𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 ✓ | Muzan X Reader X Giyuu

8. Garden of Eden

"I'm Muzan Kibutsuji, her husband."

Your husband.

He's here.

His elegant, yet demanding presence forced you to look his way. While bystanders started to crowd the scene and your mind ran in endless circles, Muzan was the force of unwavering calm.

He was beautiful and tempting.

Like the steady silence before a battering hurricane. A blossoming flower tangled up in the midst of its thorny vines.

But Muzan, you knew, was not a harmless little plant.

You began to understand that the striking sublimity of his alluring, handsome features was a facade to entice the innocent towards a man who was vicious. Fierce.

Muzan squared off to the culprit with thunder clouds rolling across his hardened face.

"You look surprised," Muzan retorted at the aggressor. "You didn't know she's married?"

You shied away with guilt. You had been so nervous that you didn't tell your assailant about that.

"Listen," the old man started with a hand over his bloody nose. "She's young. She's pretty. I thought she was alone. Other girls, you know, they like me."

Your eyebrows twitched at the absolutely twisted justification.

Muzan, with lips pursed into a straight and menacing line, took a step towards the balding geezer. "I could care less about what scum like you do to other people," Muzan growled through his teeth.

"But I can not let you touch my wife."

His wife?

Eyes already wide, you felt your ears turn hot with embarrassment.

"Your wife's stupid for marrying some sickly man like you," the injured man shot back. "You look so pale, I was worried you might pass out before I did."

You didn't really take much offense with those words.

However, you turned to Muzan who remained silent despite his apparent anger, his red eyes glowing like a furnace in the midst of the night's darkness.

"Does my complexion look terrible to you? Do I look weak to you? Does it look like I haven't got long to live? Does it look like I'm close to death?"

Muzan walked over to the bent-over man and dug his sharpened nails on the assailant's neck.

"No, don't hurt him!" you shouted to your husband. Muzan had caused enough of a scene, with nearby grannies and children covering their mouths upon seeing the brawl unfold.

Eventually, Muzan let go of the offender, forcefully tossing the groaning, old man to the side.

"Let's go," Muzan ordered under his breath, weaving through the crowd. He led the way into the garden and past the entrance gates.

You quietly trailed behind him, mildly disturbed, to say the least.

"Why did you do that?" you asked, your large eyes searching his for answers.

"To give him a little gift," Muzan replied with a cunning, almost wicked beam slapped on his face.

Gift?

Head hanging, you twiddled your thumbs as you took your first steps into the garden. You disliked how your tough image was slowly crumbling in front of the man whom you greatly resented.

"You really didn't need to help me."

"Why not?" he said, his usual colorless voice restored. Eyes fixed ahead, he gracefully sauntered between the cherry blossom and maple trees, his footsteps light and soundless.