You immediately ran up to your husband with a frown, ready to whack him at any given moment.
Muzan sensed your death glare and instinctively locked your wrists together with just one hand.
And when you tried to fight back, he tightened his grasp.
Ow.
This man...your husband...he's strong.
You had to muster all your strength so that you were not whimpering in the hotel halls like an injured puppy.
"Sorry that my wife is acting up," he continued, ignoring your tantrum. "She's just going through her time of the month."
Upon processing your husband's words, you instantly stopped squirming in his hold and felt your jaw fall limp from shock.
Even the hostess was taken aback. "Wh-What?"
"Her period," Muzan explained when no explanations were needed. "My wife is on her period."
Your period?
Huh?
You were not even on your period...
When you caught the hostess shooting you a look of pity, you responded with a scowl.
"It's rough, you know?" Muzan continued. "Especially when we had a lot of special plans for our honeymoon, right?"
And when Muzan turned to you, he winked.
As you gawked at your husband in shock, your heart raced, jumped, cartwheeled, did a little dance, and then threw itself out the window.
What—
What the frickity frack was he talking about?
Special plans?!
"Oh, I see," the hostess said, growing increasingly uncomfortable at the scene. "I'll leave you two alone, then. Enjoy your stay."
When the lady bowed and disappeared from sight, your husband dragged your stunned body into the suite just before the combination of embarrassment and anger allowed you to explode into a fit.
"What the hell was that?" you shouted the second the door closed behind you. "My period? I'm not on my period, so stop using me as an excuse! Don't ever do that again."
As you squawked like an irritated child, Muzan calmly walked over to the luggage bags, which had been brought up earlier by front desk attendants.
"My period?" you repeated in disbelief, waving your hands in the air. "Really?"
Muzan, who had unzipped a suitcase and acted like nothing ever happened, suddenly stood up and approached you in a half-walking, half-swaying way.
When you noticed that Muzans's prominent features were as stern as ever, you stopped in your tracks and let your arms fall to your side.
He leaned in.
He's close.
He's very close.
Your husband allowed his lips to graze past your collarbone and hover by your ear so that his every exhale brushed you.
"You," said Muzan in a voice as minuscule as a whisper, underlined with undeniable breathiness.
He had a talent for bringing all your thoughts to a stop.
His low and husky voice was enough to hypnotize you. His body heat over yours clouded your mind.
Digging your fingernails into your palm, you let the pain distract and prevent you from melting onto the floor.
Meanwhile, your husband took in several deep breaths by your neck, each inhale sending him deeper into his own bliss.
He watched you with a certain excitement, a passion, a hunger.
"You are on your period, though," he mused, mischief creeping into his dangerous tone.
"No, I'm n—"
Right before you could finish your sentence, you felt a familiar, warm liquid suddenly pool by your inner thighs.
Well, shoot.
Turns out that Aunt Flo decided to visit at the worst time ever.
Swallowing a hard gulp, you walked back everything you said.
You've never told Muzan about your menstrual cycle, yet your husband was...right?
You turned your face towards him, your mouth so close to Muzan's such that you were no longer sure whether your husband was toying with you.
He knew he had won.
And he smiled.
Gaping in disbelief, you caught your breath while trying to ignore your husband's intense, downward stare.
You had one question.
"How did you know?"
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