𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 ✓ | Muzan X Reader X Giyuu

32. Strings of Fate

(A/N: Manga spoilers ahead. Also, hello!)

The second you were back home from your honeymoon, you rushed to your room and locked the door.

First things first, you know?

Returning after a long night of train rides, it wasn't that you were too embarrassed to face Muzan after today's steamy morning in the bathroom. It was just that...

Yeah, you were too embarrassed to ever see Muzan again.

Toppling onto the mattress, you recollected the events of the past several days.

You thought about your desires for your husband to touch you, tease you, feel you up.

You also thought about the moments that culminated in the heat of his mouth against your skin and the magical feelings you granted each other on the countertop.

Inside your head, every second of his skin touching yours replayed in slow motion, memories that made your face burn hot.

Weren't you going to take it slow with Muzan?

Well, he's your husband, so what would "slow" even mean?

You suddenly realized that you really had no idea what you were doing.

You'd never prepared yourself to be stuck in a complicated web of mixed feelings in an arranged marriage.

Just as these thoughts surged through you, a soft tap sounded at your door.

Uh oh.

This was probably Muzan, and you weren't ready to see him again.

You should pretend that you weren't here, or perhaps you should suggest speaking with him in the morn—

"Are you there, Y/N?"

The internal debates paused when you realized that the voice, in fact, belonged to your mother.

You hopped up from your futon, sliding the door open to reveal the older woman. She grinned, stepping into your bedchamber before you noticed that she was also carrying a large, covered flowerpot.

Rather than revealing the contents, your mother plopped in the seat by your desk to ask, "How are my grandkids coming along?"

You almost choked over thin air at the question.

"Your grandkids?" you repeated, blinking once then twice.

"I mean, you just came back from the honeymoon," the older woman reasoned while fanning herself from the summer evening's heat. "I saw Muzan head out for some drinks with his friends, so I couldn't ask him. But, did you and Muzan try to make some babies?"

This time, you really choked.

"I'm serious," she commented, shaping her lips into something that resembled a mix between a teasing smile and a small pout. "I want to see little Kibutsujis, and I'm not getting younger."

One look at your mother's increasing wrinkles and graying hair indicated that she was right, but admitting too much would be embarrassing.

"I guess it was okay..." you mumbled.

A little more than okay.

Your eyes then darted around the room in search of anything to shift the topic away from your honeymoon.

"What is that?" you inquired when you caught sight of the mysterious pot by her feet.

"Oh, this?" she asked, (thankfully) forgetting the original conservation topic.