When you told your friends about your upcoming trip, they squealed.
"Enjoy your honeymoon," they said.
"It'll be fun," they said.
You were so nervous about traveling far from home for the first time.
However, your friends had all agreed that Muzan was one heck of a knockout.
He was complete ten out of ten, a man who could send your entire friend group kneeling on all fours.
Had your friends not been married already, they would've been all over Muzan's body within milliseconds.
Since they had husbands of their own, though, they decided that you should fulfill their wishes instead.
They convinced you that the honeymoon would the perfect chance to grow closer with your hot hubby...
...and perhaps lose your V-card, too.
The latter idea had turned you into an awkward mess.
Besides, making love with Muzan was far off, right?
You could never imagine your husband ever having a chance to defile your pure body...until you reached your hotel room.
"Why is there only one bed?" you shouted.
When the hotel's hostess showed you the Honeymoon Suite, where you and your husband would be staying near Mount Fuji, that was the first thing that struck you.
Not the Victorian-style lounge chairs or crystal chandeliers.
Not the mountain-facing balcony or the velvet carpets.
And not even how this suite reeked of one word: expensive.
Rather, what caught your attention was the lone and single bed placed squarely in the guestroom, with the mattress raised like the ones you saw in Western movies.
The hostess shifted underneath her dark uniform before daring to answer your question.
"Every Honeymoon Suite here has only one King-sized bed," she disclosed. "This is the room that your mother had reserved."
Before you could argue further, the hostess added, "All other hotel rooms are booked for the week."
After a four-hour, nighttime train ride from Tokyo to Mount Fuji, though, how could you possibly spend the evening here?
The suite looked more like a child's playroom than a hotel stay, decked with pink hearts and red frills (which, surely, were also requests placed by your mother).
Also, you had slept next to Muzan for just one night before, but sharing a bed with Muzan over five nights was a thought beyond comprehension.
Standing at the doorway, you shot an uneasy glance at your husband and then the hostess, both of whom were beside you.
You hoped that Muzan would say something.
The only thing he did, though, was stand next to you with a dorky smile, nodding politely to whatever the hostess was saying.
"Are there at least futon mattresses?" you finally asked. "So that I could sleep on the floor?"
The hostess lowered her gaze at your complaints, uneasily clicking the heels of her shoes.
"Unfortunately, since this property is a Western-style hotel, we do not have floor mattresses," she clarified. "We apologize for—"
"No need for apologies," Muzan interjected.
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?"
I hope to post more often starting mid-June! :3
I finish my finals soon!