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ravneski · 1 year

Text

Desecration

Kokushibo x Fem!Reader

They take what they can't have and bathe in the sacrilege.

this has also been uploaded to ao3 (kudos and comments there would be appreciated <3) link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46981597

warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, menstrual sex, dubcon nearing the second half of the fic, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, religious imagery, sexual violence, strangling/choking, fisting

word count: 5.4k

Fate was a cruel thing.

Dragging her eyes from the floor, she cursed herself for not staying alert, for not paying attention to which room she had mindlessly entered. The Upper Moon One’s aura pervaded, thick as well-trained metal. She stared and he stared back, six eyes unreadable but nostrils flared, shark in water detecting what slicked her fukusa.

“One day.”

Since she had started bleeding. She tensed. “What of it?”

“It will… be painful.” Kokushibo’s golden gaze bored into her.

“There are worse pains,” she dismissed, face blank. She made to turn.

“Are you going to Doma?”

She graced him a near unnoticeable nod.

“Will you… spread your legs for him?”

Centimetres away from him in a flash too quick to be perceived, her veins frosted. “Doma tells me you opened your own for Daki.”

Their gazes swept one another, rising and falling as the moon did, but nothing as renewing as moonlight enveloped either. “Mourning her?” she drawled.

“I utilised her for… what her job dictated she do…”

Her upper lip curled in disdain.

“And you,” Kokushibo continued, knuckles white from the clasp on his sword’s tsuka, “are no different… from me. Go… to your whore.”

She laughed at that, but the mirth was dry sand, rigid as though hardened by unremitting waves. “Doma isn’t my whore.”

“Then what… is he? Your lover?” he replied, derisiveness worn like armour.

“You tell me,” she said after a moment, gathering herself. “You know his body as well as I, do you not, fornicator?”

A vein throbbed at the side of his neck. “You never hesitated… to run to me when you were bleeding… yet now you spare… time for aimless ambling…”

“Say what you mean.”

Even in the gentle light of the Infinity Castle, Kokushibo was but a shadow. The dark side of the sun, she thought. He knew only his shadows, and she found herself drawn to be engulfed by the same fate. His expression held solemnity it was never without, but by now she saw the veneer. As he inched closer, the fractures in his mask seemed ardent.

“Can Doma not taste… your flow?” he asked, interest sincere. “The one that follows the moon’s cycle… is it beyond his reach?”

“He likens it to wisteria,” she admitted, reluctant as she was, “and talks of the mere touch burning him.”

“One man’s bane… is another man’s ichor.” The suggestion in his voice rang sharper than any demon slayer’s blade. She made up for his mishap, his nerve to close their distance and his barely veiled want, by widening the space between them again.

“It’ll be such ichor to him if I allow him to draw blood from my womb,” she pointed out.

“Will you?”

“Will our lord let me?”

“Mutinous thing,” sneered Kokushibo. “When have you cared… for our lord’s boundaries and laws?”

“No more than you.”

His hand, wrapped around his sword’s tsuka, twitched. “I remain constant.”

“Then leave.”

After a second of hesitation, one he tried with fervour to conceal but seeped through to his countenance, the constriction of his pupils and the scorch in his irises, Kokushibo stayed where he was. “You bleed heavier than… last time,” he noted.

“Do you observe through your Transparent World every time I shed?”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand… I smell it. It permeates.”

And he was the only one who could detect her moonblood. Besides herself, and their master, but Kibutsuji Muzan was swamped in more crimson than she could ever spill.

She pivoted, but Kokushibo grabbed her wrist, iron and impetuous. “He’s angry,” she said as her excuse to leave, searching the old samurai’s face. “The boy who bears your brother’s mark and wears your brother’s earrings is making mincemeat of the lesser Moons.”

The mention of his twin left him cold. “That person will… not miss you,” he wagered. “You have time spare.”

He melded, still, to her wrist, unyielding; the shock of his skin pressing hers reignited what she had long assumed abandoned, a stinging ache that rippled between them as waves in storms devastated ships, naked and exposed. Ghosting the pallid paper of her flesh, his nails were a parody of humanity, short and plates plain. Kokushibo coveted what he could not have. For one to receive, one had to give. The human body had to be sacrificed to exceed its feeble limits, its brittle mortality. His façade was flimsy, and with the right amount of force it would shatter and out would come the demon that he had sold his soul to become.

His gaze drifted to her abdomen, which she had clutched in fruitless instinct, before once more locking with her. “Let me,” he said.

It took little time to think over her answer, as much as the sour wrath in her stirred. She acquiesced, and his hands wandered beneath the silk of her clothes.

She was undignified in this bestial position, but Kokushibo lacked the temerity to penetrate her through his cock. She could not bear to meet his face; ignoble though the stance of coitus more ferarum was, it provided sanctity, a way to avoid the intense blaze of those six unblinking eyes. Wooden floor scraped and pricked at her elbows as she used them to support herself. She focused on the crevices of the floorboards, the cracks resembling abysses with their infinite black hollows, wondering how much hot red had rolled into them and festered over the centuries.

Her robes were hoisted up, impudently close to the tender swell of her breasts but secure enough to not reveal them, welcoming him, exposing more than flesh when her heart jumped from the warmth of his invasively close breath. Kokushibo explored her, parting her like petals; when her folds had become so wet she didn’t know, nor wanted to, but his fingers trailed them, tentative as though she were made of glass and he feared breaking her. Sticky with her flow, his digits climbed up to the flushed bud and grazed it with their course tips. Betraying her, her hips gave an involuntary buck. This was decadence, she mused. For the both of them. They would consume the other in every way but literal, the same way he had. Muzan was a blight impossible to efface and stained them even now.

His tongue skimmed the plush of her inner thighs, scraping at the dark cardinal smearing them. The organ roused an acute jolt from deep inside her as it slid in, blood and arousal mixing and gliding to form an easy lubricant. The electric reaction of her body wasn’t quite arisen from satisfaction, but neither was it spawned from pain; it curled and coiled as an endless serpent, a visceral sensation of a latent guilt and a repressed thrill.

Heat unfurled within her, a spark of life, but it wasn’t enough. Grinding her teeth together, she turned herself around, lying on her back. Their gazes tangled, a flash of resentment shared between them; overwhelming the cramps of her womb convulsed something keener, a wretched desire too close to impalement. She raised her thighs for him anyway, as easily as the gates of hell would open for them both, and let the mongrel feast.

The flat of his tongue pressed against the nub at the top of her sex. Long fingers, svelte and elegant enough that they seemed unfitting for a sword-wielder, moved inside her in a focused rhythm, the squelch of sloughed tissue and blood resonating as her body relaxed, sucking him in deeper. Kokushibo’s tongue carded the lips of her quim, dragging down to near his fingers then slithering back to her clitoris, which rose like the opening flowers under sunlight’s grace. Her hips played and rutted to the tempo he dipped in and out of her with, stomach crawling as much as it flipped as she thought of how he had arrogated her with such facileness. Raking the tatami, she searched for a modicum of anchorage over herself, some dose of stability.

She was pitiful, but so was he, and equally deviant. They were deformed, her kind. Demons were death, but they dreaded finality so. She was no exception. Was that widespread fear, lurking in the caliginous heart of every demon, an innate one? Did each of them know there was no salvation in death for their forsaken souls, but only the expecting flames, searing and everlasting?

Once, she had encountered a god, beautiful and bright and unequalled, and underneath layers of false flesh the scars from the conflict, eternal in their retribution, still burned like the sun. If the fires of hell were real, she had felt their touch already, and her cells had never forgotten it.

They were monsters unspeakably damned. Hideous and acrimonious, most couldn’t give reason for why they continued to live other than base instinct, that primal hunger that gnawed and gnawed, impossible to sate. They were greedy to their finest fibre. It was why they were territorial beasts. Sometimes they mated, the odd few, those who dared, foolish and tainted, but it never lasted. Eventually they cannibalised each other, skewing bones and mangling flesh until there was nothing left. The hunger grew too great, too indomitable. Demons could not kill demons through any other means. She summoned the guts to look down at the one on his knees, submerged betwixt her thighs, lapping at nutrition, lifeblood, that which symbolised renewal and viability, and thought there was something poetic about fucking functioning as death.

“He’ll never find the amaryllis,” for those six eyes saw so much, what others could not; she waited to see who those eyes belonged to, the samurai or his lord. “He—” then she stumbled, his two fingers pressed against a hard edge inside her. Drowned into silence by the waves of venereal indulgence.

“A woman’s hatred… is a sort of devotion,” mused Kokushibo from between her legs.

She lowered her gaze to him, gripping his dark mane to lift his head away from the hot throb of her cunt, though his fingers stayed encased. Pliable, he made a pretty picture painted in her. “Devoted to you?” she ridiculed.

“To him.” His tone was dull.

“I would rather kneel to Ubuyashiki’s Pillars,” she growled. “Your nonsense is bovine. Hold your tongue.”

“Many of our kind would sacrifice themselves to… see our lord live, but you would… throw away your life to see him die.” When Kokushibo tilted his head, the thick, ropelike tendrils of his hair swayed, midnight black percolating into glossy crimson. Strands stuck to the viscous gore around his mouth and he pulled them back. “Do you not… think that is a form of devotion?”

Her jaw clenched in indignant ire.

“Your enmity for him will never… be enough for him to kill you.”

“Does this come from one traitor to another?” The gumption of him to look inquisitive, as though he understood nothing, persuaded her to continue, treading on dangerous grounds. “He was your enemy. And I know you became a slayer to imitate your brother, not out of integrity or duty, but did you never once feel the slightest antagonism towards that person? How can you serve a remorseless man who has slaughtered and devoured thousands after once claiming you would put an end to him?”

“Do you revile him for… his carnage?”

Kokushibo was a mess of slick red, a deceitful embodiment of the rivers of Sanzu. Besmirched by her, flaunting thick fluids and stringy sombre clumps, with the gleam of something darkly holy when her blood caught in the fortress’ ochre illumination, but his features were peeled back into a snarl, teeth whetted and splenetic. Claret dressed between them dribbled past his mouth and down the strong, arrogant angle of his jaw; he was too monstrous to be divine, the beast vespers was sung to ward against than to revere, closer to a wolf than a deity as half a dozen eyes narrowed in synchrony and she recalled the time when he had been her sword, and wondered if this blood was of a wound from where he had turned his weapon on her.

“It’s pointless to wage war against a calamity,” she conceded, then groaned as he stroked that spongy bump at the top of her wall in repeated, lazy beckons, the flick of his wrist and the hook of his fingers.

Grotesquely prurient, ichor in the tiny cracks of them, his lips flitted upwards. “Have you… capitulated to him?”

The question gave her pause. Did she submit? After a millennium chained to her lord, she knew she would never be free of him, that his grasp was indefinite and all-consuming, larger than she could fathom. The gods, if any existed, had surely abandoned her long ago, deserted her to his clemency. But Kibutsuji Muzan was not merciful. Cruelty was in his very appellation and thrived in his every word and action; under his dominance, even those who escaped him through his noxious curse perished in agony, humiliating and revolting, when they uttered his name.

“No.” Her finger smudged scarlet as it traced his jaw.

Riled by her answer, Kokushibo tasted the watery flow that clung to his own fingers. “So learn your place,” he chastised. “Besides, where was your… guilt when you feasted on the defenceless child that… carried rare blood in its body, which now… rests in your gut?”

She smiled, despite his nerve. If she was wilful, she was not alone.

“You bleed a constant rage…”

Waning as the moon did, jilted by the inimitable sun, the smile faltered.

“It ebbs and flows… endlessly in your veins. Are you… not weary?”

His bones trembled as her nail lengthened and sliced into his gristle-coated skin, which split with the proficiency of soft carcass under the butcher’s carving knife. Close to his left bottom eye that it seemed like a rose tear trickling, his blood mixed with hers, finer and more lurid. She lifted a rouge fingertip to her lips and gave a languid lick. With the thorn and bristle of marechi, he withered her, but he lacked its lure. She swallowed him, “And you taste of the storm,” and his fury mingled with hers.

Eyes dark, Kokushibo pulled back. “Your contumacy will not… kill you,” he warned, as if he hoped repeating his admonition would cause her to change. Though he was not a man to indulge in delusions.

Her hand snared in his hair. “Then what do I do with this anger?”

“He is your master,” and she loathed the reprimand of his tone, smooth and ugly.

“He is yours,” she corrected, defiant against his caution anyway, claws pricking at his scalp as her lips thinned. “Is there fulfilment for you in being his lapdog?”

“Akaza retains… that responsibility,” he responded dryly.

“Then what are you?”

“His servant.” The kanji in his eyes, indurated sable that whispered of unfaltering centuries of loyalty, fealty cut regal by the blade, gleamed in the flickering flaxen light of the lanterns. So are you, it rebuked.

She shifted, threading his locks between her fingers. “His ever-faithful Upper Moon One. The strongest of his subordinates, staunchly dutiful to our master,” the word was spat, but eased as she continued with a malicious lilt, “spread for him. Taken by him. Ravaged by him.”

Kokushibo’s eyes flashed. “Why does he allow a creature like you… to roam untethered?”

Oozing furrows were dragged out across his roots. “When did questioning that person become your position?”

“I... am his associate.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when he’s wedging his cock down your throat?”

Rivulets of red ran from his scalp where his hair lay matted, his beautiful strands spoiled by the knots they were weaved into. She reached out, a hand around the thick trunk of his neck, and wrenched him forward until their noses were near touching. Releasing its tight grip around his oesophagus, her hand crawled upwards, spiderlike, stopping its pilgrimage at a flame which befouled his pale flesh. The mark stretched from the right of his sharp jaw, down the side of that strong neck to his collarbone, her fingers descending beneath the white rim of his relic kimono. She brought her lips to his ear, fingertips dancing over the crimson crest as she felt his pulse, faster than it ought to be for a being of tenacious stoicism. Against the shell of his ear, as all his eyes shifted right to follow her, she crooned in a whisper, “Samurai-sama.”

Kokushibo turned to stone, scarlet trickling down his chin and splashing her naked calves. Then he recoiled, swift as a blade sheathed, pulse spiking further and noble face hardening. Her gaze dropped to between his legs, to where the carnal ache of him protruded through the obsidian layers of his hakama.

“Your tongue ought to be cut,” he snapped.

“Well,” as she began to play with herself, Kokushibo traced every movement with captivated attentiveness, the arch of her back, the heave of her breasts under her robes—with his Transparent World her clothing could be no obstacle, but, whether principle or that men like him preferred the notion of undressing those they lay with, unwrapping their prize, he never indulged in perversion of that kind—the glisten of arousal garnishing her, the cruor dripping out to nestle in the creases of her lips, “I’m certainly glad your tongue is intact.”

While he regarded her with contempt under long lashes, the heat of his groin did not dissipate, a rapt need to slide between her. His breaths were heavy, chest she knew was bedecked with fierce muscle rising under the affluent fabric of his clothing. She paused. “Doma…” she started.

The moment that name was out of her mouth, her curiosity, storm’s gale she had never been able to overcome, was assuaged as his expression soured like fruit gone grossly rotten. Nobody in the Moons would pull out the false diviner from under the sun if he were to be struck by it.

Kokushibo rested his chin atop her imbrued mons. “What kind of slut lies with… a man and speaks of another… male she’s bedded?”

“Don’t insult me if you lack virility where your subordinate doesn’t,” she hummed. “At least I’ve never been reamed open by our master. How much honour did you have, mighty swordsman, when he sodomised you against your will?”

Tapered teeth glistened as Kokushibo glowered.

“You’ve always been undeserving of what I gave you.”

“Perhaps, but… our blood still call to each other.”

Such was devastation’s path. In fleeting wonder, she pondered how many had died to their hands over the distorting centuries. “Then you defile me. We are contaminated by the other. We are filth.”

Kokushibo healed, each gash she had carved into him during irascible delectation repaired by regenerating skin, his hair smoothing out the knots from heady red.

“Filth resonates with filth,” she told him as he pushed her to the floor and tore apart the rest of her kimono with insolent dare, for though her womb had quietened it was not yet silent. “Our blood endure a murky stream,” as he left cochineal fingerprints across her breasts, exposed to him as he lowered his lips to one and suckled with neither care nor violence, but with a rhythm that had her racked in a feverish shiver.

“In a just world, I’d see you… swell and distend with… the weight of my seed,” Kokushibo murmured against her teat, flicking his tongue against it and watching it erect. She blanched.

When his fingers entered her this time, they were not kind, but curled with purpose. They buried deep within her, pumped in and out in time to how he toyed with her nipples, one clasped between the serrated ends of his canine teeth and the other caressed by the hand not thrust within her, rolling it as he kneaded the fullness of her breast on his palm. Stuttered breaths seeped from her open mouth as she smarted from him, yearned in earthquake-like shaking, the coil in her stomach tightening as she clenched around him.

“We bleed sacrilege,” she gasped, and soaked him in her exhilaration.

Sudden warmth ensconced her as he withdrew from her breast, a string of vermilion saliva snapping, and hid his face in the crook of her neck in a jarring imitation of affection, but it came not from the abrupt facet of affinity and nor was it born of the gratification that had just flown through her, a gentle current now turbulent with terror. Her gaze sidled over the steel thew of Kokushibo to the figure in the corner of the small room. His aura was as weak as it had been when their paths had first met, devoid of killing intent or bloodlust. A chilling resemblance to the Upper Moon demon marked him, but he was distinctly human—and distinctly dead, she reminded herself; yet here he was, defying the laws of the universe once again, and that scared her more than those sixty years after coming across him—with his hanafuda earrings and his soft maroon eyes, connecting with her own.

Cold terror dredged upwards like the pull of limbs from seaweed’s shackles, a fear that had never been conquered despite the centuries separating that night and now. Kokushibo took notice of her stiffened limbs, but in his fatalistic arrogance assumed it was his doing and continued rubbing at her clit in concentrated circles, still resting at her neck.

The Sun Breather stepped forward, face resolute in its emptiness. Vacant gaze, hollow expression. In life, he had never smiled, so Kokushibo had told her. She wondered if a person like Tsugikuni Yoriichi had ever had anything to smile about.

“Leave now,” she whispered to the apparition’s brother. “You’ve fulfilled your purpose.”

Kokushibo’s fangs left her neck and he frowned down at her, bemused. “Stay,” he said, moving his hands up to the slope of her shoulders as if in preparation to hold her in place.

“Stay?” Humouring the lingering note in his request.

“Beneath me.”

“Would you have me like that?”

His hakama rustled with his movement, the grind of his hips, the hardness of him taut and desperate to break free as it rubbed against swollen lips hidden under a thatch of raven hair. “How many men have… had that pleasure?”

“Not Doma,” she confessed.

“Not Doma,” he agreed in pride, then, embittered, “feminised by your wiles… Let me take you as… you should be taken. Under me.”

“Will he kill me then?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Yoriichi ventured another step, only a centimetre but enough to make her skin smoulder with memory. No, she would not die. Not to her master’s cells, not to the Sun Breather’s ruby sword. Across a thousand years, a single opportunity had come to her, a scalding escape, but Yoriichi had failed to take her head.

Years upon years later, here she lay, a man aneled in her blood looming over her with hungry eyes and hungrier cock while a universe beyond her comprehension played games with her.

Although the unworldly dimension of the Infinity Castle protected them from day’s influence, she and the other demon suddenly tensed in unison nonetheless. All Kibutsuji’s mutant creations felt the surface of dawn, a knell within the fibre of their bones to warn them of their only predator. It came with a hounding instinct to run, even if one was safe from the sun’s culling reach. To run and run until the blest recitals of matins was inundated with unfolding nightlight.

As daybreak erupted in another realm, Amaterasu’s sacred child faded, though not before his lips opened and moved with the motion of talk. Nothing audible departed from him. Her heart pounded against the confinement of her chest. Kokushibo finally realised she was glaring past him and turned to follow, greeted by a void corner. When he looked back at her, he discovered no one under him and muttered her name beneath a churlish breath.

“What reason have you to remain? Leave,” she repeated, by the fusuma. Sweat mellowed her body, throbbing from the aftermath of multiple climaxes, but a darker heat piqued within her as she scrutinised his ensanguined form, the wet mess of his face and hands. “You won’t send me to the gallows, Kokushibo, but something worse. Go.”

He towered over her in the blink of an eye. “I don’t… understand you. Women—”

“You don’t need to.”

Bold, he outstretched his hand and splayed his palm in the valley between her breasts, feeling the hammer of her heart. “Do not think me cunt-struck,” the fingers there decayed from paramour’s caress to the scuttling perfidy of insect legs, straining for prey as they made way down a breast and sullied it shimmering cardinal. He groped at her, the roughness men didn’t care enough to reign in. Their teeth nipped and nails scratched. Always squeezing and grabbing. “You will not treat me… like one of your whores, disregarded… once I’ve made you come,” and he placed emphasis on those final words, conceit blatant.

Kokushibo was an animal. The closest of the Moons to Kibutsuji in terms of power. It was only natural, in all the unnaturalness of demons, that he should be so mutant and repulsive, so it puzzled her that she found him beautiful. It, she supposed, was the beauty of a thing ethereal, or perhaps transient; a sacrificed animal, immolated by an unknown force. He was the bleeding lamb, the shot and limping cur, that which was so harrowing it could not be turned away from, the morbid fascination that stirred delight in the sickest minds.

Still, as the lamb bolted from the hand that reached to console it, and bodies withered and mortified from the undertaker’s embrace, his beauty spilled into evanescence. Butterfly wings broke when touched. He mouldered and came to fester a violent, disturbing darkness. While she dwelled on this, he made his move. Pushing her down, mounted above her with the full weight of his strapping form, shoving three virulent fingers inside her.

She pelted him with a livid glare. “I’ll defer when that man dies.” For she would not submit now. That went unspoken, but he heard it. Perhaps his samurai teachings to adhere to greater strength was the only reason his cock remained clothed.

“Do you… crave death so badly?” Covering her body with his own, he slotted a fourth finger in. The delicate lining of her womanhood stung, his nails nicking as they danced inside her.

“Are you killing me?” she mused. Viridian claws slashed at his violet-ebony kimono, finding purchase in his broad shoulders. Mordancy dripped from her tone like how blood trickled down the hard ridges of his torso.

“Death will not give you peace.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t, but this life was far from pleasant. Though she shook her head at him, Kokushibo drove into her with vigour, the scourge of a whip. She shoved at his chest, his moonlight skin sickly pale, but he did not budge and, in some irreligious depth of her where she ached for this, the intemperate madness of sinners who trod the thin line of destruction and endurance, she was glad for it.

“Stop this,” but her words sounded empty to even herself. He didn’t, because he was a man who took what he wanted and obeyed the whims of only one other beside himself. Audacious, apathetic, awful, he inserted his thumb, then pushed the entirety of his fist inside her. A snarl tore from her throat, and his other hand came to close around that. He did not squeeze, but the mere presence of him around her neck was the potent pressure of a noose. Wet slaps rebounded in her ears as he twisted his fist, drawing his knuckles against her. She burned as if ablaze as she stretched to accommodate the violation.

Why was he here? What had he come for beside the sweet, metallic taste of cunt and the clench of red insides? It was something born of a selfish motivation, she figured that. No different or better than her. Though someone of his station should not act on self-serving wants.

Farther Kokushibo breached. To her unease, her body did little to prevent him. “I thought this was altruism?” she hissed.

His thumb pressed against her jugular, some vile punishment for opening her mouth. It marked her with a hue of cerise, an eager bruise blossoming under the skin. “This is not amity.” By the drag of a craven’s fingertips, veneration was rescinded. “It is… contrition. Yours.”

Bellicose blood smeared her, slewed down the inside of her thigh, not her moonblood, but thinner, of a greater, brighter constitution. Venous, drawn from a wounded and maimed creature, dismal and writhing like a worm on a hook. The hardness of her cervix turned friable. There was a knife—or a sword, she thought wryly, and wondered if he would fuck her with his disgusting katana if he could—in her cunt and it stabbed its way to where no foreign intrusion should have. She spasmed, wrenched out the arm of the hand clasping her smarting neck and suddenly they were both bathed in sticky red, tepid as it gushed from Kokushibo’s socket. It reeked. Not of them, but of him, the laden scent of Kibutsuji. Vessels for his violence, clawing at each other like rabid dogs, fuelled by the instinct to tarnish and impair, the need to rip apart with teeth and talons. They were nothing if not that man’s vestigial reflection; as Kokushibo hollowed her out and the sordid point of his nails pricked at the firm, barred organ of her cervix, it was not the samurai that penetrated, but his lord. A maggot burrowing away, carrying a corrosive disease. There was sin in their veins and it ate at them.

“Warm my bed,” said Kokushibo, too frustrated to be a growl, too stark to be a plead. A demand, one which she spat at him for, all noble airs abandoned. He flinched as if her saliva cauterised. She hoped it did, hoped that his patience was a manacle and not frangible thread. She had seen what monstrosities cultivated within sullied wombs; the devils seized out of broken hellmouths in downpours of black ichor; the thousand deaths endured in pregnancy, in childbirth, in motherhood. That was not a desirable end. It was not true death, but something beyond it, worse and unending, and men were baleful enough to inflict it on any wench they deemed deserving.

Depraved in the way ruby tainted rare moons, Kokushibo gouged her in repeated blows, battering the closed pale-pink neck of her uterus. She wept as his cursed touch shed more of her flesh than her own body could. A malevolent torrent of something she couldn’t put a name to raged within the leaking fissures of her. Here, raising a hand that trembled as it pressed his cool cheek, she was close enough to delve out his awful eyes, to slit his neck, to divaricate his limbs. Close enough to devour him.

But she wouldn’t. An insidious weakness.

When she yanked his savage fist out of her, she freed herself of her cage as well as gaoler. Torn from her insides, the pear shape of her womb, hot and rosy, and aperture of her cervix. Arteries and veins fell like tears, burst like shattered mosaic. She threw the poison in her system to the floor, where it soaked the wood with her diseased red, and relished the surprise on his face.

Kokushibo scanned the consecrated blood daubing him, then his gaze scraped her, fibrous sclera and aureate irises glowing, pupils blown. All they were was blood. They rotted with it, congealed and decayed until there was no trace of who they had been, only the stench of who they had slaughtered. They were their victims’ legacies, harbouring so many ghosts.

Crucifying agony dulled with each passing second. Already her body was repairing itself, working against her as it always had, cancer regenerating within her. Kokushibo rose and she stepped back, bare before him like an offering, though she was not sure what virgin oblation she could be when she had already been eaten; she could not consume him when he had consumed her, and from that she knew he was desecration. Vitiated in the spoils of him, she fled to ensconce herself within the umbrage of endless slanting corridors, praying they would guttle her too.

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

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Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 9[***]

A/N: idk even know what to say about this one. I think I traumatise myself a little more with every chapter (in a good way…?)

Warnings: blood—like a lot of blood, obviously unsanitary but ✨magic✨, biting, blood play, smut, 5.7k words

-Part 8- -Part 10-

He’d breathed power into you. Power that your human body is not meant to carry. And while you can feel the tips of your fingers, the nails pressing onto your toes, and every tooth in your mouth, you know it won’t last. The sun is setting within you, and when the last ember of his magic dies in your womb, you’ll go with it.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, padding quietly over that stone floors of the dormitories, hidden deep within the temple’s nest. Crypt is more like it.

He’s still wreathed in shadow, appearing no clearer than a reflection in muddied waters. His form ripples as he moves, keeping his gaze ahead—knowing you’re following on his heel. He’s keeping an eye out for something—someone.

That someone is waiting for you at the steps that lead out from beneath the holy building.

Robed in white and pale blue, silver circlet perched on her brow, Elain watches you with hard eyes. No—she’s staring at Azriel. He stops a little way from her, just out of reach of the carved, wooden thyrsus. Slender, pale fingers tighten around the staff, knuckles pressing out beneath the constraint of skin. “You have made your choice, then.”

It’s no question, but you nod. Cold, hollow eyes flick to you, “remember what I told you,” she says quietly, that strange glow appearing about her again. Brown melts to cocoa, mouth softening from its hard line. “You will always have a place here, remember that,” she says to you, “no matter what form you take. Do not forget yourself. Do not forget the human woman inside of you.”

————

Elain’s words are little more than a low buzz in the back of your skull as Azriel brings you to an outcropping on a weathered mountain ledge.

There’s no light in the sky tonight, the stars seemingly taking shelter within the darkness. The air is still, humid, but you’re on the wrong side of tepid. Your temperature has been rising gradually, in almost unnoticeable increments, but sweat is dampening your hair, trickling down the notches of your spine.

Azriel prowls forward to the flat rock face, canines slipping out as you hear a distinct ripping sound. He presses his taloned hand to the hewn stone, and lightening crackles in the air, fizzling in your ears, sizzling your skin. The mountain rumbles in response—Ramiel, Elain had called it—and strange symbols glow on the stone, as if lit by the light of a forge. A mix of runes and sigils that are too old to be recognised by any of your kind—perhaps even by his.

Then the wall gives way. Simply disappears. Revealing a looming passageway, sinking downward.

He turns toward you, eyes the colour of the descent that’s patiently awaiting. Why would it be eager? It know you’re going into its mouth one way or another, there’s no need for hurry.

A warm breeze licks up your spine, reminding you how your night robe is sticking uncomfortably to your skin, suctioned on by sweat. A shiver wracks your stomach, muscles seizing and spasming in the night. You take a shaky step toward him, toward the cave mouth, waiting to step foot on its cold tongue, but he stops you.

Instead, he takes you by the jaw, a razor-sharp claw presses in your mouth, a metallic liquid flowing across your tongue followed by a dull warmth. His canines press into his thumb before he pushes its pad to the incision on your wet muscle, blood mixing in your mouth. Your senses go dim, the cold biting into your feet little more than a slight pressure, the sweat on your skin little more than a light brush of misty fog, the night a little more than varying inky splotches.

A deep shadow towers over you, leaning down as you’re lifted from your feet. “Hold your breath,” he orders, softly. You follow the command, rasping in a ragged huff of night-warmed air. He steps into the rock’s mouth, and the mountain seals.

Cocooned within the damp passages, you curl into yourself, keeping air tight in your lungs. The walls press in, smelling of mildew and tilled soil. You keep tucked into him, instinctually recoiling from the passage way, the darkest grabbing at your ankles; tugging at your hair. Shadowy nails rake down the bloody chambers of your heart, eyes squeezing shut as Azriel pulls you tighter to himself.

“Release it.”

You exhale softly, feeling dizzy with the strain, like your torso will collapse with the slightest breeze. Like your ribs are full of cobwebs and dust. You head pounds the deeper he takes you, the temperate dropping steadily until you’re shivering. “Azriel…” you whisper weakly. He shushes you, fingers gently squeezing your skin, “a little longer.��

You swallow down the whimper, nestling closer, delving into his warmth as silky shadows encase your bare legs, wrapping over your arms; flowing over your chest like a thin blanket. Elain had warned you of this, had told you what to expect; how to prepare yourself for the crushing intensity of Ramiel’s stomach. How to cope with the insane pressure that’s strangling your bones of life.

Taking in a breath, you cast your mind back to the conversation, recounting the description she’d given you of her own Ritual.

————

“What happens in the Ritual?”

The tea is piping hot, almost scalding your throat as you swallow your first gulp. You gasp for air to cool your mouth, and Elain smiles softly, offering a glass of water which you take gratefully.

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, eyes going a little cloudy with memory. “It wasn’t…I struggle to speak about it,” she begins, hands cupping her mug as she peers into the milky tea. The edges of her mouth droop, shoulders sloping, “even with Lucien, it’s difficult.” She raises her head a little, meeting your gaze, something sad and remorseful flitting through her cocoa eyes.

“I thought I loved him at the time. Azriel, I mean. And I think he thought he loved me, too.” Her brow wrinkles, lips pursing as she tightens her hold on the cup. “They have a sacred mountain. It’s the only place the Ritual will work, though I never learned why. Something about a build-up of power, every Ritual performed requires a small sacrifice which infuses the mountain with magic. I don’t— I don’t know much about it, nor do I have an interest in learning.

“Even under his thrall, I knew there was something wrong with it. Like Ramiel was rejecting the very essence of my humanity. It was a discomfort deep in my bones, like something ancient and unseen was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.” She sucks in a deep breath, straightening, taking a sip of her tea. You don’t miss the shake to her delicate hand.

“I have no time frame to offer you; everything was so distorted I have no hope of untangling it. I’m not sure what happened, just that my mind was scrambled the second he took me inside. I can recall vague impressions: some runes on the passage walls, pathways leading away—deeper into the mountain, fractals spinning in the damp rock. What I’m trying to express, is it’s unlike anything created by man. Entirely other. As if fashioned with darkness in mind; forged for the occult.

“After the descent, the narrow passage opened into a vast cave that smelled damp. Musty and unused. I can’t remember the cave in great detail—it was very dark, you see. So dark only a creature like him would be able to navigate the chamber.

“I do, however, recall being set on a raised, stone platform. It was circular, and had no end I could feel within my immediate reach. That being said, I didn’t have much control left in my body at that point so my area of mobility was severely limited.” Her eyes are milky white.

You don’t dare speak, in case it washes away the last scraps of memory she’s dredging up.

“The Ritual… As I said before, it’s not something I care for. I have no interest in understanding how it works—I’m not entirely sure any of them know what happens, or how it was set up. I remember my younger sister telling me what she knew, but it was all rumour and myth passed on tongue, predating written language.

“He warned me it would be unpleasant. He gave me a choice of how it could happen, just two options.”

You hold your breath, tea forgotten.

“I could endure it as I was, experience the change on my own. Or I could…” she stammers, features becoming a little paler. A hint of colour dusts the crests of her cheek, though she refuses to lower her head. “Or he could relieve the intensity by taking it with me.”

Your brow furrows, “what do you mean, taking it with you? I thought the Ritual…” you trail off. You don’t really know what you thought. “You said something about becoming stronger? I thought that meant being changed into one of them,” you say, swallowing. “One of you.”

She nods. “The Ritual will make you immortal, so you can live like them; exist in the Underworld and the Holy Lands.”

“What’s…? That sounds…good.” You say, slowly, considering your words. “What’s the… I mean, I can’t see an obvious reason why not to take it?” Her brow narrows slightly, and you worry you’ve said something wrong. “Living forever is not as wondrous as you might think. Watching those you love grow old while you remain young? Watching their bones crumble with the weight of the world while yours stay strong? It is not a pleasant experience.” Her voice is sharper, terser than before, and you realise this might still be an open wound for her.

You open your mouth, “exactly how old are—”

“You’re getting off topic.”

You snap your mouth shut.

She releases her grip on her teacup to take a sip, drinking daintily. “He will most likely offer you a similar choice. It is up to you which path you take. I most certainly will not fault you for either.”

You wait, fingers fidgeting in your lap, but she doesn’t continue. You shift, “is there anything else?”

Milky eyes begin to darken, returning to their colourful state of warmth. Elain shakes her head, “as I said: I remember very little. Though I would advise you to take his offer, when he gives it to you.” She shivers, but there’s no breeze. “I imagine it would be quite unpleasant without the distraction.”

————

He takes you down further, runes decorating the rock wall.

He carries you by winding passages that seem to have breezes blowing inward, as if trying to suck in wanderers. He remains steady. Fractals spin at the edges of your vision, disappearing when you try to look directly at them.

Stairs wind down, going deeper into the mountain, until you’re surely below ground level. And still you go deeper.

He carries you down until the passage opens up, revealing a vast cave, a flat stone altar at its centre. The place Elain spoke about.

You’re here.

Azriel takes a step forward, then halts. Even with your poor eyesight, you can feel the weight of his gaze. Goosebumps prickle over your skin, and you nestle into him, greedily sucking in the warmth and power that’s humming around his person.

“Isn’t this it?” You croak, feeling like death. Sweat beads on your brow, perspiration slicking your already damp skin. His eyes narrow on you, judgement weighing heavily in your stomach.

Then he turns from the altar, grip tightening on you, lips pursing.

Desperation trickles down your spine, fingers trembling as you hold him tighter. “Azriel…” you rasp, “what…? Where are you…?” Breath catches in your throat and you manage a weak cough. Shadows swirl over your torso, wrapping tighter, as if keeping you together.

“You’re weaker than the others,” he says quietly, a soft growl dragging form his throat. Shame tightens in your gut at the reminder, and you look away from him. “You’re going deeper. Where it will be more concentrated.”

Darkness writhes at his back, building over his wings as they flare, magic crackling in the air. The rock trembles, then gives way, revealing another passageway. Leading down.

You whimper, pushing into him, away from the opening. “Azriel…” you pant, “please…I can’t—” Another round of wet coughs bubble from your throat, barely enough force to dislodge whatever’s getting stuck there.

His dark eyes flick down to you, then he shifts you in his arms, lifting and moving you so your legs are tucked around his waist, arms guided gently over his shoulders. If you had the energy, you could purr. Nestle closer into him, feeling the firm press of his chest against your own, the strong muscle lining his body, the soft, silky locks at the nape of his neck.

“Hold on,” he murmurs to you, one arm beneath you to keep you up, the other around your back, pressing between your shoulder blades then trailing down to grip your waist. Your spine arches, dipping as his forearm brushes the bone, holding just above your hip.

“I just want it to be over,” you whisper onto his skin, head resting on his shoulder, tears blurring your vision. “It will be,” he replies quietly. “Just a little longer.”

Tremors skitter over your skin, limbs going limp in his arms as you weigh onto him, relaxing into his strength. Feeling each smooth step as he takes you deeper. Darker still.

The air grows thicker; more stagnant. As if previously untouched.

You shiver in his arms, only focusing on where you’re connected, the shadows soothing your skin. “How much did she tell you about this?” He asks into the darkness. You know who he means.

“A little,” you rasp, feeling weakness sink into your muscles, turning them to mud.

He nods, probably for your benefit. “This is going to be different,” he murmurs, and his hands might have tightened on you just there. You have no energy to inquire, so you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“You’re going to be fine.”

It doesn’t reassure you like you had hoped.

Silence swallows your senses, and you’re pretty sure you pass out for a little, because when your eyes next open, things have changed.

No longer in the passageway, but within the mountain’s stomach—wide and cavernous. A quiet splash sounds as Azriel moves, a faint metallic smell wafting about, a suggestion of iron. Light flickers on the walls, dimly registering in your eyes as he continues forward. Carrying you to your end point.

“You’re doing this with me, right,” you whisper. Your voice breaks at the end, betraying your quiet terror. Muscle stiffens beneath you, but he continues moving.

“Yes,” he says at last, equally softly, coming to a stop. His hold lessens on you, giving you the chance to pull away. You try and sit a little straighter, weary and tired. A fatigue that’s settled into your very bones. Even sleeping forever wouldn’t get rid of it.

You peer at him through the darkness, his arms supporting you as you do so. “What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper again, tongue trembling in your mouth, feeling at once dry and like lead. Your lower lip wobbles, but you bite down, keeping it stiff. Eyes flick across his features, searching for a hint.

Something passes through his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to read. Instead, one of his hands cup your cheek, pushing away the damp hair that’s plastered itself to your skin. “I’ll make sure it feels good,” he says.

Then his mouth slants delicately over yours, and you recognise the feeling it brings in.

It’s like that first time with him all over again.

Heat sings in your blood, making it boil and bubble. Scorching your skin. His name whispers through your mind, lips forming shapes of letters you’ve forgotten.

The cave is vast, a dark liquid coating the floor, and he’s taking you deeper. Red washes the stone, fire burning in tall stacks at five different points within the chamber. Humid air washes down your throat, filling your lungs, smelling faintly metallic but everything’s so dim and dark it’s impossible to tell. How bright is the flame for your eyes to pick it out?

Heart pounds in your chest, and you curl into him, needing to feel his skin. Need to feel his touch, the soft dust of fur grazing your thighs and stomach, the scratch of claws through your hair. A small sound drags from your lips, sweat beading on your brow, head twisting to bury into him.

His hands tighten around your legs, pressing your shoulders closer, tucking you into his heat, his scent wrapping around you. If you had the energy, how wonderful it would be to have him. Taste, lick, swallow, gulp. Take, need, have, own.

“Azriel…” Letters rasp from your tongue and he’s doing something—moving you. “Azriel…I need you.”

Sweat slicks your robes, dampening further as he sets you down, breasts dragging over his chest, body dragging against his own, until your feet touch that wetness. Up to your ankles. Up to your calves. Metal and iron.

Blacked out eyes find yours and breath whooshes away at the raw sight of him. Some kind of veil has been ripped off, fire and shadow burning in his pitch black gaze, an intensity thrumming beneath his skin like a heart beat, loud and clear to your ears.

The flames burn hotter, glowing brighter, pale bones holding the massive fire bowls. Blood bubbles around your feet, the cave floor flooded with the dark liquid, the vastness of some past slaughter vaguely dawning in your mind. How much life is contained within the dark lagoon, the immense strain of power that’s glittering just beneath it.

“This isn’t…?” You look at him weakly, his hands on your hips, keeping your pressed to his front. “…where am I?” He blinks, and you catch the thin layer of film that slides across his eyes just before his eyelids snap shut, and open. “Undress.”

You stare at him, too sickly to muster up a reply. You just stare. ��Where am I?”

When he leans down, fingers hooking in your robe, making to pull it off, you don’t have the will to protest. The scrape of his talons up the backs of your thighs setting the liquid heat in the pit of your belly bubbling. A reminder of his touch, how it feels to have his hands on you. How it feel to have him on you. It’s what you’re craving.

So you melt.

Eyes roll to the back of your skull and you stagger, shadows winding up your legs, sliding up your spine, bracing your torso as the arousal slams your mind into a stone wall. Hands grip onto him, nails stabbing at his tough skin as you cling for stability. “Azriel…” you pant, panic twining with your plead.

His eyes gleam in the ruby light, orange and gold flickering across his skin, “yes?” Fangs glint under the flame, catching the sparks on the white enamel. Grinning.

Your vision tilts, and your grip tightens, skin pressing onto him, arms winding around him, fingers dragging over him as you begin to push yourself into his body. You nose at him, taking in his scent and you can feel him shifting beneath your finger tips. Liquid arousal gathers between your thighs as leather dissolves to soft fur, the constraint of clothing turning to nothing. Warm, sturdy muscle surfacing. Should you look up you would be met with a beast. Fangs to slice into your throat, talons to dig into your flesh, eyes to pierce into your soul.

A moan spills from your lips, breaths becoming shallow as that incessant itch becomes deeper and deeper and you need him, need him, need him.

He laughs, deep and dark, tipping you upward by a hand to the throat. Feels you swallow. “Want me?” He asks. The ghostly brush of his lips over your own. Your brows curve upward at the cruel question.

Of course you want him. Can barely think of anything else.

Eyes flutter shut, tilting toward him. Elongated fangs graze your lips. Press closer, and they slice.

You tip over the edge.

Hands slide up over his shoulders, hooked talons wrap around your waist, trapping you against him. Mouth opens up, teeth slicing at your lips but blood tastes good. Thick and rich. Aches blossom on your tongue, stinging dulling and healing then reopening as his saliva heals and his canines create those delicious incisions as you kiss him. Tongue flicks out, pressing up the razor-sharp canine, hot, spiced liquid bursting between you, dripping down your chin.

You moan loudly into his mouth, his name playing on repeat in your head as you plead for him, arousal thrumming and humming and buzzing across your sin, zapping the sensitive space between your legs.

Nails drag through his hair, pressing up onto your tiptoes to be closer. His hands slide down over your rear and you moan into his mouth, blood and pleasure mixing and his claws rip through the white robe. Skin is bare and wonderfully free. Fur soft and silky and you could cry at the sweet sensation.

Azriel snarls into your mouth and you want to give him more, want him to bite into your flesh and take you apart in the most appetising way possible. With great control, you pull away, only in favour of moving his hot lips to the soft expanse of your throat. Urging him to bite, to drink, to feed.

The wet muscle laps out, pleasure and pain singing down your spine seconds later as he buries himself in you, hot, thick blood spilling down your shoulder, saturating the remains of your dress. Head tips back, lips parting in silent euphoria. He growls at the taste, pushing deeper, drinking more and more, until you’re swaying on your feet.

Hands release you, blood swallows you.

Falling back into the sanguine pool.

You moan as the rich liquid warms your skin, coating you, bathing you in power. Darkens your hair with wetness. Spine arches at the sheer immorality of the scene. The darkest depravity as you bathe yourself in blood. Gleams on your teeth, colouring your lips as you smile, tongue flicking out as you stare up at him.

His grin is like none other he’s given you. Pure beast, pure animal. Too wide, and too eager to be anything remotely human. You don’t care.

He steps forward, and you move back, pushing away from him slowly—teasingly. It’s never a good idea to taunt a wolf, but here you are, a lamb wandering into the butcher’s hands, trotting up and pleading for the carving knife. Bowing her neck for the severing slice.

The rock shifts beneath you, blood growing shallower, beast drawing closer. Herding you to the butchering block. You follow his guide, moving to be atop the hewn stone, where the hot liquid laps at your sides instead of swallowing you whole.

Dark lines pulse beneath his skin, veins of blackness thrumming beneath the fur lining his stomach, mapping a pathway down his abdomen. He reaches the foot of the slope, and begins prowling upward, slowly closing in on you. There’s not a single part of you that’s afraid of him, every inch of skin craving to be adored and devoured. Absolutely massacred.

His clawed hand encases your ankle roughly, pulling your leg toward him, blood dripping from your calves down into the pool. Teeth open over your flesh, bitting and kissing his way up as your spine arches at his own form of worship.

When you have fangs like his, you’ll return the favour.

Dark eyes pierce into you, your legs bend at the knees, flickering with interest. Your grin doesn’t belong to a lamb. He know that, too.

Starving hunger blazes in his gaze, a quiet moan exhaling from your lips as you open wider for him. Lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl, and he pounces. One hand slams down on your shoulder, rock biting into your back as he snarls, low and viciously. Blood drips off your chest, nipples peeking beneath his ravenous attention. Teeth bite into your neck, and you know he’s hitting that first scar mark, setting it deeper, making sure it sticks.

Rough stone slices into your skin, but you don’t care. The blood from the cave seeps into your skin, but you don’t care. Something powerful and wicked, ancient and entirely malevolent claws at your insides, rendering you anew, and you just. Don’t. Care.

You moan louder when you feel the weight of his length over your slick heat, a growl rumbling through his chest, and you could swear deep whispers fill the vast cave. Chanting, speaking in tongues. He pays them no mind, so neither do you. Not even as the blood really does begin to bubble, or as the fire drips from the golden bowls, beginning to form a ring.

Nails dig into his back, wings flaring in a display of dominance and ownership as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. Your hips wind against him, begging for him to push in, to fill you so full there’s no room for anything else. Until everything is out of you, and you’re left empty and gloriously silent.

Azriel’s fingers thread through your hair, thumb smearing the blood across your cheek, and you catch the tip of his talon on your tongue. He groans at the action, pressing the plushness of your lower lip, angling the digit so his claw can slide inside. The wet muscle flicks over the pad of him thumb, eyes latched onto his as you slice and carve yourself upon him.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your eyes roll back with pleasure, knowing what’s coming. So caught up in his web of sin you don’t notice as the sickness burrows deeper, curling within you, painting you in his self.

“Azriel…” you pant, “deeper.”

His eyes gleam with satisfaction and something far more sinister but you have no care to examine it in detail. All you care about is how big he is, how he’s filling you up as he presses in, keeping you pinned to the bloody floor of the dim chamber. His lips twist into a hellish smile, teeth slicked in red as they gleam with golden firelight. Fire that’s still spilling from the bowls, tightening the ring until it’s trapping you both inside.

Slowly, they begin to carve a five-pointed star through the pool.

The two of you at its epicentre.

His hips press tight against your own, and whimpers ebb from your lips, flowing to his ears as your iron-tinged scent wraps around him, keeping him locked in a haze of pleasure. He basks in the wet heat of your cunt, the soft press of your thighs tightening around his hips, urging him to move. He dips down once more, mouth opening over your own in a messy kiss—messy from the razor-like teeth. A mouth filled with tiny blades.

The world spins a little as his hips drawn back, then push in.

The dark cave pool heats, steam rising from its surface as the fire blazes brighter, finally completing its symbol. Trapping you within. No matter this is nothing like what Elain described. This is so much better.

He slams in to the hilt, and fire crackles in your heart. Lightening sizzling your bones, scorching your skin. Cooking you from the inside out. Pain blares in your marrow, inner lips stinging as your gums ache from tiny lacerations, splitting.

Splitting as fangs force their way through your flesh, ripping at tissue as teeth grow. Teeth matching his. Two canines protruding from your upper lip. You can hear his hearts beat, tripping in a triple rhythm of three.

You open your mouth over his shoulder, still pounding into you, and you bite.

He howls, the roar sending ripples through the bubbling blood, making the flames flicker. He coats your tongue, spilling into your mouth, filling your stomach as your bones and muscle shift. Tighten over one another, bonding to become stronger. Other.

The cave becomes lighter, snapping from blinding colour to pitch black, until they finally settle. The smell you’d be veiled from finally hits you, and you gag. The metallic stink shoves itself up your nostrils but magic crackles in the air and it’s gone. His magic.

Azriel pulls away, and pleasure tightens in your belly as you mark the puncture wounds stamped onto his shoulder. His hips slam up against yours and claws rake down his back.

His pupils dilate, and he’s shoving you down into the pool, one massive paw splaying across your chest, talons hooking you in place. A scream rips from your lips as the transformation passes over your lower body, unimaginable pleasure crashing into you, bludgeoning your brain as it’s sizzled and scorched. Vision blurs as euphoria rips at your skin, head tipping back, saturating your hair in the liquid magic.

There’s hardly time for breath before your muscles are acting for you, guiding you to what you need.

Claws dig into him, sinking into flesh as he’s flipped onto his back, allowing you to straddle his hips. You snarl down at him, revelling in the pulse of power that’s gliding through you, filling you with life and energy and anger.

So much fury that had the cave not been cast in red before, it would become bloodied to your eyes. All the repressed rage that had been slowly building, every snap of jealousy, every burn of envy. Everything gloriously sinful, awakens.

The mountain trembles as ire glitters in your blood, keeping Azriel trapped beneath you as you finally take. You take, and steal, and rob, just as he had done to you.

He snarls in fury but there’s so much power within you now, binding and raging at the sight of freedom he remains floored.

Your hips wind over his, cock buried deep inside of you, and the snarl cuts to a blissed out moan. Hands grip your hips, talons unable to slice your leathery skin as he helps lift you up to his tip, then slam you down. He bucks upward simultaneously, spurred on by the sharp jerk of your hips as you grind onto him. Pleasure sings and your head falls back, allowing him to use you—to give you the world.

Snarls and growls rumble in your chest, tongue flicking over your blood-coated teeth. His blood. And you smile.

Wild. Feral. Unhinged.

You look down at him, the red, toothy grin on your lips as claws slash out from your fingertips. Moans flow as you bring them down upon him, slicing into his skin, crimson droplets beading in their wake before the lacerations heal.

His eyes gleam with pride as you raise your nails to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him, pleasure buzzing in your head, fluttering between your legs. His satisfaction curls deep in your chest, sharpening the edge you’re riding.

Your hips swirl over his and it’ll only take a few more…

A few more and then—

You scream.

An otherworldly, beastly howl.

His eyes widen with hunger and awe as your head tips back, and you come on his cock, nails stabbing into the muscle of his stomach, burying in the soft fur that trails to his abdomen.

Words once again rip from your mind, leaving only feeling and wonder as he continues slamming up into you. Overstimulation wracks your body, but you can’t summon the will to order him to stop. Spasms tense your muscles, everything going taut then supple, Flashing so quickly between the two that it’s absolute heaven for him. Pounding up into your heat as you flutter and tighten around his cock, urging him to spill into you.

Your hips move of their own accord, as if able to sense how much he wants to fill you up, how desperately he needs to pump you full of is cum until you’re unable to move or breathe without some spilling.

You urge him on as you squeeze him, hips winding and bucking even as your mind goes blank, world spinning and tripping with the overload.

The pentagram flares with power, zapping your skin until you’re tingling all over and he roars. Hot, thick cum spurts into you and you moan. Vision blurs with pleasure, fangs biting into your lower lip until blood trickles down, dripping from your chin onto your breasts, splattering across his stomach.

The muscles flex as his hand slides into your hair, dragging your mouth to his as your fangs collide, carving up one another in the frenzy. You groan as his cock shifts inside of you from the movement, body answering as you grow, fur dusting the soft skin between your legs in luscious, thick swirls.

His lip pulls back from his teeth with pleasure, matching your shift, cock widening beneath the base as you continue roughly winding over him.

You’re still so dizzy and so dumbed out—tunnel vision leading you to the next high.

You grip him back, hands brutally gripping his silky, blood-slicked hair as you eagerly devour him, breasts dragging over his chest. Nipples grazing his skin, bodies pressed so tight against one another you could pass for one single, hellish creature.

Soft snarls bounce off the cave walls that had been previously untouched for centuries, smelling slightly damp but now filled with arousal.

Claws click together as you grip and grab.

Teeth and talons snap, biting and scraping over skin.

Humanity shredded to pieces.

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a1tie · 10 months

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𝙎𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙤 - 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞 𝙭 𝙂𝙉!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

scenario- You find yourself in Sanemi’s arms and oh my god he is so close…

word count- 1.3k

(AN: Im hella open for constructive criticism! Im thinking of making this into a pt. 2, where we do a time skip and get a little deeper into their relationship. Let me know what you guys think! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა )

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

“No way!”

You sit on the porch of the Butterfly Mansion as you converse with your friend. You both start to laugh in hysterics. You have been in the Corps for a year and your comrade for 8 months. Even though it hasn’t been long since you guys have met, you both get along as if y’all have been friends since the womb. You just told her a story of a recent mission you went on with Zenitsu and a few other members and how constantly fearful he was. You resisted laughing every time he yelped at the slightest noise, even if it was just the creases of your uniform brushing against itself. Once you two finished having your moment, she gasped and smiled widely.

“You know, I heard that Master Shinazugawa has a brother in the Corps.” She gossiped randomly. You cock your head to the side and give her a concerned face. “Is that so?” You ask for confirmation. She nods rapidly. “Yeah, but, like, Master Shinazugawa says he doesn’t have a brother..so I find it weird. Say, didn’t you claim you had a crush on Mas-”

“NowwhendidyouhearmesaythatIhaveneversaidsuchathingin mylifedontstartspreadingrumorsaboutmebecauseyouknowgoodandwellthatidontlikehimlikethat.”

You were clearly in denial. Your friend couldn’t help but smile maliciously. “Oh, come on, don’t deny the ways you feel!” She nudges you. You look in front of you, deep in thought.

. . .

About 2 months ago, you could recall going on a short mission with him. You heard many things about the white-haired male, none of them positive. You kept yourself strolling behind him and stayed quiet to avoid getting struck upside your head for saying the wrong things. It was you, him and 2 other members. You stared at the ground for most of the time until you feel air brush against your neck. You turn around, hand on the handle of your sword as you stand your guard. Once you detected that it might have just been the wind, you turned back and took a breath. However, instead of finding yourself looking at the vast forest and the group of slayers in front of you, a shadow towers over you. Bright white eyes without an iris somehow pierce your soul. It was a demon, standing in front of you and ready to kill. Then, a flicker of the reflection of the moon on the demon’s weapon shines in your peripheral right near your neck.

This is it. You would die any second right now, you might as well close your eyes and hope for the best.

That was until you felt a huge gust of wind rush past you and something making contact with your skin as if cradling you. You thought for a second that you might be in heaven, but you opened your eyes to see arms lifting your back and legs. You look up and find Sanemi holding you against his chest, and his eyes were set on you. It wasn’t just the way he was looking at you though. It was the way he was so cradling you so close that you can feel his faint breath on your cheek. His face gave no expression as he lifted his head in the direction of the figure. Suddenly, Sanemi drops you onto the ground without remorse and instantly beheads the demon. Sure, it seemed like he only came to save you because it was his job, but you admired him so deeply from that one action that you had no choice but to look up to him.

Seeing him in the Mansions and across the field of the Corps after the incident didn’t help either, as eventually, your mind became more scrambled until all you could think about was him. About week later, You trotted into your best friend's room and closed the door, locking it. She turns around and smiles.

“Hey! What’s going o-”

“Do you remember that mission I want on with Master Shinazugawa?”

“Ye-”

“Sobasicallyhesavedmefrombeingdecapitatedbyademonbuthewascarryingmebridalstyleandohmygodhewassoclosetomeandiliterallycannotstopthinkingabouthim.” You say, jumbling your words and speaking so rapidly your friend could only just sit and smile.

“....Yes.”

. . .

“Oh, I guess I still do…” You say, responding to your friend's statement and putting your hands up to your face and pinching the bridge of your nose. Your friend gives you a pat on the back. “You should talk to him more.” She says. Just that sentence makes you flinch. You felt like just saying hi to him could cause him to drag your face across the dirt. You give your friend a blank stare.

“Have you lost your mind?”

She laughs. “What!? I mean, I’m sure he’s a nice guy if you get to know him. Maybe he’s misunderstood!” She shrugs.

She does have a good point. You remember overhearing two kakushi conversing about Sanemi’s backstory one day. Something about his mother turning into a demon and killing his siblings. Maybe Genya is his sibling, after all. Poor baby. You sigh and get up from the porch. “Well I got to get goi-” You start to turn to walk away, but as you lift your leg to pivot, your friend quickly swoops her foot under you, sweeping your grounded leg off of the wooden floor. You feel yourself falling, being caught off guard. She has never done this before. Does she hate you? Is she jealous? Will this turn into a love scandal? Are you gonna die? Thoughts fill your mind as air rushes against your back, bringing you down…down….

“Oh my fucking god.”

You feel rough hands grab your waist, bringing your drop to a halt. You look up to see Sanemi looking at you. Again. Your eyes go wide as you stare into his eyes, wondering what a coincidence it is that he shows up right as you were leaving from a conversation about him. It makes you flustered as blood rushes to your cheeks. Again, you find yourself insanely close to his face. Almost instantly, you’re lifted back to stable ground. You see Sanemi walk past you. “Stop falling. I’m not helping you next time.” He scoffs as he takes his leave. Your vision prolongs itself on Sanemi, taking in every lock of white hair on the back of his head, his arms covered in scars, big and without a doubt tight. Your friend snickers at you, and you shoot her a grimaced stare. “Oh, God! You looked so in love, I can’t!” You kept staring at her as she held her stomach in hysterics. You kiss your teeth, swearing to get her back when the time comes.

After a few moments of recollecting, she gets up and plants her arm on your shoulder. “Goodness, you are so helpless. Also, I could’ve sworn he was looking you up and down as he was walking past you, oh my God and the fact that he remembers when you fell!…..I bet you wanna to-’

“Will you SHUT UP?” You turn and take your leave, overwhelmingly angry and flustered. She waves at you from behind. “We will talk later, Mrs. Shina-’

“NO!” You run faster.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

~ Mwah!

….why does he make my coochie tingly EHEHEHEHHHAHAHAHEHHEHHEEHEHE-

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer #kny x reader #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawasanemi #demon slayer fanfic #fanfic #kny fanfic #kny fandom #fanfiction #kny scenarios #scenarios #sanemi imagines

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a-certain-romance · 10 months

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You’re my favorite kind of night

A/N: Ah we meet again anon! I hope this one is to your liking as well, I had a lot of fun with it

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, heats, toys, oral (r!giving), reader is gn! but reader has a cock, mention of womb tattoo

Regular heats are unbearable alone. But heats with the genetics of a god? Pure torture. In proper Ei fashion, her solution to dealing with this is isolation. When the time comes, she ventures into a secluded cave-converted-into-a-hideout and battles her demons there alone. Her advisors have warned her of the potential dangers, arguing that her Euthimiya is more secure and manageable. But something about being so close to nature sits perfectly right with Ei, and she hasn’t run into trouble yet.

It’s the perfect routine, leave and come back with a fresh mind. Except nowadays, the clean-up crew finds every hideout to be more and more damaged than the last. Ei feels something stirring within her. Her toys and fantasies and seclusion are no longer working like they used to. There’s this new, primal urge that Ei is discovering and she can’t seem to put a lid on it. Her face gets flushed more easily, her pupils becoming blown out to an alarmingly degree, and there’s this new urge to be bred…Eventually, all her usual spots are destroyed and are no longer “safe” to care for herself in.

Hunching breathlessly over a map, Ei finds one last place that she has yet to explore. High in the mountains, undisturbed almost entirely because of the superstitions surrounding it. Townsfolk will say it’s the place where a dragon resides, but according to reports, it hasn’t been seen in many years. Ei will take anything at this point. Assuming it’s safe, she hikes her needy body up the landscape and once inside, makes herself comfortable. Her heat makes her movements more ragged, the entire trek up she can feel herself dripping onto her panties.

She sets up camp at the mouth of the cave. By dusk, she looks through a bag that contains an assortment of vibrators and dildos. In preparation for what’s to come, she tease her entrance with the tip of a 7 inch dildo. The girth is thicker than many would buy, but Ei always needs something more to satisfy her. Before she can push the head in, a low growl emits from deep within the cave.

You emerge from the shadows. Your half dragon nature sensed Ei’s arousal from a while away. It’s been so long since you’ve indulged in pleasure with another, and her scent alone is sending you into a tailspin. Her gaze lands on you, surprised that, for the most part, you show resemblance to a human. Minus the horns, tail, and a few scales that line your skin. Her heat is fully setting in, and all she can ask of you is “please?”

You nod, understanding her situation. You carry her deeper into the cave where your makeshift home resides; it’s much more comfortable than outside you argue. You lay her down against some blankets and kneel between her legs. Ei spreads them apart and you dip your head to enter her with your tongue. You feel corrupted by her: her moans ring echo around the cave, her scent fills your nostrils, and the taste of her intensifies. You wait to double your efforts, eventually pushing in as far as you can with deliberate strokes.

She grips your horns, using your face to grind at a steady pace. The stimulation has never felt so good. You don’t really mind her grip, but it does fuel your arousal more. Her touch is firm and it makes you a bit more sensitive. The horns always are, but right now they’re practically being man-handled. With a gasp, you greedily lick up all that she has to release.

Ei is trembling. You’re on the path to satisfying her completely, but she still needs more. Pinning her hands above her head, you line up your cock between her folds. Perhaps a womb tattoo would be sufficient after you fill her? There’s plenty of time to explore all options.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #ei x reader #ei x y/n #ei x you #ei smut #raiden shogun x you #raiden shogun x reader #raiden shogun smut #💋

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music-royal01 · 1 year

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Anxious heart

Neteyam x female human!reader

Reader suffers from anxiety because of experiments done to her by the RDA while she was in the womb and when she was young. Reader has an panic attack and Neteyam tries to comfort and help her

Ps reader doesn’t need to wear a mask because of the experiments

TRIGGER WARNING:PANIC ATTACK

The day had started just like any other, simple yet exhausting. Being a human and learning the Metkayina ways wasn’t simple. You couldn’t ride and ilu, no matter how hard you tried you could never spend as much time in the water as the Na’vi kids could. Ao’nung was poking you and taunting you for being short, not having a tail, and being slow in the water

“You’re just a demon like the rest of your people,you should go be where you belong” Ao’nung and his friends laughed.

But what the Metkayina boys had forgotten is that both Neteyam and Lo’ak where there at lesson and could hear them. Neteyam shoved the boy making him fall to the ground

“If I ever hear you talk about her like that again you’ll be worse off than a few scratches from falling” Neteyam hissed at the boys and was about to walk away when Ao’nung pushed him to the ground and punched him, the two boys wrestled around on the ground punching, kicking and then more punching.

At some point while watching the fight your shaky fingers started to tap each other, breathing becoming uneven as you trembled slightly. Kiri took one look at you and immediately knew what was happening. Wrapping her arms around you she looked back and fourth between the fight and you

“NETEYAM YOU CAN WORRY ABOUT HIM LATER Y/N NEEDS YOU”

Neteyam immediately drops Ao’nung and runs over to you. You were sitting on your knees, your trembling figure hunched over with your hands slightly pulling your hair. The tears that rolled down your cheeks broke Neteyam heart

“Hey princess it’s just me. Its gonna be ok baby, you’re going to get through this” Neteyam whisper praises and tries to comfort you. Neteyam succeeds at claiming you down after a few minutes. You just burry yourself into his chest trying to hide yourself from the others. Neteyam didn’t stop you from hiding, he knew you would be embarrassed and try to shield yourself from judge full eyes. So Neteyam picked you up and carried you to the marui

“Are you all right now my love” Neteyam says softly as you lay down on his chest “I’m alright now thank you Nete” he places a kiss on the top of your head. Neteyam began to hum songcords while running his fingers through your hair. his actions make you tired and soon your quietly sleeping on your boyfriend’s chest.

Neteyam enjoyed these moments with you because he knew the second his father found out about what happened he’d be grounded for eternity

#neteyam x reader #avatar #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader fluff #fluff #avatar way of water #pandora #neteyam sully #avatar 2

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hydroj1ns · 7 months

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onsen with mitsuri

cw: gn reader with cock, breeding, she picks up soap, uhh boobs, mentions of pregnancy but like twice, aftercare, cringe dialogue, NOT PROOFREAD (o god)

After an exhausting day working for the demon slayer corps, you were excited to finally retire for the night, but not before a nice, long soak in the hot springs.

What you didn’t expect was someone already in the water. You thought you’d be alone; after all, no one was normally awake during these hours. Uncaring and worn out, you stepped past the fence and into the warm water. The heat of it immediately relaxed your tired muscles, and you tilted your head back onto the stone behind you, closing your eyes.

That was until you were interrupted. “Oh! Hello! Are you also a demon slayer?” Opening your eyes, you were met with the love pillar of all people, with her signature pink and green braids just covering the peachy pink centers of her full breasts. Trying to maintain contact with her, you replied, “Y-yeah… long day, you know…”

“Ah! Same here!” she exclaimed cheerfully. How someone like this was a hashira, you hadn’t a clue. But how she could keep a good posture with those heavy jugs of hers was a more important question. The curve and shape of them was perfect, you doubt you had seen better ones before. Not only that, but her slender body and milky skin was begging to be touched.

Your gaze followed her body as she exited the hot spring. God, even her ass was perfect, round and voluptuous. She took a stool on the side and began scrubbing herself. That was until her bar of soap happened to slip out of her hand. Hurriedly, she got up to chase it, the fat of her behind recoiling with every stride. When it finally stopped sliding, she bent over to pick it up, displaying her juicy pussy from behind. Eyes widening at the erotic view of her pink folds, you felt yourself get aroused in the water.

As the hashira turned to walk back to her stool, you whipped your head away the sight, feigning ignorance.

“Ah.. excuse me! Do you think you could help me scrub my back? I cant quite seem to reach some spots.”

After muttering something about taking orders from a hashira, you crouched behind her sitting form, rubbing the bar of soap all over the expanse of her back, which was noticeably hard and toned. Surprising you, she suddenly stood up so that you were face to face with that glorious ass. Turning around so that you were now face to face with the lips of her cunt, she explained, “My arms are a bit sore right now, do you think you could also help me clean down there? I cant quite reach it.” She asked politely.

Of course, who were you to say no? You directed her to sit back on the stool and spread her legs around you. You first took your sudded hand to massage the inside of her thighs, drawing suppressed little moans from her. You moved onto her outer lips; your fingers were in a v-shape, rubbing up and down her lips teasingly. Then, using two fingers to spread her puffy folds, you were greeted by her tight hole. Using your other two fingers, you shoved them inside, stirring slowly and sensually. You watched as she arched her back and threw her head back, finally letting out loud moans. Her thick braids fell to the side of her large breasts, revealing the blushy pink nipples, which were hardened from the chilly night air. This only encouraged you to continue, so you started scissoring your fingers inside of her.

“Miss Mitsuri, I believe I can clean you deeper inside, if you would allow me.”

“P-please… I-ah! want to get clean…”

With her consent, you shoved your cock down to the hilt inside her convulsing cunt. Her warm walls felt so good spasming around you, so much so that you could cum right there, inside of her.

“Your cute little pussy is squeezing me so hard, what does it really want?” you asked teasingly.

She could only stutter, “G-give me your cum. Cum in my womb!”

“Dropping the act now? Wouldn’t that be the opposite of cleaning you inside?” You smirked. After all, this would most likely be your final and only chance to fuck a pillar.

“Give me your babies! I don’t care who you are! I’ve been celibate for months because of my duties! Give me anything!” She exclaimed passionately.

As per her request, you thrusted deep into her, and with every pull out and back in, she cried ecstatically, until she finally came, forming a white ring around the base of your cock. However, you kept abusing her throbbing pussy. While groping at her tits like your life depended on it, you could feel the head of your cock breach something inside of her.

“P-put it in my womb! Make me carry your child!”

Smirking, you wondered, “How heavily will these tits get once a make you round with my kids? They’re already quite heavy, are you sure you aren’t already pregnant? Am I fucking a pregnant woman?”

“I-I don’t kn-know!” She shouted, clearly drunk on your cock. You took the liberty to release inside her now-abused womb, filling the cavern inside of her with your white essence. Giving her nipples a few final pinches, you pulled out of her. She quickly used her well manicured fingers to stop to the cum dribbling out of her, desperate to keep every drop inside of her. God, she looked amazing, with her perky breasts shiny with sweat, pussy red after your fucking, and milky thighs shaking from it all.

While cleaning her, for real this time, you wondered how often the love pillar got fucked like this. It made sense when you really think about it, since her whole theme was love and lust. Also, why else was she the only one with a breast window anyway? And that short skirt? Her asscheeks practically hung out of those. Was her outfit really corps-approved?

Depositing her slumbering form at her inn-room, you thanked her before leaving, even though she probably couldn’t hear you. This was probably the last time you would see her, as you were just some low-rank, practically fodder for most demons.

You took your leave, trudging down the dirt path in search of your next assignment.

#hydroj1ns thirsts #demon slayer x gender neutral reader #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x reader #mitsuri kanroji x y/n #mitsuri x you #mitsuri x y/n #mitsuri smut #demon slayer x you #demon slayer smut #kny headcanons #kny smut #kny x male reader #kny x y/n #kny x gender neutral reader #kny x reader #kny x you

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shadowscrybe · 2 months

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Rayven's Revenge- Chapter 6

Summary: Rayven is the younger sister of Rhysand in the Night Court. She was banished 64 years ago for the murder of her sister. This is the story of Rayven earning her place in Prythian and finding out what it means to be family. We all know how her story ends...but how did she get there? I don't want to forget the demon princess with bat wings. Do you?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none-typical canon content

A/N: As promised. Six in one go. I'm sorry for a spam, but hopefully this forces me to post the rest. Lmk if I should stop while I'm ahead.

The Highlord and her mother were mated.

Mates.

What every fae craved and yearned for. The ultimate love match. Mated they may have been, but love was another question. The Highlord would boast stories of their great love. A great love indeed. So great her mother stayed up in the mountains most of the time barely attempting to play court with him.

Rayven couldn't blame her after what happened. Maybe they did love each other. Until Rava.

She was supposed to be Rayven’s twin.

Twins, Madja eagerly told their mother. Rhys remembered when she announced her pregnancy with them. Rava and Maevan were to be their names. Fae offspring were rare, Illyrian offspring even more, so twin Illyrians were unheard of. When they got the news, as Rhys explained, they couldn't have been happier. Their mother was ecstatic every visit with Madja for progress details until one appointment when she had lost the heartbeat of one of the babes. Rava had been absorbed by Rayven and her power. Her first and most egregious crime that cascaded through her entire life. She would never live down having killed her sister.

Madja said it happens sometimes. Her power grew, like Rhys’, inside their mother, but Rhys was alone in the womb, with no other fetus to compete with. As Rayven’s power swelled, Rava had not progressed at the same rate, so Madja said the stronger fetus absorbed the other. Only she was born, they didn't even have a corpse to bury. Rayven had taken that from them too.

She was given the name Rayven by her father upon birth to serve as a reminder of the life she took, and the shame she would always carry because of it. They didn't think her mother was going to be able to deliver her through her grief and when Rayven came out they say she didn't touch her for several days.

She couldn't blame her. Her body became a gravesite and it's Rayven’s fault. No one is more aware of the tragedy than her.

Soon after her birth a single shadow appeared. Madja had cursed and spit seeing her next to her in her crib. Madja didn't take a liking to the shadows.

Rahne was the first word she had said that Rayven could understand. Some speculated she was the soul of her dead sister, trapped by Rayven in silent servitude.

Rahne had never been silent a day in her little life. She never spoke in more than a few syllables, but she loved to parrot.

Rayven had put effort into separating Rahne from Rava, pleading her case that Rava had never appeared to her, but they were set on their truth. Rayven was the scary, violent Illyrian half-breed bitch so jealous of her sister she killed her in the veil before life.

So scary she became. Having a kill under her belt before her first breath. No Illyrian male could say the same.

Her parents had never been the same after that, Rhys told her. She blamed him, he blamed her, and Rayven blamed the cauldron. It was the real cruel one, giving and taking away a mother’s child.

The night they would’ve turned ten, they gathered at the House of Wind for Rava’s vigil. Not Rayven’s birthday. He never allowed a celebration for her birth on Rava’s commemoration, though Rhys had found ways to make it more than a day of grief after the Highlord took his leave for the night.

On that particular death day, he had been disturbed from first light. This anniversary was different to him, and bothered him more than she’d ever seen. He walked into the living room of the Town House, took one look at the modest decorations the boys had attempted, and snapped.

She wasn't Rava, and she wasn’t Maevan. He didn't make Rava’s death about her or even Rayven, it was about him, and the heirs he lost that day. He was not consoling to her mother who had lived it more than any of them. He took their effort as a serious offense to his ‘loss.’ It was never about Rava.

He pinned the boys in their place with his power. He wasn't daemati, or Illyrian, but he wasn't the Highlord for nothing. He was skilled in charms and spells. Incantations of another language they never learned. Rhys was powerful, more powerful than the Highlord, but he hadn't been as clever yet. The Highlord had binded the boys with his greeting when they entered the house. His twisted incantations kept them in place. They could only move upon being released by his word.

Her father yoked her up from the couch next to Rhys, frozen. Their mother’s tears streamed down her face, pleading with her mate to let her daughter stay. By the hair, he dragged her out of the house and tossed her down the steps to the icy stone.

“Go.”

“Dad, please,” she begged on her knees. “I don't-”

“You may seek out Lord Devlon of Windhaven.” The only hint he’d given her.

Windhaven. Leagues across the Night Court. A length the boys could traverse easily, but she could barely fly in the daylight and couldn't winnow yet. There was no way Rayven would’ve made it if Eris hadn't found her.

“Rhys!” She cried over and over. Even before she called for her mother, she knew Rhys wasn't going to be held for long. Once he and the bastards were free they would come after her.

“Silence.” His voice had that prenatural volume it took when he was speaking a spell.

“Daddy, please,” She barely choked out.

“You are no longer welcome in my court.”

His word was law when he spoke like that.

It was the last time Rayven would ever be on her knees.

And the last time she would call him dad.

The Highlord ordered Cassian and Azriel to not go after her, or he’d take their wings. Rhys had to be bound with some threat he never revealed.

It was the first time Rhys had manipulated the Highlord’s mind. Rhys wasn't as skilled at it as he is now. He couldn't rewrite everything without melting his brain, but he was slowly able to plant more and more ideas inside. After the first year of her banishment he had made progress. He was closer to convincing the Highlord he needed Rayven to keep up appearances in court. People would begin to question her sudden disappearance. He spun stories of her great power down the gossip of the court. She was away to train, he lied.

The Highlord had come up with the idea to allow her at big events and important court councils. She was never allowed to speak and only ever seen long enough to count her attendance. Then, she was to return to Illyria until he called upon her again.

Rhys had worked for over a year to get the Highlord to think it was his idea. It was what Rhys could manage to save her with his two brothers still trapped with the Highlord. He truly honed his daemati skills over that first year, gently persuading their father to lessen her banishment.

The Highlord told them if she could find her way to the Illyrian camps and earn rank among the males in the frigid mountains then he would consider her coming back officially. It had been over six decades and she never touched a ring in her time up there.

She rarely appreciated her cottage, but then she would remember where the boys were and wondered who really suffered that night. Her house wasn't enchanted with perfect temperature, or warded with magic locks, but it was entirely hers.

It was nothing more than four walls when she found it. Not even a complete roof remained.

Over the years, she had learned to make it her own. She eventually added more rooms and a second story that took her almost a decade to perfect. Rhys could only stay for short periods of time when the Highlord sent him. Every time he showed up and she collapsed another wall in anger he would give her shit for it. He said her real power was her affinity for demolitions. She swore at him and he helped her fix it.

Rayven’s favorite spot had to be her crows nest. She fashioned a single, thin rail with one prong protruding from the tip for her to sit or stand. It was uncomfortable, but she was the only one who could balance on it. If someone wanted her they’d have to be able to fly and maintain a small hover area. Most males couldn't manage suspended flight for long.

It was her perch she missed most sitting at the dining table in the Town House.

The Highlord sat at the head of the table with her mother to his left and Rhys to his right. A few other highly placed council members sat between them. Cassian, Azriel, and Rayven sat at the opposite end. Today, she was no more than a bastard in his eyes.

It could be excused, their separation. They had wings that needed extra room and Rhys usually kept his hidden.

Cassian sat to her left shielding her from some reeking older fae. She was on the very end of the table, across from Azriel.

He was the picture of disciplined boredom in this company while his shadows moved fluidly around his shoulders. Azriel wasn't going to participate here, but he never stopped watching.

She shared a glance with Rhys as the Highlord stood to retell the catastrophic events of Rava’s death.

Here he goes, he said.

Rayven’s lips twisted to the side to keep from smiling. She decided to keep her sights on the shadowsinger across her. He was equally uninterested in hearing the Highlord drone on about his broken heart.

For forcing all of them to mourn his loss with him, he rarely ever mentioned Rava. It was the same old speech about how his possession was taken from him and blah, blah, blah.

It was sixty-four years to the day of her initial banishment. She was numb to his stale venom at this point. She just had to make it through the toasting and then she was free to disappear back to her mountains.

Rahne wasn't paying attention either. She and one of Azriel’s shadows played by their feet under the table. Rayven ducked her chin to check on her shadow but she was shooting around her ankles.

Shit.

She looked up to the Highlord with a glass raised and went to hold hers when the bastards froze. Going completely still on their own this time.

The Highlord’s full voice lured her back in. “But this year we celebrate my daughter.”

The eyes of every fae in the room cut to Rayven. She didn't dare try to look at Rhys.

The Highlord’s cup was raised in the air. “Who has secured an alliance with the Spring Court,” he went on. “Strengthening the Night Court’s authority in the seasonal courts.”

She realized he was waiting for her response. She had one heartbeat to decide, she wasted the rest with stunned blinking.

“Your will is mine,” She clipped out. Her voice rose slightly at the end, like a question.

His eyes burned holes through her.

I’m dead. It was a good seven decades.

“To Rayven.” He spoke her name to me for the first time in years.

Everyone tensely sipped their glasses. Rhys put his to his mouth, but didn't tip it back. Cassian raised his for the toast then put it back down without drinking. Azriel never touched his.

Rayven drank hers for something to do. Her hands set the glass down too hard and it drew eyes back to her.

Thankfully, she excused herself without having to argue.

The Highlord wasn't daemati, but when his cold eyes seized hers, he didn't need to be. They were as loud as him speaking the words.

Later, they said.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhys!sister #azriel x rhys!sister #azriel x reader #azriel

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 10 months

Text

𝕰𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 (Kung Lao x Pregnant! Reader)

Official Masterlist

Summary: a curse threatens to shatter the happiness of Kung Lao and the expectant reader. As the curse takes hold, the reader descends into madness and paranoia, convinced that their unborn child is a demonic presence. Desperate to save themselves and their loved ones, Reader attempts to take drastic measures, leading to their confinement and protection. With time running out and hope fading, Kung Lao and his allies embark on a perilous journey to break the curse and restore Reader's sanity.

Word Count: 4.5K words

Warning/s: mega angst, self harm with the intent of killing your baby in the womb. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION!!

This was written as a request for @eemr1000 thank you for your request and I hope you like it!!

8 months in.

The sun's gentle rays filtered through the billowing curtains, casting a soft glow upon the serene bedroom of an expectant couple, Kung Lao and his pregnant wife, who would usually be glowing with her pregnancy. Their shared sanctuary, once filled with laughter and anticipation, now exuded an undercurrent of unease.

Eight months had passed since (Y/n)'s pregnancy began, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of new life. Lao, ever watchful and supportive, revelled in the joy that emanated from his beloved. Their love had blossomed amidst the chaos of battle, forging a bond that could weather any storm.

But as the months wore on, a subtle shift began to take hold. It started with fleeting moments of unease, like a ripple on the surface of a calm pond. (Y/n), once vibrant and radiant, seemed to carry a weight upon her shoulders—an invisible burden that cast a shadow over their once harmonious existence.

Lao noticed the subtle changes in his wife—the way her laughter became more forced, her smiles tinged with a hint of melancholy. Concern etched lines upon his face, his heart heavy with worry. He longed to understand the source of her inner turmoil, to bring back the light that had dimmed within her eyes.

He had just been in their kitchen, preparing the woman a hearty breakfast which usually she would eat with great haste and gluttony - a trait which he loved about her. She was definitely a hungry pregnant, and even when she had put on some weight due to the pregnancy, he still adored the way she'd happily chow down on any dish he prepared for her.

This time though, it was different.

As he returned to their bedroom, a plate of toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon in hands, he observed his wife, lying on her back, drawing circles on her round belly while she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"I made you breakfast, my love," Lao announced, his voice gentle as he approached her. "...I'm not hungry..." she croaked out, her eyes unmoving as the remained glued to the ceiling.

Lao's brow furrowed with concern, his heart sinking at the emptiness in her voice. He set the tray aside and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently caress her cheek.

"That's not like you," he murmured, his voice laced with worry. "is something troubling you, (Y/n)?"

Her eyes flickered, momentarily meeting his gaze before drifting away once more.

"There's...something...wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't shake this feeling, Lao. It's like a dark cloud following me wherever I go."

Lao's heart clenched, a harsh sense of fear swelling within him. He had always been her rock, the one who stood by her side through every trial they had faced. He couldn't bear to see her suffer, especially when he couldn't pinpoint the cause.

"Tell me more, my dear," he pried, clasping her hands with his and rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs.

Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the torment that churned within her.

"I...I fear for our child, Lao," she confessed, her voice quivering. "These thoughts...they whisper to me, saying that our baby is not what it seems. That it's something...dark...sinister."

Lao's heart shattered into a thousand pieces, the weight of her words crushing him. He couldn't bear to witness her torment, nor the doubts that gnawed at her soul. But he knew that he had to be her anchor, her unwavering support, even in the face of the unknown.

"(Y/n), you..." he began, trailing off, not entirely sure to say as he shook his head, smiling and trying to lighten the mood, "you're going to be okay. You're...you're probably just anxious and overwhelmed with everything that comes with pregnancy. It's natural to have some fears and doubts, but we'll face them together, my love."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and desperation. She wanted to believe what he was saying, to simply brush off these horrid feelings and continue her pregnancy as it was, carrying their child to term. But the darkness that consumed her thoughts refused to release its grip. It clawed at her sanity, infecting her mind with doubts and paranoia that threatened to unravel everything they held dear. Her longing for peace warred with her fear, creating an agonizing turmoil within her.

She didn't say anything, though, she simply looked at her lover, giving him a single nod.

He leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss to her temple before he left the room, his intention with going out into the courtyard and practicing his training.

As he prepared for his training, Lao closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to centre his thoughts.

As the days passed, since (Y/n) had initially admitted that she felt something off about that their child, her state seemed to worsen. She continued to refuse food, and would not sleep either. Her days would be spent staring into the void blankly, as she tapped her belly and muttered unintelligible words to herself.

Growing anxious as their baby's due date became closer, Lao called upon the thunder god, Raiden, and his friend Liu Kang, for assistance, hoping to resolve whatever was happening with his poor wife.

"Thank you for coming, Lord Raiden," Lao thanked the deity, as they entered his home. "I fear that something is deeply troubling my wife. She's been consumed by this darkness, and it's taking a toll on her physical and mental well-being."

Lord Raiden's eyes, filled with an otherworldly wisdom, scanned the surroundings. He could sense the turmoil that enveloped the place, the lingering aura of despair and fear.

"I sensed a disturbance, a darkness that clouds this place," Lord Raiden remarked, his voice resonating with an ethereal power. "But fear not, Kung Lao, we shall do everything within our power to uncover the truth and bring light to this situation."

Liu Kang stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Lao's shoulder.

"We're here for you, my friend," he said with a determined tone.

Lao gave him a grateful nod, smiling briefly at his best friend as they continued into his home.

Lao led Lord Raiden and Liu Kang through the corridors towards (Y/n)'s chamber. The air grew heavy with tension, a palpable sense of unease filling the space. Lao's steps quickened, his heart pounding in his chest, eager to find answers and provide solace for his suffering wife.

As they entered her bedroom, a horrifying sight became evident.

(Y/n) had a knife held above her. And the target?

The womb which carried their child.

Before any of them could react, she had brought the knife down in one swift movement, driving it straight into her stomach. As she did, a cry of pain echoed throughout the bedroom, and Lao and Liu were quick to rush to her sides, restraining her so she could do no more harm to herself.

One of Lao's hands cradled the knife which was stuck in her, afraid to pull it out as to not let her lose too much blood.

She was squirming, begging to be let go, begging to carve this cursed child from her body.

The scene was a devastating tableau of despair, and Lao's heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he witnessed his wife's anguish and desperation. He knew that time was of the essence, and they had to act quickly to save both (Y/n) and their unborn child.

His eyes teared up as he looked toward Raiden.

"Lord Raiden, please! She needs help!" He begged, his voice trembling as the tears spilled from his eyes, having to shout over (Y/n)'s screaming and crying.

"Be strong, Kung Lao," Lord Raiden said, his voice firm yet comforting. "We will do everything in our power to help her."

Raiden, his demeanour calm, approached the situation, conjuring a surge of energy within his hand as he used the other to carefully draw the knife out of the woman. As he did this, he sealed the wound to the best of his abilities, enough to keep the bleeding at bay.

Tears streamed down (Y/n)'s face, her breathing laboured and weak. She had began to calm down, drowsy from the blood she had lost which had pooled on the ground below her.

As the immediate danger had passed, Liu Kang quickly fetched some clean towels to help staunch the bleeding, while Lao maintained his gentle hold on (Y/n), careful not to exert any pressure on her injured abdomen.

He gently repositioned his wife, so that he could cradle her body like she were a child. He pressed his forehead to hers, unable to stop the choked sobs which passed his lips.

"The baby is unharmed," Lord Raiden confided, sending a wave of relief over Lao. "though, I do sense something sinister within her. A curse."

"Who would've placed a curse on her?" Lao's voice trembled with a mix of confusion and anger.

Raiden approached the woman once again, kneeling down in front of her as he placed a hand on her stomach, gently as to not cause any further harm. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to concentrate on the sinister force that had infected the woman and her baby.

And suddenly, he realised the familiarity of the magic.

"...Shang Tsung." he muttered, opening his eyes again as he drew his hand away.

Kung Lao's eyes widened at the revelation.

"Why would Shang Tsung curse (Y/n) and our child?" Lao asked, his voice filled with a deep-rooted fury. "What does he gain from inflicting such pain upon us?" "I have no clear answer for you, Kung Lao," Raiden admitted regretfully, his tone tinged with frustration. "It is possible that he seeks to disrupt your life and sow chaos, relishing in the pain and suffering he inflicts upon others."

Upon this news, Liu Kang returned to the bedroom, fresh towels in hand as he came to (Y/n)'s side again.

He and Lao helped (Y/n) onto her bed, the two men removing her bloodstained clothes, mindful of her fragile state. Their movements were slow and deliberate, ensuring they didn't cause her any additional discomfort or pain. Lao didn't mind allowing his best friend and the thunder god to see her in such a vulnerable state, considering they were there to help her and two of his closest friends.

Raiden had assisted by fetching a basin of warm water, bringing it back so that they could proceed with her cleaning.

With gentle strokes, Liu began to cleanse the wound on (Y/n)'s abdomen, carefully removing any traces of blood. His touch was tender, his focus unwavering as he tended to her injuries with the utmost care. Lao stood by her side, holding her hand tightly, offering silent reassurance and love as he observed the process.

Though her eyes remained closed, the tension in her features seemed to ease slightly, as if the physical care provided by her husband and friend offered a brief respite from the torment she had endured.

The room remained hushed, filled only with the sound of gentle movements and the soft splashes of water as Liu Kang worked. As he did, Lao decided to gather some fresh clothes for his wife, his trust in his friend unparalleled.

Leaving (Y/n)'s side momentarily, Lao quietly stepped out of the bedroom and made his way to the wardrobe. He selected a soft, comfortable set of clothes, mindful of her delicate condition and the need for gentle fabrics. Each item was chosen with care, a silent gesture of love and consideration.

Returning to the bedroom, Lao placed the fresh clothes on a nearby chair. He leaned over (Y/n), brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as he silently conveyed his love and support.

Lao picked up the clean clothes and began to dress her in them. He moved with a tenderness born out of an intimate understanding of her needs, his hands moving skilfully yet gently as he adorned her in the fresh garments.

With a final kiss to her forehead, Lao whispered, "You're strong, my love. We'll get through this together."

Raiden had explained to Kung Lao that the only way to break the curse was to locate Shang Tsung and have him directly remove it, or wait until the pregnancy was over and the child was born.

The weight of the situation laid heavy upon Lao's shoulders, and he knew very well that he couldn't simply wait around while his lover suffered the horrifying effects of the curse. The thought of allowing (Y/n) to endure more pain and torment was unbearable to him.

With steely determination, Lao looked at Raiden and spoke with conviction in his voice.

"We cannot wait any longer. We must find Shang Tsung and confront him. I cannot stand idly by while (Y/n) suffers. I will do whatever it takes to protect her."

Raiden nodded in agreement, his gaze filled with a mix of empathy and resolve.

"I understand your anguish, Kung Lao. Let us track down Shang Tsung and put an end to his wicked deeds once and for all. We will not rest until (Y/n) is free from this curse."

As much as he didn't want to leave (Y/n)'s side, he knew that he had to deal with this. He had to be the one to put the sorcerer in his place, he had to be the one to ensure that Shang Tsung knew to stay far away from his family. He wouldn't rest otherwise.

He left (Y/n) in the hands of his best friend, Liu, allowing him to take care of her while he set out on this treacherous task. He trusted no one else with her.

With a heavy heart, Lao bid farewell to (Y/n), knowing that she was in capable hands. He assured her that he would return as swiftly as possible, his determination fuelling his every step.

The path to Shang Tsung's lair was fraught with danger, testing Kung Lao's physical prowess and mental fortitude. He faced formidable adversaries, engaged in gruelling battles, and overcame treacherous traps with unwavering focus.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kung Lao stood at the threshold of Shang Tsung's domain. The sorcerer's presence loomed before him, a chilling reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon (Y/n) and their unborn child.

There, the sorcerer stood, menacing, as he looked down at Lao and Raiden from his place atop the top step of his grand staircase. He clapped his hands together a few times, providing a condescending applause to the warrior who had made it this far.

"Well done, Kung Lao, for making it this far. I sense your goals, why you're here," Shang Tsung sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But do you truly think defeating me will erase the curse? The curse upon your wife and unborn child runs deeper than you can comprehend."

Kung Lao's grip tightened on his weapon, his eyes burning with rage.

"Tell me, sorcerer, why did you curse them? What is your sick game?"

Shang Tsung chuckled, relishing the opportunity to taunt his adversary.

"Oh, Kung Lao, it's simple. I curse those who possess something I desire. Your bloodline is powerful, and your child would have been a threat to my plans. How could I forget your ancestor, the great Kung Lao? By cursing your wife and child, I ensure that their potential is forever tainted."

Kung Lao's jaw clenched as he listened to Shang Tsung's twisted explanation.

"You dare meddle with my family's fate for your selfish desires?" Lao spat, his voice laced with defiance. "You underestimate the strength that runs through our bloodline. We will rise above this curse, and your plans will crumble."

Shang Tsung's eyes gleamed with malicious delight.

"Oh, how amusing it is to witness your futile resistance. Your confidence will be your downfall, Kung Lao. I eagerly await the day when your hopes are shattered."

Each word which fell from Shang Tsung's lips seemed to fuel Lao's rage more and more. The sorcerer's callous disregard for the lives he had affected, his arrogance in underestimating their strength, ignited a fire within Lao that burned with an intensity he had never felt before.

With a primal roar, Lao unleashed his fury upon Shang Tsung, his strikes swift and powerful. Every blow carried the weight of his love for (Y/n) and their unborn child, driving him forward with unwavering determination.

The clash of their forces echoed through the chamber, the sound of metal meeting magic reverberating in the air. Lao's resolve hardened with each exchange, his movements precise and calculated. He had honed his skills for this very moment, and he would not let Shang Tsung's curse go unanswered.

With every strike, Lao channelled his frustration, his anger, and his love into his attacks. He fought with a determination fuelled by the knowledge that he was not only fighting for his family but for all those who had suffered under Shang Tsung's cruelty.

Their battle became a dance of fury and skill, as Lao anticipated Shang Tsung's every move and countered with unparalleled precision. He weaved through the sorcerer's dark spells, dodging and deflecting them with a grace born of years of training.

Lao's weapon, a testament to his heritage and training, sliced through the air, meeting Shang Tsung's defences with unwavering force. Blow after blow, Lao pushed himself to the limits, refusing to yield to the sorcerer's malevolence.

The chamber crackled with energy as their powers clashed, the very fabric of reality trembling under their duel. Lao's determination radiated from him, his eyes burning with an intensity that matched the blazing fire within his heart.

In a final, decisive moment, Lao delivered a devastating blow, striking at the heart of Shang Tsung's defences. The sorcerer's grip on power weakened, his face contorted with a mix of disbelief and defeat.

He looked down at the sorcerer, a scowl on his face, though he felt a sense of relief wash over him. He was defeated, it was over now.

A harsh cackle echoed throughout the land, and Lao furrowed his brows when he found that the source was Shang Tsung.

"I did tell you...that defeating me would not remove the curse..." he wheezed, the smirk on his face emanating the evil in his cold heart, "she will carry the curse...until your child is born...though, she'll likely kill herself before then."

Lao's heart dropped as Shang Tsung erupted into more evil laughter. He realised what he had just done - perhaps this was an unintentional rouse, one to get him away from his self destructive wife.

Without wasting another moment, Lao began on his journey back to his home. His steps were frantic, fuelled by a mix of fear and guilt. Raiden tried to reassure him that this was not his fault, though nothing could've convinced him in that moment.

As they arrived home, the first thing Lao did was rush to his room, where his wife would be resting. However, he was shocked to find that she had been bound to the bed by ropes which were tied to each corner of the bed, with Liu Kang sitting patiently beside her. She was asleep, but breathing heavily and sweating, all pale.

"What is the meaning of this? Why is (Y/n) restrained?" Lao's voice trembled with a mix of concern and frustration as he approached his friend. "Lao, I am sorry that it had to come to this, but it's for her own good," Liu began holding his hands up in a way which he hoped would display his sincerity. "She has become too dangerous...so much that not even I can keep her safe without going to drastic measures. First, it was the baby she was trying to harm. But now...it is also herself."

Liu approached (Y/n) again, ushering for Lao to join him as he brushed the hair away from her face and pointed to her throat.

"Do you see that?" he asked, referring to the little cut which was present where he pointed, "had I not caught her wrist at the moment I did, she would've drove that knife right into her throat."

Lao's heart sank as he saw the cut on (Y/n)'s throat, realizing the gravity of the situation. The mix of concern and fear washed over him, and he struggled to hold back tears of anguish.

"(Y/n)," Lao's voice quivered as he reached out to touch her cheek gently. "I'm so sorry my love..."

Tears welled up in Lao's eyes, threatening to spill over, as he leaned closer to (Y/n), his forehead resting against hers.

"Please, hold on for me. It'll all be over soon, I promise."

As he whispered to her, the tears in his eyes finally spilled, falling onto his lover's face. He began sobbing, cupping her face in his hands.

Raiden placed a hand on Liu Kang's shoulder, catching his attention as he turned to him.

"Come, Liu Kang," he said, "let us give them a moment alone."

Liu nodded once, and they left the room.

Lao's sobs filled the room as he held (Y/n) close, pouring out his heartache and desperation in that intimate moment. He clung to her, his grip firm yet gentle, as if trying to transfer his strength and love into her wounded soul.

Outside the room, Liu Kang and Raiden stood together, their expressions solemn and resolute. Liu's eyes glistened with unshed tears, mirroring the pain he felt for his friend and the woman he considered family. Raiden's gaze held a mix of sorrow and determination, his commitment to their cause unwavering.

It was horrifying to know that nothing could be done about it except for wait it out, though they would assist Kung Lao in these trying times and ensure that (Y/n) and her baby would come out of this situation safe.

Screams of pain echoed throughout the Kung home, as the three men rushed around the house, gathering the supplies they would need for the delivery of (Y/n)'s baby.

Kung Lao asked that Liu gather towels and a basin of hot water for his wife, while he asked that Raiden stay by her side and use his powers to keep her pain to a minimum.

Though, even when the pain had subsided for the most part, the screams continued. Screams of terror.

She did not want to deliver this baby.

Even so, Lao was determined to have this baby come into the world, healthy and happy. He knew his lover was bewitched, that her heavy reluctance was only a result of Shang Tsung's evil.

He and Liu entered the room, frantic as they prepared everything for the birth of this child. Kung Lao approached his lover, who was writhing in her restraints, trying to break free. He grabbed her hand, leaning over her and brushing the hair out of her face.

"(Y/n), my love, I am here with you," he whispered, his words a soothing melody amidst the chaos. "You are a beautiful warrior, and your strength surpasses any curse."

He could feel her grip tightening on his hand, her fingers digging into his skin, seeking solace in their connection.

"I...I can't..." she shuddered, shaking her head. "I can't...I'm so scared."

"You must, (Y/n)," Lao encouraged her, squeezing her hand a little tighter, "you have come much too far to give up now. You mustn't let Shang Tsung's evil cloud your mind. Have faith in me."

In amongst all of her fear, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her when she stared up at her lover, who was just as afraid and desperate as she was in that moment. Even when she was convinced that she was about to give birth to the anti-Christ, she would always feel more compelled to trust Lao, even if all she had was his word alone.

Lao noticed the way she seemed to relax a little at his words, and he felt his own body relax as well, looking toward Liu and Raiden, ready to give them instruction and ensure the safe delivery of this baby.

He established that he wanted Raiden to use his powers to ensure that (Y/n)'s pain was kept to a minimum, while he and Liu sat by the end of the bed and delivered the baby themselves.

(Y/n) clasped onto Raiden's hand as tight as she could, while he administered his healing power through their contact. The other two men had finished preparing things on their end, watching as the baby began surfacing as Liu held a towel beneath the site and Lao had his hands ready to guide the baby's head.

With each push, (Y/n)'s determination grew stronger, fueling her resolve to bring their baby into the world. Kung Lao's hands, steady and gentle, guided the baby's head as it began to emerge, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

Liu Kang swiftly and delicately caught the baby, cradling the tiny, wriggling form in the waiting towel. The room was filled with a collective gasp of awe and overwhelming joy as the cries of their new-born filled the air.

Kung Lao's eyes teared up as he took in his child for the very first time. In that moment, as he held their baby in his arms, the world seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was the precious life they had brought into existence.

Despite being covered in muck and blood, Kung Lao saw nothing but beauty in their child. Every tiny feature, every wrinkle, filled him with an overwhelming sense of awe and unconditional love.

With trembling hands, he reached out to gently wipe away the remnants of birth from their baby's delicate face. Each touch was imbued with tenderness, a silent promise to shield their child from harm and to be a constant source of love and support.

Naturally, he would approach his exhausted lover, and bring the child to her, gently laying the new soul onto (Y/n)'s chest. The baby's small form rested against her, their heartbeats synchronizing, a physical manifestation of the unbreakable connection between mother and child.

Kung Lao's hands gently supported their baby's delicate head, his touch light yet steady, as he watched (Y/n) marvel at the miracle lying in her embrace. Their child's tiny fingers curled instinctively around (Y/n)'s own, as if seeking comfort and reassurance.

Silent tears cascaded down (Y/n)'s cheeks, mixing with tears of joy and exhaustion. They looked down at their child, their eyes filled with a blend of overwhelming emotions. In that moment, a newfound strength and tenderness radiated from within them, a fierce maternal love that knew no bounds.

Upon viewing her daughter for the first time, (Y/n) felt her paranoia and fear wash away. She knew this would happen - because the curse was broken, and she and her child had survived.

Together, they basked in the miracle of their child's arrival, their hearts overflowing with a love that seemed to defy any limits. In that sacred space, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside faded away as they forged an unbreakable bond as a family.

#kung lao #kung lao mortal kombat #kung lao x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #angst #writing requests

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whataboutthefish · 1 year

Text

While you were sleeping

Omegaverse, Steddie, mpreg

Words 900

Also on Ao3

Whirring noise… click

Dear Eddie,

Where do I start? Dustin has given me this tape recorder so I can keep a diary of sorts for you. I guess we have some pretty big news to share.

We’re pregnant.

So I found out today. I’ve been feeling a bit shit, tired and achy and Robin and her big mouth joked that I could be pregnant. I think the way all the color left my face concerned her a little, so she held my hand and we did the test.

I don't want you to miss out on a single moment so here I am probably 6 weeks pregnant, taking a polaroid in profile to show you with this recording.

Any bump you see is more to do with the box of twinkies I stress ate this morning than the tiny bundle of cells making themselves at home in my womb.

I’m so scared, Eddie, I know you’ll wake up soon and laugh; we’ve been to hell, fought demons and survived, what’s scary about one little pup.

Please wake up soon.

~~~~

Nine Weeks

Morning sickness is the worst, especially at 3pm. Why do they even call it morning sickness? It's stupid and I hate it. I can’t stand the smell of tobacco, Hopper stopped by the hospital and I vomited on his shoes.

Oh yeah Hopper’s alive, he’s different, you can tell he’s been through it. 8 months is a long time to rot in a Russian jail. You don’t need to beat him by the way, we’d be happy to see you open those eyes any day.

It doesn’t feel real yet, the seedling is still just a bean, and besides the nausea and back ache I don’t feel any different.

I miss you.

~~~~~

Twelve Weeks

Doctor asked if we wanted to know the sex, I said no. I don’t want to find out without you, I want you there when we first meet our seedling. You can almost see the bump now, Robin says I’m just getting fat, maybe she’s right.

I love the way my body is changing, I’m going soft everywhere, not just my stomach, my chest, my face everything is getting soft. Nancy says I have the pregnancy glow, and my hair is the healthiest it’s ever looked. I guess pregnancy looks good on me.

Wake up soon, Eds, I don’t want you to miss this.

~~~~~

Sixteen Weeks

I had to get elastic waisted pants. You better not laugh when you hear this because this is all your fault!

Robin is going to birthing classes with me, I'm pretty sure half the group think we are a couple. I’m not in a rush to change their minds, the sad looks are getting to me. When you tell someone your partner is in hospital and you don’t know when they will come home, well, people look at you with pity and a sense of panic in their eyes. Seems people are uncomfortable with the prospect of death, and me an unmated omega, the shame.

No, I think I'll just be the turkey baster lesbian couple instead for now.

~~~~

Twenty Two Weeks

Felt her kick today, at first I thought it was just gas but then she really got going, it’s like butterflies in your stomach. I know we decided to keep the sex a surprise but I just have a feeling. Dustin did some old wives tale trick with a pendulum and agrees with me, god knows where he dug that bit of information from.

We are past the point of fitting into elastic waists and I am officially in maternity wear. I am not happy about this. The clothes are obscenely cutesy, with a wide variety of moo moos and oversized sweaters to choose from.

I’m afraid your hellfire shirt is now completely stretched out and no longer yours. I’m not giving it back.

~~~~

Twenty Five Weeks

Robin is on at me about picking a name, at least a short list, but I can’t. Seedling will suffice for now, you’ll wake up soon and we can argue about all the silly names you’ll choose. I’ve already vetoed Frodo so you can forget about that suggestion.

The nurses helped me lay beside you today. I was so tired and seedling was very active, they helped me lay your hand over my stomach and she played with you for over an hour. I would have been mad, she was really going for my kidneys but I swear I saw your eyes open, just for a moment. The doctors think I'm over tired, seeing things that aren’t there, but I know you’re still in there.

You just have to follow my voice, just follow my voice and come back to us.

~~~~

Twenty Eight Weeks

Seedlings' favorite time of day is when we are with you, she can’t seem to sit still when she’s with her daddy. I don’t know what you’ll want to be called when she arrives, but I’ve decided on Oma. I know it’s old fashioned but it feels right.

We are so close now, my back aches and my ankles are swollen and all I want is for you to hold me in your arms and tell me it’s all going to be alright.

We might stay a little longer tonight, seedling wants to feel you close and so do I.

Eddie?

Oh my god, Eddie…

Nurse, come quick he’s opened his eyes…

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #omegaverse #mpreg #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson

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cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 4 months

Note

Hello can i ask for a hcs artoria lancer with male or gn reader who haves alucard from hellsing powers? Also the reader was randomly transported to the fate universe from their own universe and everyone just thought the reader was a spirit who have amnesia and have made up a new identity from somewhere

Let me just say that I had a blast and a half while writing this.

NOW! YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!!!

A one in one hundred septillion chance brought you to Chaldea.

A flare of the ley line at the exact right moment allowed you to incarnate in this world.

And it was an event like no other.

Shadows grew long, the air dropped to the point where the world outside of the arctic base would be a boiling hot summer day, and the summoning circle flared black and red.

Then you appeared from the circle, dazed, lost, confused, barely able to speak, barely able to comprehend the world around you.

Guda and the others did their best to help you in the moment, but the storm of chaos that is Chaldea quickly brought their attention elsewhere.

That being said, Guda did assign someone to keep an eye on you.

Artoria Pendragon Lancer.

A regal woman with enchanting beauty and power to match it.

She was a kind woman, if a tad awkward and a bit of a glutton.

And something about her… called to you.

Like a breeze on a day where the weather is just right as you lay in the shade of a great tree.

Comforting, calming, gentle, kind, and wonderful.

These are all words you would use to describe Artoria.

She was all of those and more.

And so, as soon as you were stable enough, you were instantly at her side whenever she called for you.

It also helped that Da Vinci was all too happy to let you test run her weapons.

So the two of you would always be sent together.

Her lance to close the distance and destroy the enemy, your guns to cover her approach with ammunition that no mortal human could ever hope to use.

Over time the two of you grew close.

Closer than guardian and protectorate.

Closer than comrades..

Closer than friends.

The two of you became lovers.

And despite how little you knew of yourself, you were happy.

But then, on one fateful day, everything came crashing down.

You never once had used your Noble Phantasm in service of Chaldea, not because you couldn’t use it, but because you were afraid of it.

Of what it could mean for this life you had made.

Of what it could mean for the family you had in Chaldea.

It terrified you, but as all of Chaldea faced down the last of demon pillars, you knew what must be done.

And so, you told your master to do it, to use their command seal on you.

And as the command seal activated, darkness surrounded you, engulfing you. In all honesty, it would be more accurate to say, the darkness was emanating from you and swallowing the world around it whole like a ravenous hound.

Bugs, arachnids, gaping maws with dozens of sharp teeth, these and a hundred more horrible things made up your form and the swirling aether around you. A massive pitch black hound, lounged behind you, the closest thing Artoria had ever seen to human cruelty in the face of an animal in her entire life carved onto its face.

You raised your hand, the back of it pointing forward towards the massive creature as a burning flame ignited upon it to make a seal, and the world around you ignited in turn.

“You asked for my name once, and now, I will finally be able to answer you…” you stated before trailing off.

Then, an infinite number of eyes opened upon your body, upon the darkness, upon the shadows, upon every single dark place for a thousand miles as you spoke once more as all who bore witness to what was happening felt ice flood their veins.

In that moment, a universal truth was revealed to them all.

A glimpse into the realm of God.

The infinite sea at the heart of the world.

The Womb Of Creation.

In that moment, all who bore witness to this knew one thing.

You could not be allowed to begin speaking, much less finish what you were saying.

Alas, no one could make any semblance of a move to stop you, that is the power you commanded in this moment as everything became clear with each word you spoke.

“In the sea without lees, Standeth the bird of Hermes, Eating his wings variable, And maketh himself yet full stable, When all his feathers be from him gone, He standeth still here as a stone, Here is now both white and red, And all so the stone to quicken the dead, All and some without fable, Both hard and soft and malleable, Understand now well and right, And thank you God of this sight, The bird of Hermes is my name, and so I am found eating my wings to make me tame.”

You were not a saber nor archer, lancer nor caster, assassin nor rider nor berserker, nor were you a pretender or avenger or ruler.

You were a Foreigner, an existence that is completely incompatible with reality.

And You?

You.

Did.

Not.

Care.

The only thing that you cared about was this.

A single blemish upon her could not be allowed, you refused to even entertain the thought.

She was the king, she was the one whom you loved and was loved by in turn, she was the one who had put her trust in you.

No, if even a single scratch was to befall her…

Millions of cruel and sickening punishments shot through your mind like a swarm of locusts blotting out the sky to devour the crops in the field below.

Something like that could simply not be allowed.

The black aether that comprised your body opened its eyes.

And then all hell broke loose.

By the time the flames died, the dust settled, and the screams subsided, nothing remained on the battlefield aside from you and the soldiers of Chaldea.

After this, you would only stand in Artoria’s presence to slaughter her enemies with brutality that was unmatched.

You haunted the edges of her vision, her shadows, her every move.

And it broke her heart.

She wanted to laugh with you again.

To eat with you again.

To be merry with you again.

That was her one wish.

And eventually, after many nights of gazing into the shadows of her room, after many nights of silent prayers, you answered her call.

Because it broke your heart to be away from her as well.

You wanted to laugh with her again.

To eat with her again.

To be merry with her again.

That was your one wish.

A wish that, as “The Bird Of Hermes” was forever out of your grasp.

Even now, you were only running on sheer willpower to keep yourself tied to this world.

Your return to the world you come from was inevitable.

Or, that is what you thought.

But Chaldea doesn’t let one of its own go that easily.

They all fought tooth and nail to keep you around.

And they succeeded.

So then you and Artoria returned to the same way it was before.

The Master Of The Holy Lance and The Bird Of Hermes

Steel and gunsmoke.

Light and dark.

Laughing with each other.

Eating with each other.

Being merry with each other.

And loving one another.

#artoria pendragon x reader #artoria pendragon #artoria lancer #fate grand order x reader #fgo fate grand order #fate x reader #fate #fate go

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little-red-fool · 3 months

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I wanna learn about silver tongue I love abyss lore

Heehee I’ll gladly talk about Silvertongue and his backstory. I don’t know as much about Forgotten Realms lore as I would like to so correct me if anything seems inaccurate, also I haven’t fully fleshed out his lore yet but this might still be quite long because I like rambling lol so I’ll try to summarise it a little (also I might have changed some of the Dark Urge lore to fit his backstory too whoops).

*cracks knuckles* Ok so as a bit of an overview of his character, Silvertongue originally started off as a half-elf bard when I made him, he was also chaotic good but I was able to develop his character a lot more when I decided to ship him with Raphael and made him chaotic evil instead because I thought two evil bards would be really funny, which then led me into researching into Forgotten Realms lore; I found out that cambions can also be half demons in some versions of D&D so that’s why he’s like how he is now.

I’ll talk a bit about his backstory now that you have a brief summary of his character. Whilst Silvertongue’s a half-demon cambion, he’s still a half-elf in game so I decided to make his mother a high elf, although like other cambions she died during childbirth, and I like to think that the reason is because like some animals (such as spiders) he ate his way out of her womb rather than being delivered naturally. Although he was born in Blood Tor, he was very quickly transported to Toril where he grew up in an orphanage in human society (possibly in Baldur’s Gate but I haven’t decided), and for the most part his demonic heritage wasn’t prominent and he fit in well with the other children despite the odd outburst and rampage which were few and far between and wouldn’t last long—he was always drawn to music as a child which lead him to learning how to play violin and flute, and that started his career as a bard when he was a teenager. As he grew older though it became harder to hide his heritage and his urges grew stronger and more difficult to manage, he became more malicious and deceitful, as well as more sadistic, which then escalated and led to him attacking and killing a few people. After this happened he was hunted down like an animal when people discovered his heritage so he fled the city. It wasn’t long after this that his father—a demon—managed to track him down and bring him to the Abyss, saying that he would fit in better there and that his talents would be appreciated more.

This was when he came back to Blood Tor, where he spent his mid twenties to his late fifties. Whilst there he was a vassal to Beshaba and served as a manservant in the court, sometimes directly assisting Beshaba. When he was older he was drafted into the Blood War as a soldier and was trained to fight. He was originally sent on raids with other demons to the City of Strife to steal souls from the Wall of the Faithless, but later on he was sent into proper battles in Oinos, and much later he was stationed in Avernus up until recently. Whilst Silvertongue had a few mortal friends on Toril, he didn’t really have any in the Abyss due to the untrusting and malicious nature of most demons, however he was close with a couple of other cambions that also served under Beshaba at the same time as him. They were also drafted into the Blood War alongside Silvertongue, however one was killed during a baatezu attack in Bloor Tor, but he managed to save his other friend from an orthon attack, however this meant that he suffered many injuries and his clothes were tattered—he still wears the coat he wore from the orthon attack as he views it as a symbol of pride and a reminder that he saved his friend. Silvertongue is probably around 300 or so years old (give or take) so he served in the Blood War for over 250 years, and he was a decent soldier. He was often picked on due to his diminutive stature compared to the other demon soldiers, however what he lacked in strength and size he made up in agility and stealth. That isn’t to say he’s weak though he could still easily rip a human in half.

Now that I’ve given you most of his backstory I’ll talk about the events that took place recently to when BG3 starts. This part is also linked to the Dark Urge backstory, which I altered a bit for Silvertongue’s backstory. Although he was still fighting in Avernus, he started going on missions to Toril in order to disrupt devils from gaining souls from mortals, and for this he went to lots of different cities, one of these being Baldur’s Gate. This is when he ran into the cult of Bhaal, and long story short he ended up becoming involved—he didn’t worship Bhaal but he thought that having the Bhaalists on his side would be useful. Not too long after he met Gortash, and he found out about his affiliation with Bane, and learned about the Crown of Karsus and the Elderbrain, which is when Silvertongue forged the plan to use the Elderbrain and the ilithid tadpoles to turn the people into mindflayers as it would completely destroy the devils’ ability to recruit mortal souls as mindflayers were soulless. Him, Gortash and Ketheric carry out the plan etc etc and during these times Silvertongue keeps occasionally returning to Avernus to continue fighting in the Blood War.

This is right before the events of the game, as he was in Avernus when the nautiloid passed through it at the beginning, and due to being half-elf and therefore somewhat mortal he was swept up by the nautiloid and infected by a tadpole. Similar to some of the other companions—such as Wyll and Gale—Silvertongue’s stronger abilities and a lot of his power were sealed due to the tadpole’s influence, and he was trapped in his mortal aspect with very little magic. His current goal, like the other companions, is to get rid of the tadpole in order to regain his demonic aspect and his powers so he can continue to fight in the Blood War, although reluctantly—he recognises that it’s his duty and it gives him the opportunity to maim and kill others, but he’s still quite connected to his mortal lineage and he likes the thought of retiring, or at least living in Toril rather than continuing to fight in the Blood War.

Alright now on to him and Raphael (and a bit of Haarlep). Their first meeting was interesting, Silvertongue immediately clocked Raphael as a devil and tried to attack him, whilst in my interpretation of Raphael he’s never fought in the Blood War himself and has only witnessed it from afar so he can’t easily distinguish a demon when they’re not in an easily recognisable form, so he just thought Silvertongue was a bit jumpy and paranoid. I haven’t gotten Silvertongue past Act 1 yet, so whilst these events haven’t taken place yet I’m still going to refer to them in past tense for ease. Raphael manages to figure out that Silvertongue’s a half-demon at Last Light and that he was a soldier in the Blood War, which is what prompts him to get Silvertongue to kill Yurgir. In Act 3 I think Raphael’s contract would be slightly altered for Silvertongue, instead offering to remove his tadpole rather than giving him the Orphic Hammer. In exchange Raphael still receives the Crown of Karsus. Since Silvertongue has spent most of his life in the Abyss and hasn’t encountered any devils in a peaceful or conversational setting, he doesn’t really know how tricky they are and the weight of their contracts and how binding they are, so he signs Raphael’s contract; Raphael keeps his word and removes his tadpole. Unfortunately, with Silvertongue having grown attached to his companions and hating authority figures, he decides to break into Raphael’s home to nick the Orphic Hammer so he can free Orpheus, but he doesn’t take his contract as he just thinks it’s some old piece of paper, he doesn’t think that it actually holds any power over him or his soul. As you might know if you break into Raphael’s home without stealing your contract he, uh, incinerates you. My interpretation of this is that the player character then becomes one of his debtors trapped in his house, which is exactly what happens to Silvertongue. Fortunately his companions were able to escape with the hammer, however Helsik then closed the portal because let’s be real who wants a rampaging devil chasing after you into Toril, so essentially Silvertongue is stuck there as his soul is bound and his companions currently had no way of breaking him out.

Raphael doesn’t have as much power over Silvertongue as his other debtors due to his Abyssal heritage and not being fully mortal, so Silvertongue still has some freedom and is (mostly) sane (or as sane as he was before becoming a debtor), he’s mostly just bound to the house and unable to harm Raphael. Silvertongue is not happy about his situation and spends the first couple of weeks essentially throwing a huge tantrum and destroying half the furniture. He meets Haarlep during this time and since I headcanon Haarlep as being an enslaved tanar’ri (thanks to this post which completely hey this place isn’t too bad, it’s warm, I get a bed aechanged my outlook) they hit it off well pretty quickly, so they became quite close and shit-talked Raphael. It took a few weeks but Silvertongue realised that hey this place isn’t that bad, it’s warm, I get a bed and free food and I’m not constantly praying for my life and I don’t have to kill devils 24/7 for hundreds of years so he very quickly becomes a lot like a house cat, although he also realises that whilst he might be stuck with Raphael, Raphael is also stuck with him, which gives him the motivation to be an absolute prick but in a petty and mischievous way rather than an overly destructive and murderous way. Raphael absolutely hates this at first but over time they get more comfortable with each other and less antagonistic, which then evolves into a slight fondness (well more of a mild love-hate relationship), and I think that’s all up-to-date.

I’m so sorry that was so long ajdnshdndn but I really enjoyed infodumping about Silvertongue’s backstory, thank you so much for this ask!

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