Muzan X Reader - Blog Posts

•No es una buena persona, pero eso seguro ya lo sabes.

•¿Por qué insistes en quedarte?

•Es egoísta y no piensa en ti. Eres la única interesada en la relación, si es que así se le puede llamar a lo que tienen.

•Te considera una molestia, pero se ofenderá si te alejas de él.

•Tendrá grandes expectativas sobre ti, eres su "pareja" y tienes que estar a su altura.

•No esperes muestras de afecto, él no puede ofrecerte algo que nunca recibió.

•No te atrevas a cuestionarlo, sus palabras y opiniones son ley.

•Relación tóxica en su máxima expresión.

•Honestamente, ¿Por qué te gusta? ¿Por qué él?

• Light Yagami, Muzan Kibutsuji, Zeke Jaeger, William Afton...

Dealing With A Marechi S/O On Her Period.

Main Masterlist

KNY Masterlist

Muzan Kibutsuji, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Blood, smut, sexual themes, oral sex; female receiving, oral sex during period, face sitting, mentions about fingering, drinking blood, eating human flesh.

Summary: Headcanons on the upper three and Muzan helping a marechi s/o through her period while keeping their stomachs full.

W/C: 2.5k+

In the time you’d been together, he had yet to smell your blood, it was hard enough to be placed in the situation when he always made sure you weren’t injured whenever he was around, and as such a high-ranking demon, he lacked the privilege to spend as much time with you as wanted, so the timings hadn’t lined properly for him to be present during your period either, but when they finally did without you being aware of your unique type of blood, to say the least, neither of you were ready.

Muzan Kibutsuji

Takes full advantage of the situation.

Has to take a step back to steady himself the first time he smells you.

Is initially worried you’re injured at first.

Plays his cards right and shows initial concern despite your body doing a normal biological function.

Is more physically affectionate to get you to lower your guard even more.

Gets you to admit out loud that you’re in physical pain.

Suggests helping you ease the pain.

Had never buried his face between your legs before.

Was actually kind of sexist about it and would’ve felt inferior if he placed your legs on either side of his head, because why would the demon king do that?

Still tried to refuse but smelling your marechi blood didn’t help.

Having a monthly supply of marechi blood sounded tempting enough.

So he suggests easing your pain.

Surprises you by finally spreading your legs after laying between them.

Keeps you around him for the entirety of the week.

Takes you wherever he needs to go to keep you close.

But never near any demons.

If necessary, he has Kokushibo watch over you.

Doesn’t necessarily refuse to not have you in his presence.

But refuses to leave you alone and unguarded for other demons to try and eat you.

Knows that Kokushibo won’t even consider so much as laying a finger at you.

Still refuses to get on his knees for you.

You always have to lay down for him.

Forbids you from wearing anything under your kimono to have easier access.

Instantly smells whenever your blood’s about to stain the expensive fabric of your kimono.

Licks you clean every time he smells you starting to bleed.

Which is multiple times throughout the day.

As soon as you express being relieved from the pain, he uses it as an excuse.

Prefers you thinking he genuinely and solely wants to care for his favorite human rather than admitting that he needs to feed like any living creature.

Because he refuses to so much as get on his knees for you, he obviously even more so refuses to have you sit on his face.

Not even hover.

If you ever suggest it, he’ll give you the meanest side eye and refuse to speak to you for days.

Still will not eat you out outside of your period.

The moans entering Muzan’s ears easily sounded different than usual, similar to the first time he had you take his heavy cock in your lower area, where he was currently lapping at you for the first time with half lidded eyes in a relaxed expression while laying on his stomach for you, hands on either of your thighs which obediently remained spread open for him with ease due to how the rest of your body had fallen limp upon the first lick.

He had his doubts at first, but he had to admit, it’s awfully convenient to have a marechi lover who was so willing to hike up the expensive kimono and spread open the legs beneath it to allow him to feed rather than having to go through the trouble of going out of his way for people to eat. A louder moan fills the room as he dips his tongue inside your sensitive opening after having licked clean your labia.

A shaky hand reaches for his hair in attempt to pull him closer only to be pushed away rather gently by the man at your thighs. Normally, he would’ve slapped away the hand because despite actually bearing affection for you, how dare you try to command him in any way, however, he supposes the meal you’re offering him is enough for him to turn a blind eye to your insolence… once.

Kokushibo

Very concerned for your health when he finds out.

Initially thinks you’re injured upon smelling your blood for the first time.

Takes a second (one too long in his opinion) to regain his composure after the scent of your blood makes him feel dizzy.

The opposite of Muzan.

Has eaten you out before.

And doesn’t mind doing it.

Genuinely suggests relieving your pain for your benefit.

Takes great pride in taking care of you.

Hardly even thinks of you as a source of food with how much he prioritizes easing your pain.

But does acknowledge that you’re keeping him well fed.

Another one that keeps you with him every time you’re on your period (they all do).

Doesn’t think much about if he likes or not getting on his knees for you.

But knows your height differences would make it a bit uncomfortable.

And prefers you lay down for your own comfort.

Will also eat you out whenever he smells blood on the way.

Enjoys doing so but does it mainly for your safety as to not attract any demons.

Doesn’t just drink your blood but also plays with your clit to actively give you orgasms to counter your cramps.

Gently rubs your lower stomach to further help with your cramps.

Or grazes it very lightly with his fingertips to give you goosebumps if he’s in a teasing mood.

Slows the pace after each orgasm as to not overstimulate you before picking it up again.

Overall treats you like a porcelain doll.

Would give you a break if you asked.

Even if you’re still bleeding

So long as you’re always close to him so he can keep you safe.

Soft gentle tugs to your clit force heavy breaths out through your nose, the occasional pinch making you clench around the soft pink tongue moving along your insides with your back tensing and arching off the futon briefly before a hand gently pushes down your stomach to press you back against the fabric beneath you in attempt to get you to relax, the tongue carefully moving back and forth as to not overwhelm your sensitive insides.

His eyes peek open when he feels your legs starting to tremble on either side of his face, the hand over your lower stomach carefully rubbing over the skin doing little to soothe you, his first pair of eyes looking at you due to your different than usual movements, unable to read any expression from your head being thrown back. “Are you alri-” He’s interrupted by your body falling limp against him and the unmistakable noise of you hitting your orgasm.

He’s quick to react and have his fingers gently rub at your clit, slowly licking over your leaking opening, his reasoning settling on your different reactions being from your current sensitive state. His eyes fall back shut again without his own hands failing to continue their ministrations, set on taking care of you and making sure you’re carefully brought back down from your own high as to not overstimulate you while you let him eat his fill.

Douma

Doesn’t even occur to him that you might be injured.

Knows that he would’ve been notified if you’d been injured.

Also takes full advantage of the situation.

Absolutely delighted to find out you’re a marechi.

He’s been surrounded by plenty women before and has eaten enough to know what a period is obviously.

As well as eaten marechi women before.

But has never stumbled upon a marechi woman on her period.

Is baffled that it never occurred to him to keep a marechi woman by his side for a monthly supply.

Immediately asks to feed off of you rather than asking to help with your cramps.

Used to have you on him 97% of times, now it’s 100%.

Eats you out wherever, whenever and however.

Very vocal about it.

Constant praises on your taste.

Gets actually hungry while tasting you.

But remembers that you’re a fragile human who he genuinely enjoys having around and therefore would rather not hurt you.

So he treats you as an appetizer instead.

And proceeds to eat one of the other women around after you’ve stopped bleeding.

Keeps you on him under every circumstance.

Even if Muzan calls him over.

Promises to do as Muzan says and be on his best behavior which he actually fulfills much to Muzan’s surprise.

If you were to actually be apart from him, he would ask in all seriousness for you to save your blood for him for later in a jar.

Another one who would forbid you from wearing anything under your kimono.

Probably forbids you from doing so even when you aren’t on your period.

Doesn’t even warn you when he smells you starting to bleed and immediately goes under your kimono.

If there’s anyone nearby when you start bleeding, immediately orders them to leave.

For your sake.

If it were up to him, he’d bury his face between your legs right then and there.

Messy eater.

Will definitely take you on his beanbag.

Will treat your period (as well as your fucking sessions) like some type of bingo or a list that needs to have locations where he’s taken you crossed off.

You feel yourself sink further into the large pillow beneath you with your legs kept hiked to your chest, loud continuous moans coming from the blonde between said legs, the incessant noises coming from him having won long ago against your own. A slight shift of your body moves your untied kimono further open with it finally slipping off your breasts and exposing your nipples to the cold air, the elegant fabric bunching around your torso between the folds of the pillow.

“Ohh, you taste just heavenly my darling.” Douma smiles after lifting his head from your bloodied messy folds, letting you take in the sight of his chin drenched in your blood, fluids starting to trickle down to his neck followed by his tongue swiping across it. “Now sit pretty for me and let me eat…” He coaxes in a low tone while slowly lowering himself, continuing to delve his tongue into your opening.

While a knot started to form in the pit of your stomach, the hollow filling in the pit of Douma’s own stomach started to grow, tempting him with having more than just a taste of your blood, but he couldn’t, he’d never forgive himself. He shuts down his thoughts and instead licks you with more vigor, his mind wandering to other women who he’d much rather eat before you, maybe the one who’d been just slightly less polite than usual when attending you, maybe she’d be able to satiate his hunger for a while.

Akaza

Is terrified when he smells your blood for the first time.

Especially when he notices what type of blood it is.

Immediately assumes the worst.

Thanks whatever higher power there is when he sees you’re fine.

Gets headaches from trying to keep himself in control.

And still refuses to leave you alone.

Absolutely would never under any circumstances let Douma get remotely near you regardless of whatever situation you’re in.

Would never suggest eating you out to relieve the pain because he doesn’t want you to think he’s using you for food

But wouldn’t blatantly tell you no if you asked.

Would need a lot of convincing to say yes.

Would be really worried because what if he accidentally hurts you.

Is also worried that what if he genuinely gets hungry while trying to make you feel better.

Would be very hesitant due to his rule against eating women.

But tries to convince himself it’s alright because he’s not actually eating you.

Because he secretly is very curious and tempted to try it out.

Finally says yes when your cramps get unbearable.

Absolutely loses it upon his first taste.

Would already eat you out regularly for his own pleasure.

But would do it with dignity composure.

Now gets overly pussy drunk.

Doesn’t stop even after you’re clean.

Just continues while waiting for the next wave of blood.

Eats you out like a starved animal when you’re on your period.

Another messy eater.

Doesn’t leave your side for your safety.

And your mutual pleasure.

Would enjoy you sitting on his face.

But fails to notice how he refuses to let you leave your seat once you’ve sat.

Despite eating you out mostly for his own pleasure, doesn’t forget yours and uses his fingers to give you as many orgasms as he can as a thanks for keeping him fed.

Has no shame in licking his fingers clean in front of you.

Makes sure to still give you plenty of head regularly after your period so you don’t feel like he just sees you as food.

Would wonder in the back of his head if your blood alone can make him strong enough to surpass the other upper ranks.

Would be damned if Douma found out what he’s doing.

“Are you su-” “Yes.” Akaza’s quick to respond, trying to hold himself back from yanking you down, instead, gently guiding you lower to take a seat on his face. It’d been a few cycles since he finally started eating you out during your period and in that time, he’d grown addicted, though that would be an understatement. And though he still much enjoyed spending his days face buried between your legs even outside your cycle, during was something far preferable.

In the last few times he’d helped you through your difficult time of the month, he started feeling as though it wasn’t enough, no, rather he wanted more, and so he suggested something new, something you’d never know if he’d thought about himself, seen somewhere or heard of. Once you feel your lower area come into contact with him a sigh escapes you with his tongue starting to move along you, pressing over your clit, licking between your folds, circling your opening and licking clean every crevice.

He continues to suffocate himself in the intoxicating smell of your blood and decides it still isn’t enough, not with you hovering. A yelp leaves your mouth at the sudden yank of your legs being pulled upward folded against each other by a pair of strong hands with you falling completely sat on Akaza’s face, a muffled moan heard from under you pulling your gaze toward him, taking in the expression of his eyes rolled to the back of his head while his tongue invaded your insides, refusing to stop tasting you.

Pairing: Muzan x f!reader.

Content: Part 2of 2. Approx 15.5k words. NSFW. Oral sex (reader receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, animal death, character death. Canon-typical violence and themes. Canon-divergence. Read Part 1 here

In Another Life- Part 2

Chapter 7

There was no world for Muzan beyond your tender flesh. The caress of your lips, your fingers in his hair, your body against his. Warm and oh, so fragile. His hand brushed slowly down your back, following the ridges and curves of your spine, all-too aware that he could snap it in two before your next heartbeat. 

And a voice in the back of his mind told him he should. 

How little it would take to be rid of you. But then, he was certain he never truly would be. No, not after tasting your lips, not after hearing your sigh of pleasure, or the way your breath caught beside his ear when his kisses trailed down your jaw to the delicate skin of your throat. 

He was ruined, and you, vexing creature, were the source of it all. 

What was going through your mind, he wondered. Were you in crisis as he was, wondering whether you should put a stop to it. It was improper. If the pair of you were discovered, you might assume your reputation was destroyed. And yet, you didn’t seem to care. Your hands grasped him with just as much fervor as he allowed himself to exert upon you, your fingers at the back of his head, not just running through his hair, but holding his mouth to your neck, encouraging him to continue. 

Demanding. 

That was it, you were so very demanding. And Muzan was only too pleased to obey your unspoken commands. He kissed where you wordlessly instructed him to, his tongue following the throbbing path of your veins, every caress of his lips an act of pure worship. 

A war raged on inside him; the desire to please you, pitted against the instinctive urge to tear you asunder for your audacity. What power did you believe you had over him? And why did he yield to it as though you were the demon and he the mortal? 

It was wrong. It was against the order of things, and yet, he could not stop it. He let you take his hand, guiding it to your thigh, the fabric of your yukata slipping away so easily to reveal your bare flesh to him. 

“Are you certain?” he heard himself asking, his voice like that of a pitiful mortal man. 

“No,” you replied with a slight chuckle. His kisses had rendered you breathless, your face flushed with arousal. It excited him beyond measure. “And yes, Tsukihiko, I am.”

That accursed name. He wished beyond anything he had simply given you his true name the moment he met you. How he longed to hear you gasp it as his fingers slipped beneath the damp layer of your underwear. Slick and swollen with arousal, so responsive to his caress. Hands capable of tearing flesh from bone stroked your core with such gentleness he hardly recognized them as his own. 

And fuck, the sound you made at his touch; relief and pleasure carried on a broken breath, your lips hovering agonizingly close, then suddenly frantic against his as you pulled him back to you. This dance. He knew the steps so well. So many days he had been too weak to please you with his cock or his tongue, so his fingers had had to suffice. But gods, you never seemed to care. He knew your body like he knew his own, knew the pressure you liked, the pace. He knew exactly the curse you would mutter against his ear when he pressed two fingers inside you, and found himself smiling when his hypothesis proved right. 

He knew you.

And he was helpless. In a thousand years, he had not felt anything akin to the rush of blood pooling at his core, he had not uttered a single sound as desperate as the whine which escaped him when you pulled your lips from his just for a moment to draw air. How pitifully mortal you rendered him. 

How beautifully you destroyed him.

“Tsukihiko, I’m…”

That name again. If he could pull it from the air he would tear it to shreds and burn it so that he would never hear you utter it again. “Hm?”

“Don’t stop…”

He couldn’t. No matter how his pride snarled at him for following orders, he couldn’t stop if he tried. The demon king bowed to your command, his thumb devoutly stroking your clit, feeling your cunt clench around his fingers as you chased your high. And he needed it. Needed you.

“Yes…” he gasped, as though your pleasure was his, as though there was nothing in the world that could satisfy him more than your ecstasy. Not a means to walk in the sun, not blood or flesh, not an end to those who opposed him. You. Your bliss. Your breath. Your lips. “Come. Please…”

You came undone at that, fingers gripping the flesh of his forearm, cries muffled against his lips. On and on, you tensed and quivered and cursed beneath your breath.

Oh, how he adored the way you fell apart, so familiar, so utterly beautiful. “Perfect. I’ve longed for you. Longed to… to hold you…” The words spilled from his lips before he had a chance to consider how they sounded. Surely you would think he had lost his mind.

But you simply smiled, pressing your forehead against his chin as you fought to regain your composure and rein in your breaths. “Hold me for as long as you like.”

He couldn’t though. Not the way he wanted to at that moment, because you simply didn’t have an eternity to be held at your disposal. 

It was near dawn when he returned to the Infinity Fortress, his heart thundering in his ears, a pressure at his temples making him feel as though his head would explode. His lips tingled from the intensity of your kisses, his skin shivered as it lamented the loss of your touch. It was absurd, infuriating, maddening, enraging. 

His fingers flexed in the empty air, longing to feel you beneath them once more; your heat, your delicate mortality, you. 

As he stalked through the ever-shifting hallways, the castle molded to his needs and led him to the room which held the accursed vase he had put back together so long ago. He had to end it, forget you, destroy the memories and you along with them. 

“Foolish,” he spat, gripping it by the rim and preparing to hurl it into the abyss opening up in the center of the floor for just such a purpose. 

And there he stood, motionless, holding the vase you had fawned over on the day of your wedding a thousand years ago. Layered in silks of purest white, as though the rays of the sun had fallen for your beauty and draped themselves elegantly over your frame. 

He hadn’t known you then. He didn’t particularly want to.  In fact, he hadn’t wanted to take a wife at all. He was nothing but a sulking boy with a sickly body exhausted simply from the act of dressing formally and complaining all the while. Oh, how he had glared as you spent far too long thanking people for their gifts, mooning over that damnable vase like it was something fit for an empress. 

He’d wanted to smash it then and there, but doing so, he told himself, would ensure the marriage was irrevocably doomed. And how right he had been. The day he finally broke it was the day he took your life. 

Muzan scowled. 

Her life. 

He could not believe what his foolish heart told him. He could not believe the yearning cries of a soul which did not even exist. She was dead. You, for the time being, lived, and for the meantime, he could allow himself the indulgence of pleasure at least. He would permit himself to use you. 

Drawing a slow breath, he set the vase down back on its stand and stepped away from it. “Yes. That’s all it is. It means nothing and it is mine to take. That’s all there is to it.”

But even as he spoke he knew it was a lie. 

In truth, he felt the thread between you wound oh so tightly around his heart. And he knew there were only two choices before him: admit his true nature, or pretend to be Tsukihiko forever. Because he could not, would not give you up.

And neither one of the choices were possible. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

Tsukihiko came to you the next night, and the next night, and the next. Each night began with conversation and ended with kisses and pleasure; his fingers skillfully coaxing your climax while he kissed you as though you were the love of his life. 

He was pleasant to be around, gentle, polite, and so devoted to your pleasure. One night as you kissed, your hand wandered down to his groin, pressing against the bulge tenting the loose fabric of his hakama. 

Gods, the sudden hitch of his breath, the way he twitched as though he hadn’t been touched in forever, the choked back groan deep in his throat. He was addictive. And with Douma still missing and your pursuit of the demon king making no progress, there was nothing to do but indulge in your newfound vice. 

“I swear, I could taste nothing but your lips for an eternity and never crave another thing,” he whispered one night, weeks after the first as you lay together on your bed, limbs tangled, barely a hairsbreadth between your lips. 

You stroked back the silken waves of his hair, gazing into his eyes. What a curious hue they were, but their color was the least interesting thing about them. It was their softness, the reverence written across his face, a picture of adoration and awe. You couldn’t help but kiss him; first between those pretty eyes, then up to his hairline, down to his temple, his cheeks, his chin and on and on. And Tsukihiko laughed softly, luxuriating in your barrage of kisses, drinking in your affection like parched earth soaking up the first rains.

It did nothing to alleviate the pressure in your chest; the tightness gathering with every second you spent in his company which threatened to burst out. A declaration you would never be able to take back once you let it loose. But you did, you felt that. Love. Overwhelming, all-consuming, rendering everything beyond him dull and colorless. You loved him and that was disastrous.

Some part of you longed to run away from it all; the temple, the corps, the mission. You could take Tsukihiko’s hand and steal him away, find somewhere where the two of you could live forever in that state of perpetual bliss.

But it couldn’t be. 

Sorrow, sudden and sickening consumed you, causing you to pause your affections. You were a demon slayer, you reminded yourself, your job was to fight and quite possibly to die; to eliminate Muzan Kibutsuji no matter the cost. In all likelihood you would not grow old with your love at your side. And the sweet man gazing at you from the pillow with nothing but innocent concern etched across his face could never know. 

It was far better to let him live his life free of the knowledge of the monster who stalked the night. He was too beautiful, too pure, too lovely to ever even know the name Muzan Kibutsuji.

“What is it?” he asked, the warmth of his palm against your cheek easing you back to the present. “Is something troubling you?”

You shook your head. “No, everything is perfect.”

The concern in his eyes never waned, and he watched you for a moment, as though trying to read your thoughts. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him. 

“Perhaps it’s time you went to sleep. It’s getting late.”

He was right but the thought of him leaving to head to his own room wasn’t a happy one. “Just a little longer?”

“You ask as though I could ever deny you anything.” Shifting positions on the bed, he made room for you to lay at his side, your head resting on his chest as his fingertips skated softly against your brow, urging you to close your eyes. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

True to his word, when you finally awoke, late in the morning, he was gone. 

You remained in bed, nothing but the lingering scent of him on your pillow and the butterflies in your stomach giving any indication that he was ever there at all. Where he went during the day you had no idea. He was nowhere to be found within the temple. Many times you’d resolved to ask him, only to find yourself incapable of remembering to do so once his lips were pressed to yours. 

After dressing, you headed out to the garden where your crow, Mokutan, was waiting, strutting around the garden paths with a distinct swagger in his step. 

“Message from Master Ubuyashiki!” he cawed, tilting his head as you unfolded a square of cloth from the pouch dangling from your obi, revealing a sliced plum you’d stashed away for the bird. 

“Go on…”

The bird held up his foot, offering a small scroll of paper laced to his spindly leg. Evidently he was done talking, the plum taking precedence above all else. 

The message was written with a trembling hand, the Master’s sickness clearly growing worse as time progressed. “I am writing to tell you that, should you believe this mission to be a lost cause, I give you my full support for you to leave the temple. At present there have been no sightings of the demon, Douma, nor of Muzan Kibutsuji. You have done well and I do not wish for you to feel anything less than proud. Thank you for your bravery and for all that you have done to further our cause. Ubuyashiki Kagaya, master of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Weeks ago those words might have come as a relief, but as your eyes scanned over the note again and again, dread billowed inside your chest. 

“Tsukihiko…”

“Is that your answer?” the crow quipped, flinging a slice of plum to the side and pouncing on it as though he was a hawk. “Favorite word! Tsukihiko. Mmh…Tsukihiko. Oh… Tsukihiko!”

A wave of heat washed over your head as the damnable bird rolled onto its back, repeating his name over and over, as though he’d roosted for the night outside your bedroom window and heard you in the throes of ecstasy. “What? No, that’s not my answer! I need… I need some time to consider. Will you stay closeby until tomorrow?”

“Oh, alright. But dried fish tomorrow! And cherries! And—”

“You’ll be well fed, don’t worry.” You rolled the message into a tight scroll and slipped it into your pouch.

“Food for Mokutan. Goodbye kisses for Tsukihiko!” Mokutan cackled before taking off to fly onto the temple’s roof. 

Curse the feathered shit. 

Still, he was right. You simply couldn’t spend the rest of your days idling at the temple. Yet again, you felt the need to remind yourself that you were a demon slayer. There was no room in your life for Tsukihiko. 

Leaving the temple was the right thing to do. You resolved to say goodbye to your friend that night, to advise him to get out of the temple and start a life far away where he might meet someone who could give him the love he deserved without restraint. 

Gods, but the thought of him loving another turned your blood to fire. 

Some selfish part of you wanted so badly to claim him, a nagging feeling that it was right he belonged to you. But he had already lost one wife. Losing a second was too cruel. You had to end it and delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to help anyone.

Mokutan sulked as you tied your response to his ankle that afternoon, accepting the Master’s invitation to abandon the mission. “No cherries. No fish…”

“I know, I know. Life is suffering, Mokutan,” you muttered. “We all must make sacrifices.”

He petulantly pecked your hand, and didn’t even talk back as he flew off to deliver the message. 

At sunset you returned to the garden to meet Tsukihiko for the last time, your heart heavy and your steps slower than they had been. You hardly looked up as you approached the maple tree which had become the habitual site of your rendezvous. 

And the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. A chill filled the air, snapping your attention toward the darkness surrounding the garden. Something was out there. Something terrible. 

“Hello, sweet thing,” a voice you knew all too well cooed from the shadows. “Goodness, how I’ve missed you.”

Douma smiled sweetly as he approached, wrapping his arms around you in a vice-like hug, lifting you effortlessly from the ground. 

“You came back…” you managed to say when he finally set you down, your mind racing. How far had Mokutan gotten, you wondered. Would he even think to return to the temple when you didn’t show up at the master’s mansion?

“I did. Oh, it’s so good to be home, my sweet thing, we have so much to talk about. But right now I’m so very concerned.” Douma’s heavy brows pinched as he held out his hand, where something black and fluffy lay across it. 

In the darkness it was near impossible to make out, so you held out your hand, your heart stilling as your fingertips brushed against sleek feathers. 

“It’s a crow,” he sighed forlornly, confirming your fear before unceremoniously tossing Mokutan’s broken little body into the dirt beneath the spider lilies. “A demon slayer’s crow. I caught it not a mile away from here.”

A nauseating terror rose in your throat, your vision blurring as your every instinct told you to run. But it was hopeless. You had no sword to fight with, no way to call for help. “A demon slayer?”

“Mhm, I think there could be one at the temple,” Douma whispered, his lips so close to your ear his breath tickled. “They aren’t good people, sweet thing. But don’t worry, I’ll find who it is and make sure they won’t hurt us. I won’t let any harm come to you.” His pointed fingernails caressed the curve of your cheek as he pulled back and smiled. “I’ll find them. I promise.”

Chapter 8.

Tsukihiko did not meet you beneath the maple tree that night. Douma’s return to the temple caused such a stir that you found yourself temporarily swept up in it, standing toward the back of the room as he joyously addressed his congregation. 

“I was away, searching for something very important. Oh, but I missed you all terribly. Your sweet faces. It’s so good to be home with you all!”

His smile was so wide, so seemingly genuine, that for a moment you forgot about the Lord Founder’s many masks. His apparent happiness and relief were contagious, spreading through the masses, every one of them elated to see their leader returned. For a fraction of a second, you were among them. 

That was his power, his ability to draw people to him, to disarm and comfort them even as he devoured them. And you balanced precariously on the edge of his trap as a sliver of fondness seeped through your armor and needled its way beneath your skin. It might have remained there, buried deep and barbed, were the image of poor Mokutan’s body not branded into your memory, reminding you that the beautiful man throwing children up into the air and hugging every one of his disciples as if they were his siblings, was in fact the third strongest and most brutal demon in the world. 

For the briefest moment, you swore you caught a glimpse of a familiar face among the cheering crowd. Tsukihiko with his ebony waves, rich, dark eyes, and that telltale sensation of a tether tugging at your heart as the crowd shifted and at once he was gone. 

Perhaps it was only wishful thinking.

But therein lay another problem. Douma was on the lookout for a demon slayer, which of course was you, but Tsukihiko behaved strangely, and should Douma begin to suspect him… Gods, the thought of that made you sick. What could you even do in that situation, you wondered. You had no sword, no way to call for help, no choice but to reveal yourself to the upper moon two and hope devouring your flesh satiated him long enough that Tsukihiko could escape. 

The thought of it turned your stomach. 

“Goodness, I’m so happy to be home,” Douma reiterated as the congregation eventually filed out of the room to begin preparing a feast fit to celebrate their leader’s return. 

You found yourself strangely relieved to be alone with him. It felt familiar. Comfortable. 

“It’s good to have you back.”

He sat down on his plump purple pillow and held out his arms. “Come, my friend. Tell me everything that’s happened while I was gone.”

“Oh but it’s been so boring without you,” you said with a smile, reaching out to take his hand but remaining on your feet rather than curling up into his arms as you had in the past. “I’ve had no one to talk to at all.”

He grinned, his smile sharper than a sickle. “Liar.”

Cold fear lanced you through the heart. “I’m sorry?”

Douma laughed, lying back on the pillow and pulling you with him as he stretched contentedly like a well fed tiger basking on a warm rock. You fell to your knees, stretched awkwardly across his chest, your arm still trapped in his vice-like grip. 

“They left a little love mark, right here,” he chuckled, tapping a finger to your neck. “Has my sweet thing found love among my disciples? Who is it? Oh no, please don’t tell me it’s Takeo…”

“It’s not Takeo. Besides, Takeo—”

“Thank goodness. Oh but how lovely! To think your heart is all a flutter for someone. It’s very sweet. And don’t worry, I don’t mind in the slightest. Make lots of babies with your love and we can all live together. I think that would be nice, wouldn't it?”

“Yes,” you said, the word trickling from your tongue with such ease. Because it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Within the walls of the temple, surrounded by gilded lies and lying in the arms of a monster, you had managed to find precious glimpses of happiness, of belonging you hadn’t known before.

Douma sighed. “I need to make sure you're safe. That's the most important thing. See, with a demon slayer in our midst your life is in danger.” He pondered and massaged his temples with his long, clawed fingers. “I don't think there's a demon slayer strong enough to take me down, but my followers… my favorite… The slayers are a ruthless, heartless bunch. If they think you're in league with me they won't hesitate to take your life too.”

Lies. All of it. You donned your mask. “What can we do?”

He regarded you with those opaline eyes, a distant smile lingering on his lips as though he'd forgotten to wipe it away. “I could make you stronger,” he suggested at last. “I could ask my master to give you the same gift he gave me.” 

The world stood still and a bone-deep chill spread through your body. “You mean, become a demon?”

“Yes!” he said brightly. “Of course, the decision would be entirely up to Lord Muzan– you’ll have to meet him and win his favor— but I’m sure if I put in a good word for you he’ll agree. That way we can protect each other, and we’ll be strong enough together to protect your love and all the innocent people here in the temple from the slayer. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

The window you had waited so patiently for had opened. Finally, after months, you had an opportunity to meet Muzan Kibutsuji, to discover his whereabouts. But with Mokutan dead, you had no way of relaying that information back to Master Ubuyashiki unless you delivered it yourself. 

But it was your duty to seize the chance. Even if it was a distant hope, even if it meant the end of your life. Even if it meant sacrificing your love for Tsukihiko. 

Douma was kind enough to give you the night to consider his proposal, a night you spent alone, tormented by false hope and grim realizations. Tsukihiko was nowhere to be found, but perhaps that was for the best. Your love for him had only ever been a dream, the foolish hope of a heart condemned to death one way or another. And so instead of spending the night in the arms of your lover, you spent what might have been your last night alive planning a way to get the information back to Ubuyashiki. 

If Muzan agreed and turned you into a demon all hope was lost. Demons were unwaveringly loyal to their progenitor and you knew that once your soul belonged to Kibutsuji, you would not relay his location to the demon slayer corps. If you were devoured there was no hope either. It seemed unlikely he would refuse and simply allow you to return to your life with the knowledge which could spell his demise.

Only one path lay open to you, and the thought of it chilled you. 

If you were to delay your inevitable death long enough to reveal Muzan’s stronghold, you would have to win him over. And the only way to do that, you were certain, would be to reveal yourself as a slayer and offer Muzan something he craved even more than flesh. You would have to tempt him with something so tantalizing he couldn’t afford to kill you right away, and only then might he give you vital time needed to get word to the Demon Slayer Corps.

You would have to offer him Master Ubuyashiki. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

“My dear lord Muzan, I have a proposal—” Douma began.

“You have returned empty-handed,” Muzan glowered as Upper Moon Two grinned idiotically at him from the steaming onsen at the back of his temple. “You were not to return until you found the blue spider lily.”

“But I searched, my lord. I promise I did. I even asked mortals if they’d seen any sign of it but none of them had. Aww… you’re cross with me, aren’t you? I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, how’s that?”

Muzan rested his fingertips lightly on his eyelids and tried to massage away some of the urge to destroy the buffoon. Such an act would only diminish his ranks, he reminded himself. 

Instead, he slipped off his yukata and stepped into the water, allowing the heat of the spring to relax his body and ease away the tension. As a mortal he had enjoyed the steam of the onsen; a temporary relief wearing down the sharp edges of his pain, and it seemed that not even a thousand years had taken away from that simple pleasure even if he was no longer hurting or fragile.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” Douma sighed, resting the back of his head against the edge of the pool. “Life doesn’t have to be all business.”

“Actually mortal businessmen do this too,” Muzan muttered. “They bathe together and discuss their ventures at the same time.”

“That sounds like a great way to ruin a bath.”

Muzan chuckled monosyllabically. Douma, for once, was correct. Talking to the fool only disrupted the peace. “You’re right. Let’s not speak.”

Whatever proposal Douma had felt the need to divulge earlier was quickly forgotten, and the two demons basked in comfortable silence. 

Though in the stillness, his thoughts wandered to you, and that was just as infuriating as constant chatter. He should not have cared, but the thought of you waiting for him and realizing as the minutes passed by that he would not visit you that night, made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Was your heart aching, he wondered. Were you craving his touch, his kiss, him as ardently as he craved you. 

He had half a mind to send Douma away again, to invite you to the onsen with him instead and enjoy your warmth along with the water. To feel your gentle hands against his chest, your lips against his throat. 

It pained him not to come to you, and that in and of itself was reason enough to stay away.

Finally, with a contented sigh, Douma climbed out of the water and materialized his clothing, “Well, I feel invigorated but I’ve worked up an appetite. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose one from my flock?” he offered. “You’re awfully pale, my lord. I don’t think you’re eating enough.”

Muzan’s eye twitched. Those words were never well received. “I’ve fed enough. Begone.”

“Oh alright, but tomorrow I’ll introduce you to—”

“Nakime.” Muzan commanded, and in an instant the fool was removed from his presence. 

In the silence of the night, Muzan found peace. He remained in the onsen, allowing the warmth to cocoon him. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the sun, imagine its rays pooling around him, not deathly as they were to demons, but comforting, welcoming, soothing. 

And in his fantasy you lay beside him on the sun-warmed grass, gazing at him with those eyes, full of adoration and affection, tormenting him by adorning his hair with a crown of red leaves and pink flowers. 

“You’re absurd,” he chided you, though there was no venom behind it. He had no intention of stopping you. 

Muzan’s brow furrowed. Was it fantasy or memory? The two had often tangled since he met you. Her face and yours had merged in his mind to create one inseparable entity. 

“Well well… and here I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Muzan’s eyes shot open and he whirred around to face you, his pulse thundering. Never once in a thousand years had anyone been able to surprise him so. The air was ripe with your scent, your footsteps near deafening on the graveled pathway. And yet you had gone unnoticed, standing but a few feet away from him while he bathed. Had he allowed his senses to become so dulled by you? Had he grown so comfortable around you?

“It’s late,” was the only coherent thought he managed to summon into words. “You should be asleep.”

You shrugged, the shawl about your shoulders slipping ever so slightly. “I couldn’t sleep. Besides, you’re one to talk.” 

“I suppose I am.”

You smiled halfheartedly. Something was troubling you, and it pained him to imagine he could be the cause. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you—”

“No, it’s alright. I assumed with the Lord Founder’s return causing such a stir you’d simply gotten caught up in the celebration. I didn’t expect to see you at all.”

“I’m not one for parties,” Muzan replied. “And the onsen was calling my name.”

You nodded in understanding, walking to the edge of the water and crouching to dip your fingertips beneath the surface. A shiver ran through Muzan’s body; a deep ache he had yet to grow accustomed to, one he long thought himself immune from. The desire to be touched, to be close to you, the desire to be held and pleasured. And the desire to give pleasure in return. 

“How did you know where to look for me?” he asked, transfixed by the movement of your fingers beneath the water.

“I didn’t. I just wandered.”

His throat tightened. Was the universe so intent on tormenting him that it insisted on delivering you to him? “Do you want to join me?” 

Your eyebrows dipped in contemplation, no doubt engaged in that frustratingly human conflict between doing what you wanted and what was expected.  “We might be seen…”

“And?” 

You narrowed your eyes at his lack of concern for propriety, and Muzan found himself chuckling, but your expression soon faded into fondness. 

“You wicked man,” you whispered with a smile. “I have nothing to dry myself with anyway, as tempted as I am. I’ll sit on the edge and put my feet in, is that an adequate compromise?”

“So long as you’re happy,” he said, offering his hand to you as you sat on the edge of the pool, lifting the bottom of your yukata to midway up your thighs to dip your legs into the water. 

Your skin was only bared to him for a moment before his lips were tracing the length of your shins, his pride all but forgotten in your presence. Whatever power you held over him, he surrendered to it readily, gentle kisses turning heated as you ran your fingers through his dampened curls and offered your palm to his lips. 

Despite your insistence that he had caused no harm, there was something troubling you; he wasn’t so far detached from humanity that he couldn’t sense it. There was a desperation to you he hadn’t felt before when you reciprocated his kiss, parting your thighs to make space for him, not caring one bit if your clothes got soaked when he pressed his body against yours. 

You were sad. That was it. Your heart was breaking. And the thought that it was because he had neglected to come to you in favor of speaking to his subordinate did not sit comfortably with him. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered, as though those words were easy to utter. “Let me make it up to you.”

His kisses trailed down your body, one hand on your belly urging you to lay back with a gentleness he hardly knew he possessed. Yet you resisted, stubborn creature that you were, in favor of watching him as he slid away your undergarments and pressed the first devout kiss to your cunt, your breath hitching at the sudden spark of pleasure deep within your core. 

And gods, at that first taste of you, at the sound of your fractured breath, he was undone, the meek demeanor of Tsukihiko shedding away fully. Again and again he kissed you; his tongue caressing, tasting, teasing, pursuing your bliss with all the tenacity of a rabid beast.

So soft, so tender, flesh more exquisite than any he’d ever known. Your taste was like nothing else. Gods, how he’d missed it. 

He stifled your cries against his palm, the ache of his arousal gnawing at him, yet he ignored it in favor of your pleasure. Dragging the flat of his tongue along the length of your slit again and again, he licked you until your nectar dripped from his chin and you quivered beneath him. And then he lapped at your clitoris, surrounded it with his lips and kissed it with fervent hunger, enraptured by every frantic pulse of your sex. Until at last you cried in ecstasy, tensed and throbbed beneath his mouth, tugged sharply on his hair and squirmed in his arms, signaling for him to stop. 

And stop he did, eyes wide and wild and far too demonic, claws and fangs bared without restraint. Thank goodness you were still out of your mind with pleasure and he had time to compose himself before you sat up and pulled him to you, kissing him like it was the last kiss the two of you would ever share. 

What a fool he was to have believed that he could stay away from you. 

“Am I forgiven?” he asked between heated kisses as your fingers tangled in his hair and your trembling legs wrapped around his waist. 

“There was never anything to forgive,” you assured him, the gentle caress of your palm across his cheek, granting him more solace than he had felt in centuries. 

He felt himself smile, genuinely, without restraint, gazing into your eyes. “You’re soaked.”

“Yes, you saw to that,” you replied, glancing down at the wet cloth of your yukata. “Now I suppose there’s no reason for me to avoid getting into the onsen with you, is there?”

“No,” Muzan said, pulling loose the knot of your obi. “None at all.”

Chapter 9. 

The water of the onsen was black and infinite, and in the gentle abyss you found much needed comfort. 

Tsukihiko’s arms wrapped firmly around your waist, your taste lingering on his lips, your name whispered into their heated air between kisses. 

He was perfection, there was no other word for it; a man far too beautiful to be human but too vulnerable to be anything else. His heart was tender, healing, and he offered it to you with such aching sincerity you simply could not refuse.  He gazed at you with reverence as you perched on a rock ledge beneath the water, caging his hips between your thighs.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his lack of concern for propriety overridden by his constant desire to do right by you. Tsukihiko, you were rapidly learning, secretly believed the world owed him a favor, but never you. You owed him nothing. Everything, every gesture, every word, every kiss, was received like a gift he saw no entitlement to. 

He was beautiful,  wonderful, frustratingly perfect, and you had to let him go. 

Still, you saw no harm in modeling his behavior for the night. If you were to die at the hands of Muzan Kibutsuji in an effort to rid the world of demons, the least the world owed you was one night of pleasure. 

“Yes,” you said, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear and eliciting an almost feral growl at the back of your lover's throat. “I want to fuck you.”

Bracing your hands on the pool’s edge, you allowed yourself a moment’s indulgence, basking in the simple pleasure of Tsukihiko’s lips against your neck, the sharp pinch of his teeth against your flesh, and the excitement of knowing his control was slipping because of you.

He bowed his back, trailing his kisses lower, cupping your left breast in his hand and mouthing at your nipple with clumsy desperation, moaning softly as you put your head back and sighed in pleasure. 

The man was intoxicated by you, besotted, a shuddering breath escaping him as he rocked his hips, allowing his cock to slide back and forth along the length of your slit, his foreskin drawn back over his fat tip, rubbing against your clit so deliciously. He groaned against your breast as he teased the two of you, savoring the intimacy and the build-up until he could stand it no longer. And then he pressed the head of his cock against the opening of your cunt. There was a slight resistance as he eased into you, the water of the onsen had washed away most of your wetness, but your body gave way to accommodate him. A shiver ran through you both as he pushed inside and bottomed out with a groan. Perfect. He felt perfect. As though the two of you were made to be lovers. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve craved you,” he whispered, his face nestled in the space between your neck and your shoulder. “How many nights I’ve yearned to feel your touch once more.”

“I’ve craved you too,” you told him, “I want you so badly.”

Not just then, but always. You wanted to spend every night in his arms, yearned to grow old with him, longed to steal back every moment the cruel world demanded you sacrifice for people who would never even know your name or the magnitude of your deeds. 

You surrendered your hold on the pool’s edge to hold him, and the moment he felt your arms slide around his back, the muscles beneath your fingers flexed as he shifted his grip. Broad hands swept down the length of your spine to cup the flesh of your backside and his hips began to move.

Slow, savoring movement, grinding his pelvis against yours, chasing your pleasure above his own. 

You opened your eyes to find him watching your expression, seemingly fascinated by you, as if committing every detail of you to memory. 

“Like this?” he asked. “Is this what you want?”

It was perfect, as if he knew your body like he knew his own. And yet the night might have been your last, so you issued him with a simple command. “More.”

His lips curved into a feral smile, the sharp tips of his canines revealed in the pale moonlight. “More?”

“Don’t hold back.”

And he didn’t. 

He braced his knee on the ledge beside your thigh, giving himself leverage to thrust without restraint. And Gods, what pleasure then, his strength unlike any lover you’d known before. He was relentless, bestial, rutting against you, hard, fast, every sharp thrust punctuated by a breathless cry that never left the back of his throat; “Huh-uh-uh-” 

Nothing else mattered, not in that moment. Just the relentless pounding of his hips, the pinch of his nails digging into the flesh of your back as he dragged you out of the onsen and onto the smooth rocks at its shore where his strokes were unhampered by the water. You bucked your hips beneath him, meeting his stroke, rewarded by a guttural cry and the exquisite pain of his teeth pressing into the flesh of your shoulder. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck!” you cried out in agony and bliss. 

He tried to pull back, but you held him in place, pushing his head back down, urging him to bite harder. In pleasure there was solace. In pain there was catharsis. 

He brought you to the very precipice with him, his body trembling in your arms as he came undone. And he remained sheathed inside you even after his orgasm passed, one hand cradling the back of your head as the onsen’s waters lapped at your feet, only the slightest, slowest thrust breaking the stillness between you. With every languid grind of his hips, you couldn’t help but moan against his lips, the pleasure overwhelming, lingering. He pulled back to watch you, eyes dancing across your features.

“More?” he asked.

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

Your word was his command. He pistoned his hips again and again, his cock still unfathomably hard, fucking you with such desperation it seemed as though he too knew it would be the first and last time for you both. And you were both so greedy for each other, your nails raking across his shoulders, his teeth bared against your throat. You no longer cared if you were heard or seen. You silently cursed the world for demanding you rescind the happiness you had found in his arms, and scorned it with every fevered kiss. 

And when your pleasure peaked he held you firm, surrounding you with his arms and holding you as your cries of pleasure faded and all that remained in the stark silence of the night was your breath and his, and the whispered declarations it hurt you to hear. 

“I love you,” he said, tenderly kissing the aching spot on your shoulder that bore the marks of his teeth, “So very much.”

“Tell me I’m yours,” you said.

“You are. And I belong to you.”

And that was enough. 

Later, he brought you to your room, his curls still dripping as he bid you goodnight, kissing you softly on the cheek before he parted and leaving an unbearable emptiness in his wake. 

I love you too, you longed to call out to him. 

But it was done. It was over. 

A fitting goodbye.

You dressed in dry clothes and left your room, making your way to Douma’s quarters where the air was thick and heavily perfumed. His rooms were a separate temple all to their own, devoted to nothing but his enjoyment and pure opulence. The demon reclined contentedly on a mountain of silk pillows, sucking smoke from his waterpipe. 

He grinned as you approached. “Well, well my sweet thing. You smell just lovely tonight. I trust your lover treated you well?”

“I’m ready, Douma,” you said, causing his smile to widen.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I want to become a demon.” 

For years you had trained as a slayer, working to master your breathing and control the flow of strength to your body. And it took all of that training to steady your heart, to remain calm, to force the words from your lips and ensure they sounded genuine. You focused on that, on the mission, bristling with anticipation, attempting to prepare yourself to face the king of all demons. No matter how horrific he was to look at, you had to adore him. No matter how cruel his words, you would let them wash over you and dangle the promise of information too tempting to ignore before his rancid snout. 

You steeled your nerve and cemented your fate. “I want to meet your master and become one of you.”

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

A short walk from the temple a man lay dead, his lifeless eyes still pleading for mercy even after his heart had ceased to beat. It was meaningless. Muzan wasn’t hungry, the man had not insulted him or committed any crime beyond simply crossing the demon king’s path as he stalked through the mountains in search of… of what?

Muzan’s body could recover from injury in an instant. Blades, arrows, wisteria flowers; the pain they inflicted was momentary, more a nuisance than anything. But you, the ache you caused. That was pure agony. 

He continued his walk, hoping that the mountain air might offer clarity. 

A light shone in the temple below, cradled by the darkness of the valley, and he found himself wondering if it was you. Were you lying in your room with your lamp still lit, recalling the passion you had shared in perfect detail as he was. Did your heart lunge too whenever you thought of him? Did your blood burn for him as his did for you?

And what was he going to do with you? That was the most pressing matter of all. He had deceived humans before, charmed and manipulated them for his own gain without ever revealing his true nature. And those who had come to know what he was usually cursed his name, screamed in terror and tried to run. 

The thought of you running from him was enough to cause his jaw to clench. He could never reveal his true nature to you. Nor was it necessary. 

It would be so easy to live beside you undetected for the rest of your mortal life, aging his body on purpose so you would never suspect what he was. He would remain Tsukihiko until you died in his arms, loved and comforted by a lifetime of lies, whispering a name that was not his.

But then what? What void would you leave behind for him to dwell within.

Frustration simmered in his veins as he raised his hands to cover his face and growled against his palms. No. He would not watch you die. He would not be left alone when you slipped away from him. 

“You are mine,” he muttered as though you stood beside him. “And I will not let this accursed world tear you from my side. I will find the blue spider lily and perfect my immortality, and then I will find a way for you to defy death alongside me. Not a demon but something else.”

After all the cruelty the world had inflicted on him, it owed him that at least. It owed him you. And if it did not hand you to him willingly, he would tear the world asunder until it surrendered you. 

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he tried to make sense of the veritable bramble thicket his thoughts had become. Barbs in every direction, yet when he was with you the world seemed not only simpler, but softer than he had ever known it to. 

One thing was certain, he would have to convince you to leave the temple and away from Douma. The upper moon had a preference for devouring women like you, and Muzan would not risk that. 

“Simple enough. Tomorrow night I will ask you to run away with me, marry me, and begin our domestic pantomime.”

The words were ash on his tongue. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he returned to the temple before dawn rather than seeking the sanctuary of his fortress, other than a simple yet infuriating desire to remain somewhat close to you a while longer. 

He wandered the gardens for a time, noticing most of the flowers had gone, no doubt withering away to nothing as the year drew to a close. The maple tree which had become your meeting point was beginning to drop its leaves and he sat beneath it for a time, watching insects crawl amongst the foliage until they noticed his presence and scurried away with an urgency they didn’t even afford to humans. 

Centuries ago there had been a tree just like it in the garden of his estate, its crimson boughs visible from his bedroom on the days he could stand to have the window open. On the worst days that tree had been the goal for the sickly mortal boy he had been. 

“If you feel better tomorrow we could try to sit beneath the maple,” you’d said, massaging an astringent balm onto his back which some quack had promised was a miracle cure and charged him an extortionate sum. “The sunlight will do you good.”

The pain was unbearable that day. Even drawing breath was agony. “Fuck the sun. And be gentle. Your hands feel like ox hooves.”

Such careful, gentle touches. Such patient love cruelly branded onto his soul so he could never escape you. 

“Lord Muzan!” 

Muzan’s jaw clenched as Douma’s voice carried across the garden, the upper moon beaming as he approached. Perhaps he would return to the infinity fortress after all. 

“Isn’t the garden beautiful tonight?” Douma said, “I’m so pleased you’ve been spending so much time here lately.”

“Not for much longer,” Muzan said, rising to his feet in one graceful movement.

“Awh, really? That’s a pity. Well, in that case let me give you a parting gift.”

The demon king arched a skeptical brow. “What is it?”

“A surprise, one you’re going to love, I'm certain.” 

Muzan despised surprises, but knowing Douma as he did, the gift could be anything ranging between a severed head to the damned blue spider lily formula perfectly recreated. Besides, if the demon displeased him, tearing off his limbs and beating him with them till sunrise might’ve been somewhat therapeutic. 

“This way!” Douma grinned, leading him into the temple’s main building, to the curtained off area you and he had once sat together in and talked over dinner. 

The curtains were sheer enough for him to make out the vague form of a woman dressed all in white, the upper moon’s penchant for opulence and drama applied to full effect. The floor was scattered with petals. The smoke of incense coiled from the burners, peppering the air and clouding his senses. 

“What is this?” Muzan demanded to know. “Douma…”

“She knows what we are, my lord. She isn’t afraid. And she wants to become one of us.” Douma’s elegant hands curled around the pulley cord of the curtain, parting the swathes of fabric with a gentle tug.

And there you stood, dressed all in white silk the way you had been the first time he laid eyes on you a thousand years ago. 

And the world once again stood still. 

Chapter 10. 

It was a joke. It had to be. You’d spent so long in Douma’s company you’d almost forgotten how cruel he could be.

Tsukihiko stared back at you, dumbfounded, his eyes widening at the sight of you draped in silk so fine you might have spent your entire life never knowing what it felt like beneath your fingertips if not for Douma’s sick little joke. 

You were dressed all in white, Tsukihiko in black; two halves of a whole. Pieces in a game only Douma seemed to know the rules to.

Whatever the upper rank demon had planned, you had to get that innocent man to safety no matter the cost. Your mind whirred with half-conjured, insufficient plans.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Douma was saying, his arm slipping comfortably across your shoulders before he whispered softly into your ear. “My sweet thing, this is Lord Muzan. He can make you into a demon like us, and then you’ll become strong and live forever…”

“Douma…” Tsukihiko said, his voice low and quietly commanding.

“Hm? Yes, my lord?” the demon at your side turned, smiling… obeying. 

“Leave.”

“Oh!” Douma gleefully clapped his hands. “Lord Muzan!! I knew you’d love her!”

Your lover’s eyes were burning red like hot coals, his pupils slitted like those of a cat. The air itself seemed to shiver and recoil, leaving your lungs completely empty. 

“Tsukihiko?” you whispered, a desperate plea, but even as you uttered his name you knew it was wrong. Some part of you had always known.

The man in black took a step toward you, still every bit as beautiful as he had always been. And yet, the demon at your side called him by the name of your sworn enemy. And he did not correct him. 

“Your name is Muzan?” you asked, the pounding of your pulse throbbing in your ears as you tried to keep your voice steady.

He paused, his lips parting slightly, as though he’d waited so long to hear you speak his name. “Yes.”

The acrid tang of bile rose in your throat and the world tilted beneath your feet. The fires of hell licked at your skin and lit the threads of your veins like a fuse. “Muzan Kibutsuji.”

His eyes widened at the sound of his full name, his breath audibly catching. “How did… oh…” The light in his eyes blazed with malicious intent as he stepped closer still. “I see.”

The air between you pulsed with danger and the desperate plea of your aching, foolish heart. It could not be real. You were dreaming. You had to be. The man you loved could not be Muzan Kibutsuji. 

Douma remained at your side, his shimmering eyes darting between the two of you before he released a pensive, “Huh…”

At once, Muzan’s eyes snapped toward the unwelcome audience, and faster than you could blink, the upper moon was gone along with his temple. 

You and Muzan stood facing each other in a room lit by the golden glow of electric lamps. The paper walls glowed a comforting amber as the air around you shifted and groaned. Pristine tatami mats padded the reddish cedar floorboards, soft and comfortable underfoot, but completely without scent. Beyond the windows sat another building, though its architecture made no sense. Walls upon walls, staircases which led nowhere, pathways one would have to defy gravity to walk. 

“The Infinity Fortress,” Muzan said in answer to your unspoken question. “We can talk without anyone else listening.”

You could talk, yes, but what to say? How could you put the maelstrom thrashing around in your heart and mind into words? Your lips parted, preparing to vent some of the pressure building in your throat but no sound came. 

“You’re a demon slayer?” Muzan said, more a statement than a question. “One of Ubuyashiki’s hounds sent to sniff me out.”

“You're Muzan Kibutsuji,” was all you could say in reply, painfully aware of how childish you sounded, whispering the demon’s name into the space between you. But in truth, it was the only way you could make sense of it all. Tsukihiko was gone— no, the man you’d loved had never even existed. It was all a lie and you needed to hate the monster that took his shape. 

A soft hum emerged from the demon king as he turned his back to you and walked toward a simple wooden chest, placing his hands gently on either side and opening it. “The Infinity Fortress is the domain of one of my demons. She obeys my command. I asked her to place us in a room with all that we needed to have this conversation.” He turned back to face you, a sheathed sword in his hand. “It appears our first lovers’ quarrel will be a bloody one.”

“We are not lovers,” you spat, lightning crackling through your veins as the demon tossed the sword to the ground by your feet.

“No?”

You crouched to pick up the blade, not daring even to blink. Even armed you stood no chance against the demon king. It was suspected that the combined strength of every hashira wasn’t even enough to defeat him. But the sword in your hand was solid and familiar, something to cling to as those plum-colored eyes watched you through slitted pupils.

“It won’t even hurt you, will it?” you asked bitterly. 

“No.”

“Then why give it to me?”

“So you can at least say that you fought.”

The moment you pulled the blade from its sheath he moved to strike, your reflexes kicking in and your blade tearing through the sleeve of his yukata. Crimson blood pooled in the slit causing your throat to close. That blood was the source of all that was evil and demonic in the world. And it was also the essence of the man you loved, a man you never wanted to harm. 

No, you had to stop thinking like that. That man had never existed and the thing which stood before you deserved to bleed. 

As soon as the wound opened it healed.

“Tell me then,” Muzan said. “Has your master stooped so low as to order his slayers to seduce his enemy now?”

“What are you talking about?”

His expression darkened as the lips that had kissed you with such devout tenderness curled back to reveal his fanged teeth. A clawed hand darted out toward you, your blade meeting his wrist with a sickening thud. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t continue his attack either. 

“For centuries the Ubuyashiki family has hunted me, doing all that they can to prevent me from discovering the whereabouts of the blue spider lily. But it seems he is even more malicious and cruel than I gave him credit for.” 

A black vine burst from the back of his hand, barbed and vicious as it wrapped around your wrist, tethering you to him. A sharp spike of pain radiated from the only thorn pointing inward and pricking your skin, drawing a single drop of your blood. 

 “I was not sent to seduce you, I didn’t even know you would be at the temple. My mission was to befriend Douma and have him tell me the whereabouts of your stronghold.” 

His eyes narrowed, the vine around your wrist tightening and dragging you toward him. “I believe you.”

The vine retreated, creating the perfect opening to strike. Your blade sliced through the air, cutting the flesh of his thigh before he blocked it, the impact of his forearm jarring yours like slamming into rock. 

Again and again you struck, and again and again he fought back, his moves thinly veiled attempts to block under the guise of an attack. You fought with everything you had, your frustration reaching its boiling point as your attacks did nothing. All your training, your experience, all your fury and skill were nothing, not even a mild inconvenience. 

“You’re toying with me,” you hissed. “You could kill me in an instant.”

He said nothing, but struck toward your chest, the collision of his fist against your sternum enough to knock the air from your lungs and send you staggering backward. Your backside hit the tatami mats with a heavy thud. And you could barely move your sword, the fatigue sudden and all consuming as you flopped exhausted onto your back. 

Suddenly he was staring down at you, his face a picture of neutrality. Before you came to the temple, the thought of facing Muzan Kibutsuji alone would have chilled you to the bone, but as you stared up at him, you didn’t feel a single shred of fear. Only… sorrow and something else. Anger. That was it. Gods, you wanted to tear the castle to splinters with your bare hands.

As if hearing your wish, the floor gave way beneath you, sending you plummeting headfirst through an endless abyss. Darkness surrounded you, the air rushing past your ears, the only other soul in that infinite pit the demon king himself. He fell with you, composed, upright, gripping your blade in his hands so tight his blood sprayed from his palms and into the air as he guided the sword to the pale skin of his throat. 

“When we land, you can use the momentum to remove my head,” he said.

“Would that work?”

“Not for me, no. But perhaps for you.”

The very sight of him incensed you. Your lips had traced every inch of his face, those hands had held you so gently. In your weakest moments you had mapped out a life with him despite some part of you knowing it could never be. You knew him. You loved him. And he loved you.

“Was it real?” you demanded to know. “Any of it?”

He looked back at you, and with utmost sincerity he tore your heart completely in two, “All of it. Every moment.”

With a flick of your wrist, your sword tumbled into the darkness and away from his throat. The two of you slammed into the ground, far softer than such a fall should have allowed, but with enough force to wind you again. 

Your fragmented breaths were the only thing breaking the heavy silence between you, the agony spreading throughout your entire body. And silently you cursed him, cursed your master for sending you on the mission and the hashira who first whispered the idea into his ear. You cursed Douma and the fools who gathered in his temple unknowingly praying for death. And above all else you cursed the world for making Muzan Kibutsuji, the demon king, for taking the man you loved and turning him into a monster. 

“It was real for me too,” you said at last, eliciting a bitter chuckle from the demon's lips as he lay at your side. 

But it couldn’t be. You knew it as well as you knew the sun would rise in the morning whether you were still a part of the world or not. It was wrong to love him. He was not a man but a demon; vile, cruel, the epitome of evil.

He had to be, because if he wasn’t, then perhaps it meant that you were. 

“Raise your sword, slayer,” he said, rising to his feet and observing you from above like you were a specimen on a microscope he needed to understand to make sense of everything. “Your heart is still so full of rage.”

Your hand trembled weakly as it searched the floorboards beneath you, until it finally wrapped around the hilt of the discarded blade. Every muscle in your arm screamed for rest. But he was right, you needed to go on, to fight, to resist, if only to say you did.

With a groan you rolled onto your front, your trembling arms lifting you from the ground, only to collapse beneath you. That low, thoughtful hum you’d come to know so well sounded at your back before Muzan appeared in front you, crouching to help you up.

You should have been afraid. You should have recoiled. You should have spat in his face and cut his head from his shoulders. It’s what you had been trained all your life to do, afterall. But the man crouching before you was gentle, patient, lifting you to your feet and cupping your burning cheek against his cool palm

“Keep fighting,” he urged you, his fingers curling on top of yours to keep them wrapped around your hilt. “You need to. There’s more to this than you know. Factors I myself am yet to reconcile.”

“What are you—” you shook your head, trying to make sense of it all. And yet some part of you knew what he was about to say. 

“You have always fought until you had nothing left. In this life,” he said, his brow puckering in contemplation before finally adding, “and in the life I once knew you in.”

A wave of cold washed through you as his words settled around you. And you knew, you understood, that pervading sense of belonging you had always felt in his presence. Your soul knew him even when your mind told you it was impossible. Your soul had always known his.

“A beast found its way into our home,” you said, recalling the story he had once told you with tears welling in his eyes. “The neighbors thought it was a wolf… or a bear. It attacked…” You pushed past the gathering nausea in your throat. “Me… in our bed and left nothing but blood and bones where I once lay.”

“You remember?” he asked, his voice but a breathless whisper of relief.

But you were once more tumbling into darkness.

There was no way to know how much time had passed when you awoke, but the world around you had drastically changed. You lay upon a plush futon, sheer curtains softening the brilliant light beyond them. The furniture in the room was ancient in style, yet the condition of it was new, all except for a big, beautiful vase which sat in the corner, covered in hairline cracks, as though someone had shattered it to pieces and meticulously put it together. And the sight of it caused your heart to squeeze. How you loved that vase.

“Muzan?” you called, not because you suspected he was nearby, but because the thought that he wasn’t was too horrible to bear.

Perhaps he’d fallen. Perhaps he’d tried to walk in the garden by himself and didn’t have the energy to make it back. Sudden panic pulled you from the bed, the pain in your body entirely forgotten as you pulled apart the curtains, expecting the familiar sight of the mansion’s garden. 

But in place of the maple tree, there was only darkness and distant, ever-shifting architecture illuminated by artificial light.

“We’re still in the Infinity Fortress,” Muzan said, sitting on the futon you had just risen from. “Nakime built it to my specifications.”

His appearance had altered, but it was still most definitely him. In fact, as he watched you from the bed in his comfortable white kosode, his long black hair spilling down over his shoulders, he looked more like himself than he ever had.

“How is your pain today?” you asked. 

He shook his head dismissively. “Non-existent.”

That should not have pleased you as it did. But you found your heart considerably lighter as you approached the futon and knelt by his feet, taking his hands in yours and looking for wounds. They were healed completely, you noted before admonishing yourself for such a foolish thought. Of course the wounds had healed; a thousand years had passed since he’d smashed the vase. 

No. That wasn’t right. The wounds from your sword had healed because he was a demon.  

“Muzan, what’s happening to me?” you asked, glancing up at him to be met with those rich carmine eyes, far too full of confusion and sorrow to be anything but human. 

He remained silent, contemplating your words while your hands remained joined. He traced a finger over the pinprick wound on your wrist and sighed. “In centuries, I have ended countless lives and never seen any evidence of gods or a world beyond our own. I have never received divine punishment. I have never encountered the vengeful spirit of a victim. People die and cease to be, that is the end of it. Or so I thought. No, I didn’t just think it, I knew.” There was real terror in his eyes, a silent and pervading dread as he looked up at you. “But I know with all certainty that my soul knows yours. We are bound somehow.” 

You nodded, already understanding the answer you sought from him. “I was yours in another life, and you were mine, in a room just like this. There was a maple tree with blood red leaves which burned like fire when the sun shone through them in the afternoon, and we would sit beneath it and curse the world together.”

“You say it so plainly.” He sighed, still agonizing even as he spoke. “It can’t be. But it is, isn’t it? You are her.”

“How long has it been?”

“A thousand years.”

“And the world is as shit to us as ever.”

The demon king laughed softly before laying back on the futon and making room for you to lay beside him. An overwhelming sense of belonging overcame you as you rested your head against his chest, like being swaddled in a warm blanket that had always been yours. 

There was nothing you could say to make sense of it, nothing you could offer him beyond the simple gesture of tenderly cupping his face and pressing your lips to his. And he kissed you like it was the first and last kiss you would ever share. Tender, adoring, desperate. The anger you had felt was gone, replaced by relief. Finally, finally you were home. 

“I wonder if it was just the once,” you mused later as you lay in his arms, your fingers idly fidgeting with the long waves of his hair. “Or have our paths crossed many times, many incarnations, and you’ve killed me in every one of them.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why would you put that thought into my head, you wretched thing?”

“Well, it would serve you right”

“Would it now?”

“Yes. The pitfalls of indiscriminate killing—”

“Ah.” The subtle smile dropped from his lips. 

You brought up a hand to rest against his cheek, relishing the way he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. Oh, you were most assuredly going to hell, but he would be there alongside you, and in that notion you found a strange sort of solace. “I don’t know what will happen or how we’ll do it,” you said, pressing your lips to his brow, “but we’ll find a way to restore your humanity.”

His eyes shot open, brows slanting in confusion. The air seemed to shift, to become harsh and cold. “Restore my humanity?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

He sat, pulling himself from your embrace and glaring back at you. “No.”

Your heart plummeted as he moved away, climbing from the bed and pacing toward the window with its nothingness beyond.

“Muzan, we can be together…”

“I will not surrender my strength, nor will I die. I will find the blue spider lily and become a perfect being, and I will make you immortal too. Fuck our souls, we will be bound together for eternity.”

“I don’t want that.” Horrified, you rose from the bed to follow him, reaching out to take his hand. In one swift motion he pulled it from your gentle grasp as though the touch of your hand burned him. “Muzan… we can save you. We can talk to Master Ubuyashiki. One of the hashira studies medicine. Maybe—”

“Enough! I will not die,” he hissed. “How dare you ask that of me?”

“How dare I? How dare you ask me to become like you?”

He froze, eyes wild with fury. “Like me? A monster? Is that what you think?”

“Do you deny it?” you asked. 

He simply looked away, his lip curling to reveal his elongated fangs. No matter how human he appeared, it was only ever a facade. 

“You are a monster. How many people have you killed? How many lives have you ended like they were nothing, mine included.” The fire in your belly rose once more as those crimson eyes burned through you, his slitted pupils narrowing. “Muzan, I love you, but I cannot love the demon you’ve become—”

“Then your love means nothing,” he said, turning his back to you. “And neither do you.” 

You were back in your room in the temple faster than you could blink, and Muzan was no longer there. Your anger spilled over, hot tears lining your eyelashes as you bitterly cursed his name. 

“Ah, my sweet thing, there you are,” Douma sing-songed from the corner of the room, causing your heart to freeze. 

“Oh, Douma,” you breathed, placing your hand over your racing heart. There was a strange sort of relief in seeing him, the familiarity and comfort of your old friend. 

He watched you, a curious smile playing across his lips as he toyed with a scrap of paper between his fingertips. “I found this in a little pouch in your dresser while I was tidying away your clothes. It’s very interesting.”

Every cell of your body screamed at you to run. That paper… the little scroll your crow had brought you, relieving you of your duty. “Wait—”

“I am writing to tell you that, should you believe this mission to be a lost cause, I give you my full support for you to leave the temple. At present there have been no sightings of the demon, Douma, nor of Muzan Kibutsuji.”

Your blood turned to ice as he recited Master Ubuyashiki’s letter. “Douma. That’s not—”

“Oh but this is my favorite part. It’s so sweet,” the demon chuckled as he continued reading, “You have done well and I do not wish for you to feel anything less than proud. Thank you for your bravery and for all that you have done to further our cause. Ubuyashiki Kagaya, master of the Demon Slayer Corps. What a nice man. He sounds very polite, except for the little matter of wanting to kill myself and my dear lord Muzan.” 

“Speak to Muzan. You don’t understand.” 

“Don’t I?” He pouted, his dark eyebrows slanting in contemplation. “I’ve met many little liars in my temple, but none of them are quite as horrible as you. You sat beside me, listening to my stories, making me believe we were friends, and all the while you were planning to kill me, weren’t you? You were daydreaming about cutting off my head.”

He closed the space between you, backing you into a corner, the air pulsing with danger and sickening dread. Your pulse thundered. Every hair on the back of your neck stood on end as the weight of inevitability crushed you. “Please, D—”

And those were the last words you ever spoke. 

Chapter 11. 

The replicated Heian-era room lay in rubble around Muzan, pieces of shattered pottery scattered on the tatami mats, the curtains torn to shreds. Wrath and ruin were all he was capable of, so wrath and ruin he embraced. 

How dare you. 

The thought of him as a mortal man, weak, fragile, every beat of his heart a countdown to inevitable death, filled him with dread and a fear like nothing else could conjure. 

At least, that's the way it had been before you came back to him. Now the thought of spending eternity alone was even worse.  

As much as you had angered him, you had impressed him too, fighting so defiantly against him, knowing full well that you could not win. You were exactly who he needed. Fate, cruel bitch that it was, was also absolutely correct in its insistence to bring you to him. He belonged to you, and you to him. 

Still, you would require time to think over all that had happened and give your temper time to cool, as would he. He resolved to return to the temple the next night and try again to make you see from his perspective. 

He crouched and began picking up the shards of pottery. In his own way he had come to love it, to cherish it, knowing that no matter how many times it was broken it could always be mended. 

As he collected the pieces, Nakime appeared in the window, kneeling respectfully at the threshold. “Lord Muzan, upper moon two has arrived in the Infinity Castle.”

Muzan clenched his back teeth. His mood was still sour from the quarrel, though he supposed, he should speak to Douma and inform him that you were to remain comfortable at the Eternal Paradise temple until the two of you were ready to converse civilly. If he could only make you see…

“Very well,” Muzan said.

She needed no further instruction. The upper moon appeared before him an instant later, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the destruction all around the demon king. 

“My my, the place looks lovely,” Douma chuckled. The sickly scent of death and incense filled the room, closing Muzan’s throat. His footsteps padded against the floor to a torn curtain which he inspected and tutted mournfully. “Aw, this is silk. It’s very nice—”

“Douma,” Muzan said, not even sparing him a glance as he continued his meticulous recovery of the vase. “The woman you brought to me. Take care of her.”

“Already done, my lord.”

“Good.”

The upper rank smiled contentedly, laying on the futon with an exaggerated sigh. “Ahh… this is comfortable. Sadly I’ve already eaten tonight and I’m still full.” He patted his stomach and stared at the ceiling. “But she’s gone. You have nothing to worry about from nasty little slayers.”

Muzan grew still, his fingers hovering an inch above a shard. Since Douma arrived, the air reeked of death, of blood… of you. No… No. His blood ran cold. “What have you done?”

The fool sat up, that damnable smile plastered onto his face slowly slipping. “My lord?”

A feeling unlike anything Muzan had ever known surged in his chest. Dread more powerful than that of his own death which had haunted him for a thousand years. It was nauseating, chilling, he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t make sense of a single thing around him. All he knew was that he needed to go to you.

Nakime needed no instruction. A moment later Muzan was storming through the Eternal Paradise temple’s hallways toward your room. Dread sat like a lead weight on his chest, the cold creeping sensation of inevitability churning his stomach and darkening his vision. 

He felt so disgustingly human as he hesitated outside your door before sliding it open. 

Your room was as it always was, and there you lay, serenely tucked up in bed. Still, cold, lifeless. At once he had to turn away, his hands instinctively rising to cover his face as a burning hot mass gathered in the back of his throat and the world tilted around him. 

No. No. 

No it couldn’t be.

He summoned every ounce of strength he had, forcing the feeling down, commanding himself to remain calm.

“Stop this at once,” Muzan hissed, his intense gaze remaining fixed on the wall beside the door, refusing to look at you. “Whatever this is. If it’s some way to punish me for what I said, then consider the punishment dealt. You’ve done enough.”

Nothing. No subtle hiss of breath, no sign of life. Only death. Only emptiness. 

He turned back to face you once more, met with that awful, beautiful sight. 

Douma had indeed taken care of you, the shred of humanity his soul yet clung to ensuring your death was quick and painless. Eventually you would have been discovered and it would have been assumed that you died comfortably in your sleep, warm and at peace. Ascended to the paradise the temple promised. 

“Wake up!” Muzan snapped, the lights in the room flickering with his outburst. 

But you did not.

“Fine. If it pleases you to try it, we’ll search for a cure, as you call it. Will that make you happy? Will it bring you b—” He bit back his words, painfully aware of how pathetic he sounded. Gods, he was choking. 

He was still holding the shards of that damned vase, he realized, so he set them on the end of your bed before sitting beside you, lifting you into his arms and holding you to him. He’d watched you sleep for so many nights, listened to your shallow breaths, watched the subtle shifts in your features, the flickering of your eyelids as you dreamed, listened to you mumble and sigh. So many nights, yet, so few. And now there would be no more. 

You were gone. 

“I suppose you expect me to endure this life alone again for a thousand years?” he asked you, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “Is that my punishment for saying that you and your love meant nothing? Hm?”

A tear landed on your cheek, but it could not have been his. No, he would not believe that. Tears were a symptom of humanity, a sickness he was long ago rid of. He was loath to let them trickle down his cheeks. It was beneath him. 

“How dare you,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the smooth space between your brow, hoping to find comfort where there could never be any again. “You said earlier that you remembered cursing the world with me. That the world was as shit to us as ever it was but there was more we didn’t get to say. So much more.” He smoothed a hand across your hair before standing, carrying your body in his arms as he left the room, if only to get away from the cloying scent of incense which pervaded the air. How he despised it, pressing his nose instead to the top of your head, breathing in your familiar scent. 

“The world is cruel,” he said, “It has always been. To take you from me once more… and yet it brought you to me. And I do not know which I resent more.”

He carried you outside, to where the air was clear and the maple tree’s leaves fluttered softly to the earth, laying a crimson carpet for the two of you to rest upon. The sky was already turning from black to deep blue, and his demonic instinct begged him to retreat, but he told himself he would hold you there a little while, until the ache in his chest ceased.

Even then, he knew it was a lie. There was nothing waiting for him once he let you go.

“A lonely eternity, knowing what could have been,” he whispered, his hand gliding  down your cold cheek, wiping away the mess of tears that had accumulated on your skin. “That is the hell you’ve condemned me to with your love. Even if your soul is reborn, what chance is there you will cross my path again? And how long will it be? How long are you going to make me wait this time? Centuries upon centuries, you stubborn creature.” A bitter huff of laughter escaped him, and he shook his head, raising his eyes to the rapidly brightening sky. 

He had once enjoyed the way the sunlight shone through the red leaves, the fiery light it cast down upon the two of you as you sat in your garden centuries ago. Every cell in his body told him to run, to hide from the merciless glare. But what could he run to? What was left for him? He could not answer, and so he remained, cradling your lifeless body in his arms. 

“I am afraid,” he admitted. “But then… I have always been.”

You had always softened the world’s hard edges. You with your patient love. And so he held you firm.

The sun was still hidden behind the mountains when the pain began, but Muzan was accustomed to pain. Besides, it was only cells and nerve endings. Grief was a far deeper, more savage agony, one he clung to as his grip around you tightened and the maple leaves began to glow that brilliant, blazing red. 

And then, there was nothing. 

Muzan stood alone in darkness, the white cloth of his kosode stark against the abyss. Panic struck his heart, the sudden realization that you were no longer in his arms, that he had let you go. He was alone. He called your name again and again, bleating helplessly into that eternal night.

“I’m here,” you said, and at once his heart knew peace. 

He fell to his knees before you as you wrapped your arms around him, cradling his head against you and stroking your hand through the long waves of his hair. He no longer had the power to change it, he realized, but strangely, that no longer mattered. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered, holding you to him with a strength far beyond anything he had possessed as a demon. 

“Always,” you said. 

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you.”

Heat pressed against his back, the beckoning glow of hellfire he couldn’t shut out no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face against you. 

“I think we’ll always find each other,” you said, your comforting touch enabling him to stand and face the inevitable. “And before you try to argue, I am coming with you. I have no intention of being reborn into a world you aren’t a part of.”

With the flames licking at his back, Muzan found himself able to stand, and unable to stop himself from smiling. You were right, there was little point in arguing. You were far too stubborn. So he took your hand, and walked into hell at your side. 

“My love,” he said. “My stubborn, ridiculous woman. I will love you for eons… even if the world will not allow it.”

Chapter 12- Another Life. 

“Your bloodwork results are promising,” Doctor Kocho said, switching the display so Muzan's tablet screen filled with the report from his recent tests. “If this continues I think it’s safe to say we should stick with the Lycorisol.”

Muzan nodded. “Agreed. It seems to be working well.”

“How are your pain levels?”

“About a five.”

“That’s good, considering when you first came to me you told me the numbers on the scale didn’t go high enough and you had quite a few choice suggestions on where I should shove my charts.”

“And look at me now,” he said dryly, watching as a black car pulled up on the gallery’s security screen monitor. His first visitor was right on time. 

The doctor laughed quietly. “Hopefully that number will be even lower at our next appointment.”

Muzan hummed in acknowledgement. Hope was becoming a familiar feeling, though one he remained hesitant to trust fully. “Thank you for your time, doctor. I’ll speak to you again next month.”

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Kibutsuji. Good luck with the exhibition.”

He ended the call, and pulled in a steadying breath. 

The exhibition had taken years of planning, and now that it was happening, he found himself uncharacteristically nervous. His shoes and walking cane clicked rhythmically on the polished wooden floor as he walked through his exhibit for what must be the hundredth time, inspecting each piece, as if decades’ of passion and practice could ever be erased simply by one of his vases being a fraction off-center. He was being ridiculous. 

Over the years he had honed his skills as a potter, his fascination with recreating ancient techniques and styles of ceramic bordering on obsession. Or so the magazine reviews had said anyway. 

His attention was drawn by the soft tap of footsteps behind him as a visitor entered the gallery, and at once his heart began to race. Nervous didn’t cover it. 

You walked slowly from piece to piece, studying the vases one by one, reading the little plaques he’d meticulously typed up describing his process behind each vase. And he could see it in your eyes, the vague interest but soul-deep yearning for… for what? That was what he needed to understand. What was the thing his pieces were lacking? Why did it never quite feel right? 

And then his eyes met yours and the world stood still. 

“Welcome,” he heard himself saying, though it seemed an insufficient greeting. He never was much of a people person.

“Hi,” you replied with a smile he almost felt he knew. “Are you the artist?”

He nodded. “I am. Muzan Kibutsuji.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time.”

“Oh…” His cheeks grew mortifyingly warm. “A fan.”

Gods, what was wrong with him? 

Your slanted smile made his pulse thunder, the sensation of your palm against his as the two of you shook hands damn near made him lightheaded. Yes, you were physically attractive to him, of course you were, but there was something else too. He’d known you for all of a minute, and yet the yearning he felt, the longing…

“This is going to sound so silly, but I think I’ve been daydreaming about coming here for so long I feel like we’ve already met,” you said. 

He gripped the head of his cane so tightly he felt as though the wood would splinter beneath his hand. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Oh, I could stay forever.”

“Please do,” he said, snapping his mouth shut as soon as the words left his lips.

But you simply laughed, quietly and not at all unkindly, glancing away as your own complexion darkened. And that’s when your eyes met the vase in the corner, the only one in the exhibition he had not made himself. 

“Oh… wow…” you said, walking closer to the piece. 

“Ah, that’s actually the vase which began my love of ceramics,” he said, standing beside you and finding himself transfixed by it as he always did. “I discovered the fragments inside an abandoned temple when I was twelve years old. The vase itself dates all the way back to the Heian period. It’s been broken and fixed many times. I used to play with it, putting it back together over and over like a puzzle until I learned the art of kintsugi.”

Your eyes traced the cracks he had permanently and painstakingly repaired with lacquer and gold powder. “It’s… I don’t know what it is…”

His heart sank just a little. “I suppose to most people it’s just a vase but I’ve always felt drawn to it.”

“No,” you said. “It’s not just a vase, is it? It’s a story.”

“Yes.” Muzan’s breath shook as he found himself suddenly on the verge of tears. His eyes met yours, and at once he felt as though he had found his place in the world. “You understand.”

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

Three years later that vase stood on a plinth at the very same gallery as guests mingled and congratulated you on your marriage. 

Your new husband glared from across the room, his social battery completely drained and yet he couldn’t quite hold back the wry smile tilting the corner of his lips at the sight of you in your wedding dress. 

Not that he didn’t look absolutely gorgeous himself in his sleek black suit. So gorgeous, in fact, that you found yourself completely unable to stop staring at him.

He said something inaudible to the people surrounding him and made his way toward you.  

“Mrs. Kibutsuji…” he said as he approached, his hand slipping around your waist to rest on the small of your back as he pressed his lips to your brow. “I’m tired.”

“I know, love. We only have four more hours of wedding to endure,” you said leaning into his kiss. “But if you like we can bail and head back to the hotel–”

“No, let's stay, I haven't danced with my wife yet, ” he said, the gentle smile he reserved so often for you softening his features, “I am, however, keen to stop… how did you phrase it?”

“Playing nice?”

“Yes.”

You chuckled as he led you to the dance floor, swaying you to the music. Your husband was a curmudgeon– often with good reason– but he was completely, undeniably besotted with you. It was plain to see in his eyes, those soft reddish-brown eyes which gazed at you like you were the only person in the universe for him. And he was certainly the only one in the universe for you. 

He grimaced at the sudden shower of flashes from the guests’ cameras.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his misery compounded. “You poor thing, it’s killing you, isn’t it?”

“I must have done something awful in a past life,” he grumbled, but he didn’t mean it one bit. Muzan, despite his outward appearance, was happier than he had ever been. And so were you. 

“You must have,” you said, your lips seeking his, your heart full with the knowledge that Muzan Kibutsuji, that terrible, wonderful man was yours forever. 

THE END. 

Muzan kibutsuji x fem!reader

Cw; baby girl, dadbod!pt2, happy reader, this is actually cute ngl 😭

Mizan kibutsuji x pregnant!reader

Cw; fluff, pregnant!reader, happy marriage, modern au of course, happy!muzan, dadbod!muzan

Muzan kibutsuji x fem!reader

Cw; romance, suggestive, fluff, marriage

Muzan kibutsuji x fem!reader

Cw; fluff, suggestive, romance

first post of the year letss gooooooo

demon slayer spoilers. This is very short.

demon slayer masterlist

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Imagine being Muzan's younger sibling who ate a blue spiderlily and knowing where they bloom but not telling Muzan cause your scared of what he'll do. Instead you go to the demon slayer corps and tell them everything you know just to go back to your brother and act like you didn't betray him, even though he knows. Every meeting you gather information to give to the demon slayers and at the end you watch them fight muzan while trying to watch him from the shadows but he knocks down the building u were hiding behind and everything stops once he sees you.

You start to cry while he tries to kill you, hashira and kakushi protecting you. In the end you watch him turn into a big baby and burn in the sunlight, not realizing that the sun is burning you too. But you let it.

The end

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idea: uzui wife! reader, during the entertainment arc, is busy being disguised as a courtesan @ daki's home. she's mindin' her own business and suddenly, she gets called in for a customer. She gets a bad feeling about them, (It koku or Muzan (-whichever you wanna do more-) in disguise) but since she doesn't wanna blow her cover, she obliges. this demon is impressed by their skills (Koto, flute, singing & dancing etc) and kidnaps reader

So so so sorry for the late request

I choose muzan

demon slayer masterlist

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You sat in your room in the red light district. You had been here for a long time, longer than your wives, and with that extra time, you made a name for yourself as an Oiran.

Two gentle knocks broke you from concentration as you applied makeup.

"Lady Y/n you have a man requested you. Only you."

"Thank you for informing me." You replied as you put on your traditional multi-layered kimono. You tied your hair and put on kanzashi. Looking into the mirror at you table you sighed.

"I hope this mission ends soon." You muttered as you went to see your client.

------

He was seated in the corner of the room. In a suit with a white hat covering his eyes. His demeanor was cold and calculating, You could tell he wasn't ordinary and as you got closer the notion was he wasn't human was more apparent.

"The gentleman asked for my presence. Were none of my girls to the gentleman's liking." You smiled gently but were secretly wanting to get away from this demon.

"Your girls are beautiful but I came to see you. Your beauty entices me."

"The Gentleman has caught my eye, pray tell what do you wish from me."

"Everything." He raises his head to meet your eyes. Your heart skipped a beat to be met with striking red eyes. For a moment you saw him for the demon that he was.

You stood up and lead the man to your room.

"May I know the gentleman name?"

There was a moment before he responded.

"Kibutsuji."

'Muzan kibutsuji?'

You were lucky you were facing away from him or else he would've seen your panicked face. You quickly composed yourself.

"Well Mr. Kibutsuji please make yourself comfortable." You had made it to your room.

------

You had indeed done everything for him.

Teashows

Games

Recited poetry

played many instruments

danced

Kibutsuji only smiled and asked for more.

"Your skills are undoubtedly impressive, lady Y/n. You have done everything I asked without breaking a sweat and even had a smile on your face. You are truly amazing."

You chuckled and sat in front of him, "Compliments are not necessary, Mr. Kibutsuji. I am here to serve your needs."

"It's a shame that you're not a real Oiran." He said while grabbing your face rather harshly. Forcing you to look into his eyes.

"What do you mean sir-"

"I've been listening to your heartbeat this whole time. From the moment I said my name your heartbeats have been irregular. You're scared of me, you know me."

"Kibutsuji..." You hissed his name and tried to get out of his grasp.

"You lucky I like you." He said before he knocked you out.

He brought you back to the Infinity Castle.

------

Later that week the news of the missing Oiran, Y/n was all over the red-light district. Once the news reached Tengen (along with the lack of messages from Suma, Hina, and Makio) He decided it was time to step in.

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back to the half demon half human reader thing: this time, upper moons? i think it would be cute

Demon slayer masterlist

Baby demon - hashira

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Muzan walked into your room. You haven't made a noise since he put you down for a nap.

He found you staring at the flower themed mobile. He cooed at you as he picked you up.

He had you in his hip while he took a walk around the castle letting you see each demons domains.

You babbled as you played with the buttons on his best.

"My Lord I didn't know you had a kid." Douma commented, seeing him walk by.

"I Don't."

--------

"Please stop pulling my hair." Kokushibo said while grabbing your hands that were tangled in his long locs. You were standing on one of his legs while he was sitting.

Once he got a hold of both of your hands you started to dance

"Da Da Da" You babbled.

"Yeah, that's right dada. Can you say it?"

"Da da... Dadaa."

"Yeah, I'm dada." His blew raspberries into your cheeks.

You giggled and squirmed.

--------

He knew you were a half demon from the start.

You were presented to Douma as a present from one of his followers, you're unique like him. Visually different (I was thinking something like an albino or vitiligo) but still adorable to look at.

"Aww you look so cute Y/n!" He exclaimed as he took you from his follower's arms. You had on an outfit identical to his with a matching hat.

You giggled as he tickled your stomach before sitting you on a soft pillow next to his own.

You always sat next to him and his followers came and visited.

--------

"Do you want your binkie?" Akaza tried to calm you down but nothing was working.

He tried feeding you, cradling you, swaddling you, putting you down for a nap and more.

You would not stop crying.

There was one thing they he hadn't tried yet but he was too embarrassed to do it. Your screams were enough to drive him to do it.

He sung to calm you down.

It worked.

--------

"Ready or not here I come." Daki took of running to find you.

You giggled, not so quietly, as you watched her run around while you were hiding behind Gyotaro.

"Gyotaro where did they go?" Daki whispered as if she didn't know you were behind him. He shrugged cause you to giggle harder.

"GOTCHA" She exclaimed and tried to reach around her brother. You screeched and tried to run but she caught you and threw you in the air.

"HAHA I WIN."

"DON'T THROW THEM!"

---------

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Guess who's my favorite

Who was your favorite

you don't have to do this if you don't feel like it. but, if you do, yay and ty! So there's a species called a Doppelganger in MGE (Monster Girl Encyclopedia), and they read the mind of their beloved to find out what type of person they are into. They don't choose to interact in their real form because they (i believe) think their real form is unattractive. Imagine that, with Muzan. Doppelganger! reader turns into what he believes is perfect for him but is honest about what they are from the start. (so it doesn't make muzan feel like he's being lied to.)

they'll turn into their true form once they feel more confident in themselves and feel more comfortable around him.

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You saw him once and once was enough

He was in a small town while you followed him from the shadows

He was perfect and you wanted him to see you as perfect too

So you read his mind and turned yourself into his ideal partner

The first time the two of you came face to face it was like Muzan was in a trance

you told him everything but refused to turn into your original form and he was okay with that

he couldn't look away from you

When you got together he started falling in love with your personality

You were perfect in his eyes.

Your (e/c) eyes were the thing that really caught his attention

They didn't look human

You told him the truth

he didn't care. He loved you

He reassured you that no matter what you look like you will always be beautiful in his eyes

"Muzan" You said walking into your shared bedroom. Muzan was on the bed resting against the headrest reading a book.

"Yes, my love?" He answered and put his book down while keeping the page. You sat down next to him and grabbed his hands.

"I love you. I have loved you since the day that I first saw you, but you know I don't really look like this. I want to show you, but I'm scared."

"It doesn't matter what you look like. I love you, Y/n." He smiled.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and slowly breathed out.

You felt yourself turn. opening your eyes, you look to see Muzan with an indifferent look on his face. He guided you to his chest and laid back while pressing gentle kisses on your forehead.

-----------

The next morning you realized you were unable to change back.

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imagine reader, muzan’s wife (aka: his only true equal. he gave her so much of his blood it almost killed them both), betrays him and joins the demon slayer corps after regaining her humanity (u can decide how that happens). since she’s his only true equal, he has no control over her whatsoever like with other demons, and he cannot read her mind. he’s absolutely heartbroken and upset when she betrays him. she joins the trio + rengoku on the mugen train without their knowledge. she saves rengoku’s life with her blood demon art and kills akaza. but…even after all that, can the trio and rengoku trust her? after all, she’s just as powerful as muzan and came out of nowhere to help…. (tanjiro and nezuko are on her side for sure; he can smell that she’s being honest about ‘wanting to make up for the things she did before she regained her humanity’. rengoku is grateful for her help, but overall…he is suspicious.) she leaves before the sunlight can reach her, and everyone is left wondering about her….

A/n: Sorry this took so long, summer has been kicking my ass more than school. coincidently I have a story like this in mind except with Muzan's son and the mother has brain damage.

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You married Muzan while he was still human

When the doctor turned him into a demon you like the amazing wife you are took the same medicine so that you could be a demon with him

For centuries you and Muzan have lived and loved together

You had followed him blinded and caused many deaths

When he created the moons he got more hostile

he had changed completely and even threatened to kill you

The first time that he hit you was out of rage after a meeting with the moons

He had slapped your head clean off, it hurt like hell

he regrated it but he didn't say anything

You had decided he had gone too far and needed to be stopped

After that you left for close to 10 years, you had started speaking to the current head of the Ubuyashiki's, Kagaya

You had told the young head many secrets, you confessed about every crime that you had committed

He had forgiven you and welcomed you into his family with open arms (after consulting his family of course)

although you never met any of the Hashira you know of them

and currently you were following Akaza after Muzan ordered him to kill the boy with the hanafuda earings

You were at the edge of the forest, judging to see if the fight was going to end in the flame Hashira's death.

You watched as the slayers fought with his whole heart. His speech really set your heart ablaze, you almost missed your time to intervene.

"Akaza, I am so sorry." You whispered into his ear as you teleported behind him. You cut off the arm that was heading towards the hashira's stomach and stabbed your nails into his neck, giving him a lot of your blood. (Muzan's and your blood don't mix and cause the body to implode or in a demons case their body disintegrates)

"Ma'am?" That was all Akaza could say before he is body went away with the wind.

You took a deep breath before looking at the astonished faces looking back at you.

"A DEMON KILLING A DEMON. WHAT'S HAPPENING" A boy with yellow hair screeched from the side of the train.

After that you had gained the respect of the Hashira (with the exception of a few *cough cough Obanai and Sanemi*)

Rengoku is very thankful that you saved his life but it also conflicted cause he was saved by a demon

Tanjiro trusts you, he knows you are genuine with everything you say

Nezuko is adorable, she always runs and hugs you when she sees you

Your kids with Muzan never lived long so being around the siblings was very refreshing

Inosuke wants to fight you, he always loses and hates it but he hates the fact that you hold back even more

Zenitsu is afraid of you, he avoids you at all costs

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Muzan with a demon s/o that wants to transition to a different gender (like mtf for example) but doesn't know how. they never felt like the gender they was born with but feel like they'd be happier to be another so badly they ask muzan for help I feel like he would understand, since he can be any form, and any form he takes is attractive (kid muzan is adorable gkfrbgkdfm)

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first things first: You can't hide anything from Muzan. He watches you every day stare at your clothes and yourself in the mirror your shared bedroom

He can tell your are uncomfortable in your own skin and leaves subtle hints that you can wear or do anything that you want

like if your are female but feel present more masculine he will bring your clothes accordingly and vise versa

If your a human he will offer to turn you into a demon and that you can be anything that you want

If your a demon and like to change your form into a male/female he will always say he loves you just the say

If anyone even dares to think about the way you look he'll kill him... just drop dead

No matter what you are or want to be he will love and protect you

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An: I hope this was good. I don't know much about the gender dysphoria but I do understand what it does to people and I hope that whoever reads this that they shouldn't be ashamed of themselves based on what other people think. People can be cruel and there is always going to be a hater but that doesn't mean you have to listen to them

muzan with reader who's a werewolf that is too afraid to tell their lover about who they really are? that was until one full moon night reader turns despite their best efforts to fight it?

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You and Muzan met up almost every night but every full moon you would make an excuse not to meet up

You knew he was the demon king but he didn't know you were a werewolf

At first Muzan didn't want to pry, You were the first thing that genuinely made him feel happy and he wasn't going to mess it up because of his curiosity

It didn't last long tho

You forgot that the next night that you will meet up will be a full moon by the time you realized it you and Muzan were already hugging

You could feel yourself start to change in his grasp. You tried to get away but he wouldn't let you.

"I wanna see." He said as he held you tighter.

"No you don't." You said through gritted teeth. It was starting to hurt but being in his arm brought you at least some comfort.

You felt yourself start to blackout as your body was succumbing to the effects of the moon, as much as you tried to fight it you turned, blacking out in the process.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, your face buried into your lover's chest, his arms wrapped around your waist while his head rested on top of yours.

Muzan being Muzan sensed that you were awake.

"You could've just told me." He said, his voice held no anger. Muzan took one of the hands at your waist and rubbed your back while the other went you the back of your head.

"Sorry." You wrapped your arms around his neck and nestled your head in his neck.

"You tore my suit to shreds."

"Sorry."

"No more secrets." he demanded.

"Okay."

He lowered the hand on you head to you chin and raised your face to look at him.

"I love you Y/n." He didn't wait for you to respond as he claimed your lips as his own.

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Blood demon art: Botanical Garden P1, P2, P3(current), P4, P5, P6

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A few weeks have pasts and you have been bounced around from Hashira to Hashira so the 12 kizuki won't find you and so far its worked.

You liked all of the Hashira but your favorite was Giyuu and Obanai. You liked how Giyuu didn't know how to take care of you so he let you do anything you wanted. Obanai hates you, you know that and love to 'bully' him.

For the next 2 weeks you will be with Rengoku. With Rengoku you felt like an actual child, it made you miss father even more.

currently the flamboyant (in in tengens words) Hashira was picking you up from the butterfly estate.

"Y/n, it's time to go." Rengoku called as you said goodbye to Shinobu who sent you off with a smile.

It sent chills up your spine.

The walk to Rengoku's house was mostly silent but you broke it with a question.

"It's been a while and I haven't even seen a demon do you think father doesn't care about me?"

His eyes widened as he thought of an appropriate answer (if they could). It was awkward to say the least.

'Probably should've stayed quiet.' You mentally groaned at the heavy silence.

"Your father strikes me as the strategic type, from what I've heard about him, he might be waiting for the right time. When your father does come for you..."

You drowned out his voice as you felt yourself tearing up. You missed your father, you missed the 12 kizuki. You'd run if you could but you didn't want to worry any of the hashira.

"...BUT I'M SURE HE LOVES AND MISSES YOU DEARLY."

Well, that got your attention.

"lets change the subject. Are you excited to go on a mission with me. We are investigating a train that is said to have a demon on it." He picked you up and threw you into the air making you laugh.

"YEAH."

He took you to his house to get ready. Shinjuro didn't let you in and watched you intensely from the front door.

"ALRIGHT LET'S GO Y/N."

On the way to the train you go. Rengoku was good company, he never treated you any differently because you were a demon. In his eyes you were still a child.

'Oh y/n what have you gotten yourself into.'

You'd recognize that voice from anywhere.

It was your father.

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@unhappy-filling

(fluff) Muzan with reader thats like marceline from adventure time? pranks, awesome abilities, musical, estranged demon overlord parent from a alternate dimension- seems very fun, don't it?)

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Let's say your father is alucard from hellsing (he is gorgeous)

Akaza tolerates you (kinda like he is princess bubblegum without the relationship problems)

He is your prime subject for pranks. He gets you back everytime. If someone were to hurt you he'd kill them and not just because of muzan

Doma cherishes you

He loves pulling pranks with you, no matter how much the others hate it. You keep him entertained

Kokoshibo has a soft spot for you

He likes you additude and how you deal with your feelings in song. Anytime you want him to listen he will

Muzan is... Muzan

He doesn't even remember when you first came to the infinite castle, it's like one day you just showed up and never left.

As weird as your relationship with muzan is he knows all your insecurities and makes sure that no one brings them up around you weather they know or not

Daki loves you while gyotaro is wary of you

If you are around gyotaro would never put his guard down while you and daki have fun doing whatever

It's never quite in the infinity castle with you around and they like it that way

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This is kinda sad, but I was scared to watch adventure time after that one episode where they were on the train and people turned into skeletons, I think it was Jake's birthday. But I've seen enough clips to be familiar with her and marshal lee. I like her and this request. thank you.

Sorry it took so long

A/n: While writing this I realized I had a draft like this but I didn't know how to finish it. The draft in question was written in June.

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"@imgonnamixit maybe the reader meets the slayers and DOMA has to get them back"

You had successfully escaped the infinity castle away from your father and his demon's eyes. One demon, in particular, was tasked with watching you and as of right now was shitting bricks cause he couldn't find you.

Walking out in the open air was something you never got to experience. You liked the outside but you couldn't just stop and look around so you followed your father's tracks.

It happened in a big blur you had followed your father out of the infinite castle to his other family when you were taken away by the kakushi.

They took you away. You don't know where you are but it's no where near home.

They put you in a room without windows you didn't understand why, living in the infinity castle they had loads of windows even if they just lead to other rooms. You've never seen the sun and your father had taught you to fear it.

The first person you saw was a man with a scar covering the top half of his face. He had a soft smile of his face matched with a soft personality. You couldn't help but feel at peace whenever him and his children came by.

Days had went by with you in his care. You didn't mind staying in the small room but you did miss your father.

"Do you feel like talking today." He waited for a response that never came. "That's fine my child. Take your time." He reached his hand out to you. "I want you to meet the demon slayers."

'My child' your father never called you any terms of endearment. You liked it.

Your father warned you about the demon slayers. He told you to stay away from them. That they were dangerous.

So you were terrified.

-----

"Hey, Y/n... Wake up it's time to go home." A familiar voice said to you as you were shaken awake.

"It wasn't very nice to run away from me like that. I got in trouble cause of you." A whiney Doma said while picking you up.

"I didn't technically run. We were playing hide and seek, and I just happened to find a good spot." You replied not worried at all about the consequences of your actions.

getting back at the mansion you were greeted by your father and his usual scowl.

Hide N Seek was permanently banned in the infinity castle and Doma was no longer able to watch over you. Now you were babysat by Kokushibo and Akaza. Strictly.

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Requested by @akitsugikuni-hashira

"Maybe how they meet again or how the demons react."

Samurai Ghost Rider

Sorry for the wait

---------

Muzan

You could tell that Muzan was too powerful for you to face on your own, but you didn't have time to gather slayers before he saw you.

You expected a fight but what you got was surprising.

"A ghost samurai. Only head in legends. I'm honored to meet you." He bowed his head slightly out of respect.

"I'm a demon slayer you know that right." If you had eyebrows be raised in a questioning manor.

"Yes but I see no reason to kill you. You name is well known throughout the modern world. You must hold incredible power." After saying that he vanished.

He was the first demon that got away from you.... Sort of.

Douma

You heard about a cult with a suspicious leader. Normally you would ignore things like that but something about it was drawing you in.

"Well, well who do we have here. You a strange one, who are you better yet what are you." He spoke while circling you.

"That is none of your concern demon." You spat back, hand going near your sword but your sword was knocked out of the hilt and slide away from you.

"Nu-uh~ I can't let you do that we barely had any fun yet." He whined.

He was weird.

Akaza

It was on sight.

You didn't get a chance to examine the situation before he started throwing hands.

This man barely gave you a second to breathe.

He kept saying you already had the looks to be a demon and might as well become one.

You didn't want to fight him or turn into a demon.

Daki/gyotaro

You never thought you'd end up in the red light district of all places, but you knew your senses were never wrong.

Honestly you were creeped out. You were watching from a far as Uzui beheaded daki.

Watching gyotaro emerge from her back like that was weird.

Seeing as they were already in battle you decided to leave them be.

Kokushibo

You knew him before he became a demon. You thought he was an excellent swordsman, but now you were upset that he was a demon.

"You abandoned your humanity for power. It saddens me to see you like this. You had great promise but now I don't know." You said facing away from him neither of your swords drawn.

He didn't say anything

"My friend, for I'll friendship I'll take my leave, but if we met under different circumstances. I'll have no choice."

He watched as you walked.

Akaza + Muzan

Basically your a child that follows them everywhere (PLATONIC)

You followed muzan's everywhere. You were his child after all.

Muzan is a bit overprotective

Since he can read the minds of other demons he know what they think of you and he will either kill them or punish them

You tried following him out of the castle which he of course didn't allow but you still tried to sneak out

"Stay here Y/n. I mean it." You nodded as you watching him leave.

You tried to quietly follow him if it wasn't for Doma

"Hey Y/n, where are you going."

Hearing this your father turned around in an instant. You looked up at Doma like he was a titan about to eat you.

Akaza didn't mind you following him. You went anywhere he did, he never trusted anyone to look after you

Even when he was fighting demon slayers

You were hiding somewhere near by (luckily they could barely sence your presence)

While akaza was fighting Rengoku you were silently cheering him on in the bushes.

When the final blow was dealt (rip) you kinda got scared because the sun was coming up and he wouldn't move.

You were about to jump up when you were suddenly yanked from your spot like a sack of potatoes. A sword nearly got you if akaza was quick enough to move you more to his side.

Distant screaming was heard but you paid no mind.

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Im sorta running out of ideas so if anyone could send a request that would be awesome.