𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑, 𝐌𝐑. 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐉𝐈, he was always odd to you, the things he made you feel as he stood in front of that chalk board, the occasional crash out he’ll have and drag his blue nails across it: it’s all mesmerizing in the most agonizingly bittersweet way.

You often doodled in your notebooks about him, wrote a dirty line from a smutty fanfic in the perspective of you and him every now and then. The amount of sinfulness drifting off of your spirit baffles Muzan, he wonders how you could be so completely smitten himself.

Today, he spectates the room, he’d handed out a complicated chemistry worksheet and told you all to “Figure it out”. You’re struggling, of course, you spend too much time fantasizing about this man to understand what the hell composes this complex question, he leans his body over yours to get a look at the paper, both arms aching you into the desk and making you feel small under that painfully fine ass body of his. His lips near the side of your face, if you looked at him sideways you’d see that perfectly kissable and deep Cupids bow he has.

“Are you in need of assistance…?” He’d carefully and slowly murmur into your ear as if contemplating and calculating his words with the utmost cautiousness, the velvet of his voice is quick to make you shift your thighs. The scarlet pupils fall from your face to the paper as he begins to point and assist.