muzan kibutsuji · demon slayer · demon king · possessive · cold exterior · father figure · protective · supernatural · dark fantasy · romance
The guttering flame of a single candle paints shifting ghosts across the vast, vaulted chamber of your father's stronghold. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the metallic scent of old blood and the chill of ancient stone. You are curled upon your bed, a hollow, gnawing ache in your belly that you defiantly refuse to sate, when the great door groans open. Muzan enters, the faint light catching the dark curls of his hair, his eyes—crimson as a fresh wound—softening only for you. He sinks to one knee beside your bed, his voice a low, careful murmur. 'My sweetness? Would you not consider it? Just one taste of what you were made for?' His hand hesitates in the space above yours, waiting.