Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

For the longest time since he was little, Christmas had been one of Karaku's favorite holidays. Everything about it seemed perfect to him, from the beautiful snow outside which fell in soft flakes across the streets, to the cozy feeling of tranquility and peace when he and his siblings spent time together. Just them, just their company.

It seemed silly to think that one day could have brought Karaku that much happiness, when it really was technically only another day on the calendar. Without tradition, it would be just the same as the day before, then the one which came after.

But it wasn't stupid to Karaku. Not when holding onto those early memories of having a younger Urogi excitedly run up to him on Christmas Eve to show him artwork he had made depicting them, even if sloppily done, and presented it to his favorite brother with stars in his eyes. Claiming that it was a lucky charm, one he poured his heart and soul into, and that it meant they'd be best friends forever and ever.

Karaku still had that drawing tucked away in his room, occasionally taking looks at it even now, years later. Reminding himself that it was true; he and Urogi were still close, still brothers, still best friends.

Not when it was on a Christmas that Sekido had held him close during a bad breakdown over the fact their father had made it clear their grandfather would be attending, no matter how much Karaku pleaded with him not to let him come. Practically ensuring that despite Karaku's distress, he knew he was never alone, not when his twin would make sure to kiss it better.

Not when it held memories of Aizetsu once falling through what should have been sturdy ice on a particularly less solid spot during skating, half his body plunging down into the depths as he held on for dear life while screeching like a banshee over the cold. Less wholesome, perhaps, but it had been extremely funny.

Less funny when Aizetsu purposely infected Karaku with the following cold he caught, claiming it to be his ‘present’ for the year. All because Karaku had laughed a little bit at his plight.

Or maybe laughed a lot, but that was irrelevant.

What did matter, was the fact that nothing could ever truly stain the magic of Christmas for Karaku—not even having to spend the majority with his father, whom he wished he could avoid. As well as his grandfather on occasion, when the deluded crone could manage to drag his sorry ass out of his own home. 

Which typically involved a lot of wailing, hysterical sobs of worry, plenty of headaches which invaded Urami's brain—thankfully, at that. As Karaku thought that was a well deserved consequence at minimum, considering his father was willingly allowing Hantengu to stay over. So it was really his own doing making the bed, ready for himself to lie in.

Complaints about headaches were rare, however. Urami was hardly the type to kvetch on about his own problems, especially if it had to do with his health or comfort. It was more so obvious in the way he turned snappish, constantly rubbing his temples or pinching the bridge of his nose. Messing his long hair up by running his hands through it constantly.

And a lot—and Karaku does mean a lot—of heavy sighing.

No wonder Aizetsu is his father's son. They practically have that ‘fuck this shit’ slump of the shoulders, paired with the exhausted sigh down to a perfect copy of one another. It was almost funny, almost.

If Karaku didn't hate his father so much.

And Aizetsu too.

Sometimes, at least.

But that was more due to the fact his younger brother could be a massive asshole when he wanted to be, like he had a permanent chip on his shoulder from birth which he never extracted or got removed. Pretending like his pain and sorrow was infinitely worse than anyone else's, weaponizing his body by threatening it harm—all while he seemed to hone in on Karaku most for his relentless passive-aggressiveness.

So yes, Aizetsu was a dick to him.

But unlike some members of the family; at least he hadn't used his actual dick inside of him. So he got somewhat of a pass.

Barely.

His father would not get a pass, however. And chances are he never would either, but Karaku wasn't the type to say things like that out loud. Sometimes Urami wouldn't even care if Karaku started going off on him, or being clearly upset with him—only staring him down with those deep, crimson eyes that Karaku hated resembled Sekido's own so much—while allowing Karaku to speak, not even interrupting.

Before Urami would lean back, completely relaxed and unbothered by it all. Which he slowly and deliberately follows up with a few simple words, ones that always served to make Karaku feel foolish or unheard. Stupid for even letting his emotions run rampant like that.

“Are you done throwing your childish tantrum yet, boy? I have more important things to do. Things that hold much higher value than your feelings being hurt.”

Urami would always say it so bluntly, with such little care that one would think Karaku had been ranting to him about a terrible movie he watched, or a trash ending to a show he had enjoyed—instead of literally being in the middle of having a nervous breakdown due to years of continued abuse.

It was like he didn't care at all about Karaku's emotions, or his feelings. Seeing them as a nuisance even when his father was a large part of the reason they even had become so unstable, typically only dulled into genuine ease by substance. Or faked through jokes and smiles.

At least Karaku knew he wouldn't have to spend this year with his family. As much as he did enjoy celebrating it alongside Urogi especially—this time would be special in a different way, and he knew that. 

This year Karaku would have a fiancée to be with instead.

Honestly if someone had told Karaku thirteen months ago that he would be engaged come the next year; he would have laughed in their face so hard tears would spill, and his abdomen would get an entire workout too. The idea of Karaku Ransuji actually planning to settle down willingly seemed like a far-fetched idea at best, a terrible joke at worst.

Then he met you, and all of his chuckling seemed to die down. Snuffed out by your overwhelming presence, squashed into nothing but a forgotten paste as you practically swept Karaku off his feet with such ease, he almost believed he was on an acid trip and only seeing things.

If that trip somehow managed to keep him high on psychedelics for a year, that is.

Anything could be possible, so he always says.

But you were real, that much Karaku knew. Despite having been confused as to why the daughter of the Muzan Kibutsuji would ever be interested in someone like him, part of Karaku also didn't want to question it too hard. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when you genuinely seemed so into him too.

After all, it had been you who spoiled Karaku with any and all things he asked for. Taking him to the most expensive places, allowing him a freedom he had never known previously. Helped wean him off his substance abuse without having him go completely cold turkey either, all while you kept loving on him as if he were the one who hung the stars in the night sky.

Never before had Karaku felt so loved, and he adored it.

Even if you often talked about him a little oddly to other of your rich peers. Praising yourself for picking up a ‘poor unfortunate soul’ from his worst, raising him up to become the best version of himself, patting yourself on the back as a person who saw the best in others.

Which Karaku never denied. After all, you have been the biggest help in making him a healthier person, and he couldn't take that away from you without it making him feel a bit selfish. So he simply smiled and stayed by your side, attempting to look as pretty as you had both instructed and expected him to be.

Because showing him off like he was the most gorgeous thing around was yet another thing you adored to do. Keeping him on your arm, placing your hand on the small of his back possessively as you introduced him—practically showcasing him in all the silks you had picked out for him, wanting him to shine when adorned in the most expensive of jewelry imaginable too.

But Karaku loved it, even if he sometimes felt a little bit sidelined by you during those types of events. That was natural, of course, as Karaku wasn't exactly used to that type of scene—not even close to the way you were, being a multi-billionaire's daughter. Besides, it wasn't as if you constantly treated him like your favorite purse more than a partner.

Only when in public places with other high class snobs, really.

In private was where the magic happened, and Karaku was content with that. Truly, he felt as if he was the only one in the world who knew the real you. And that counted for something.

Which is exactly why he had eagerly said ‘yes’ when to his surprise; you were the one to pop the big question, ring and all. Not at all what he had expected from a woman, not even in a million years.

Honestly, he should have expected that from you. While most would think a woman like yourself would be demanding princess treatment, to be worshipped by a man and have him do everything—you weren't quite like that.

Only partially.

Being more dominant in personality meant that you typically took the reins with all things in your relationship, hardly giving Karaku the ability to choose much of anything unless you felt generous. Allowing him to follow where you lead, listen to your demands and wants before he voices his own—all while taking care of him financially, practically pushing him to move in only one month into dating.

Not that Karaku minded giving you control, even if he felt a lot of men might be unsure. Oftentimes he could be a bit indecisive, or want multiple things at once when he realistically can only choose one option. So having the ability to simply lay back, relax, and go with the flow just felt right.

You picked all of your dates, always. When and where, what both of you wore, as well as the activities you would be doing.

You picked meals, cooked for both of you by private chefs. Ensuring his body got the necessary amount of nutrients, even if he had a smaller appetite. Supplying him with intravenous liquids once or twice a week if his levels dropped—as you kept a close eye on his health, constantly.

You also had a heavy surveillance of who he was allowed to speak to, as well as controlling his internet usage. Every app or website he could access had to be approved by you, having multiple sites blocked for all his devices—that you had gifted him, after confiscating his old ones—with every social media he owned being monitored.

It was obviously to prevent him from being unfaithful, that much was obvious. Karaku wasn't a fool or anything, and the fact that you knew of his less than pure past with multiple partners, meant that it wasn't like he was necessarily going to blame you. Even if he did complain, all that would happen would be you getting cold and angry with him, like you did the first time he protested.

Well, you claim it's for his safety, and so Karaku simply learned to agree. It had to be partly for that reason as well, of course it did. But the cheating was definitely the first reason, even if you would only admit to the safety aspect.

On top of that, you also dominated completely in the bedroom. 

That one was the most exciting, by a long shot too. Nothing was ever boring when the two of you got hot and heavy—and you had a high libido at that, so getting entangled together beneath the silken sheets of your massive bed was common for the both of you.

And unlike the way Karaku had been dominated by others in the past, he actually felt safe with you. Even if you had a tendency to occasionally push past his comfort levels during intense sex, disregarding his safe-words until he quite literally has to scream them for you to stop whatever it was you were doing.

And even then, you would not always stop the sex despite Karaku pleading with you that it was too much, or that it was hurting him far past his threshold. Only gripping him and breathlessly demanding he can handle just ‘a bit more’. 

Or only one more round.

While verbal apologies are so rare that Karaku isn't even sure if he's ever heard the words ‘I'm sorry’ ever uttered out of your mouth, that wasn't to say you didn't apologize for it if you made him cry during those moments.

All those lavish gifts left behind for him, every caress and sweet kiss planted upon his skin, paired with nice weekend vacations told him that you did care. Just that you had a different way of showing it, that was all.

So he knew you cared a lot about him in your own way.

Which is why Karaku felt he had to divulge some of his past to you soon after the engagement had happened, something he had kept from you deliberately, out of fear you would find him repulsive upon discovering it. While he hadn't been thrilled about it, Karaku knew it would weigh on him if you didn't know of the stains painting his soul, marring his body.

He had feared for the worst; rejection and disgust.

But instead, you had listened. And been weirdly silent during it too. Staring at him so intently, part of Karaku was unsure if you had even blinked at all, as eyes resembling your frightening father bore a hole into the depths of his soul. Each new sentence making your fingers clench harder against your knee, every tear that threatened to fall from his watery emerald gaze wiring your jaw further shut.

“So yeah… that's—that's basically it. I didn't mean to ramble on, but y'know…” All of Karaku's nerves were so high strung, it almost felt like his entire body would short circuit right then and there. He'd practically just told you one of his most intimate and vulnerable things in his life, a trauma he hasn't shared with any partner in the past.

And you'd been so silent through it all. Even during his mumbling, tangents, and falling over his own words. Simply watching him, soaking in every piece of information he provided—no matter how small it had seemed, and you processed it all without a word.

Even now, when Karaku was done talking, you hadn't said anything just yet. Causing more anxiety to swell within his chest, as Karaku's slender fingers wrapped themselves around his sleeve, twisting it around and pulling at the fabric as he glanced down to the floor in shame. “I uh… figured it was worth mentioning, no secrets in married life, right?”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between the two of you. As your eyes remained fixed on your fiancé, focused entirely on the way he was fidgeting nervously.

Before your throat vibrates with a humming noise of understanding, reclining back somewhat, straightening your spine into a prim and proper stance once again. “I see now why you were so uncomfortable the times we visited your family. Am I correct to assume then, that you would prefer never to see either Hantengu, nor Urami again?”

Indeed, it certainly seemed much more reasonable now as to why your precious Karaku had always seemed so apprehensive and uncomfortable the couple of times you had graciously allowed your presence to bless his family. Particularly when you were meeting his father, who gave you an annoyingly strong vibe of someone who did not fear you or your name half as much as he should.

At the very least, Urami had been polite—respectful and even somewhat of a gentleman. But beneath the surface, all you could see was a man who disapproved of your choices more than his own son.

Instead of finding you to be unworthy, it was almost as if he didn't quite believe in the match due to the choice of his offspring you had plucked from his nest. Like he perhaps saw Karaku as the lesser choice for a rich lady such as yourself.

Either that, or now, with new information; that he was miffed by the idea that one of his favorite shared toys would no longer be readily available for playtime.

How very pathetic.

Karaku's first instinct to your question nearly overrode his previous distress, as even the thought of wanting to willingly spend time surrounded by them sent shivers of disgust down his spine.

Recoiling back somewhat, with a pinched expression that had his nose crinkle and his thick eyebrows furrow, Karaku's emerald green gaze shot over to you. “Well, obviously… No. They suck. Like major ass.” 

Not even a lie there—although it was most definitely not in the literal sense, as far as Karaku knew. Definitely not something he would want to know either, if it could be helped.

Because while the idea of either his father or grandfather being into eating ass is funny on paper; it was an image that could send Karaku's soul to the afterlife, spend a thousand years being tortured, bring it back to his body, and then be stuck with the trauma equivalent of about a billion re-watches of the Bee movie on a constant loop.

Shaking that thought out of his head, worries began to rise once more. This time they were met head on, however. As Karaku shifted his head to turn his gaze towards you, letting his bright green eyes meet your own intense stare.

You didn't seem put off by him, but he had to know for sure. Had to actually ask the question that had been nagging at him for days—if not months, yet only now rearing its ugly head with the reality of engagement.

“But um… You're not—You're not disgusted by me or anything, yeah?” So vulnerable all over again, having to ask such a thing to the woman Karaku knew he loved.

Sharing trauma was one thing.

Enduring the reaction—which could be anything—was another.

But thankfully, there was no revulsion in your expression. Only a cold, serene smile which spread across your face as one of your clenched hands relaxed, placing itself on top of Karaku's own. Gripping it, squeezing it. 

With a soft exhale, you spoke so firmly. Like what you were saying was a simple fact—and not something to be argued, not by anyone. “Oh, my dearest. Of course not. You'll be a Kibutsuji soon. And only the most perfect of beings could possibly carry that name, you know.”

That reassurance definitely helped ease Karaku's mind, as air flowed in through his nose, filling his lungs until his chest expanded—before his muscles relaxed, body slumping against you in relief.

If you could accept him as he is, then everything would be alright. He knew it would be.

For a moment, all there was between the two of you was silence. As Karaku nestled his head against your shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume. Relishing in the sensation of your arm slithering around him, your fingers protectively digging into his arm.

Then came your proposition.

“Would you like them taken care of, darling?” Spoken like a sweet, gentle question—it still carried the heavy lace of poison. A candied apple which had the outer layer drenched in something dangerous, something vile. Presented in the nicest of ways, but followed only by death.

Which only proved itself true when you clarified further, upon Karaku's lack of a proper reaction. Only giving you a small, little snort. As if he was taking it as a silly joke to make him feel safer.

It was no joke.

“Permanently, of course.”

Immediately upon hearing the seriousness of your voice, Karaku pulled away from your hold. Violently ripping free as his hand shot out to clamp itself on your bicep to stabilize himself and keep from toppling over by the sudden rush of movement, emerald eyes wide with horror.

He hated them, yes.

But murder?

That was unimaginable—especially considering that despite it all; they were family.

Blinking rapidly as if his vision was deceiving him, shaking his head like a dog fresh out of water—none of it dispelled the picture of you in front of him, deadly serious and calm. It almost gave Karaku whiplash just to digest how much you genuinely meant it.

Taking your last name into the equation, Karaku really shouldn't have assumed you were messing around at all from the very beginning. But he wasn't used to you being this serious about violence—at least not in front of him.

Karaku never questioned you about the fact your business choices Muzan had given you charge over resulted in thousands of children getting cancer, that time you approved of water being labeled as safe in an area when it wasn't ready. All to save money.

There had been no guilt on your end, and so he hadn't asked. Because all you had claimed it to be, was an unfortunate accident.

Or the orphanage you took ownership of, all to use the abandoned children there for biological experiments. Or so, a whistleblower claimed. But you reassured Karaku that it was a complete and utter lie, even showing him around the place. It had seemed normal, if not for the oddly behaving staff.

It did seem a little odd though, just how many of the children looked nearly identical. However, Karaku had blocked most of that experience out of his mind. It wasn't for him to say if some man whore had gone around knocking a bunch of women up in the area, only for them to give the children up.

But this was different—this was his blood.

Breathing out an almost incredulous laugh, all Karaku could do was shake his head back and forth as he squeezed your arm. Attempting to ground his thoughts as his face scrunched up further, detesting the idea already. “Wha—no!? No! Jesus Christ, babe, that's a little too far.”

As his fingers dug into your arm, you hardly even reacted. Only narrowing your eyes at him while listening to his protests, uncertain as to why he would even be opposed. Considering the information he had just divulged to you, any reasonable person would call for their heads.

Most normal people want rapists dead, after all. Particularly those that prey on the vulnerable—on children. 

While you never cared about such trivial things before, as what other people do typically never bothers you unless you were directly affected, all of that changed when it pertained to your beloved. Your Karaku.

So to hear him deny your proposition, it almost seemed peculiar to you.

With a pinched smile, you speak. “They hurt you. Both of them did.” Even that is not enough for you, as you grasp your future husband's face in one hand, fingers digging into his cheeks like a vice—all while staring intently. Words seem venomous as you push them out, nearly as if they made you ill just to say, crinkling your own nose, tugging your lips downwards with each syllable. “And you… Want them to continue on living normally, as if they've done nothing wrong?”

That seemed to throw Karaku for a loop, as he struggled to even reply. For years he had thought of them gone—but faced with the probability of it happening by force; something inside of him crumbled.

Closing his mouth and swallowing down the heavy paste of saliva felt like downing a slug, as it went slowly and thickly—words Karaku didn't enjoy being said forcing themselves out. “I—... Look.”  Breathing out, heavily at that; Karaku looks at you hesitantly, unsure of his own feelings, yet certain of his words as they come. “Grandpa is already like, one foot in the grave anyway. I mean, he isn't that old, sure, but he is getting there. And he sure as shit ain't the healthiest. Dude sounds like a Minecraft skeleton come to life when he walks.”

A small chuckle tumbles out past his lips despite himself, as the thought of his grandfather sounding like the rattling of bones when he moves brought a smidgen of humor into it all.

Hantengu certainly looked like he would sound that way, so it wasn't too far-fetched.

Then came the thoughts of his father, and all of Karaku's snark turned to ashes in his mouth within an instant. Flashes of Urami floods his consciousness, invades his mind like the aggressive parasite it was—practically consuming him alive, eating his flesh off his bones until nothing was left behind.

God knew how much Karaku hated his grandfather for molesting him, but in the same breath; only the Devil could know the depths of anger he felt towards his own father for allowing it all. The one man who should have loved and protected him most—that was who had failed him the hardest.

And yet a life without him seemed so foreign. While Karaku had put distance between himself and his parental figures, that wasn't to say he could picture a reality where they were dead either. One day, it would happen, sure. But that day didn't have to come so soon.

Karaku felt like a fake victim for even thinking that way.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, trying his best to gather his thoughts and verbalize them the most efficient way he could; Karaku lowers his head before he lifts it back up to look you in the eyes. Speaking from the heart, no matter how jumbled it appeared. 

“And my dad—I… I do hate him too, a lot. But like… I don't know, okay? He is still my father, and him dying when he's still supporting my brothers financially just doesn't sit right, y'know?” All of it sounded so silly as he let it out, yet all of it remained true nonetheless. Karaku didn't want his father to die, especially not if the cause was a hit put out from his current fiancée.

Although it did feel nice to be so loved, he'd much prefer no one actually gets put six feet under the ground. 

Hearing Karaku's words made your face almost twist into a scowling grimace, if not for your excellent self control keeping your expression neutral, that is. 

Clearly, he wanted neither of them completely gone despite their vile actions. Something that had you feeling both perplexed, as well as miffed. If you had feathers, they'd surely be ruffled right about now. 

But still, you had no intention of allowing this to simply slide. Those men had harmed what was yours before he was even rightfully claimed, and that could not be excused. Not now, not ever.

Even without death, there were ways to punish the wicked.

With a gentle and reassuring hum, your body reclines back as if relaxing. A practiced smile adorning your features as you maintain the perfect eye contact, subtly tilting your head down to make Karaku feel in control. “Very well, Karaku.” Starting soft, you place your hand across his leg, allowing your palm to caress his knee in a way that would ensure him feeling at ease.

Then, you gave him a simple truth.

“I will take your wishes seriously.”

It wasn't a lie if you intended to keep them alive, after all. The only thing missing from your sentences now were the how of it all, but that would be a reveal for another time. Clearly Karaku didn't need to know at that very moment.

A surprise sounded much better.

Immediately upon hearing your reassurances, Karaku's entire body slumps in relief once more. Shoulders sagging as his spine bends forward, a deep groan escaping from his mouth as his hand finds itself placed against his face, dragged down slowly until it falls limp at his side. “God, thank you for that.”

Honestly, there had been a brief moment where Karaku believed you might just brush him off completely and go on the warpath despite your seemingly calm surface. There was more than enough history to prove that you were very, very possessive.

The woman who flirted with him a total amount of one time in a Starbucks, who proceeded to go missing within the week following—while you seemed strangely content and even pleased to watch the news about it, told Karaku more than enough.

Just because you didn't outwardly show it didn't mean you couldn't be dangerous to those you perceived as a threat, or deserving of whatever fate you chose for them.

With a heavy sigh, Karaku brings one hand to the back of his neck, kneading and rubbing at the nape in slight unease as his emerald gaze drifts to the side. Away from your face. “I mean, typically I wouldn't take that kinda thing seriously but y'know… You are who you are. Love you for it though.” 

For a moment, there was nothing but a stretch of silence hanging in the air as you kept your focus fully on your fiancé, mind running a mile a minute.

Until your cheeks begin to strain themselves over the pull of your lips, forcing itself into a wide smile as you nod. “Of course. No killing, my dear.” You could work with that, of course you could. Anything to keep your precious Karaku happy, as you always wanted for him.

A plan had already hatched inside of your mind on how to punish the offenders, while keeping Karaku's wishes fully intact, which would be the best outcome of the situation.

However, you didn't want him to catch on to your thoughts, so to take his mind completely away from the conversation you had just shared; you decided to distract him. After all, it wasn't difficult to get Karaku to forget things once you placed something more interesting in his hands.

“How about a drink and card games instead?” A drink to muddle his mind, and cards to keep him happy. While you much preferred things such as chess if you were to play, Karaku was more of a card person.

Particularly UNO.

Childish in nature, but something you were willing to endure for his sake. And for the sake of yours, as well. There was no need for him to concern himself with your plans at this time. Or ever, for that matter.

At your proposition and the offer of alcohol, Karaku immediately perked up. The idea of taking the edge off after such a heavy conversation felt like just the thing he needed, and you were offering to spend quality time with him on top of that as well.

It couldn't get more perfect than that.

Grinning widely, his body sprung up as Karaku nodded, taking your hand in his as his fingers intertwined between yours. “Hell yeah, let's play! But I'm warning you babe, I'm so gonna crush you at this. And when I do, you'll owe me later tonight, ‘kay?”

“I never lose. But even if I did, you know I'd take you to bed like that regardless.” Came your smooth reply, just as you squeezed his hand held within your own. Grounding him down to his rightful place, next to you that is.

With a small chuckle, all Karaku could do to that was roll his eyes. Of course he knew you never lost, but he'd still try. “Yeah yeah, smartass… Can't even let a guy flirt with his future wife without reminding him he sucks at winning.”

“Indeed. You know how I am.” Mused softly, your eyes never left his own. Commanding his full attention to remain on you, and nothing else. Just as you needed him to do.

“I do, and I love it.”

After that conversation, there hadn't been any further talk about what Karaku had confessed to you. No further prodding on his trauma, or more questions about going into details he had omitted for his own sake. All you did was carry on as normal, hardly even bringing it up at all. 

Apart from one thing Karaku took notice of, which seemed off about you.

The fact that whenever he brought up his father—or grandfather, for that matter, although rarer—you seemed to breathe out through your nose, only a small little huff. Chin turning down against your chest slightly, as the corners of your mouth tugged themselves upwards. Into a small, almost subtle smile.

Your smiles were already rather rare as it stood, at least the real ones that were genuine and not a practiced mask your own father had made you perfect for the public, just the same way he had. 

While Karaku was absolutely sure he's seen your real smiles more than anyone else in the world, it seemed strange for you to make the attempt at hiding them from him, especially when in private. It could have been a pride thing, but you knew he got all excited seeing it, so you often didn't cover your amusement for his sake.

These ones seemed almost like a secret, like the smiles themselves were not yet meant for his eyes. On top of the fact they only started spreading across your face at the mention of Urami or Hantengu as well, it certainly made Karaku uncomfortable. 

Part of him worried if you had found some form of enjoyment hearing what they had done to him, and was envisioning it in your head—but all of those thoughts vanished as quickly as they reared their revolting heads.

If you had truly not cared, or even found entertainment from his trauma; then why would you so willingly have offered to have them assassinated practically on the spot when you found out? It wouldn't make sense, not with all that Karaku knows about you.

But then again, maybe Karaku was just misinterpreting it all. Typically he'd only bring his father up these days to discuss what his siblings were sharing about their own Christmas plans for December, and you had announced that you were planning a massive surprise for him.

It made a lot more sense then, if your reason for seeming so excited whenever those conversations popped up was that it was simply you looking forward to the present you were getting him. Which honestly had Karaku pretty on the edge as well, as he'd never seen you be this amount of giddy over a gift.

Typically you'd hand him things as you got them, or spoil him endlessly on special days where you practically handed him your card and told him he could ‘go crazy’ with it. That, or you'd have massive celebrations funded by your father, like the one on his last birthday.

So for you to be so secretive for what felt like weeks on end—well, it just seemed pretty unusual in Karaku's eyes. Not that he minded the switch up, as surprises always got him going. 

Then came his unease.

Two weeks before Christmas, Karaku had received a call from his twin brother, who was clearly deeply concerned over something. Which, at first, Karaku had assumed was the stress of the holidays. Like always, his brother tended to take things to the extreme with planning and ensuring nothing went wrong, that was just how meticulous Sekido tended to be.

But it wasn't stress over the holidays, or frustrations over planning. Neither was it any form of his typical vexation aimed towards his younger siblings, or even the fact that Karaku had recently ignored his calls for three days straight.

Apparently those calls hadn't been just to chat.

Their father and grandfather had gone missing.

While at first Karaku had thought it to be a joke, that thought quickly disappeared the more his twin spoke. Rapidly ranting to him that Urami hadn't been seen or heard from in three days—that Hantengu wasn't home either, disappearing practically as soon as their father had.

For a brief moment, all Karaku wanted to do was bark a laugh and ask why that was such a problem. They didn't really matter, not truly.

Then came the worry; that gnawing ache of concern for what might have happened, not being sure if they were dead or not—it eroded away all the nasty thoughts Karaku might have initially had. It wasn't as if he wanted to care, or even be worried, but the sheer sense of panic in Sekido's voice practically bled onto himself.

Because it was true.

Their father would never just go completely off the radar for even a full day, it was unheard of. Urami was punctual, he was precise. There wasn't a universe out there where he would simply leave without a trace—especially not when he had built a life as pristine and perfect as he had where they lived.

At least as pristine as one could make it, with all those skeletons in his closet.

Immediately, the first thing Karaku thought to do was obviously go to you—as Sekido had already informed him that he had filed a missing person's report, yet there had been no tangible evidence of where they'd gone. Almost as if they'd simply vanished into thin air, which had to be bullshit, but Karaku wasn't surprised. Police sucked.

Not that he'd tell his twin that to his face, but still.

Coming to you felt right, as he knew you had money and connections—things that would make finding people that much simpler, if you were willing to do it for him.

Karaku was so convinced that you would, for sure if he seemed genuinely distressed by it all.

Which was something Karaku was a little shocked to learn himself, just how much it hit him to have his least favorite members of the family go missing. When you originally brought up the concept of their deaths, he had been practically recoiling even then, and now he worried it might come to fruition.

If Hantengu died, then that was less of a problem. He was getting to that age, and the reality of the matter was that Hantengu was a frail man by now, his health had definitely seen better days. Health scares were common enough that most of them expected him not to survive another ten years maximum.

If Urami did, then his brothers were going to struggle heavily. It was already obvious that you didn't get on with them very well, on top of that, Sekido was highly independent and very stubborn. The concept of you even being willing to fund their life as well was slim, and if you were willing, then Sekido would vehemently reject the offer.

On top of that, Sekido would have to practically become a father at only the age of twenty two—and to that little creature they call a youngest brother. Zohakuten may only be fourteen years old, but he was a hassle and a handful.

Also probably the spawn of Satan. The antichrist, some would claim.

So honestly, despite everything he's ever been through; Karaku came to you, sweetly pleading for your help to look for them, or at least find information. Batting his long lashes at you, putting on the cutest puppy dog eyed look he could possibly manage.

With a little bit of seductive undertones underneath to help butter you up, that always seemed to work to get him his way.

But this time, there was no giving in to immediately make sure his request was completed as quickly as possible. Not even when the situation was far more serious than Karaku wanting an expensive designer item, or a fancy new car all for himself.

Instead, all that you did as his hands held onto your sleeve while the soft pads of his fingers caressed across your wrist was to smile. 

An eerie smile that pulled apart your face at the seams, cracking it open in what seemed far too wide for someone like you. Showcasing the rows of pearly white teeth, polished to uncanny perfection. With lips that had stretched thin, gums peeking out from beneath the soft, elastic skin.

It made a cold chill run itself down Karaku's spine, causing a quiet sort of ache to settle in the bottom of his abdomen. Frosty and heavy, as if it was weighing his insides down, slowly descending into a pit.

But it was your words that made him let go of your hand, taking a step back away from you, mind reeling with perplexed confusion.

“I promise you, Karaku. You will see them again, I'll make sure of it.”

That should have been reassuring, surely. Here you were, practically telling him that you would be ensuring his request was taken seriously. That you'd make sure his siblings wouldn't have to struggle on their own, since all Urami was good for truly was his wallet.

However that was not how it came off to Karaku when you spoke, definitely not when it was paired with that disturbing expression plastered on your typically beautiful face.

But Karaku knew better than to object, or look a gift horse in the mouth—never that. Even though you didn't say you'd look for them, there was a promise that he'd see them again, presumably alive.

So he simply nodded, unsure and uneasy. Folding his arms across his chest in an almost self soothing way, convincing himself he was seeing things due to concern for his family. And then he replied, with only one single word.

“... Okay.”

Karaku trusted you. After all, you were his fiancée—his bride to be. There was no reason not to trust your word on it.

And you kept your promise, you really did. At least for his father.

Because Karaku would get to see Urami again, just not the way he had been expecting. Never, not in a million years could he have predicted what state he would find his father in. Not even conceptualized it in his brain.

But you still kept your promise.

On Christmas Eve at that.

Karaku had been stressing all week, during the times where he typically felt the most excited at that, just right before Christmas rolled around. Yet instead of looking forward to spending it with you, all Karaku could think about was the constant streams of texts from his brothers—partially Sekido—asking him what they're supposed to do if their father and grandfather never come back.

It wasn't as if they were the most rich or well off family in the world, especially with the fact their last stepmother had practically taken the majority in the divorce. Which admittedly, had left Urami seething with rage at her audacity, as he claims it.

At the time, Karaku had found it endlessly amusing.

Now he was starting to think it wasn't that funny anymore.

All hope was starting to feel lost, considering it had been a total of seventeen days since they both went missing. Meaning enough time had passed that they either just up and left everything behind willingly, or the other more likely option; they were both dead in a ditch somewhere, bodies rotting into the earth as maggots eat their way through flesh and collapsing organs.

That was until you sat him down on Christmas Eve, with a giddy smile on your face. Body practically vibrating with excitement and glee as you passed him his gift, which turned out to be a simple, small envelope. Sleek on the surface, color the same shade of crimson red, paired with small dots of white strewn all across as decoration.

Turning it around by moving his wrist, Karaku inspects the envelope. He could distinctly feel it had a bump inside of it, somewhat flat yet very hard, as well as having some weight to the thing. So definitely more than a card, although he had no clue as to what.

Emerald green eyes flicker over to you with uncertainty and slight exhaustion. Sleep had escaped him recently, and so his mind really wasn't quite with it to think faster than he could speak, ending up considering things slower than normal. “Is this the present you were so excited over?” Despite attempting to not sound a little disappointed, it seemed like his voice still lowered itself somewhat. Gaze trailing back to the object in his hand, a small pout forming across his lips. “Seems kinda small…”

What could it possibly be that's this small, yet was enough for you to get all eager over giving him? Of course you had gotten him multiple presents—most of which were material things, as you tended to spoil him. But this particular present had been the one you practically pushed into his hands, with that same near manic look in your eyes as you did so.

Which meant that gift you had been planning must be the envelope.

Thinking harder on it, his nose scrunches up as his thick eyebrows furrow down in contemplation. Before he perks up a bit, back straightening somewhat as one potential idea pops into his mind the same way a light flicks on. “Oh! Is it tickets to something super cool, or what?”

With a shake of your head, all you do is extend your fingers out as your hand shows itself towards him, palm facing upwards in a gesture to signal he continues on. “Open and see, my dearest. I promise it will be worth it once you get to the real surprise I've arranged for you.”

Despite being a little disbelieving of you at first, there was no reason for Karaku to doubt you considering your past history with showering him in lavish things. “Yeah?” Almost teasing as he asks, Karaku felt a small grin pull at the corners of his lips as he hooked one slender finger underneath the opening of the envelope. “If you say so, babe.”

Ripping the packaging open with a lot less eloquence than Karaku knew you typically expected, he quickly shook the contents out of the sealed letter. Dumping its insides onto the space between the two of you on the soft, plush couch.

Upon looking at the two items which emerged, confusion floods Karaku's senses. Making him tilt his head slightly to the side as his hand grasps the first piece, which happened to be the most solid one. “... A key?” 

Cold metal weighed itself heavy in his palm, small and innocuous in appearance, yet shaped like no key for any of the places he currently knew he was allowed to go to.

Discarding the crimson envelope to pick up the second piece—which was a hard piece of paper, feeling like a card when he touched it. Not as bendy as normal paper, far more sturdy, too.

Flipping it over from the blank side, Karaku could read the text displayed in bold. And his puzzlement only heightened further. “And… an address.”

There were a lot of things Karaku might have expected from you when presented with such a small and thin gift, yet a key and address might be one of the last things he would have guessed. Probably not even on his radar at all, if he was being completely honest with himself.

It didn't exactly make much sense, considering you seemed more than content living where you were. 

Casting you a slightly pinched smile, Karaku raised an eyebrow as he lazily waved the paper containing the address up and down. “Babe, not to be ungrateful or anything, because if you got me a house that's really cool and all… But um, we already live in the most lavish place ever.” Which was absolutely true, the two of you lived better than royalty did—all thanks to your father's name and money, which was not something to be taken for granted, regardless of how taxing dealing with your father could be. “You planning to have us move out? I mean, I think Muzan is as frustrating as the next guy but—”

Without allowing your beloved to finish his little ramble, your hand lifts itself up to halt him dead in his tracks. Your voice cutting through his own like a blade slicing across thin fabric; easy and smooth. “It's not a house for us.”

“Oh.” Karaku falters somewhat at that, as his mind goes numb to any other potential possibilities that his present could be if not another house—after all; a key and number wasn't just given to one's partner for an impractical joke.

Not unless that person was a massive jerk, that is.

Wracking his brain for anything that could work besides that took him a couple of seconds, but eventually Karaku landed on another possibility, his eyes blinking as he looked at you expectantly. “Some kind of place to go when we want peace? Like a cabin or lake house, like some people get?”

A delighted chuckle escapes you, practically slipping out in its melodic sound. Head moving side to side once more as you spoke. “Not that either.” You giggle softly as you pull the key tighter into Karaku, ensuring the metal item is firmly in his grasp before you curl his fingers over the item, ensuring its safety. “Your present is at that location, the key is to get in.”

As your touch envelopes his own hand, a small flush spreads across Karaku's cheeks by the intimate contact. As even now, he really can't help but feel completely swept off his feet by your love.

It almost made him forget why he was so stressed in the first place.

Only almost.

Laughter tickles Karaku's nose pleasantly as he snorts out a small bark, nearly smiling genuinely for the first time that day—a rarity, considering the date, as he typically would have been grinning all day in the past. “Hah! Baby, did you seriously decide to give me a scavenger hunt for this Christmas?” By now, the idea had taken a bit more root in his mind. Exciting him by the prospect of you having bothered to take the time out of your schedule to keep him occupied during trying times. And he adored you all the more for it. “Not gonna lie, that's pretty cool… and I could use the distraction.”

“Great. Then let's go, my angel.” Without missing a beat, your body had already risen upwards to stand. Firm grip pulling your beloved alongside you, easily manhandling the slender frame of his stature—only aided by the decisive way in which you maneuvered him.

All that you wanted was to finally provide the fruits of your labor, after weeks of planning and speaking to your acquaintances about your offer—which they had eagerly accepted—there was truly nothing else that you hoped to give.

You had kept your word.

Mostly.

Accidents do tend to happen.

Karaku blinked as he was hauled up, clutching harder onto the gift you had given him by instinct, feeling the metal dents dig into the skin of his palm. “O-Oh, right now?” With wide eyes, Karaku was practically not even answered as you simply dragged him away from the spacious living room. Hand on his wrist, fingers wrapped around with intent, with a goal.

Not to be questioned, not to be objected against.

And so, all that Karaku could do was chuckle softly and agree. “Sure, sure. You lead the way then.”

The ride towards the address had been mostly filled by Karaku's incessant talking, as he attempted his best to keep his mind off the phone he had put on silent to avoid his siblings messages, and instead focused on trying to guess what your surprise would be.

Of course with each question he asked being met with a noncommitted hum, or a simple ‘wait and see’. Never any confirmation or denial for any of them, which only served to make Karaku that much more curious.

Was it a pet? Karaku had been asking for a cat or dog from you for a couple of months by that point, but if it was an animal then surely you would have the sense not to lock it away in some random building, so Karaku quickly scrapped that thought.

Honestly, he truly had no idea.

Yet the tension built up within his body like a bubbling volcano, heated and intense as it slowly rose up from the inside. Boiling his soul, turning his chest into a drum as his heart beat rapidly slammed itself against his ribcage—anticipation and adrenaline pumping all throughout his veins.

The house seemed so normal, but Karaku unlocked it anyway, at your nod of approval. Pushing the door open with some apprehension, as if he was trespassing upon someone else's property.

Which honestly only became heightened as the two of you actually entered the house; because the entire space was decorated to high heavens with what seemed so eerily personalized, that Karaku would assume it was definitely lived in.

Perhaps a friend of yours?

Although if so, then Karaku would definitely judge your choice of company. Not that he doesn't already, considering all those high class assholes he's had to endure looking down on him for his less than filthy rich past, as if that made him subhuman in their eyes.

But at least those people wouldn't be caught dead having their interior look like this.

Everything on the inside was painted a pristine white, resembling that of a sterile hospital environment with how sleek and polished it all was, with white being the only shade on the floor, walls, and roof. Which would have been fine, if not a little boring and taxing on the eyes—but simple enough.

Then came the actual decor, and Karaku grimaced in genuine bafflement by the choices made.

Every wall had some of the most gaudy, unappealing, and downright disgusting paintings his poor eyes had perhaps ever been cursed to witness. 

Everything from grotesque, hideously obese clowns in full makeup and costumes, eating what appeared to be small infants with the umbilical cord still attached. As blood and guts spilled past the multitude of chins on the clown, chunks of flesh getting stuck in the mounds of fat clinging to the beast's bones as it consumed a life so fresh, never having even had the chance to live yet.

To what appeared to be some form of sexual deviants fantasy in others. One painting depicted a frail looking man covered in bruises and injuries, clearly starved and beaten for what could have been weeks—being strapped to a chair. Two other males stood at his side, with their disgustingly detailed erections standing at full attendance. Veins prominent, and definitely comically large in size.

What really made that painting make Karaku almost gag was the added details of it all. The man was clearly dead, as there was a large, bleeding wound across his throat. A slit that sprouted copious amounts of blood, gushing out of his cut arteries like a geyser.

With an empty, hollow look to his eyes. Eyes that were streaming tears even in his death, large crystal globs of saline water cascading down his hollow cheeks, dripping off his face.

And worst of all… there was a bucket beneath the chair, one which had toppled over onto the floor beneath them.

Spilling out contents of what could only be feces, most definitely. All of it was so revoltingly detailed too, with what looked like slimy strokes paired with the more solid parts, all of it making for one of the most gross things Karaku had ever had the displeasure of accidentally placing his gaze upon.

And that wasn't even to mention the overflowing amounts of white liquid dripping out of the bound man's anus, like a river of seed pouring from his ass as if he were a fountain. No doubt the result of rape, considering literally everything else in the painting.

That was only a fraction of the disturbing imagery decorating the walls too, as Karaku caught glimpses of many things he wished he could bleach out of his mind.

One depicted a very strange orgy of at least six people, all of whom were very clearly elderly. Geriatric, even. Looking like they were one orgasm away from the coffin.

Animals being sexually abused.

Dead children contorted into unnatural poses, dismembered and pulled apart by the seams.

Eldritch horror type of deep sea creatures, all depicted next to a small figure which could only be a size scale for a human—sometimes so small it was near unnoticeable.

And a strange amount of pregnant men, or even men in the process of giving birth. With very detailed expressions at that, practically exaggerated in the pain and howling.

All of that was just the horrible artwork, too. That wasn't even to mention the abysmal furniture, most of which had been modeled to appear like humans—from table to chairs. With a couch that was most definitely leather, yet had been modified to appear closer to human skin.

Patchwork at that, as if flabs of skin from multiple different people across a wide variety of ethnicities had been slaughtered and stitched together to create the final piece.

On top of all of that, in the middle of the living room there was a statue. Also supposedly a piece of art, only in solid form. That one was perhaps the most hideous of all. Worse yet, it appeared to be professionally done.

Made of materials Karaku doesn't even want to begin speculating on; the work depicted multiple people, all sewn together by the chunks of their vivisected bodies. Thrown into a mixer and coming out as a deformed creature, multiple made one.

Everything was so unsettling to look at.

Turning back towards you with his unease displayed so brazenly on his expression, Karaku could do nothing but awkwardly laugh as his emerald gaze flickered from side to side. Not wanting to see those things again, yet feeling a pull to just look one more time.

Like a car crash.

“U-Um… Baby?” Karaku felt his heart beating wildly against his chest as his eyes finally met yours, discomfort and nervousness marring his perfect face as he did so. “Is this… The right place? I mean—It's… It's really weird in here, yeah?” 

It was obvious just how on edge he was, yet you seemed completely unbothered with that fact. Simply huffing out a small noise, fingers gliding across one of those vile decorations. The pads of your fingers dancing over the fleshy look of the couch—before your sharp gaze locked in on him.

“It's the right place, Karaku.” 

Without missing a beat between your words and actions; your hand shot itself forward, grasping Karaku's chin to force him to face you. Eyes locked onto yours, as you snarled at him, serious in every syllable. Meaning every word which you spoke. “Kibutsuji's don't make mistakes, ever. We are perfection. I would never have brought you to the wrong location, you know this.”

At the sound of your arrogance, there wasn't much but awkward laughter to follow as Karaku nodded diligently. Knowing that to hurt your ego would be a crime in your eyes, something to be punished and disciplined for. “Um… right, right—No, I know.”

Teeth pull themselves across the plush flesh of Karaku's own lip as he glances around, deeply disturbed and uncomfortable. He could hear your reassurances, yet he did not believe in them, not when this was the environment. “But it's so… freaky in here.”

True and valid, all of Karaku's grievances were so real. And yet, nothing you did seemed to take him seriously.

Smiling softly, you speak as you shake your head once again. “That's because your surprise isn't in here, it's in the basement, I do believe.”

As you gesture to the side—which had to be the path towards the depths you spoke of; Karaku immediately recoiled. “Oh God—basement?!” Both hands shook side to side with his palms facing you, in tandem with his head. Before fingers curled inwards, digging deep into his palms, as his eyes squeezed shut in protest. “Babe, this place is already scaring me a little, I dunno if I wanna go down—”

But you don't let him speak, not at all. Quickly cutting him off with a sharp voice, using his name less like an affectionate call, and more like a poisoned blade. Slicing through his rejection, infecting the air and his veins with your command.

“Karaku… Don't argue with me.” Tutting your tongue against the roof of your mouth to ease your anger, placate your own rage—all while your hands place themselves on your darling's shoulders to lead him towards the door; it was difficult.

Difficult not to just drag him down and throw him into the room you knew was waiting for him.

Leading him slowly, you speak gentler this time. Lowering your octave to be sweeter, easing your grip to hurt less. All for his sake. “I put a lot of thought into this, so to have you reject my efforts now… it would greatly displease me.”

Walking down the steep staircase had Karaku pushed to the edge, every step down bringing the sensation of dread closer and closer to horror. It was dark in vision, yet not damp in smell. Whirrings of air conditioning being the only sound beside the click of his feet against concrete that reached his ears.

Sterile, just as it had felt in the rooms up above.

Yet tainted, exactly the same.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a door—one you urged Karaku to open. Which he did with a lot of hesitation, and a lot of building fright. Feeling like he was stuck in some sort of horror game, where a jumpscare would await him just around the corner.

Which wasn't that far off from the truth, either.

Because as soon as Karaku cracked open the pristine white door; he was assaulted by harsh red lights. They flooded his senses as he blinked rapidly, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the sudden change in environment—attempting to adjust to the stark contrast.

Only to freeze upon properly looking.

This was a darkroom.

With countless photographs displayed all around. Some hung from thin string of rope, while others were still submerged beneath the liquids of clear water. Soaking in the moisture, becoming clearer, more visible.

Most of the photographs depicted simple trains, in all angles, shapes, and colors. A collection of only trains seemed to be relegated to the left side, where they were proudly displayed all across the wall, with more to come and be processed yet. Black lipstick markings kissed across a few of them, marked in the affection of its creator—of it's photographer.

That was the left, while the right was far more disturbing.

Women, men, elderly, and even children—all bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Atop a bed, always the same bed it seemed, at that. Appearing distressed, being undressed or scantily clad. Tape covering their mouths, rope wrapped across their wrists to keep them pliant.

Easier prey.

Karaku felt so nauseous.

Hitching breaths predated his panicked whine as Karaku whipped around to face you, who still appeared so calm it felt almost haunting—as you almost had predicted this sight, or expected it. 

Clear, saline pearls begin to form across Karaku's waterline as terror fully seizes his body, clamoring at his soul while his mind becomes a maelstrom of distress and unease.

“B-Babe, this isn't funny anymore…” Swallowing down the heavy paste of his caramelized saliva, which had become weighty and firm in his anxiety—Karaku stared at you with wide eyes. “Can we just go home already, please?”

Whatever prank you were pulling, it was definitely losing its charm by the second.

“It's fine, my angel. We're almost there.” Shaking your head slowly, deliberately, you approached your distressed lover and placed your hand onto his lower back. Palming his lower spine as you began pushing him forward, forcing him to walk beside you as the two of you passed the various photographs. “Just beyond the door, and you'll see what I got for you.”

Said door before you was made of metal, unlike the others which were normal, made of wood and painted in plain white. Like the rest of the house.

It felt so ominous, as it stood before him. Tightly shut to prevent neither air nor sound from escaping the confines of its contents, like a Pandora's box not meant to be opened unless one wished for catastrophic consequences.

This was wrong—Karaku could feel it so clearly in his gut, it was practically overwhelming.

Once again he attempted to shake his head, reminiscent of a dog wishing to be rid of moisture clinging to its fur with the fervor of how Karaku shook. Hair flailing side to side as his eyes closed themselves, hands lifting upwards as if repelling and unseen energy. “I don't—babe, please. I wanna go home—”

But you refuse to let him even finish that thought, not when you spent so long wanting to perfect his gift, aching to bring his mind at ease and his soul peace.

Instead you violently take a hold of his wrists, yanking Karaku closer against your chest. Each breath expelled past your lips turning heavier as your eyes narrowed against him, glaring at Karaku with a viciousness that made him wish he could shrink into the size of a mouse.

“Don't fucking question me.” Swearing was a rarity for you, as your father had taught you to be proper and refined whenever, always. Never to allow yourself to debase your speech to that of a common person.

Yet your anger became far too great to ignore, and it exploded in the verbal way. Physical too, as you shoved Karaku against the metal entrance. Glaring at him with the same eyes that Muzan Kibutsuji possessed, the ones that brought even the most powerful of people trembling to their knees, terrified of his wrath.

Just as Karaku was terrified of yours.

Pressing him closer to the metal, your voice growled out your command. Deep, heavy, and completely serious. “Do it. Open. The. Door.”

There was no denying you—but surely; you would never harm him. So Karaku tells himself, at least, as he hesitantly pushes the door open. Needing to put his entire weight into it, using his body to heave the heavy metal barrier apart from its closing.

Karaku hadn't been sure as to what he would see once those gates opened for him, but the sight he did witness; it was nothing at all like he could have imagined. Never conceptualized in a million years, even.

And it made him sick.

The sight which met him once he pushed open that door had Karaku freeze in his spot, unable to process the things he was seeing before his eyes as filthy noises flooded his ears, attacking his mind.

On what looked like an operating table in the sterile—truly sterile, medical environment this time; lay his own father. Back flat against the surface as two other males stood close to him, one on each end.

And they were fucking him.

Simultaneously, at that.

One between Urami's limp legs—having one hooked on his arm under the knee, with his other palming at Urami's waist while he pounded inside. The other having Urami's head bent down over the edge of the table as he was humping erratically into Urami's mouth. Like a mutt in a violent rut, going at it without a shred of gentleness or care.

But Urami wasn't… doing anything. Unmoving, still as a doll.

It didn't make sense.

Especially because Karaku could distinctly see his father was crying. Tears were trickling down his face, staining his temples before they soaked into his midnight locks. All of which hung down like curtains, jolting in the air with each thrust from both ends. 

But Urami wasn't fighting back—and that made absolutely no sense to Karaku. None at all.

His father was a very strict man, one who valued control above all else. Someone like Urami would never allow himself to bottom for anyone, on top of that he was very picky with partners—his own words. As he always used that on his ex wife when she complained, which would have him claiming that she was ungrateful. After all, he wouldn't choose just anyone to lay in bed with.

So why would he look so distressed, yet not do a single thing to push free?

It wasn't as if Urami was weak. The man was tall and healthy, with plenty of both lean and heavy muscle that made every shirt he wore strain across his biceps, fitted perfectly across his firm pectoral muscles too.

While the strange looking man between his father's legs seemed extremely tall and fit as well, the one in front was much shorter and looked far more slender. At the very least, Urami could shove him off using his arms. At the very least, make the attempt to.

Arms that lay limp at his sides, doing absolutely nothing.

Wet noises of skin against skin assaults Karaku's ears, while the revolting mix of the two men's moans attack his mind. With it, came also the muffled whimpers of his father, straining to escape his sore throat as his mouth was completely stuffed, stealing away his voice.

Karaku has never heard Urami whimper before.

Staggering backwards on shaky legs, all Karaku could do was watch in confused horror at the scene. Almost like he was at the twist of a mind-fuck movie that he struggled to comprehend the meaning of, completely lost on the plot, unable to connect dots to understand.

His back collided with your body as he stepped back—which might have been the only thing allowing Karaku to tear his stare away from the scene, whipping around to face you with a startled gasp. As if for a moment, he expected you to be some monster, and not his fiancée.

But once he saw your expression, only further confusion seemed to soak his senses; as you looked completely, and utterly calm about it all. Not even fazed by what was happening—looking a little pleased, even.

Of course. You had been the one to bring him there, but there was simply no way you could be this cool and collected!

“What… What the fuck is—What's happening…?” Each syllable Karaku spoke wavered and trembled with the strain of his constricting throat, vibrating against the roof of his mouth as he stared wide eyed at you, blinking rapidly.

This had to be a very twisted sort of joke.

However, instead of clasping your hands in a ‘gotcha’ moment—that same creepy, too wide smile spread across your face as you loosely gestured towards the table. “I told you. Your Christmas present.” You practically preened as you said it, clearly proud of your idea having come to life in such a visceral and carnal showing.

Plus, you had kept your promise. Mostly. “And that you would get to see your dear father again. I told you that too.”

Karaku could feel his breathing stop at that, mind practically going blank as his last remaining pockets of air get expelled through his nose in a disbelieving huff. Because he had known you were acting weird about his father going missing—he had known—but this was far too incomprehensible.

What had you done or said to Urami to possibly make him so pliant and docile?

Torture?

Blackmail?

Some form of mind control?

Did that even exist? If it did, a Kibutsuji is definitely the name Karaku would wager could have access to something like that. 

Twitchy shakes of his head predate the sharp intake of air as Karaku's lungs start remembering to work again, yet his mind was still struggling to keep up despite it all. “N-No—I don't—”

A relaxed, almost giggly voice interrupts whatever jumbled response Karaku had been about to spill, as the man fucking Urami's mouth cranks his neck to look at the two of you.

While not easing up his pace.

“Ahhh… You finally brought him around, huh? Sorry we started early, but we couldn't help ourselves!” Enmu spoke slowly, almost gentle in his near breathless tone. Keeping his blissful expression firmly in place, smile stretched just wide enough to make Karaku further uncomfortable.

Softly giggling as his feminine hands cup the sides of Urami's face, Enmu thrusts in particularly deep. Angling his hips down to force his way back past the uvula and making Urami gag slightly, a whimpery whine vibrating against his dick pleasantly.

A near exaggerated moan of delight sounds out from Enmu at that, even if not nearly as pitchy and pleasured as the times he recalls Urami biting him—it still felt very good to have him struggle to take it. 

Such a shame that his darling Gyokko had not enjoyed being bitten by their pretty toy the first time he attempted oral with him, as Gyokko furiously put Urami under completely. First ensuring he could make a perfect copy of Urami's teeth for dentures—before he extracted each and every one of his teeth, pulling them one by one until there were none left.

The joys of being a dentist, Enmu supposed.

At least he could simply put the dentures inside of Urami's mouth when needed, even if their doll stopped once he realized it made Enmu cum all the more quickly. 

What a shame.

With another hit of dopamine to please his senses, Enmu continued on speaking. Feeling rejuvenated with each wet descent enough to manage double tasking. “My pookie has been wanting Urami since they went to school together, after all. He's been insatiable for days. Our little doll hardly gets a break.”

“Don't distract me!” Gyokko's shrill voice screeched out all of a sudden, speaking for the first time since you and Karaku had arrived, and he was clearly unhappy.

Or at the very least, frustrated over something.

If they way his beady little eyes threw you a nasty glare, all while his movements became rougher—far more violent in the way his hips started to slam themselves against Urami's body, hands moving to grip his hips and waist so viciously that fresh bruises were blooming by the second; then most definitely, yes. He was frustrated.

The following words he grumbled out certainly proved that point further.

“Having a woman in here is a detriment to my hardness… I need to focus on my muse. This is the first time I get to enjoy him when he's fully conscious and aware.” It wasn't as if Gyokko hated you as a person, per say. After all, it was you who gave them the opportunity to even have Urami practically without fearing consequences, all due to your name.

But Gyokko also found most females disgusting and unappealing, or quite frankly highly annoying.

Plus he just found the female body extremely unattractive. Nothing at all like the gorgeous visage of true beauty laid before him, one which he was so perfectly sheathed inside of. 

One Gyokko never wanted to stop touching, either. It must be why he's been neglecting his artistic duties for days, focusing only on claiming what has been rightfully his since he was seventeen. Finally within his, and his lovers, grasp.

Honestly, it was also due to the fact Gyokko was still quite bitter about Urami's rejection of his feelings when they were teenagers. The fool had really claimed Gyokko to not be his type—and that he much preferred women!

Blasphemous.

All Enmu replied to that scathing, yet attractively sexist comment; was more airy laughter as he allowed one hand to release Urami's face, placing the palm flat across his heart in a show of playful remorsefulness. “Oh, but of course. My bad, darling.”

Everything he was hearing, everything he was seeing—how casual it was, the implications of his father having been unconscious or impaired for what Karaku could only assume was more of the same he was currently seeing—all while he was referred to as nothing but their doll; it all had Karaku's mind reeling.

Just the way his stomach was twisting itself into painful knots.

Only your voice brought him out of his stunned stupor, yet your words did nothing to help ease the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings which warred themselves inside of him.

“So, Karaku.” Nearly drawling his name out in an elongated tone, your eyes laser in on his reaction as your head tilts down just a tad. Studying him, expecting his shock to wear off sooner rather than later, to give way to gratitude. “Do you like your present? It was put together just for you.”

Instead of answering your question properly, emerald green eyes shifted back to the pornographic scene further into the sterile room—before he quickly averted his gaze once more, hating to watch, yet feeling such an unwanted pull to keep looking.

It made Karaku tense and shifty as he kept his head somewhat low, limbs jerking and trembling slightly as his shoulders remained tense. Fighting his instinctual urge to continue keeping his stare at the loud, obscene act taking place.

But the noises of skin against skin, vile moaning, and his own fathers choked breathing made that task very difficult to keep up.

Choosing to focus on what he really wanted to know, Karaku swallowed down the heavy sludge of his saliva. Feeling it slowly trail down his tensed up pipes. “Wha‐What… What's wrong with my dad…?” There had to be something wrong with Urami, because this wasn't like his father—no matter how much he looked exactly like him, from stature to face, from body down to the exact same scar his father possessed on his arm as well. “Why isn't he moving…?”

Why wasn't he?

The Urami that Karaku knew got angry at even being questioned on his authority and control, not one to silently take dick like he was made for it.

Especially not if he was walked in on by one of his own sons.

Squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head again, this time muttering incoherent mumbling to himself as he struggled to find words, Karaku finally found his voice properly. Raising his volume to the point it bounced off the walls as he shouted. “He—He'd never just agree to something like this! For fucks sake, he's crying!”

Your focused gaze slowly trails away from your beloved Karaku to lay itself upon the sexual intercourse only made possible from your will, to find that yes, of course; Urami Ransuji was still in tears. Although it seemed more automatic than active, so you think.

He must have come to the understanding of just how fucked he is once he tried to fight them off this morning, probably thinking that since the two lovers decided to take him off the constant drugs, that he could use his strength to at least deck Enmu in the face and knock him out. Before struggling against Gyokko.

After all, being drugged had kept him an easy mark for the days leading up to Christmas. You knew that they'd get impatient if keeping their future toy around for only window shopping, so you had graciously given them free rein to do as they pleased sexually.

But it was today that you had wanted them to wait until solidifying Urami's new place, his new life.

Give him just enough hope for escape, allow him to cling onto it even as he was repeatedly violated and humiliated so thoroughly.

And then strip it all away in one single, final act of complete dominance. Of the utter, and total loss of autonomy and will.

Turning back towards your future husband, a fresh grin strains itself against your cheeks. Twisted excitement to share the exact news gnawed at your insides, a caged beast clamoring to escape and tell him exactly what you had done for his sake.

So you do.

“Oh, he can't move.”

For a moment, Karaku simply stares. Blinking owlishly by your simple admission as if that was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Of course he could—or at least should move. His father was extremely healthy, all things considered. Even with a hectic life, the man had always prided himself on healthy eating and keeping in shape.

No doubt to contrast his own father, who did neither of those things. Then complained about heart palpitations as if Hantengu hadn't done a total of zero work to better his own physical health.

So Karaku wanted to scoff at you, tell you that was absolutely ludicrous and silly. But all he could muster was a quiet, and muted one word question. Pathetically spoken, closer to an injured puppy's whine than a demand for answers.

“... What?” 

Amusement bends your face from a more casual expression of joy, into one closer resembling a deformed version of ecstasy. As if he just gave you the opportunity to ramble on about one of your favorite topics.

Lifting your arm to loosely motion your open palm in Enmu's direction, your gaze flickered to the softer looking man briefly. “Enmu here is a surgeon. He's ensured that Urami won't be moving at all, anymore.” A perfect couple, truly. One surgeon, the other dentist. 

And both so sickeningly disturbed in the head, that they would happily jump at the chance to ruin two men's lives without a single shred of remorse. As a matter of fact; it was part of their fantasies.

Humming with contentment to yourself, soft hands rise up to cup Karaku's face within your grasp. Turning him fully towards you as you soften up, if only slightly. Thumbs caressing the sharp jut of his cheekbones with loving reverence. “With the right cut to the spine… Well, you know how paralysis works, don't you?”

That was it.

That was why.

Only a second goes by where Karaku is completely frozen, as his eyes widen in disbelief and horror. “P-Paralysis… You—” Words strain themselves to claw their way up his pained larynx, only to die on his tongue before they even had a single chance at life past his lips.

Before Karaku felt his soul go from cold, to white hot in absolute horrified rage. 

Hands place themselves on your shoulder before they violently shove you back, as Karaku himself staggering away from you—nearly toppling over the instrument table behind him. 

It was instinctual, a reaction to the full weight of what you were saying. As Karaku's thick eyebrows furrowed down, his nose scrunching up, while the edges of his mouth pulled themselves down into a scowl. “You had my father fucking paralyzed?!”

As you regained your footing before you could actually fall, frustrations of your own began to simmer within your chest. Jaw straining itself against your skull as your teeth clenched together, breathing turning more measured as you kept your desire to discipline him for that outburst at bay.

Understanding that this was a completely new development for Karaku had to be put into use, as of course he would be a little out of sorts by such an extreme, albeit loving surprise. 

Most people wouldn't even dare punch their partners abusers, only claim that they would.

While you had gone the extra mile and then some.

But he would learn to appreciate it, with time.

Inhaling deeply through your nostrils, you allow your spike of anger to die down before you continue to explain your side. Justified, and honestly more than what Karaku's father probably deserved in terms of being allowed to continue breathing air. “Well, you did say you didn't want him dead. So I compromised and simply took his ability to walk. He had to be punished somehow for all he did to you, after all.”

All the breath and anger inside of Karaku felt like it was turning to liquid nitrogen as the reasoning behind your mindset collided with him full force, turning his lungs into a necrosis infested wasteland as his heart skips at least three beats in a row.

His… His words did this?

Before Karaku could even begin to formulate a proper response to the absolute asinine words that spilled from your mouth—a loud, high pitched keen echoed through the room.

All eyes turned to Enmu as he shuddered without shame, throwing his head back as obscenely performative moans shrieked out past his lips, if they were even fake at all considering the man he was.

Dark, dyed hair that had been cut oddly fell down as his hips desperately fucked deeper into Urami's mouth. Making your future father-in-law whine in distress as his mouth flooded with salty spurts of unwanted semen, while his face was assaulted by Enmu's balls pressing themselves firmly over his nose and staying there during his high, forcing their musky scent into his senses—as lice infested pubic hair ground itself across his pallid skin, having lost shades of its beautiful golden brown previously possessed.

A small, wrenching sob tore itself free out from Urami's throat. Muffled and silenced by the continued nudging of Enmu's cock, slowly rutting against the back of his throat as his breathing struggles to handle the flood of thick, sticky liquid.

Until Enmu slowly popped himself out with a happy sigh, shoulders completely relaxed as the flush across his pale cheeks deepened by the sight which followed his dislodging.

Which was the most wonderfully arousing sight of Urami choking and coughing on his ejaculation, as bubbles of white mixed with foamy saliva from the way his own body had desperately tried to lubricate itself during the rough assault.

Dribbling down the wrong direction due to Urami's head being pulled over the table, trickling down the corners of his soft lips, over across his pretty cheeks—all the way past his eyes. 

Drenching itself slowly into Urami's thick head of hair. Even now, in his early forties; the man had an impressive mane. Beautiful in all the right ways which mattered, and so soft to the touch.

Enmu preferred when they didn't bathe Urami much, that way his entire body was so much more flavorful to kiss and lick, to smell and touch.

Especially if he refused to let certain parts be washed with water and soap, as Enmu was more than happy to apply the usage of his own tongue for that.

However, his pookie Gyokko refused to allow their shared doll to go past twenty-four hours of no baths. As Gyokko was far more of a cleanliness type of person, despising filth the way Enmu enjoyed. 

On the upside; Gyokko could never help himself, ending up raping Urami once again each time he was to wash him down, something that had Enmu high on ecstasy as he watched while furiously touching himself until he pissed himself between orgasms, until his cock turned red and swollen from overuse in the best possible way.

As their wonderful doll struggles to not choke on the cum he had just received shot down his throat, Enmu gently pets Urami's hair, forcing more of his fluids to entangle itself into the dark locks of hair. Before he very graciously assisted in tilting Urami's upper body somewhat upright, ensuring he could either swallow or spit at his leisure.

Although it was not completely out of benevolence.

Part of Enmu just simply didn't want the pretty doll to die, knowing how much Gyokko valued Urami as their plaything. Never before had his darling artist been this happy, and it made Enmu smile a lot more than before—that was on top of being a generally smiley person already.

But it was also yet another form for torment.

Urami couldn't feel his body below the neck any longer, but this way—this way allowed those gorgeous, crimson eyes of his to witness the act when he could not sense it inside.

That being Gyokko having his over seven inch cock ramming inside of his anus without mercy, gripping onto Urami's body like a vice. Using him as if he were nothing but a fleshlight to be filled and fucked, until they were satisfied for the day.

Only to repeat it the very next one.

And the day after that.

Once Urami was no longer choking on anything, simply silently staring in existential dread seemingly at nothing, yet everything all at once; Enmu gently placed him back down. This time allowing his head to rest on top of the operating table, instead of hanging off the edge.

Good for the blood flow. They couldn't have his brain swell, now could they?

Focusing now fully onto both you and Karaku as Enmu refuses to bother even cleaning himself up, nor getting redressed—he allows Gyokko to have Urami all to himself. 

Although Enmu had to admit that the sounds of his lover's theatrical moans of pleasure paired with his insatiable, relentless, and honestly brutal fucking into their new doll was definitely making his already spend cock twitch all over again.

Oh well, for now it could be ignored.

Clearing his throat softly, light blue eyes plastered themselves onto the attractive couple before him, as Enmu happily corroborates your testimony. “Just today, actually. We kept him flying high on drugs until this morning, as per the lady's request.” Oh, and how could he ever deny a Kibutsuji's requests? Both you and your father were so… so wonderfully amazing.

Enmu thinks he might do anything for the two of you, even if all he got was being called pathetic in turn.

Actually that would make him incredibly happy.

Happy and horny.

Continuing on, Enmu's smile turns softer in affection as he glances towards the doll, his knuckles beginning to caress Urami's cheekbones, still stained by a mixture of their shared liquids. Enjoying the way his body jolted with each thrust from between his legs.

“I must say, he was still resisting even then. But that made it all the more exciting. I have to say, I do prefer this state of his so much more.”

While Enmu had always, always adored cute little resistance to meet him during rape—there was something special about a body that lay so pliant, one could almost mistake it for a corpse.

Speaking of corpses…

“Sadly, the delectable elderly one had a heart attack on the drugs before I even got to perform the surgery. Could have been fear or ill health, but I suppose it doesn't matter in the end, hm?” Truly, a shame worthy of the history books. Hantengu had been quite the sight, all wrinkly and skrunkly. Biteable, fuckable, something worthy of being a keepsake just the way his conventionally attractive son is.

Oh, Hantengu had sort of resembled a ballsack now that Enmu considers it. And goodness gracious, if Ennu doesn't love wrinkly balls then he doesn't know what he loves.

Well, something Enmu does love is making his darling pookie happy.

That, and fucking unwilling holes.

With Urami as their little doll, that was two birds with one stone. So really, the loss of one toy didn't matter too much in the grand scheme of things. After all, your instructions had been clear.

Urami took precedence as the one to keep safest based on your fragile, poor little fiancé's wishes. As long as he stayed in tact, things were smooth sailing.

They had tried for both, of course. But some people didn't have the endurance or mental capacity to handle hardships, unfortunately.

How sad.

Pulling his hand away from the broken doll below, a tongue flicks out to lap up the flavorful juices of his own ejaculation as well as Urami's delicious saliva. Nearly moaning in giddy delight as pale blues glance towards the two of you again, ecstatic by just how horrified little Karaku appeared to be.

“Oh, but that's alright. I ensured to properly make good use of him while he was still warm… You're free to have his body back if you'd like. A little decomposed perhaps, but that's alright.” Enmu would be lying if he wasn't exaggerating just a tad, because of course they froze down the body once they realized he was deceased.

… After they had properly bred him, of course. And had some more interesting ways to play with him.

But still, they preserved him.

Well, they preserved the pieces of him.

They weren't mindless animals, goodness, no. The smell of rot would possibly have put off such a classy lady like yourself, and Enmu didn't want you to be upset should you wish to actually see Hantengu as well.

Meanwhile, for Karaku; this wasn't just some fun game the same way everyone else seemed to be treating the situation. This was truly real life, and it was horrific in ways he couldn't possibly imagine. 

His grandfather was dead.

His father was paralyzed, sold to some sick fucks for their amusement. Unable to move, unable to escape.

And it was all because of you—or more accurately; the things Karaku had shared with you, when he was being so incredibly vulnerable with the woman who he loved. Opening up the tightly sealed box of his trauma, willingly offering up that soft part of him he rarely allowed others to witness. Trusting you with the small inner child of his, the hurt baby Raku inside of him that longed for the warm embrace of someone who cared. Fully believing you were safe enough to do so, that all you would do was listen to him, because that was all he wanted.

And instead of nurturing that part of him; you had taken his pain, and his suffering—all so you could twist it into some disgusting act of vigilante justice.

When Karaku had never wanted that in the first place.

Hands clamor back behind him for anything to grab, narrowly taking a hold of the edge of some table—barely managing to keep himself upright as Karaku's mind swirls like a massive tornado of thoughts and panic.

Was he more distressed about what happened to the people he was related to?

Or more shattered that you were more a monster than what he believed you to be previously?

“N-No, no… No. This can't be real.” Muttered to himself underneath his breath, barely able to heave in a sharp gasp of air like he's starving for it, inhaled to the point it felt like an icy ball of oxygen expanding his tightly wound throat, swelling his chest as it explodes into his lungs. Karaku felt so dizzy, his vision spinning before him as his abdomen wrung his insides to the point of nauseating pain.

Pain so great that Karaku could feel his last meal boil within his stomach, rapidly building upwards as vomit eroded at his chest, burning his esophagus as it ached to flood his mouth—before he forced himself to swallow it back down with a grimace.

Emerald green eyes find you despite his sway, nearly seeing double of you as you inch closer, almost tender in your approach despite everything. But all Karaku could do was continue hoping that this was some kind of fever dream, made from unwanted thoughts surrounding his worry and anxiety which had built around this holiday. 

Or the vile rumors which existed about the Kibutsuji family.

Karaku had a terrible immune system, so surely that had to be the explanation. Sickness—something messing with his mind. Because you'd never sink so low as to go to human trafficking, surely. Perhaps murder, but that was different. Anyone would do that if it came down to it. 

Selling someone was something in a completely different ballpark.

“Tell me this is a nightmare—please babe.” Karaku begs you to practically pinch him awake with the usage of his eyes, seeking any form of reprieve from you. He wasn't enjoying this, not in the slightest.

No matter what his family had done, there was no way Karaku wanted to sink to their level.

Not like this.

Tilting your head slightly to the side, your eyes narrow at him. “Nightmare?” Parroting back his own word with an almost disbelieving tone of voice, a small laugh puffs free from your mouth. Deflating your chest as it wheezes out. “Honey, this is a dream. Besides the unfortunate setback of Hantengu dying early, it's perfect.”

It truly was unfortunate, that much you would admit. In an ideal world; Hantengu would be suffering the same fate as Urami right about now. The intention had been to mostly keep Urami as Gyokko's doll, Hantengu as Enmu's. That would have catered to their ideal tastes anyway, but alas, not all is meant to be.

You tried your best, what can you say?

Closing the distance between you and Karaku with three long strides, your mind completely disregarding the way he flinched away from you as you grabbed a hold of him—one hand grasping itself around his wrist, fingers wrapping themselves across the slender flesh and bone in a vice—as your other arm slithered around his trim waist, pulling him impossibly close against your chest.

Your eyes are wild with excitement once again, mouth watering by the prospect you have been dreaming about for a while. Not only for his sake, but also for your own.

With a lowered, near shaky breath to your voice, you speak against his face. Warmth dancing across his skin with each exhale between your barely suppressed thrill. “Not only will your abuser be properly punished, but you could get your revenge.”

Karaku's breath catches in the back of his throat, hand clenching into a fist as he feels the iron grip of your fingers squeezing his wrist, making his bones creak beneath your touch. All while his slender body was forced into closer contact, your limb wrapped tightly around his midsection in not only a show of power and dominance, but of ownership.

Just like you always do.

And just as he always does; Karaku falters underneath your touch, deflating under your domineering presence. Knowing he shouldn't fight you too hard on anything, especially not when it came to your right to touch him.

But that didn't mean your words of ‘revenge’ hadn't caused him pause as well, fresh waves of confusion flooding his mind and body as he furrowed his brows upwards in distressed concern. “What do you mean…?”

Did he even want to know at this point? Karaku wasn't sure anymore, not with this horrible situation he was put in. But still, he had to ask. Especially when it looked like you would be telling him regardless, practically itching to spill the words building behind your tongue.

“Rape him back.” 

Your words hang in the air, just as the continued sounds of unwanted sex do in the background. Now becoming nothing but static within the confines of Karaku's mind once you had spoken, as all he could think was your simple sentence on a loop.

Rape him back.

Perhaps calling it a sentence was being far too generous, because it sounded more like a command. Intense eyes scanning him as the heat of your body against his own turned suffocating, enveloping him completely with your overpowering control.

Without allowing your partner to even process it, much less reply, you kept on going. Yanking him even closer, until your foreheads touched one another, noses pressing up on each other with light force. “Do what he allowed to happen to you, what he then did to you himself. Take back your control.”

God, how badly Karaku wanted to tear himself free of your venomous grasp at that moment. Yet all he could muster was a mirthless laugh, lips parted in a silent objection to the nightmare scenario you had put him in. “You… You're fucking sick in the head if you think I'd ever agree to something like that.” Never, never ever would Karaku willingly lay in bed with his father. No matter the reason, be it for money, safety, or as you put it; revenge.

Prickling at his vision came his own tears, slower and more of a build than the flowy rivers which had stained his father's face previously. Yet no less salty in their droplets as they sting Karaku's eyeballs, clinging to his lashes when he blinks them away, as they blur the vision of your face before him. “I wanna go home… this—this isn't right… I—”

Interrupting your dearly beloved with a sudden, violent move to rip your arm around his waist to grab his face in your hand instead—your fingers dig into his cheeks, forcing him to look directly at you. Voice deepening into a low growl, practically snarling out your response to Karaku's attempt at escape.

“I wasn't asking.”

This wasn't a request.

It was a command.

One you would ensure he followed.

After all, it was his Christmas present that you had worked so hard on. Planned what you wanted to happen down to the last, minute detail. Spent time finding just the right people, dedicated hours and money to ensure it would be swept under the rug, all for him.

And you wouldn't be satisfied until Christmas truly felt perfect, until Urami was covered from head to toe in the essence of his tormentor's seed. Dripping with the shame of his actions that led him to face such dire consequences.

Karaku always told you he loved white Christmas’ as he enjoyed the snow, found pleasure in watching it fall. Touching it, feeling it. Happy to endure the cold for the sake of its beauty.

So he'd get a white Christmas.

Just one made of cum instead of snow.