly, predator-like.

"You don’t make demands," he said silkily. "Not anymore."

And yet… he scooped her up.

Effortlessly. Like a feather in a storm.

He carried her through the suite, never breaking eye contact, his mouth devouring hers in deep, punishing kisses. By the time her back hit the mattress, she was already dripping.

He hovered over her, stripping his gloves off finger by finger. Tossing them to the floor. Then unbuckled his pants with glacial patience.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said darkly.

She did.

God help her, she did.

Muzan’s body was cut from marble, pale and divine, the ink on his ribs twisting like thorns down his hip. And then—his cock, long and thick, stood hard and heavy between them, tip flushed and leaking.

“You miss this?” he asked, stroking himself once, slowly. “Did your fingers even come close?”

She hated him.

But she couldn’t look away.

He lined himself up—slid the tip through her folds, teasing, rubbing against her entrance without entering. Her hips arched. He held them down.

“You want me?” he asked, voice molten.

She nodded.

He slapped her inner thigh. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I want you.”

“Then take me.”

And he thrust in—hard.

She cried out, back arching, nails clawing at the sheets. He sank in deep, thick, stretching her open in a way no one else ever had. His hips stilled, letting her feel every inch. Then—

He started to move.

Slow. Powerful. Every stroke precise and punishing. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her onto him over and over, like he was trying to brand her from the inside out.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you ran from. That’s what you’ll never escape.”

She moaned his name—broken and breathless.

And that was all it took.

He snapped.

Muzan’s rhythm grew brutal—grinding deep, slamming into her over and over. Her body bounced under his, thighs shaking, mouth falling open. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Just the sound of skin on skin, the slap of his hips, his grunts, her cries.

“I should never forgive you,” he hissed, slamming in. “But I will. Because this—this—is where you belong.”

Her body clenched around him, spiraling toward release. He felt it—laughed darkly.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Do it now. Let this city hear who you belong to.”

And she did.

Hard. Shaking. Legs locking around him as her orgasm tore through her like a scream she couldn’t swallow.

Muzan followed with a deep, feral groan—slamming into her one last time as he spilled inside, claiming her all over again.

They lay there—panting. Covered in sweat and sin.

His lips brushed her temple.

And then, softly:

“Next time you run, Y/N... pack lighter. I’ll always find you.”

-

idk if i should turn this into a series.. but here is a oneshot winkkk wonkkk

BOOMMBYAHHH