Yandere! Kibutsuji Muzan x F!Reader || Velvet

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Art credit: @/じず

Request by @/TeaTreeCat
Prompt: Meet Cutes 40) You help catch their hat as it flies away in the wind.
Muzan finds himself tangled in a relationship with an unsuspecting hat fanatic.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

Velvet. Two syllabuses. The vibration through your teeth on your bottom lip, and then tongue to the teeth, twice. That was it. Vyl-vuht. The way your body fit in his arms. The ribbon around your left wrist.

"You have a peculiar hat, sir!" You chirped as the wind combed through your hair.

Muzan only noticed the din of noisy humans clamouring along the boulevard. Lustful singing in the dark alley, shameless yelling of gravelly voices for customers, and peasants' tactless elbowing polluted the air.

The only pure souls were him and that woman who caught his hat.

The velvet red ribbon on your wrist glistened. Your glittering eyes blinked at him, awaiting his response. Of all his years, never once he was gazed upon with such credulity. Fear and respect was all he had known. Even the forged relationships treaded on thin ice.

The emptiness on his head made his skin prickle. You had the nerve to made him wait yet he couldn't kill you when so many were watching. Muzan blinked indifferently and extended an open palm. "Thank you, miss—"

You paid him no heed and surveyed the felt hat and the evenly spaced seams. "Isn't this fabric just fancy? Where did you get this?"

"Miss." He concluded with a wave of his hand. Veins trailed up from his neck to his chin. The clamouring noise buzzed in his head, clawing at the slipping façade as a father.

"Very well. I hope we meet again!" You tiptoed to the man and slipped the hat onto his head. "Toodles, Sir Hat!"

He kept an eye on you as you bounced away, over the moon from the touch of expendable good. Your contagious, childish delirium over a hat of all things. No doubt you had seen much extravagant luxury in that westernised town like gold-plated brooches and useless marble statues. Yet you chose a hat.

From the looks of it, you had fawned over pieces of fabric your whole life. He understood such a crazed expression for he had been hellbent over the blue spider lily.

"Sir?"

He ignored the voice.

"S-Sir." It snapped him from his train of thought.

"What is it?" He snapped at the store owner who flinched under his piercing glare.

He narrowed his plum red eyes at the man. Every human was disgustingly weak yet they wanted to have their grubby hands on what they didn't deserve. Behind their every action hid a dirty motive, whether it was to leech off his wealth or mind.

Except for you.

"Tsukihiko?" Rei—his pretend wife—shifted her little girl from one hand to the other.

"Yes, dear?"

"What happened? You've been smiling at the road."

An earthquake-like chill ran down his spine. His eyes had subconsciously followed your figure till you disappeared like a rat into the plague. Him? A perfect existence interested in a common dog?

Ridiculous.

"Let's go, Rei."

He ushered her forcefully with a non-fatherly frown carved on his face. Your head should have rolled on the floor back then. That was what irritated him the most: he couldn't.

He needed to scrape your face off his head. Especially the way you smiled—more wholesome than a baby's—and your little tiptoe to adjust his hat. He had to erase your very existence. He must.

In a few days, he returned to the bustling city road with a vengeance: killing you.

Muzan stepped out of the fortress and shrunk into a child. His straight hair parted from his right and tapered down his neck. He ironed his white dress shirt with his hands and strode into the road.

Making sure his white hat was still on his head, he paced to the nearest fabric shop and slammed the door open. The customers gave the boy second glances at his young age and his unfitting antics.

He waltzed to the counter and said, "Where's that girl with a red ribbon on her left wrist?"

The amiable old lady with a shawl around her plump figure gasped fondly at the boy. She smiled and leaned over the counter.

"Hello, little boy, are you lost?"

"Where is she?" He snapped.

"Is her name (Y/n)-chan?" The old lady twitched in annoyance before inspecting the area. "The one I know works in the store down the road. It's called 'Hatties'? Otherwise, I don't know of anyone else who matches the description."

"Bye." And he left the store, leaving a puzzled old lady to ponder about his actions.

Hatties. What a wonderfully befitting name. Hatties.

"Hatties," he muttered under his breath.

The word bounced off his mouth the same way you skipped over and caught his hat. Blood rushed up to his face as his lips curled into an anticipating smile. His feet thudded faster on the ground.

Hatties. Bold yellow letters printed on the glass door lined with rosewood. The display on either side of the door boasted seamless voguish dresses, purses and hats crafted by expert hands to flaunt the figure.

Muzan pushed the door open and expected no less from the crowd of rich men and women alike. Quilted purses and glistening watches sparkled from the horde. A waft of cigar smoke flew past him. Amongst the smothering materialistic desires stood a simple red ribbon—you.

(Y/n), was it?

"(Y/n)." He dashed towards the red ribbon and tugged onto it.

You became a whole new person. Your back straightened and you floated across the floor to your customers like a dancer. No doubt your body felt lethargic but the grin on your face shone with peerless passion.

You turned your head to lock eyes with a child with familiar red eyes. He let his jaw hang and gazed at you with wonder. There were no adults who recognised him nor did look like he knew where he was going.

The salesgirl façade slipped off and you squatted down to his height. "Greetings, young man! What could you be finding in Hatties?"

He huffed with pride. "I'm buying everything here."

Your grin stretched into a taut smile as you leaned forward. "My, what a gentleman. What's your name?"

"Muzan."

Your eyes softened at the small frame of the little boy and his given name. Cruelty. Miserable. His parents must have hated him to the core.

"Muzan-kun," you continued. "Why do you want to buy everything?"

He hummed in thought and said the first thing that came to mind. "I love what you do. It impresses me."

You looked around the store. Most of the clothes were meant for women but none were for children. "Are you interested in becoming a designer? Seamster?"

"I'm interested in you," he interjected.

You sighed in relief. It was just a child with a transient crush. Or maybe a cocky sweet-talking child who had an abnormal obsession with flaunting his wealth. "Will Mummy and Daddy worry about you? Did they allow you to do this?"

"It doesn't matter." He sunk his hands into his trouser's pockets.

"I'm sure they'll be sad when they see their young man buying everything like this. Could you bring them in next time?" You adjusted his hat and your eyes flew open at its familiarity.

The boy gave you a smug grin full of secrets. You ran your thumb across the felt fabric of the hat, its even seams and black ribbon around it. Your eyes immediately flew open in unexpected recognition.

"Are you related to Sir Hat?" The sentence slipped out of your lips without thought. When you realised he was confused, you asked again, "Is the guy with short curly hair and red eyes your Papa?"

He nodded his head with a smile. "He gave me this hat. You can have it."

"I can study this!" You took the hat with glee. Only when burning judgemental stares burnt at the back of your head, you snapped into reality. "Did Papa say okay?"

"Yes," he drawled, irritated at your sickly sweet voice. Being a child had its perks and one of them was to have your guard lowered against him. Though now he wasn't sure if it was working out.

"Thank you, Muzan-kun!" You hugged him and mushed your cheek against his. "You're the best!"

The transparency of your artless expression broke through his guard. Saccharine air washed into his lungs. He could breathe like a baby again.

For a moment, he had forgotten the blood on his hands. A gentle breeze that cradled his worries to your bosom and let them melt in your arms.

"I know," he replied, silently mocking your eagerness and hugged back. Every trace of his former vengeance evanesced into the warmth.

The next week, he arrived with another present. You had been at your wit's end trying to find cloth tailored for western designs yet the clothing store ran by the old lady. Customers went in, asking for button-up shirts and frill dresses and left empty-handed.

Muzan strutted in and flung a gift at you. You gasped in horror and awe. The pile of fabric was handcrafted by none other than Paul Poiret himself. You recognised the curves of his hand-sewn cloth and the exotic way they blended together anywhere.

The little bow smirked, awaiting your praise. You wept tears of joy and hugged him.

"Well?" Muzan tilted his little head to the side.

"Yes?"

"Where's my reward?"

You blushed. To think that he did it out of the kindness of his heart made you slap yourself in the face. He, a child, had single-handedly saved your very livelihood and you hadn't given anything back.

You hung your head, embarrassed. "You know, I don't have much to offer. What would you like, Muzan-kun? I'll do my best to help you."

He tapped his lips and blinked. You blinked back in surprise. The two of you, stuck in a staredown, not knowing what to do next. Did he just—?

"Well you can do that at the very least," snickered the young boy.

"Seriously... people will call the cops on me. You're like twelve."

He grumbled silently. Going in headfirst without a plan was certainly uncharacteristic of him, much less stumped by his own appearance. He had never failed a plan before—not like he had one in the first place. The cogs in his head began to turn.

"Well—" you combed his fringe to the side and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead—"I hope this is enough."

It was more than enough. You jammed the cogs in his head, rendering him speechless.

Muzan took a step back and cupped his forehead. His heart swelled and burst. He had stopped breathing. Blood rushed up to his cheeks.

There was no plan yet he never would have thought it would turn out like this. Falling in love? With a plaything?

The next thing he knew, he was running at full speed down the road, his little hands covering his forehead. His breaths grew shallow and ragged. He didn't care if he knocked into anyone.

All he could think of at the moment was the way you bent over, the way your hair spilt over your shoulders and the press of your lips against his forehead.

Muzan-kun.

There it was again. Your voice echoed in his head, running like honey over a wound. He could listen to it for all eternity. But you would perish like a stray dog one day.

"I won't allow it," he glowered.

He had won you over. Not completely. Not yet. Your laughter and joy brought a pulse back to his heart and it was because he saved you. You were in his debt.

The world was unfair to him right from the start—plagued with bad luck and misery. Now that he had the universe in his hands, he could easily take anything.

Even you. Especially you.

***

You closed the shop with a hearty yawn. Thanks to the mysterious boy who chanced upon your lonely store, the business had been thriving.

"It would be great if—"you sighed and peered up at the list of clients in waiting—"there aren't 138 of those."

The night sky blew ice into your bones as you shielded your eyes. God, it was chilly. You glanced around and peeled your ears open for any engine noises. Racing down the road, the wind combed your hair and your soft giggles at your funny footsteps on the crunchy leaves resounded.

You reached a lamppost and calmed down. Peering up into the sky, you admired the twinkling stars. Destiny had brought you and that little saviour together. Again on a windy night, you met a man with the same plum red eyes who gave you a wave of inspiration from his hat. Then, you met his cheeky son who sent you gifts ever so often.

"I wonder what that rascal's going to bring?" You thought aloud. "But I'm an adult! I shouldn't expect children to give me presents!"

Thunderous footsteps. Thump. Thump. Thump. It came from your right. Too fast for a human.

You whipped your head to the side to see a deformed face charging at you. The messy blob of white hair and horns had you straighten your back. Its eye flew open, black words carved into them: Lower Moon 4.

"Ahh!" The female demon yelled and swung a knife at you.

You ducked and kneed her in the guts. She barely budged and continued screaming with her eyes closed.

The knife swung to your neck, then came her claws. You fell to your back, swept her off her feet and held her to the ground.

"Why are you doing this?" You cried breathlessly.

"He-He... wants me—!" She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed. "Get off me! Get off! I need to—I have to finish my job!"

"Miss! Miss! Listen to me! Maybe I can help you, so chill out!" You struggled to stay on top of her while she flipped you around.

A blow to the gut. Saliva spewed out of your mouth. Your body flew across the road, scraped the gravel and rolled into a lamppost.

Air knocked out of your lungs. You hacked a fit of coughs as you peered up in tears. She wasn't normal. You should have known. The eyes and kicks were too inhuman.

You blinked away the tears and scurried into an alleyway that led to multiple roads. The sharp breaths pierced into your cold lungs shattered your stamina. Stumbling and running, you continued aimlessly with only one goal in mind: making her lost.

A small dark figure rippled within the fog. It turned to you, glazing red eyes cleaved through the blurred scene.

"M-Muzan-kun?" You panted. "Is that you?"

The boy smiled at you eerily like he was waiting for you. His arms opened wide for you to fall into them. In the haze of confusion, you gripped onto his shoulders and cried.

"There's a thing—I don't know what she is but she will kill you. Please just run away!" You sniffled, stifling your quick breaths. "Go on, big sister is here. I'll protect you."

Muzan snickered and pushed you aside. No matter how much you screamed at him to escape, he wouldn't listen. He walked with such grounded confidence that it shook you to the core. Nothing about that was right.

The frantic yelling resumed.

Soon, the girl with white hair emerged from the corner. She charged at Muzan with her clawed hands reeled back and ready to strike. Her screams were strangely devoid of malice yet filled with fear.

The little boy raised his hand calmly. Before he could do anything else, you threw your body over his. You two tumbled to the ground while the white-haired girl swiped above you.

You broke from the hug and scolded, "What on earth are you thinking? Go! Goddamn it!"

"Miss," he growled and picked you up and planted you at the side. "I'll handle this."

Your hands grew weak under his gaze, a look far too precocious, far too bloodthirsty. You crumbled to the floor, jaws slackened and shivering.

Muzan waltzed up to the crazed girl and rammed a foot up her chin. It severed through the skin and dove into her blood.

An ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Begging. Desperate pleading and terror suffocated you.

He pulled his foot away and socked a punch to her cheek. Her head jerked back and plunged into a brick wall like it was water. She twitched and gargled in her blood.

Your breath hitched. The bones in her body cracked, broke and reformed into her former figure. She gasped, bowed in horror and ran away.

Unfazed, Muzan kicked the blood away and clicked his tongue at the dirt on his shirt. He glanced over at you. Expecting. Knowing.

"M-Muzan-kun..." you let out a shaky breath and embraced him. "Thank gods. You're alright. Oh my goodness."

Muzan pressed his ear up against your chest. He took a deep breath and ran his hand over your grainy clothes. Flowers and blood. Your beautiful scent.

Tha-thump! Tha-thump! Tha-thump!

Your heart hammered against your chest. The hands on his back shook so much that it irritated him. Your shallow breaths brushed against his hair.

Muzan expected two outcomes. One, where you knew the nature of demons and cry at the sight of him. Two, be eternally grateful for his help and throw yourself at him.

Why wouldn't you get it? He could protect you. He could give you the life all humans would kill for.

Yet you knew neither of that. You took him into your heart, raw and gentle. Addicting.

He breathed. There it was again. The tender sound of your movements, the way your voice filled the strange emptiness from the flower he couldn't find, and the press of your lips. Oh, you bewitched him.

"How did you do that?" You asked. "O-Oh, but uh, first of all, thank you."

Muzan smiled groggily at you. "It's a secret."

"You never fail to surprise me, you brat." You wiped your tears away. "Should we call the cops? Was she a drunk? What if she hurts another?"

"Don't worry, all that matters is that you're alive, isn't it?" He buried his head into the crook of your neck.

"No way! Others might die!"

"It'll be fine," he snapped. "I'll handle it."

You gave a hollow laugh, "Seriously, you're too powerful."

"I guess you could say that." He pulled you up to your feet and kissed the back of your hand. "Maybe I should stick around your workplace?"

"Is Muzan-sama aspiring to be a bodyguard?"

He flashed you a toothy grin. His eyes glowed in the dark in a predatory and ethereal way. "I'd do anything to protect you."

"But I don't want you to get hurt." You ran a hand through his hair and tucked it in. "I don't know what to tell Mama and Papa if you do."

"I don't have my Mama. Papa... he doesn't really care," he deadpanned, in a way mocking your voice.

You pursed your lips as tears sprung up your eyes. A teary sniffle left your lips. "Thank you. You've been strong, haven't you? I owe you a bunch."

You owed him. He owned you.

Week after week, he kept dropping by. He gave you leathers, fur, quilts and gold fabric without asking for anything in return. With his help, your name crossed the city's borders and to the higher echelons of society.

Hatties became a nation-known brand ran by the young eminence. Cameras flashed from the dark corners of the streets while your lonely store grew into a five-story glass building all to yourself.

Now you could afford fancy meals where they slathered sauce in a

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