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To be a perfect being in all ways that mattered, as well as every single way most deemed to not matter much; was a field Muzan excelled in. A thing to take pride in with every breath she takes, something to make her ego swell when she stares down at the worms surrounding her with a curled lip of disgust.
No one else could ever hope to match her level, not now not ever. In looks, in intelligence, in status, and in aura.
To submit to her was the ultimate act of accepting their place beneath her, to acknowledge exactly where they stood when in the presence of a Goddess such as her. Something most, if not all the people she happens to encounter, seem to take to quite easily.
Except for perhaps one man. One which should be the most obedient of all, yet remains as an irritable thorn in her side. A broken off piece from a gorgeous rose that lodged itself within the flesh beneath her ribs, too deeply embedded to simply pull out. And far too ingrained.
Her useless, moronic, waste of air husband. Who, fortunately for him, happened to be the most attractive man she knew, which was his only saving grace in why she hadn't simply gotten rid of him already.
Although Muzan couldn't deny facts. Which was that Urami had been considerably more attractive when she had first met him, when he was fourteen years of age, until he was around sixteen years old, during his most fertile prime. With softer, more youthful features and a certain innocence to him that only teenagers could possess.
Something he had lacked for a long time now.
How she missed the early years of their relationship, truly. With how eager Urami had been the first couple of months to seem more mature than he was, or the way he almost appeared a little shy at times when she would come onto him—as if he was unused to the attention of the opposite sex, especially one so much older and wealthy.
A well-off, adult woman taking interest in a simple boy would be the dream for most, after all.
Although Muzan sincerely doubted that her husband had been a virgin by the time she finally slept with him only a couple weeks after their initial meeting, despite Urami claiming he had never been with a woman before. Considering his good looks had been prominent even in his youth, there wasn't a single doubt in her mind that he was a used up man-whore.
Typically, that would be a complete turn off for Muzan. As she wanted a dick that had not been stained in the juices of any other woman before, or after her. It was a large part of the reason why she had always been drawn to the youngest men she could possibly go after—always wanting virgins, and nothing less.
But there had been something about Urami she simply couldn't resist or deny herself. And so she buried her disgust at the potential idea of his sex being tainted by another, and focused simply on the pleasure she could take from him in the moment.
The fact she fell pregnant only three months after she began to see Urami behind closed doors had come as a shock to her at the time, yet at first; she hadn't been too worried. Being completely convinced she would simply get an abortion, ensuring that no brats would interfere with her empire.
Until Urami seemed to agree. Practically eager for her to terminate the pregnancy, with those deep ruby red eyes of his pleading in silence as his body went rigid and stiff. Appearing nearly afraid and anxious by the prospect of her keeping it, of being a father.
But Muzan took it as a slight.
To be told that the man she so generously chose to be hers for so long did not want to have her offspring? It was inconceivable to imagine, an insult to her as a person—to her as the greater being.
It showed just how ungrateful Urami was to have her be around him at all.
And so, she changed her tune quite quickly after the fact. Deciding to keep the child within her womb, so that she could bring a Kibutsuji heir to the world. Made from her body, with her blood, and her genes.
Muzan kept the pregnancy, and Urami would simply have to accept the fact he would become a father by the time he had turned only fifteen years old.
Of course, with it came some problems. As Muzan refused to bear children out of wedlock, it would require her to marry him. Which would be easy enough with her money and influence to sweep mostly under the rug, yet for the most elite, they would be aware. And while practically all of them had a penchant for the younger demographic, most wouldn't think to marry them.
No, most only kept it as dirty secrets behind closed doors. But those were men who wouldn't be required to wear their offspring on their hips for months on end, so in all honesty, Muzan couldn't care less what they thought.
They were all beneath her either way. Like ants to be crushed under her heel if it came to it.
At first, Urami had been against it vehemently. Getting agitated and anxious by the mere idea of having children so young, of being married to a powerful multi billionaire that would result in a lack of privacy on his part permanently—however, Muzan did not stand for it.
No matter what, in all things; Muzan would get her way. For there was no other way which mattered.
“If you hadn't wished to risk the outcome of parenthood, then perhaps you should have thought of that before you fell into bed with a woman.” Her voice is cutting, sharp like a blade as she narrows her eyes directly at Urami's pallid face.
If the news about the pregnancy had shaken the teenager up, then the prospect of marriage had rattled him completely. As if Muzan had shrunk him down, tossed him into a jar, and then started to violently hurl it all around in every direction.
All while giving him zero time to recover from it before she began to prod and pester him, placing all the blame on him for the outcome they were now faced with.
After all, it was he who came inside of her. So really, it was mostly his own fault for not holding off his orgasms and simply allowing Muzan to use him for her own, only.
Blinking rapidly, Urami could only shamefully stutter a bit. Not even sure how to begin to defend himself from that, when he knew he probably should have been more responsible. “But I—I don't—!” His words seem to cut off and die in his mouth, evaporating on the tip of his tongue as he swallows down thickly.
One eye squeezes shut while the other twitches with the need to follow suit, ruby reds shining with distress he couldn't fully conceal, even as he aches to hide the windows to his soul away from the scrutinizing stare of Muzan Kibutsuji.
With a sharp intake of air, Urami slowly exhales with a slow shudder. Looking almost confused as his thick brows furrow, glancing across the room at her. “You said it was fine… that this wouldn't happen.”
Oh. Yes, perhaps Muzan had told him such a thing when they first began to have sex. She could distinctly recall the way Urami had hesitated when she finally mounted him, after a bit of pressure and alcohol to loosen him up when he seemed unsure.
The way Urami had allowed his gaze to flicker to the sides, questioning about potential pregnancy only when she was already on top—already needy and aroused, with her inner thighs slick in desperation and the desire to own and dominate.
Too late to change one's mind.
Perhaps she had lied just a little bit. Claiming that she had it all under control, that she was currently on birth control which would prevent any form of conception from occurring. And like a moron, Urami hadn't really pushed or questioned further.
Clearly he didn't care enough to ask or confirm—although Muzan wouldn't be very happy had he pushed her off, and most likely made the night a living hell if he did try—so then it was truly his own fault, for waiting that long. When she was practically already about to be impaled on him.
Kibutsuji's don't make mistakes, yet clearly, her future husband made plenty.
How disgraceful.
A sharp scoff escapes her colored lips. “Are you dense, boy?” She sneered at him, yet remaining as composed and steely as she always does while she degrades him.
The slightest hint of a smirk tugs itself across the corners of her lips when she sees him flinch a little by her harsh tone. Undoubtedly due to how it's often a simple prelude before her hands strike him, or an object flies towards his face.
While not that common, it could happen when he touched too much on her nerves. Which she made sure to remind him of—that being the fact it wouldn't be so bad if he simply listened.
Sat still, stayed quiet, looked handsome, and obeyed her every command.
Taking a couple steps forwards, Muzan's perfectly manicured hands grasp his face. Sharp nails dig themselves into the skin of his cheeks, stretching that golden brown color of his thinner, slightly more pale in the process. “What do you think unprotected sex can lead to? Have you never picked up a book on these things?”
Slight embarrassment floods Urami's entire body at her question, as a flush of pink blossoms across his cheekbones. “... No.” He mumbled out quietly, feeling a bit dumb for not having actually ever gotten properly educated of sex education.
The most he knew of it was what his father had taught him, and even with the things Hantengu had said and done—it didn't matter in the context of the conversation, because neither Urami nor his father were women.
Truly, all Hantengu had talked about when it came to pregnancy in particular was to call himself fertile. And that Urami looked fertile as well, which didn't really tell him all that much except it being a high likelihood he could get someone with child.
Which was exactly why Urami thinks he asked Muzan about it—or so, he really does believe he did. His mind was muddy on the first night spent together, having been quite nervous about being invited to such a luxurious place all alone.
With her, and only some servants and maids filing in and out on occasion. Knowing he might sleep with the opposite sex for the first time, in an unfamiliar place at that—all of it had gotten him both excited and nervous all at once.
The alcohol had assisted in making his anxiety lower, yet it also made him dizzier. Slightly forgetful. To the point that Urami struggled to remember every single detail of that night, only that they had slept together.
But he surely wouldn't be that irresponsible to not ask, at least he doesn't think he would be.
Still, if Muzan said it was due to him being stupid and not knowing better, then it was probably factual. She did have far more life experience than he did, that was for sure.
Swallowing down his shame and pride, Urami clears his throat softly. Shaking his head gently back and forth, as much as he could at least with her iron grip still firmly clasped against his face. “Not really read much on it, no.”
“Clearly.” Something akin to a snort, if such a sound could be graceful and elegant, left her slightly scrunched up nose. “You're a fool. And fools have to take responsibility for their actions, no matter how stupid they've been.”
Knowing exactly what she was doing when she degrades him this way, Muzan tears her hand free. Acting as if she had been burned by the sensation of his surface, like his skin scorched her perfect flesh in his stupid actions and foolish words.
That act was not lost on Urami, as he took in everything he witnessed and processed it with the same shame he had come to know for months now. The way his skin tone was hideous, how it was so repulsive even his own girlfriend barely stood for the natural shade.
But he'd been good—Urami had been taking the skin bleaching she instructed to make himself paler, to make himself better for her. Even when he felt it was unnecessary; he had done as asked.
But it was never good enough.
Now she was asking him to be a husband, and a father. However, he can barely even be pretty enough for her on a good day—how in the hell was he supposed to manage being a parent to a child when he was still months away from even his fifteenth birthday? It felt like too much, and he felt like sobbing.
He wasn't allowed to cry, though.
Forcing down his own tears and upset, Urami straightens his back the best he could to try and seem more put together. More mature than he feels. “Muzan, I don't even know how to be a father!” Yet when he speaks, his voice turns somewhat shrill. Unable to cover his unease, revealing his distress so clearly on display.
Only a second passed between the shout from Urami, and the deafening sound of skin hitting skin which followed.
The teens head snapped to the side as his hand shot up by instinct to cover the sudden, sharp sting across his cheek. Where redness was already beginning to show over his golden brown hue. Fingers gingerly touching the aching surface, while his ruby red eyes widened somewhat in surprise.
Surprise and hurt.
Muzan slowly lowers her hand, shaking it lazily by the wrist as if he was the one who had hurt her when she struck him, and not the child who she abused regularly and had gotten drunk on purpose to fuck, who she had gotten impregnated by. “Do not dare raise your voice at me.” Sharply spoken, cold as ice, her voice cuts through the tense silence as she steps closer. Grabbing Urami's still pained face, fingers digging into his cheeks—as her lips curled, her eyes narrowing.
“We will be getting married. End of story.”
Her words are final, they leave no room for argument. Not a single inch of space for his wants, or his needs, to be heard.
Only what she decides on.
Ruby reds stare at her, silent for a long while. Clearly upset by the slap, and aching deeply over the prospect of marriage and children so young, too.
Yet Urami can only manage a small nod. “... Fine.” He rasps out, forcing his words to be loud enough for her to hear even as his throat constricts against itself. Tensing up so badly that breathing began to hurt in its own difficulty to inhale air. Before he glances away, feeling defeated already. Knowing he can't speak against her.
“Fine… But my dad needs to sign off on this, doesn't he?” Urami didn't even want to have a discussion about Hantengu at all, yet he knew his father would have to be involved if marriage was on the table. After all, Urami was a minor. He needed parental consent for that sort of thing.
Which he wished he'd never get, but Urami knew better than to hope Hantengu would actually be a decent parent. The man would see the money opportunity and agree immediately, no matter how much it clearly isn't what Urami wants for himself at this point in his life.
It seemed Muzan was well aware of that fact as well, as she actually scoffed out a bemused laugh. Shoving Urami's face away from her roughly as she turned her back to him and walked over to her private bar, pouring herself a single glass of one of her non-alcoholic beverages.
As much as she'd prefer some proper, good whiskey right about now, after having to deal with such a stupid child—there was no way she'd risk her offspring to be anything less than perfect.
So non-alcoholic it would have to be.
“Your pathetic father would lick the dirt off my feet for free.” Another chuckle vibrates in the back of her chest, pleasantly rumbling in her throat as Muzan pictures that pitiful man doing just that—which she knew very well he would gladly do.
Most men would.
Women, too.
“He'd sell you for only a hundred yen, I'm sure. He'll accept this with ease.” The words were a cruel reminder of just how little Hantengu valued his own son, how he'd most likely pawn his own flesh and blood off for the smallest of gains, and feel no remorse for it.
By the way Urami's face briefly twisted into something that carried a deep, burning resentment at the jab; he clearly was aware of it as well.
Yet as quickly as it came, it slipped off Urami's face into a more neutral expression once more. Steeling his own emotions to bury his negative feelings about the situation, to protect his own mind and soul from the pain of being too open with a woman who didn't care.
So all he says, was a simple word of agreement. Lowering his head ever so slightly in submission and acceptance. Knowing that his life would never be the same again.
And it was all his own fault for allowing it to happen.
“Right…”
What Muzan hadn't expected, when she decided to keep the pregnancy, was the outcome of multiple children in one womb.
Not just two, not just three—but four children in one womb.
At the ultrasound, when she first discovered that fact; Muzan nearly crashed out. Only barely restraining herself as she glared at the nurse, seething in silence when she stormed out of the appointment. Screaming in a fit of rage as soon as she got home, throwing bottles at Urami for the fact that it was his fault for doing this to her.
His fault, his seed, his body.
It infuriated her.
Yet it was too late to turn back, and so she had to lay in the bed of her own decisions. However much she despised them.
Taking her anger out on the man who impregnated her in the first place to deal with the horrors of growing four lives inside of her helped, yet it was never enough. Even as Muzan would punch and hurl objects towards Urami, choke him and order her most loyal men to hold him down as she threatened him with vile acts—it was never quite the adequate repayment for the suffering she had to endure.
Although watching Urami break down and sob was satisfying, that much she could admit to.
Although nothing compared to the wrath and contempt she had for him when the four brats were actually born, finally—after months of painful, uncomfortable pregnancy.
Because they simply would not stop crying. Every single day they would wail, they would beg for attention, and then get fussy when she wouldn't give it to them.
At most, Muzan would check in on the children to look upon them with disgust when she had the time and energy to do so. Staring at their melanin tinted skin with thinly veiled revulsion, seeing the resemblance to their father more than herself.
Not a single one had inherited her milky pale skin, the way she had hoped that they all would.
It was so bad that Muzan despised even holding them. Even after the birth, she had refused skin to skin contact with any of her newborn sons. Scowling at their cries and demanding they be moved out so she could rest, practically ordering Urami to step up into his role and take care of them instead.
Which he had. Which he still did.
With the assistance of paid help, of course. Because only god knows Muzan would refuse to actually nurse those babies. Finding it far beneath her station to have to sit in place and let some greedy little bundle of flesh suckle on her breasts all day—because truly, it would be all day with four of them breathing air.
It simply repulsed her. Besides, they would grow teeth eventually, and when they did there wasn't a single doubt in her mind that the brats would bite her.
And Muzan isn't sure if she would have the self restraint to not immediately hurl the offending kid off of her without much thought put behind it. Obviously, not ideal.
She may find them less than perfect, but they were still her blood. They were her sons. Having been created in her womb.
Their lives meant something, just in virtue of that.
However, those early years had taken a toll on her husband, as the majority of emotional labor involving actual parenting fell onto Urami's shoulders. Everything from talking to them, holding them, feeding them by hand, bathing them, and telling them stories before bed.
All of it were things Urami was made to do.
While he'd rely a lot on the paid nannies Muzan had hired for them, it still was something he tried to do when he didn't feel like ripping his hair out by the roots. Knowing that a lack of any contact from either parent would negatively impact them, far more than he was willing to allow.
Yet that didn't last very long, even for him.
By the time the boys had turned five years old; Urami was tapped out completely.
Physically, he was barely even at home anymore. Having turned twenty years old with the ability to go out and legally get drunk on his own had given him far too much confidence to simply disappear for days on end, going on benders and having to be retrieved by Muzan's employees back home while looking half dead.
Emotionally, there was almost none of his early eagerness left to be found, either. Urami seemed closed off, angry a lot of the time. And would often engage in verbal arguments with Muzan that quickly escalated to physical violence.
All on her end.
The man was too terrified to actually lay hands on her, even if she had absolutely zero hangups about dishing out hits and kicks towards him.
No. His retaliation was always in the way he'd shout back at her, the ways he would accuse her of being unfaithful to him. Blame her for ruining his life, and calling her all sorts of vile insults that he could possibly think of during his most heated moments.
Which usually followed up by him leaving. Again. To get wasted. Again.
All of this with minimal parenting for their four sons from him, at that.
It grated on Muzan's nerves, knowing that the man she chose to marry was embarrassing her so boldly on the regular. Straying from home to get drunk out of his mind, evading the men she sent after him best he could—to the point that even Kokushibo seemed fed up, whenever he had to physically carry the young man back home, as per Muzan's request.
Part of her was starting to believe it best if she isolated Urami completely. Stripped him of his identifications, all his keys, and all access to the outside world unless she permitted it.
That was a thought which had crossed her mind plenty of times in the past, yet she hasn't had the time to properly think it through. Being far too busy with work to consider it more thoroughly.
Now, however—Muzan really did think it may be necessary.
After all, with those relentless accusations of his regarding infidelity; perhaps it was a pot calling the kettle black. For all Muzan knew, it was Urami who was being unfaithful and cheating on her when he went out to avoid his parental and spousal responsibilities for days on end.
Which would obviously be completely unacceptable.
Muzan would sooner castrate and amputate every single limb her own husband possessed so that he could be used as nothing but holes to be fucked into by the most depraved of crime rings, than she would share a community dick.
Even now, during one of the few rare times Muzan found herself actually spending time around her husband—her sharp, blood red eyes couldn't help but regard Urami with suspicion.
With simmering anger and violent jealousy.
He wasn't even as attractive as he had been during his most incredible, when she had first met him. Freshly fourteen and still so mature looking for his age, handsome and perfect in all the right ways.
In the way that allowed her reasonable doubt to claim he was of age if anyone were to ask, should they be foolish enough to even attempt such a thing with her.
No wonder she couldn't resist, even suspecting him of being a filthy liar who couldn't admit to not being a virgin—she still couldn't resist having him in her bed.
While his beauty wasn't as perfect anymore, that didn't mean Muzan wasn't still insanely attracted to Urami regardless. Purely of a sexual nature, perhaps, but still… if she wasn't a certain level of fond, then he wouldn't still be around at all.
Age may turn fresh fruits too overripe, but Urami was still far from being spoiled.
Her stare doesn't waver as she sips her drink slowly, watching her younger husband fidget absentmindedly with his own clothing as he stares out the window from their penthouse. Resting his sharp face on a large palm, looking out of it.
Not even glancing at her in return.
“You went out again, last week.” Muzan's ice cold voice abruptly pierces the otherwise silent air, taking in the way Urami's shoulders tensed up slightly with a twitch of her lips. Enjoying how easily he reacted to her, how she could read him like an open book no matter how many walls he set up. “Gone for an entire three days, at that.”
Urami doesn't even move his head properly to address her, only shifting his eyes over as his chin tilts downwards to the side. Nuzzling into his own hand, muffling his muted reply. “Yeah.”
The muscles around her eye twitched a little, yet Muzan remained as poised as ever. Placing one leg over the other with grace, keeping her voice even. “Doing what?”
“Wouldn't you know?” He scoffed, seemingly coming fully into the conversation as soon as he was questioned about his actions. Hand falling limp against the back of the couch as tired ruby red eyes snap towards her. A handsome scowl present on his features. “I bet you have eyes everywhere. Why are you asking me?”
Even with his little outburst, Muzan remains unbothered. She was all too aware that between the two of them; she had all the power.
Over his finances.
Over his freedom.
Over his life.
All of Urami's emotional explosions were never anything frightening to her, only a spark against the gasoline of her own easily ignitable wrath. Hating being talked back against by someone lesser, even if she sometimes did enjoy his fire.
Just a tiny bit.
Not that she would fully admit to that, as she preferred him submissive and compliant. Usually.
“You're my husband.” Came her smooth reply. Of course, as her spouse, she has every right to know where he is at all times.
Which is why she has trackers in both Urami's phone, and his wedding ring. The only issue was when he'd leave both at home for his benders, which only heightened her suspicion on what he was doing while away from her. No phone to be tracked, no ring to be a deterrent from lustful cocksluts.
There was no proof to back up her suspicions, even with all the people under her control, and all the eyes she kept on Urami despite his attempts to avoid her everpresent watchful stare—but that didn't matter. She didn't need it to be angry with him. Or to suspect him.
For a long couple of seconds, Urami doesn't respond. He simply stares at Muzan as his body somewhat deflates of its tension, shoulders slumping a little as his hand runs down the length of his face.
Then—
“I feel more like your pet or prisoner sometimes…”
Now that made Muzan actually scoff and huff in offended disbelief. Leaning back in her seat as she folded her arms across her chest, gripping her glass so tightly her knuckles turned white, lips almost curling down into a sneer—before she quickly regained her composure, lacing on a mocking smile instead.
“If you were so trapped, then it's curious I allow you the freedom to even go out to embarrass us both so brazenly in public.” A lie, all things considered. Yet not completely false either.
Urami was like her pet, and he was supposed to feel trapped.
A pet was temporary, and they expired before the age of thirty. Like every male and female besides herself did, if she was to be honest with herself. And her husband had at least another decade of good use left in him, so there was that.
Still a pet.
As for being trapped—that was the intention. She'd made several arrangements just to keep Urami out of school as soon as she locked him down in a marriage for the sake of their children being on the way, ensuring his mind would stay untrained and stupid. Branding him with her last name, and having people constantly keep tabs on him.
Surveillance at home, followers outside.
His freedom was meant to be more of an illusion, but for him to call it out was offensive. Almost like she was doing a bad job of making him feel a false sense of security.
Clearing her throat, Muzan leans forward a bit. Her eyes narrowed as she softened her voice into a slightly more gentle approach, after having so harshly called him an embarrassment. “I'm quite generous with you. I let you go out without an escort quite frequently.”
Urami frowned, not liking the way she was wording it. Because to him, the only reason she did was because she'd often be too busy to notice before he was gone. And unless it was Kokushibo watching him—which, was rare, usually he was with Muzan—then the people around were not that good at keeping him in place when he really wanted out.
“I'm enjoying the time I have outside until you strip me of that, too.” He muttered, almost under his breath.
But Muzan still heard him. She always did.
“Perhaps I should.”
Silence stretches between them after that simple declaration. It didn't feel like a consideration or a potential, it felt more like a statement of what will come. A punishment for him talking back at all, for him daring to need space and the bottle just to forget the life he could have had.
It's as if he's mourning something he doesn't even know, but Muzan won't let him have that.
She doesn't want him to have anything that isn't her.
Urami bit down on his lip hard, enough to make it slightly puffy and ache, but not enough to draw blood. “... Your control is suffocating.”
“And your man-whore behavior is an insult to our marriage.” Muzan easily and quickly shot back, uttering the word ‘whore' like it was poison on her tongue. As if it were something so vile, so disgusting, that to associate it with a person she was legally bonded to almost made her ill.
Perhaps because it was that revolting of a thing to be.
Offense and confusion marred Urami's face when he registered what she was saying, realizing what was implied without being said simply by the way she was looking at him.
After all, he had looked at her that way in the past. When she stays a little too long behind at work, typically with Kokushibo of all people. The one person who was almost never apart from her side, unless it was to drag him back home. Always on her order, anyway.
Of course Urami knew what that look meant. And it infuriated him, because he knew he has never cheated on Muzan. Even during the times he thought about doing so—almost wanted to, just to get back at her whenever he believed she actually was sleeping with that man behind his back.
But he never actually had gone through with it.
“What? I haven't—”
“Simply going out and making yourself available, drunk out of your mind? You're offering it up to anyone willing to take you carnally, with ease at that.” Her harsh voice cuts through Urami's protests like they were nothing but wet paper towels, slicing them apart as she nearly feels a disgusted growl bubbling and boiling in the back of her throat.
She wouldn't even care if a woman mounted and rode Urami whilst he was unconscious, completely blacked out and unable to leave the situation. Because in her mind; that was cheating too.
If he put himself in that situation by choosing to drink, he also chose to sleep with whoever decided to have their way with him.
With lip curled in visible disgust, Muzan brings her drink up to her mouth. Tipping the rim down to take a much needed hit of the alcohol, all while her stare never left her husband's scrunched up face. “And that makes you a whore, Urami.”
Despite being delivered with the cold, harsh truth Muzan knew was correct, because it was her belief—her worthless husband still had the audacity to shake his head, ruby red eyes narrowing in upset and irritability. Clearly frustrated by the label of being promiscuous.
“I haven't slept with anyone but you.” Urami growled out, almost trying to hammer his point in by using aggression to lace his tongue.
However, it never works on Muzan. Not as an intimidation tactic, at least.
All it does is cause Muzan to unfold her arms as she leaned back, swirling her glass of whiskey as her other hand moves into her pocket. Posture casual, relaxed.
Even when she speaks, she wasn't afraid of him, not in the slightest. Never had been, and never would be. No matter the size difference between the two.
“You may be lying to me.”
“I'm not fucking lying!” This time, Urami's voice came out in a louder pitch. Shouting it out far more intensely then originally intended. Yet he couldn't help it, as his emotions swelled and throbbed within his chest. Unable to be contained, unable to be tamed.
Considering how much agony and hurt it had caused him to believe the woman he was married to had been unfaithful to him, to hear her lay those same accusations against him so cruelly, on top of making it seem like a regular occurrence by the use of the word ‘whore’?
It not only hurt his feelings, but made him angry.
He'd only ever even considered it as a response to her actions, never on his own original idea.
Ruby red eyes turn to slits as Urami's back turns rigid in anger, teeth gritted as his fist clench so tightly by his sides that he could feel his own nails nearly breaking skin. “How dare you accuse me of cheating when you're the one—?!”
Before Urami could finish his enraged sentence, the elevator doors open with a ping. The only exit and entrance available except for the emergency one, inaccessible to most.
And out of it stepped Kokushibo. His cold, calculated eyes hidden behind dark shades as he completely ignores Urami in favor of Muzan, bowing his head respectfully to his boss before straightening back into perfect posture.
“You called for me, Mrs. Kibutsuji?”
“Yes.” Muzan replied, even if they both knew she had without the need for any verbal confirmation. After all, she had discreetly texted him from within her pocket as her husband became agitated to make his way up top.
Now for the reason she had brought her loyal lapdog here to begin with.
Moving the wrist of one hand, Muzan extends her palm upwards as she gestures in Urami's general direction. A serene smile on her face now, one which hides the cruel thoughts beneath her porcelain perfect surface.
“Restrain and pin him down to the floor.”
Not even a second of hesitation seemed to consume Kokushibo, as the imposing man moved in an instant. Clearing the distance between himself and Urami like a terminator with an order to complete—which, honestly, was exactly what he was.
“What—?” Urami hardly had the chance to even be confused and surprised before hands that were large and strong just like his own grasped at his body, hauling him upwards from the couch with such ease that one would have thought Urami weighed nothing.
“Hey—don't fucking touch me!” As Kokushibo began to wrestle him down, Urami fought back the best he could. Trying to writhe and pull himself free, digging his heels into the ground as his upper body wrenched itself against the ironclad grip.
But it was useless in the end.
Kokushibo was a trained veteran in his craft, with years of experience and training under his belt. With only god knows how many bodies too, who no doubt would have clamored and fought for their chance at life. So to a seasoned man such as Kokushibo, who had been active in martial arts from a young age on top of having military training—it was like taking candy from a baby.
With ease, Kokushibo threw Urami down to the cold, hard floor. Pinning the man of similar height yet slighter stature down beneath his weight, as he pulled one of Urami's arms backwards. Holding it against the small of Urami's back, twisting it just enough to make pulling it free painful—to make it impossible.
All while Kokushibo pressed his other hand against the back of Urami's neck, taking it into a firm hold where his fingers rested right above his bloodstream.
Knees placing themselves perfectly to press down on the other man further, leaving Urami completely immobilized.
Immobilized and frustrated.
Because of course, he still tried to get free. Wiggling and attempting to kick back at Kokushibo despite having his cheek squished against the floor, his chest suffocating beneath the heavy weight of a massive man, and his knees scraping painfully.
But he could barely move, much less actually throw Kokushibo off.
“Ngh—! Get the hell off of me!” Urami practically shouted the demand, part of him subconsciously hoping the fact he was Muzan's husband would give his words some amount of weight.
Yet that wasn't even a fully conscious hope, because it would have been the most foolish hope to ever possess.
This man followed only Muzan Kibutsuji, and no one else.
“Good.” The praise fell easily from her lips, as they often did when it pertained to Kokushibo’s unwavering loyalty and effective work. Almost enough to make her grant the man a genuine twitch of her lips when she notices the way his deep violet eyes shift towards her, only for a brief moment—before Kokushibo turns his focus back on keeping Urami restrained.
Only giving a small nod in a thankful acknowledgement, aware of how valuable her praise was to receive.
Placing down her glass of unfinished drink and slowly standing upwards with all the elegance of a goddess, Muzan takes long strides towards her husband and right hand man. Standing above them as her sharp, icy gaze stares down at Urami's own.
Cold fury meeting a heated glare. Crimson red, like the color of fresh blood meeting ruby red, akin to the prettiest of gemstones.
Closely related to her own, perfect color. Just not quite up there.
Muzan kneels down beside them with ease, heels barely making it difficult for her in the slightest unlike most useless women that she had seen, as she smiles with barely contained cruel excitement. Placing her slender hand underneath Urami's chin, forcing his head to crank back against Kokushibo's unrelenting grip.
Reveling in the hiss of pain it elicited.
“Now, listen here, my dear…” Emphasizing the pet name was nothing but yet another way to let Urami know exactly where he stood in their dynamic. Not an equal, not a proper lover.
But her possession.
Gripping his face properly, her nails dug into his soft skin like she were a feline trying to tear her preys flesh apart. “You've humiliated me plenty with your immature and reckless behavior, and I have reason to suspect you may be seeking to be unfaithful.”
Seeking to be.
That was all she could afford to say without coming across as unreliable and stupid. Because there was no proof of infidelity, only her gut feeling and jealousy speaking.
Urami continued to try and deny it though, gritting his teeth like a cornered animal as he hissed his defense out at her. “No! I would never cheat on—!”
Dropping his face in an instant and letting Urami's cheek collide back down with the floor cut whatever thing he was about to spew out short. Making him grunt instead as he struggled to get proper air in by the sudden shift.
Yet Muzan doesn't allow him to properly recover either, standing upright as she dusts her own hands off of him against her skirt, speaking before anyone else could. Commanding every conversation she ever has taken part in, and this was no different either.
“So your punishment will be swift, and it will be effective.” A punishment she has stewed on for only a couple of weeks, before deciding it would be an appropriate course of action to firmly put her unruly husband in his place properly.
While she would absolutely loathe the mere idea of Urami's dick being inside another woman's filthy, disgusting cunt—having him be the one penetrated by a man whom she could trust was an entirely different thing, because it would still keep her husband's cock firmly as her own.
And rape was a valuable tool to be used against those lesser, those in need of being broken in all over again.
Which is why Muzan felt no remorse or regret when she spoke her next command, cool and collected when she addressed Tsugikuni to fulfill her wishes. Something she knew he would do without complaint, at that.
“Kokushibo. Make sure he feels every inch of this dry lesson.”
She didn't have to elaborate, nor did she have to say it explicitly. Recognizition already flashed briefly across Kokushibo’s face when he registered her order, his lips tugging downwards slightly as his brows furrowed down. Almost in discomfort.
Despite that, Kokushibo didn't let go of Urami either. His knuckles only seemed to turn whiter in effort as his muscles strained, taking a moment of silent contemplation.
Before Kokushibo inhaled a soft breath, holding it, then exhaling with a nod. “... Very well, ma'am.”
Wasting little time so he could do as asked, Kokushibo shifts his grip. Removing the hand he had placed against the younger man's neck, touch traversing quickly downwards until his fingers found themselves grasping at Urami's waistband.
Already pulling them down, undressing him with a terrifyingly quick efficiency.
“Wha—What?” First came the confused shock, seizing Urami's body up as he felt the cool touch of another's skin against his own, pushing beneath his clothing before he could properly register what was happening.
Then came the realization, the horror settling deep inside of Urami's chest once he sensed the scorching heat of his pants scraping themselves against his thighs. Yanked down unceremoniously, pulled and turned without mercy or consent.
His thrashing started up again, more ferocious than before. More desperate compared to the angry writhing he had done prior, far more frantic and terrified instead of frustrated and embarrassed.
Because Urami knew his wife.
And he knew the type of devoted man that Kokushibo was.
Gasps and grunts of effort and struggle escape Urami's parted lips as he helplessly tries to buck Kokushibo off of him, yet finds it nearly impossible despite trying his best. Putting all his usable strength into pushing back against the brickhouse of a body on top.
No use.
Urami choked on an aborted breath as he felt both pants and underwear being torn all the way down to his knees—ones which were squirming around on the floor for any sign of leverage to push back, only to slip and slide across the polished floor below.
Maybe it was all just a bad dream, a scare tactic to make Urami promise to not go outside anymore. It wouldn't be the first time Muzan has threatened him with sexual violence from other men in the past, and even if he gave in now; it wouldn't be the last.
But she'd never gone as far as to have a stronger man actually pin him down and start to undress him forcibly.
And it was terrifying.
Yet when the easing up never happened, when the grip never loosened on his arm—when the sound of Kokushibo’s own belt buckle being undone reached Urami's ears, followed by the rustle of clothing. The noise of another's undress.
Then came the worst of all so far; something warmer, something fleshy and heavy slapping itself against Urami's lower back. Grinding slowly up and down, accompanied by the hot breath of the man above puffing itself against Urami's neck. Grunting in effort to achieve a certain state.
To get hard.
And it was working—it was working quickly too, as Urami could only jolt with the smallest of whimpers. Feeling the slab of meat against his lower back and ass start to harden, becoming even thicker against him.
No, no, no—this was too real, too much. To the point Urami couldn't help his shameful tears of terror from welling up across his waterline, flooding his vision to the point of instant blurriness.
“No—stop it! M-Muzan, please! Just tell him to stop!” Urami pleaded, not with Kokushibo, the man currently pinning him down and grinding on him—no, because Kokushibo wasn't the one who asked for this, who wanted it.
He was just acting as the instrument of another's whims.
Any words spoken to Kokushibo would basically be for Muzan anyway, because this man didn't do anything without her saying so. Without her approval.
Like a perfect, obedient, strong little soldier.
It had to be Muzan Kibutsuji to say the words ‘no’ or ‘stop’. Because Urami's protests meant nothing.
They'd always mean nothing.
To Kokushibo now.
To his father before.
To Muzan always.
Looking to his own wife as his head was pushed down once more, Urami felt rivers of salted water stream down his cheeks, staining his nose as he struggled both for air and freedom.
Yet all he could see on Muzan's face when his eyes met her own was cold anticipation, twisted delight, and calm contentment.
Deep inside of Urami's chest, something twists as it brings itself dry of any hope he may have had. But even so—when he felt the hard, bulbous tip of his attacker pushing itself between his asscheeks, pressing against his clenching ring of muscle; Urami still called out for her, in one last attempt to make it stop before it was too late.
“Muzan, you can't—! Babe, don't do this!” He was practically begging now, the free hand which wasn't being held back in a painful twist was now scrambling against the floor. Clawing to get free as he trashed to make it more difficult to enter.
But Muzan didn't say a single thing, didn't intervene.
And no amount of writhing around could budge a man like Kokushibo.
Because with one nod from Muzan—Kokushibo finally ceased the painful, terrifying wait.
In the most agonizing of ways.
Thrusting forwards as his body pressed down heavily on top of the man below, his hips forced themselves to meet Urami's skin in a slow descent. Not at all like a quick slap of skin against skin, not a smooth sailing of insertion.
But a painful, awful process. One which made Urami scream despite himself, as he felt the massive appendage force itself inside of his unprepared hole as fast as it possibly could. Tearing his fragile and sensitive flesh apart upon its thick, veiny shaft.
Choked off cries tear themselves from Urami's throat as a strangled sob escapes him, saline pearls of misery cascading down his face as his body tenses up completely. Muscles straining tightly as if to expel the invasion, trying to push it out.
However, none of it helps. It only makes the experience hurt that much more.
“Fuck! No! No!” As Urami protests again, he sounds more whimpery. Breaking down into the hurt child he had once been in the bed of his father, nearly sobbing as the sensation of a cock pulling back only to slam forwards so it could bury itself inside consumes his memories. Overtakes his senses.
It was so awful—he was back there, yet still stuck in the present at the same time.
His fathers hands all over him.
Kokushibo’s unrelenting grip suffocating him.
Hantengu's shaky words of entitled affections.
This awful man's silence, save for his hot breath against Urami's ear as he pounds harder inside.
A sharp sob spills free, as Urami tries to claw away yet again. Use his free arm to push back behind him between helpless drags that get neither of them anywhere.
Only for his entire vision to turn black like the darkest of night, as Kokushibo released his immobilized arm—allowing both of Urami's limbs to reign free for but a moment of brief hope—before he wrapped his muscular bicep and forearm around Urami's throat from behind. Pulling Urami's head back against his shoulder, as Kokushibo rested his face over Urami's own on the other side.
Every breath was like a pant from Kokushibo's lungs.
While each one from Urami came out pained. Choked off and barely able to escape. Strangled and in agony. Struggling to breathe through the violent assault upon his body, upon his soul and mind.
And all of it happened right before Muzan's eyes. Every thrust forward was seen, each impalement inside of an unwilling body observed, and every violating thrust viewed in plain sight.
Having reclined back into her seat, she was now watching the display with a focused gaze. Taking in every sharp cry from her husband, each sob and choked off plea he could muster—and she reveled in it all.
This was his punishment for neglecting their children, for ignoring her wishes, and for daring to offer himself up as meat to be fucked.
Now, in this moment; that was all Urami was meant to be.
A piece of flesh with holes.
Kokushibo was fucking her husband prone-bone style, and she honestly almost enjoyed watching the show. Because at least it wasn't a filthy slut with a dripping wet cunt wrapped around her Urami, who would have to have been willing no matter the circumstances if he was hard enough to ride.
Rather, it was her most trusted of employees. Doing her bidding so faithfully, without a trace of morality to prevent him from enacting her wishes. No question on her authority.
Only obedience.
Blood red eyes stare at the scene as a powerful arm wraps around the pretty golden brown throat of her husband, pulling his head back far enough to make Urami choke on his own spit and air. As the continued sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the air.
Wet and obscene.
Deep purple eyes shift towards her, as her legs cross over themselves to hide the wetness gathering against the slightly exposed panties beneath her tight skirt. Pools of deep red wine swirled beneath dark hair, fluttered underneath full sets of lashes, thick and almost messy in the way strands escaped the tightly knit ponytail always tied so neatly back into a pale face.
Yet the gaze never left her form.
It wasn't just Kokushibo staring at her as he violated the man she had married.
It was Michikatsu gazing at Muzan in need, in lust. Using her perfect visage to chase his high while he fucked deep inside the unwilling, young, crying man below.
All of those heavy, deep, achingly slow breaths were for her. All of it for her.
Kokushibo had pinned a man down for her.
Stripped him for her.
Gotten hard, again, for her.
Now he was raping him, for her.
All while imagining his own boss beneath him, willingly spreading her legs so that he could sink into her molten core. Pump inside of her as he holds back his declarations of love and devotion. Beg her to allow him permission to mark her in his hickeys, plead with her to let him come undone inside.
That heat between Muzan's legs turns into a fire as she watches the two most attractive men she has ever known connected together. With the one she trusted most, the one she relied on everyday plowed down mercilessly into the one she took, the one she ruined.
The one who enticed her as a minor, and made her appear like some sort of creep for it.
Yet Urami remained too handsome, too sexy.
Someone she didn't want to let go of.
Only the sounds of Urami's cries were now present in the air, as his own drool dribbled down his chin. Dripping against Kokushibo's muscular arm as he repeatedly thrust his hips forwards, ramming his massive cock in deep of Urami's struggling body. Using the torn flesh which bled ounces of thick, creamy blood as the lube of his choosing.
All while he kept his eyes on Muzan.
Muzan, who struggled to sit still in the midst her own arousal. Constantly shifting in her seat despite her best efforts. Refusing to touch herself to what was meant as a punishment for her husband, rather than a pornographic display for her pleasure.
She was better than to ever touch herself before anyone's eyes.
But it became too much, even for her.
“Finish it already!” Came Muzan's sudden shout, breathless despite having kept her strained hands firmly in her lap. Having managed only small, barely noticeable presses down against her crotch to ease the ache, whenever she thought she could get away with it. “Just cum in him, Kokushibo. Make it clear.”
It seemed her voice commanding him to do anything at all was enough for Kokushibo. Because as soon as she uttered the order; Kokushibo's body tensed, practically suffocating Urami beneath him as his hips started to erratically slam inside of him, arm tightening around his vulnerable neck as Kokushibo grunted through it.
Filling Urami up with his seed. Ropes of it shooting out, all warm and thick. Sticking to the bloodied walls of the young adults ruined insides. Its salt stinging, seeping into the open wounds left behind.
Until Kokushibo relaxed. Finally easing up the awful grip he had held on Urami's fragile throat—enough for Muzan's husband to lurch forward with coughs so intense they nearly became retching.
Hacking up saliva, which mixed with the flood of tears streaming down his face. Taking a sample of the clear liquid from his nose as well, no doubt from how hard he was crying during it all.
Muzan found it pathetic and disgusting.
She kept her place in her chair as she watched Kokushibo pull his softening cock out of Urami's puffy asshole. Oozing of unwanted cum and his own blood, coating his lean inner thighs and staining the floors in the depravity of it all.
For a brief moment, Muzan wasn't sure which sight her eyes were more drawn to.
The gorgeous sight of her chosen male ruined on the floor for daring to disrespect her, covered in bruises and blood alike as he struggled to properly catch his breath?
Or the right hand man untouched, drenched in the violence of her words and his actions, willing to do it all for her sake?
Well. Urami was twenty years old, and Kokushibo was nearly thirty. So it was clear who would be expiring soon.
Yet, her eyes kept shifting.
Until they landed on Kokushibo as he redressed his own lower body. Tucking his bloodied cock back inside his pants as if nothing had happened. That same poker face expression plastered on his face as he did so, remaining professional and swift despite the soft cries from below.
“... You did well.” Muzan finally says, addressing the only man still standing. “I'm pleased with your performance and work.”
Kokushibo doesn't say anything, at first. Only glancing away, almost as if he isn't entirely sure how to feel about it all, now that it was over. Be it from the fact he had been inside a man, violated someone, or the praise from his boss—it was hard to tell.
Until a softer look adorned his face, and Kokushibo turned to her for a curt nod.
“I always do my best to please you, ma'am.”
The wording sent a shiver down Muzan's spine. But she conceals it with a narrowed gaze, practically glaring at him despite the smile still pulling at the edges of her soft lips.
She shouldn't consider it.
But now that her husband had slept with him… it may only be fair.
After a moment of deliberation, Muzan stands upright. Ignoring the uncomfortable way her panties cling to her slick folds, pushing between them due to the soaked nature of the fabric, as she simply stands straight. Pretending like nothing when she speaks. “Perhaps you will do far more to please me, in the future.”
Those words seem to put Kokushibo into a bit of a shock, as his body tenses up. Eyes widening behind his sunglasses slightly, staring at her like she just grew a second head. A rosy flush dusting his pale cheeks for but a moment, before it sinks back below the snow on top.
Before he alerts his gaze, and clears his throat behind a closed fist. “Yes, ma'am. Anything you wish.”
Good.
“Very well.” Muzan fixes her own airways with a soft, delicate cough. Before she waves at her right hand man dismissively. “Leave, for now.”
Kokushibo doesn't question it, nor does he linger despite the earlier implications. He simply takes his leave without another word. Long strides of his legs take him to the elevator—which he opens, enters, and silently waits for the doors to close in absolute professional silence.
Leaving Muzan with her beloved husband alone.
Who was currently laying broken on the floor, too hurt to properly move after the brutal and agonizing rape he just endured. Handsome, sharp face, covered behind curtains of soft, midnight black locks. Soft, golden brown skin stained in the salt of his own fear and pain.
While blood red streaks and white seed trickled between his legs.
Damn.
She'll have to fix Urami up before the nanny comes back with their brats. Or they'll all start bawling and asking questions again.
What a pain.
How lucky Urami is, that Muzan still has so much fondness for him even now. That she still wants him around. That she chose for him to learn a lesson over being killed in cold blood.
One day, he would learn to appreciate it. Appreciate her kindness towards him.
Perhaps not today.
But one day.