rennxie

[rennxie]

Silhouette | Muzan Kibutsuji

Heian Era Muzan x fem!reader

wc: 3.5k | warnings: canon typical violence, clan massacre, lots of blood, emotional trauma, manipulation???, power imbalance, major character death

synopsis: He was just a boy you had once met by chance in the forest–now he’s the end of your clan.

a/n: I have been obsessed with Kpop Demon Hunters since its come out, and every time I watch it, all I can think about is Muzan and all the different ways the concept could be paired with him, so here's one of them :)

The night was quiet.  

Muzan stood just inside the outer gate of the L/N clan’s compound, his plum-red eyes fixed onto the main part of the estate ahead. The air smelled of clean wood and soil, and incense that still lingered from evening prayers–aloeswood. 

It truly was a perfectly kept estate–quiet, orderly, and disciplined. They had gone to great lengths to stay hidden from the world, but not hard enough to hide from him, he mused. 

It had taken him a year to find them, buried so deep in the countryside, within their roots, that he thought they had vanished off the face of the earth. But even the best kept bloodlines leave traces behind, whispers, trails of rumors, and old stories here and there. 

And all of it had led here. 

The L/N clan. 

A clan bred for generations to fight against beings of the night. 

He had been told once that they were sacred. Both sacred and secret–a bloodline built on superstition, each child raised from birth to believe that monsters lurked in the shadows. Trained to fight things the rest of the world didn’t even believe existed.

Things like him. 

His lips curled faintly at the memory. 

They were raised to slay demons. 

How poetic, he thought, that their end would now come by the very hands of the thing they were taught to kill. 

That…that was the reason he came, not out of hunger, nor rage. 

It was something else entirely. 

A purge. 

The first scream broke through the stillness like glass shattering. A boy, no older than nine, stumbled out into the courtyard from one of the side houses, his eyes wide with terror. He locked eyes with Muzan for a calm, fleeting second before he collapsed backwards, his throat torn out before he could even shout the warning like he had been taught to give. 

Footsteps rushed toward the scream as the young boy's blood splattered against the porch in heavy waves. 

Doors slid open, lanterns flickered to life, and that was when the silence was destroyed. Guards poured out into the courtyard first, their blades drawn with stern faces, no hesitation in their movements as they charged straight into the welcoming arms of Muzan Kibutsuji. 

The first one’s skull cracked like ceramic beneath Muzan’s palm.

 The second was torn open from his collarbone to his gut. 

The third, let out a bloodcurdling scream at the sight of his fallen comrades before he had an arm plunged through his chest, fingers curling around his still-beating heart. 

More guards surged forward, drawn by the horrific sound of screams and the stench of blood already thick in the air. 

Muzan cackled at the sight. 

Their blades would catch the firelight from fallen lanterns, but not once did they ever reach him. Some fought with desperation, while others in a blind rage. He could see it in their eyes, the grief of losing kin, watching the realization that centuries of their harsh training meant nothing under one monster’s hand. 

And he relished it. 

One woman lunged at him with a cry that nearly shook the air, until he crushed her spine with a single blow. Another tried to shield a small girl, placing herself between Muzan and the child, but that made no difference, cutting them both with the same single swipe. 

There was no mercy, not for anyone. 

He tore through the compound, unstoppable and cruel, flames lighting up houses as smoke began to fill the compound's walkways. 

House by house, room by room, he kept going until all that was left was the altar hall. 

The heart of the estate. 

He could feel the room calling out to him before he even reached it, a faint pressure in the air. A hush had fallen, only the sound of the fire crackling could be heard as he slid open the final door. The room was dim, lit only by the fire behind him and a few lanterns that hadn’t gone out yet. A trail of blood led further inside, smeared and broken by rushed footsteps, done by those who had tried to flee or escape during the slaughter. And at the far end, kneeling before the altar among a handful of bodies was the last one. 

A woman. 

You were still, soaked in blood, clutching a sword in your trembling hands. Your back was straight, posture just as you had been taught growing up, whispering quietly to yourself. 

Not a prayer. 

Not a scream.

A mantra, low and familiar, repeated like a prayer, but not to the gods.

“We are hunters…voices strong, slaying demons with our song…fix the world and make it…right, w-when darkness finally…meets the light…” 

His footsteps echoed faintly as he stepped inside, his gaze fixed on you. He knew that voice, not as it was now, hoarse, bloodied, and on the verge of collapse, but as it once was, years ago. 

You were older now, matured by time itself. Your face bloody, robes torn, and your eyes…

The first thing Muzan could remember was the sound of coughing, not from others, but from himself. 

Always himself. 

It would come in waves, sometimes soft, while other times it was so violent that it wracked through his entire chest, leaving him breathless. Blood often followed afterwards, smearing across his sleeves or a cloth that someone would quickly press to his lips. 

At the age of thirteen, he had already outlived every expectation set for him. The doctors would whisper how it was such a miracle that he was still alive, but to Muzan, he didn’t feel like a miracle. 

His family estate was large, noble…suffocating. The servants would walk on silent feet around him, bowing their heads every time they passed, the frowns on their faces doing nothing to hide what they thought of his condition. 

He hated that. 

Hated the look of pity on their stupid faces. 

And what he hated even more, was the silence that would follow.

Each day would often blur into the next-–medicine, health examinations, whispered prayers, the smell of incense burning in the corner of the room to mask the metallic scent of his blood. 

The walls were paper thin, allowing him to hear the world beyond them–wind, birds, trees, but the worst part about it was not being allowed to go out. 

“Your body is too fragile, young master.” The doctor would constantly remind him. “The morning air alone could end your life.” 

Rage, that is all he could feel. 

What kind of life was this supposed to be?

He could hear the world outside living without him, feel the seasons change from the breeze that would slip in from under the doors. He could see flashes of color through the cracks in the screens, cherry blossoms in springtime, while there were golden leaves in the fall, but never once could he touch them. 

His fingers were curled around the edge of his blanket as he sat at the end of his sleeping mat. Sweat clung to his skin, his lungs ached, but yet, he still glared towards the outer doors. 

He was tired.

Tired of being watched, tired of being whispered over. 

Tired of waiting for death in a house that was built to preserve what little life he had left. 

“I want to go outside.” He said. 

His nurse, an older woman with tired eyes from countless nights awake, paused in the middle of preparing his next dose of medicine. “Muzan-sama, you-”

“I wasn’t asking.” He snapped, voice sharper than usual, cracking midway from the strain in his muscles. 

She bowed, eyes holding a look of sorrow. “Forgive me.” 

He hated her. 

He hated her not because of anything she had done, but because she had already accepted that this would be how Muzan spends the rest of his life. 

The door slid open slowly behind her, a servant entered the room with a damp cloth and a new set of robes. His eyes flicked to the doorway, standing slowly, body wavering on his feet as he pulled the blanket away from his lap. 

“You’ll fall, Muzan-sama.” The nurse warned, her voice gentle as she held her arms out to steady the boy. 

“Then let me fall outside.” 

He wasn’t sure how far he had walked. The ground was uneven beneath his bare feet, morning dew clinging to the grass, the wind was much colder than he thought it would be. His lungs burned, muscles trembled beneath his skin, but he still kept going. 

The world outside was…real.

It was no longer just a distant glimpse through cracks in the doors or stories told of pity from the servants. The scent of dirt and leaves clung to the wind, pulling him deeper despite the burning in his chest. Every step hurt, but anything was better than rotting away in that god forsaken estate. 

The first thing he noticed was your eyes–bright, wide, and innocent in a way that almost angered him. He hadn’t even noticed that he had wandered farther than he intended, just past the hills near his family’s land, into the edge of the forest. 

That was when he heard it.

A voice, soft as a lullaby. 

“We are hunters…voices strong…” 

Muzan froze in his spot. 

“Slaying demons with our song…” 

He crept forward slowly, leaves crunching beneath his bare feet until he had reached a small clearing. And there you were, standing near a busted wooden post, a sword much too large for a child your size held tightly in your hands. 

You moved with practiced ease, running through a kata form again and again, your lips softly mouthing the mantra as you did so. Your posture was orderly, movements sharp, but it was the expression on your face that caused him to stop. 

You were focused, calm, with eyes full of light even as sweat beaded down from your brow. While there was nothing gentle about your practice, there was something about the look on your face that felt untouched by the cruelty of the world. 

Muzan leaned against a tree, his breath coming in shallow puffs as he watched you. The weakness in his legs caused them to pulse, threatening to drop him if he didn’t rest, but he didn’t dare to move from his spot. 

Once you had finished the repetitive moves, only then had you finally glanced up, your breathing shallow as you spotted him. Alarm spread on your face, your sword raising a little as you took a hesitant step back. “Who’s there?” 

Stepping out from the shadows, Muzan slowly raised his hands, mentally cursing the way they shook in the air. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, his voice quiet, but cracking slightly from the tension in his body. He could see the apprehension in your eyes, the distrustful frown on your face, and the hesitance in your stance as you held the blade steady. “What were you singing?” 

“You…” You blinked, caught off guard by his question. “You heard that?” 

“I heard all of it, that song…or whatever it is.” 

Your grip on the sword eased slightly, “It’s not a song. It’s a mantra, my…” You faltered, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “My clan has passed it down for generations.” 

Muzan squinted in confusion, “What for?” 

“To keep our minds strong and our hearts steady.” You answered automatically, as if you had been taught to respond with that very same answer. “To remind us why we fight.” 

“Fight…?” His head tilted slightly, studying the almost too bright smile that tugged at your lips. 

“Monsters.” 

His expression twitched at the word, “What kind of monsters?” 

Lowering your sword fully, you tilted your head in thought, wondering what the best way to explain this to an outsider would be. “The kind that people say don’t exist. Ones that live in the dark, the ones that you can’t ever see until it’s too late.”

“You think that those monsters are real?” He stepped forward on unsteady feet. 

“I don’t just think, I know.” Your voice didn’t waver once. “My family has trained for centuries to fight them.” 

He stared at you, his lips parted in utter disbelief. 

Did you really truly believe in such nonsensical things? 

Yet your eyes held no ounce of doubt. 

“What clan are you from?” 

“The L/N clan!” Your head raised slightly in pride. “We’re sorta…sacred, at least, that’s what the elders say. We’ve lived away from civilization for as long as I can remember, probably even longer.” 

“Because of monsters.” He repeated, gaze sweeping your form. 

“Mhm!” You nodded, “Elder Kurozane says that it's because one day, the world will need us. And when that day comes, we will be ready.” 

The confidence in your words irritated him to the core, but it also fascinated a part of him. 

“And you really believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Your brows drew together, not out of anger at his unbelieving tone, but more like concern. “Hey…are you feeling okay? Your skin is really pale, are you sick?”

He hesitated, no one outside of his household had ever asked him something like that so bluntly. “I’m dying.” 

He expected a reaction, pity, shock, anything, but instead you just looked at him. Quiet, blank faced, like you were trying to understand his words on a deeper level. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally said after a moment. “That must be lonely.”

A chord struck in his chest, that was a response he hadn’t heard before. “I’m used to it.” He scoffed, but the sound got caught in the back of his throat. 

“Here,” You stepped forward, bending down slightly and pulling out a small waterskin from your satchel before offering it to him. “You should sit down, you’re swaying.” 

Muzan blinked, unsure if he should feel insulted or grateful for your actions. But still, he took the water, settling down on a flat stone. While shakily bringing the water to his lips, he watched as you found a spot nearby to sit, not too close to him, but not too far away either. 

For a moment, you both let the silent sounds of nature take over. 

“You must be from a noble house, right?” You suddenly spoke, although your voice was quieter. “You look like you are not from around here.” 

He nodded plainly, not interested in speaking of his lifestyle anymore than he needed to. 

“Hm,” You hummed in thought. “My name is Y/N.” 

“...Muzan.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Muzan!” You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling. 

He didn’t smile back, staring blankly at you for a little longer than he should have. Those eyes…

Your eyes glowed like they held starlight, something he had never seen before. 

And he couldn’t stop looking at them. 

“I have to go back soon.” You murmured sadly, glancing toward the trees in the direction of your compound. “My clan doesn’t like me wandering off for too long.” 

“You sneak out often?” He asked curiously. 

“More than I probably should.” You grinned, almost childlike. 

A strange feeling throbbed in his chest, something almost like a heartbeat. 

“Can…” Muzan started, unsure where he was going with his words. “Can we see each other again?” 

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. 

His words were stupid. 

He knew that it wasn’t possible, that the moment he arrived back at his estate he would never be able to step out those gates again. His parents would keep him in that room until he’s either better or dead…

Dead. 

That’s right. 

He was dying. 

A dying boy who couldn’t live a normal life. 

How stupid of him. 

As if he would live long enough to-

“Maybe.” 

His cursed thoughts halted, eyes widening slightly as he looked up to where you stood in front of him. You were softly smiling at him, eyes gleaming under the sunlight that peeked through the trees. 

“H-huh..?” 

“I come here every seven days, always at this time. That is, as long as none of the Elders try to stop me, but I’m pretty good at covering my tracks.” You giggled, brushing yourself off before gathering your belongings. “If…if you decide to come here again, I’d really like to talk to you some more, Muzan.” 

His lips were parted in confusion, a faint blush covering his pale face as he watched you run in the direction of your home, hand waving wildly as you went. 

But fate, as cruel as it was, ensured that he would never see those eyes again. 

Until now. 

You clutched the sword so tightly that your knuckles had begun to burn beneath the blood coating your trembling hands. The metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air, both suffocating and raw. Around you, the floor was littered with the bodies of your kin, some stuck with expressions of agony while they held their blades, while others clung to the young children of the clan. 

They were lifeless.

Gone.

The altar behind you was in ruins, that night's ceremonial incense was knocked aside, wicks smothered in the red ink that bled from your families bodies.

This was where they had run to, where they thought they were safe…

Your chest heaved, heart slamming against your ribs begging, begging to be let out. There was a small part of you, the small part left of your inner child, waiting for a miracle. For someone to come through those doors and say that this was just a test…that it wasn't real. 

But no one ever came. 

No one but it. 

You could barely hear the sound of its footsteps approaching the sacred hall, inhaling sharply, you shakily raised your own blade. 

“We are hunters…voices strong, slaying demons with our song…fix the world and make it…right, w-when darkness finally…meets the light…” Your voice was hoarse, eyes wide with unshed tears threatening to fall. 

There it was.

Tall, ghostly white skin. 

Its eyes were like polished rubies, its gaze one far too calm for the chaos it had created in your home. 

You didn’t recognize it…not at first.

Its jet black hair was tied back, not a single strand out of place. The dark layers of its robes clung to its skin, drenched with blood, looking like something conjured from the nightmares you used to have as a kid. 

It was unholy–ageless.

And beautiful in the most terrifying way.

There was something almost uncanny about it, something that itched your brain, like something you had once known, but had long forgotten. 

“You…” You trembled.

It tilted its head at you, its expression unreadable. “So, you’re still alive.”

Your grip tightened, “Who are you?” 

It didn’t answer, only the faint curl of its lips responded, not quite a smile. 

“Did you do this?” You asked, pointing your sword at it with shaking arms.

Its gaze fell behind you to the altar, to the names of your ancestors written on paper charms, burning within the flames of fallen lanterns. 

“Yes.”

Your body screamed at you to move, to strike it down, but you couldn’t. 

The candlelight flickered over its face as it took another step closer. 

And finally, it clicked.

Your stomach twisted.

“No..that’s not…” Your grip faltered just enough to let your sword drop halfway. “You can’t be..” 

It said nothing, eyes trailing back to you, watching as yours widened with realization. 

“Muzan?” You blinked rapidly, suddenly feeling as if you couldn’t breathe. “That’s…that’s impossible! You were just a boy.” 

“I was.” He agreed softly. “Until I became something more.”

You took a slow step back as silence stretched between the two of you. “Why?” Your voice cracked, “Why would you do this?!” 

“You spoke of monsters that day.” He said, his tone was calm, almost casual. “I thought you were mad, talking about things that hid in the dark. Demons, sacred bloodlines. You swore they were real.” 

“They are real.” You whispered, choking on tears. 

“I didn’t believe you.” He took another step forward. “Chanting your little mantra, thinking that it would save you all.”

Another step…

“And now, I see it all.” He raised his hand, fingers flexing as if he was showing off the power he had gained. “They were real all along...because I am now one.” 

You sank to your knees, sword clattering to the ground in front of you. 

“You all were weak.” He softly said, crouching down in front of you. His hand gently cupped your face, wiping away the tears that fell from your eyes, but ultimately smearing the blood of your kin against your skin. “Living in delusion, praying to absolute silence. You were preparing for a war you were never going to win.” 

“Why?” You whimpered, wanting desperately to pull away from his touch, to pick back up your sword and take your revenge. 

“Because I had to.” He said, though for the first time, something flashed across his face. “Because this is the only way I can become stronger.” 

Something in your expression, the way you refused to look away from him, it made his hand still for just a second. 

A second too long, he thought.

But it passed just as soon as it arrived, and with that he moved. 

A broken scream stuck in your throat as your body collapsed, the light leaving your eyes as he stood back up, ignoring the small part of his nonhuman heart that ached just the tiniest bit. 

And just like that, he had nothing more to say. 

Nothing more to do. 

He turned and walked away, letting the fire swallow everything behind him.

[rennxie]

Linger | Hanma Shuji

hanma shuji x gn!reader

wc: 0.9k | warnings: toxic relationships, emotional manipulation?, stalking, mild language, Hanma uses "doll" and "baby" as pet names

synopsis: Hanma catches you on a date with someone else and takes it upon himself to remind you that, no matter who’s sitting across from you, you were his first

“Damn, I was having a good night.” The words slip past your lips before you can even stop them, irritation thick in your tone. The smug bastard standing in front of you doesn’t even bat an eye, if anything, his grin only stretches wider at your words. 

Hanma fucking Shuji. 

You don’t even have to look up to know that he’s smirking, but you do it anyway. He’s still the same as the last time you saw him, lazy posture, sharp gaze, and that stupid damn tilt to his lips that says he’s amused by something only he would find funny.

Dressed in all black, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat, he was the perfect example of a bad decision that one would make during their rebellious teenage years. A truly bad decision that you had long ago ditched after growing into adulthood.

He hums, cocking his head to the side, “You wound me, doll.” 

You scoff, lifting your drink to your lips with a roll of your eyes. “Not enough, apparently.” 

Across from you, your date shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearly sensing the change in the air around you. You almost feel bad, he doesn’t deserve this. He was just a nice guy that had asked to buy you a drink, and for once, you thought maybe there wouldn’t be any hiccups. But Hanma has always been good at showing up at the worst possible moments. 

And judging by the way he slides into the empty seat beside you, he’s not planning on leaving anytime soon. 

Your date clears his throat, eyeing how close Hanma sat next to you. “Uh…Do you two know each other?” 

Hanma lets out a low chuckle, tapping his fingers against the table in an annoyingly slow rhythm. “Oh, we go way back.” He leaned in, voice dipping just enough to make his words sound suggestive. “Isn’t that right, baby?” 

You shoot him a hard glare, “Call me that again and I’ll break your fucking jaw.” 

“Ooooh~” His voice drawls, smirk never faltering. “Feisty! You always did have a way with words.” 

Your date looks between the two of you, unsure whether he’s witnessing some sort of inside joke or a ticking time bomb about to explode. You can only sigh in response, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance. 

Hanma shifts, throwing an arm over the back of your chair like he still had the right to take up your space. The scent of smoke and that cheap cologne he always wears lingers a little too close to you, but you pretend not to notice the slight feeling of comfort it brings you. 

“So,” He muses, tapping his fingers against your shoulder, a habit that he seemed to have since the moment you first got with him. “Who’s this?”

You slap his hand away harshly. “None of your business.” 

Hanma barely even reacts, grinning wider as he turns his attention to your date. “C’mon, what’s your name? Don’t be shy. You know...they don't like shy boys at all.” 

Your date, bless his heart, sits up straight in his chair while squaring his shoulders. “It’s Asahi.” 

The male beside you whistles lowly, “Asahi, huh? Cute.” His golden eyes flick back to you, filled with something unreadable. “You know, they used to look at me like that.” 

Your grip on your glass tightens, scowling at his words. “Like what?” 

His smirk softens, just barely, voice dropping into something almost nostalgic. “Like I was worth a damn.”

For the first time of the night, you hesitate. Absolutely hating the way he managed to make you pause, completely throwing you off. You hate the part of you that wants to ask what the hell does that even mean? But you don’t, refusing to play into his game even a little bit.

Instead, you force your eyes to roll before turning to Asahi. “Sorry, he’s just some guy who doesn’t know how to grow up and let go.” 

Hanma hums at your words, swirling the drink he swiped from Asahi. “Let go?” He exhales dramatically, shaking his head. “Now, why would I do that?” 

You don’t answer, pushing your chair back before standing up. “We’re leaving.” 

Asahi follows after you, though he looks more like a confused little puppy who had just witnessed his first fight. Hanma doesn’t stop you from leaving though, he doesn’t grab your wrist, or try and block your path like he’s done before. But as you pass him, he speaks, his voice different, lower, heavier. 

“Don’t forget, doll.” 

Your blood freezes, but you don’t dare to turn around. 

His voice is quieter this time, lacking its usual teasing lilt. “You were mine first.” 

A shiver runs down your spine, but you choose to ignore it. Forcing your feet to move, ignoring the way your heart pounds just a little too fast for your liking. 

He stays seated, drinking from the glass he had stolen while watching as you walked away, a smirk still lingering on his lips.

You should have known better than to think that would be the end of it. 

You see him again and again, not only just at the bar, interrupting your date, but everywhere.

Convenience stores when you're getting a late night snack, waiting for you when you get off work, outside your apartment complex.

The worst part was that he never approached you, no...instead he only lingered. Watching you from afar, amusement dancing across his face each time your eyes would meet his. 

And maybe that was the worst part of loving Hanma Shuji. 

That he never really leaves.

[rennxie]

✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧ ∞Ren∞ 22, she/they, INFP ୨୧⋆ ｡˚ - .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦

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