THE THREAT.
Ten minutes of silence. You did not dare to speak, he did not bother talking to you. You wondered what was on his mind. His hair were unusually disheveled, his bright eyes focused on the road and his grip on the steering wheel tightened second by second. His knuckles were white and his jaw clenched.
You did not dare to turn your head towards him and face him properly. You were scared to even roll down the window, how could you find the courage to make eye-contact with him? All you did was merely glancing at him and analyze his body language through your peripheral. The last time you checked, you saw his jugular pulsing at an irregular pace from beneath the collar of his snow-white shirt.
That was not a good sign.
You had no idea of where you were going, but he had taken the motorway. You were terrified, guilty, upset and, frankly, you were even mad at him. Where did this rage come from? What had you done to make him turn into a feral beast? Was this the real Muzan Kibutsuji?
Your dispirited eyes burnt for the tears you had shedded earlier and all you did was watching the landscape change outside the window. The high speed he was driving at was preventing you from clearly discerning the roadsigns and you rested your forehead against the cold glass in search for comfort. It was only then, when you realised you were venturing into the unknown with a man you barely knew, with a criminal, that insecurities and dark thoughts crept under your skin.
What if he was going to murder you? What if he was just searching for the right place to dig a grave for you to rot in?
You let out a shaky breath, clamping your mouth shut in a pitiful attempt to repress a groan of frustration to escape your lips. Was it the way you were going to die? You clutched the black fabric of your skirt in your fists and batted your eyes close, trying to steady your uneven breath. Well, if you were really going down, you would have not left this world without a fight.
"Muzan" you feebly broke the silence.
The raven-haired man did not dignify you with an answer. His eyes were still settled on the horizon as he overtook a grey utility car standing on his path. It was a mystery how you had not got into a car crash yet. But you were about to die anyway, right? Did it really matter how your death was going to be narrated by the newspaper?
"Muzan, please" you tried again, sitting up and darting your eyes on him.
The man who had had the ability of giving you headaches in fourty-eight hours of living together did not even pay attention at you. It seemed as if you were air, as if you were a ghost calling out his name in vain. Despite that, you were not going to give up easily. If there was a thing he could not claim and forge, something personal that you were not going to change for anyone, not even for him, was your personality.
You loathed not being listened to, even more you hated it when people pretended you did not exist. Therefore, the next words leaving your mouth dripped anger and contempt.
"Hey, I am talking to you, shithead!" you snapped, jabbing your finger at him in irritation.
Muzan's eyes widened at your abrupt change of tone "Watch your tongue, girlie" he snorted, fighting his impulse to pull over and choke an apology out of you. He knew women, he knew exactly what drove them crazy and, apparently, you were not the exception.
Although, actually, you were his exception. That was all that mattered to him.
You exhaled through your nostrils, throwing your hands in the air in the process "Okay, I'm sorry, alright? It's just that I would like to get a feedback, when I am talking to you" you pinpointed, earning a scornful side-eye from him.
You found it absurd how he could give you such controversial feelings. He made you feel on cloud nine, he gave you butterflies and then he scared you to death, he made you regret your decision to stay by his side and... And he made you feel miserable. Just like he was doing now.
He arched a dark eyebrow "Ironic, isn't it?" he hissed, running his fingers through his hair and keeping just one hand on the leather steering wheel.
"What?" you quipped.
"Demanding a feedback from me, when you literally do whatever you fucking want! I had asked only a goddamn thing of you, Y/N, was it really that hard to listen to me?" he roared, pushing the gas pedal harder with each word he spitefully threw at your face.
There you were, it had begun.
You gulped down, holding on your seat for dear life "Bloody Hell, Muzan, Douma was about to kill her! Was I supposed to stay in the car and watch him cut her into smithereens?" you replied, voice raising exponentially at his affirmations.
Was he really making a fuss about it? You knew you probably should have not hopped down of the car, but you were not going to sit idly when a girl was being tortured to death.
Muzan steered to the right, his eyes blazing with wrath. It was not just the fact that you had ignored his recommendation to stay in the car. It was the fact that you had left with Douma. Out of everyone, you had spent hours in his company, blessing him with your presence, with your smiles. Maybe, who knew, even something more than that.
He chose not to reply, he knew that if he did it now, words meant to be unspoken were probably going to roll out of his tongue. But, as the car entered a forest glade unfamiliar to you, your stomach clenched at the sight before your wary eyes and you finally spat it out.
"Muzan, are you going to kill me?" you asked him, tears welling up in your eyes. Were you serious? How could you even think that he was going to hurt you?
"You are such a child" he bitterly commented, although a small smile curled his lips.
You were capable to mess with his head in a way no one had ever done before. He knew more about you than he actually let you know. Saying that he was obsessed with you was an understatement. You were his perfect match and, sooner of later, you would have fallen for him. It was hard to keep up with you, though. You were not as naïve as he thought you were.
He did not want to overshadow your purity. He just intended to envelope it with his darkness to keep you safe.
"Fuck you" you uttered then, as he pulled over.
In a split second, you reached out for the handle, not even glancing at him to assess his reaction before trying to escape your fate. What a pity. His hand grasped your wrist, forcing you to stop, and he tugged you back towards him. Your head whipped towards his deadly visage, your lower lip quivering in fear. Oh, he was definitely going to kill you, was he not?
"What did you say?" he quizzically asked you, his plum red eyes boring into your watery ones. He could see you were terrified, your breath uneven as he grasped your jaw to keep the intense eye-contact with you. He expected you to stay silent at this point, to keep your mouth shut, yet you surprised him once again.
"I said 'fuck you'. – you murmured, your hands snapping up in dispair, latching onto his forearm, to shove his hand off of you – You repulse me" you barked, watching how his angelic features wrinkled into a mask of hatred and rage. You closed your eyes, when he suddenly yanked your hair back, forcing you to crane your neck and exposing your throat at him, at his vicious eyes.
He was calculating his every move, taking his time in manhandling you like a fragile puppet. You waited, you waited for the fatal blow to arrive, because you were sure he was going to slit your throat, or choke you. But shivers ran down your spine as you felt his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses down the tender flesh of your sensitive sweet spot. You whimpered, mouth agape, while his soft touch made the fear slowly leave your heart.
Your eyes fluttered open and you hisitantly loosened your grip on his forearm, slithering your hand up his arm to rest on his firm bicep instead. You could tell he was still mad, the air was thin and his kisses, despite being affectionate, were fervish, rough. You did not know what crossed his mind as he stroked his nose against your cheekbone.
"You are an idiot. I've cancelled a conference to save you. Now tell me, sweetheart, why would I want to kill you?" he purred in your ear, tangling his fingers through your hair gently and nibbling at your earlobe suavely.
What a cocky bastard.
He was toying with you, playing with your emotions, pulling the strings of your heart. He was a puppet master, a devious, manipulative man who knew how to break you.
"Because you're a criminal" you breathed out then, ignoring the heat pervading your cheeks. His cologne was intoxicating, the path he drew along your skin with his lips burnt. Was fighting even an option at this point?
You heard him chuckling hoarsely, his hand cupping your cheek and ducking your head down, until your eyes met "Ah-ah, choose your words carefully, sweetheart. That's a tough talk for someone like you" he singsonged, brushing his thumb on your cheekbone almost lovingly. But you knew better than falling for it.
"I'm speaking facts. You are a murderer just like Douma" you said, only to see his eyes clouding over in annoyance. You had hit a nerve, had you not?
"Don't say his name ever again, woman" he hissed through gritted teeth. While it was undeniable that he was playing his cards right, he could say the same about you. Did you really have the gall to push his limits?
You scoffed, as you defiantly quirked an eyebrow up at him "Why? – you chimed, sneering at the man in front of you – Why does it disturb you? I can love whoever I want privately, right? It's in the contract! The same contract you drew up yourself" you mockingly reminded him of that specific clause not bonding you to be strictly faithful to him.
At least, in private.
Muzan fumed in anger and in that very moment you saw your end in his shimmering red eyes. He chuckled darkly to himself, his tongue swirling out to moisten his lips. A maniac, he looked like a maniac.
It happened in a split second. His hands grasped your hips, his fingertips digging into the plushness of your waist as he lifted you up and sat you on his lap. You yelped, hands holding onto his shoulders for support as he dragged his seat back. He was not laughing anymore, he was not gentle at all as he forced you to straddle him.
But, above all, he did not falter as he leant towards your left ear and whispered a thing you knew he would have been capable of doing without hesitation. It was not an empty threat.
"Make sure I will not find it out then, sweetheart, because I will fill the bathtub with his blood, buy the most expensive bottle of champagne and sip on it, as I watch you dive into your lover's guts" he cooed, making your stomach clench.
Did he know about the kiss you had shared with Douma? He probably did not. You were wise enough to understand that if you had a secret, it was better to keep it to yourself until the day you died and, maybe, even bury it with your corpse.
"You need therapy. You are a psychopath" you stated, heart thrumming into your chest as his hand slided down your bare inner thigh.
Muzan flashed you a seraphic smile, his fingers playing with the waistband of you of your panties "Perhaps. – he reasoned, grasping the back of your neck with his other hand to pull your head closer to his – You think you are a good girl, don't you? Wake up to reality, love. You are not as good as you think you are" he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lower lip.
You trembled under his touch, butterflies fluttering into your stomach for his sudden sugarcoated mannerism. It jarred with the words falling from his sinful lips and cursed yourself for allowing him to have a firm grasp over your mind, over your heart. You were defenseless, when he showed you what a real love story with him might have felt like.
"I am a good person, I know I am" you softly replied, earning a chuckle from him.
Muzan smiled, his lips capturing yours in a passionate, slow kiss. You felt on cloud nine, your shaking hands grasping his collar to pull him even closer to you. He tasted like coffee, cigarettes and danger. Yet, if he was so bad, if you should have kept your distance, why did you feel so intoxicated, so attracted to him?
Your teeth clashed as he asserted his dominance over you, his fingers pushing your panties to the side as his tongue explored your mouth. Dear God, he was a good kisser. A soft moan escape your throat, as he started to draw figures eight on your bundle of nerves.
"I'll tell you a secret – he purred, before biting your bottom lip softly and tugging at it before letting go with a small pop – You think you are a good person because you haven't killed someone yet. Maybe, it still does not occur to you, but you are my woman. You are already doomed" he crooned, watching how you clamped your eyes shut and lolled your head back in ecstasy.
You were such a sinful, beautiful sight to behold and you were his.
Once he had made sure you were wet enough for his fingers to dive into your core, he slowly inserted them. You winced, your walls still sensitive for his rough pace in the early morning, but how could you deny yourself the bliss of going adrift, of venturing into the limitless ocean of pleasure he was leading you to?
"I am the devil, love. People say I am the incarnation of Satan... – he chortled, a glint of malice sparkling into his bloodshot irises as he curled his fingers into you – You have said 'yes' to me. The world already knows you are evil too" he stated, as you screeched his name on the verge of your orgasm.
Muzan Kibutsuji was no good. Muzan was evil, you were not. Then why were you really questioning your morals, as he carefully switched your positions and hovered over you?
Why could you not find the right words to fire something back? You, the most argumentative person the world had ever met, were speechless.
You stared at him enamoured with him. He grinned down at you, slipping his fingers underneath his tie to loosen the knot and hastily untie it. You gasped, when he proceeded to blindfolding you. Everything was new to you and he was aware of it.
He simply enjoyed being your first. Whatever you were going to do with someone else, you would have always thought about him, about the first time he introduced you to a certain practice.
"You look gorgeous, if it wasn't obvious" he said, undoing the buttons of your shirt carefully, not to rip them off. You blushed, goosebumps raising on your stomach as he planted his hand over it.
"M-Muzan... What if someone catches us like that?" you asked him, as his hand reached behind you to unclasp your bra.
You heard him discard it somewhere behind you, probably on the backseats. Your nipples, hardened by the cool air and your arousal, finally came to his vision and he did not waste time in wrapping his mouth around the left one. You whimpered, desperate to see him, and you unintentionally bucked your hips up, brushing your core against his groin.
He groaned, his mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, stopping only to unbuckle his belt and free his bulge from the tight restriction of his boxers.
"What do you want me to say? Would you love me to kill them? – he joked, helping you to hoist your leg over his waist as he lined his shaft to your entrance – Or you still believe I could redeem myself and buy their silence without spilling blood?" he inquired, pushing past your folds with a slow, yet firm thrust.
You gasped, your hands gripping the headrest as he stretched you out, blowing your mind with every inch he claimed.
He hummed, his fingers latching around your neck as he bottomed out with ease "Fuck" he uttered, claiming your mouth once again in a fervent kiss. He stayed still for a few minutes, his cock twitching into you as you finally gave him your consent to move.
And he did.
As he thrusted into you, you cried out his name, the hard, rough pace he chose sending you over the edge in a way you could not believe was possible. You could not see his face, but you could feel his rage, his jealousy.
A jealousy he wanted you to know about.
His hand tilted your head to the side, his breath fanned your earlobe before he spoke "I dare you to fuck Douma. – he chortled, almost hysterically – Come on, go to him later tonight. Go to him and tell him how I turned you into a writhing mess of sweat and cum! Fuck, I dare him to touch you... I'll be glad to end his miserable life".
You moaned, legs shaking as you felt a familiar pressure coiling into your stomach. You were close to reach your climax and you boldly, selfishly begged him.
"Harder, please!" you shrieked, igniting a spark within your partner.
"Tch, look at you! Begging me to break you, when you told me I am a disgusting criminal. – he mocked you, squeezing your throat harder as he picked up his pace – How does it feel to be fucked stupid by a criminal, hm?".
You whined, as he hit your g-spot relentlessly, his thrusts getting sloppy as you orgasmed together, his seed spurting into your walls as you called his name one more time.
♚
The car ride was silent. Muzan's hand never left his place on your leg, stroking it softly from time to time. You were tired, too tired to pay attention to what was happening around you. He had promised you he was going to tell you everything about him.
Not today, though.
You did not have the energy to protest, you complied and allowed yourself to daze off into a well-deserved slumber. Muzan, on the other hand, could not sleep. Once he had parked the car, he glanced over at your sleeping frame.
Did he deserve you? Was there still a dim light of hope in his life? Maybe you were his chance to start anew again. Maybe he could really be a better man for you.
"I'm afraid I will be your downfall, love" he murmured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, before hopping down from the car and closing the door behind him gently.
Although Kokushibo had offered to pick you up and bring you to your bedroom, Muzan refused. Having you in his arms, he cradled you to his chest, as he tried his best not to wake you up.
In his mind, tormented by the fear he had felt when you had called him earlier that day, when he had heard the broken tone of your voice calling out his name, he was plotting his revenge. A filthy Slayer had dared to touch you.
His vendetta was going to wipe them off of this world, that time, for no one touched what was his and got away with it.
Therefore, once you were tucked under the silky blankets of his bed, he glanced over at his first in command. Kokushibo knew what that deadly look held behind and, when Muzan told him exactly what he had to do, he was not surprised in the slightest.
"Call the Moons. Call them all. We are plotting a mass murder tonight" the soon to be President blurted out, marching towards his office without bothering to watch his bodyguard bowing his head at him.
Blood was going to stream down the streets of that bloody city.