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honey-lemonz · 11 months

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Kokushibou and the archer part. 4

“An upper rank is dead.”

Kokushibou, as loyal as ever, stood before Muzan with the rest of the twelve kizuki. Upper rank six were killed in the red-light district due to the demon slayer with the hanafuda earrings and a hashira of what Muzan retorted “of considerable weakness”, either way now times were against many of the upper ranks. This was the first time in centuries an upper rank of the twelve kizuki were killed. As Muzan gave orders to Gyoko and Hantengu about their attack set on the swordsmith village, leaving upper rank one’s mind wandered elsewhere. A familiar archer’s eyes and hands made his spine shiver. For what purpose of the shiver? Kokushibou could not tell or know fully.

“Kokushibou? Kokushibou!” Kokushibou quickly cut out of his personal fantasy and cut his 3 sets of eyes at his fellow upper ranks. What could the scum around him want now? He said nothing and only looked at upper rank two, Douma. His rainbow-colored eyes held a mysteriousness within them, meaning some sort of sadistic idea was going to burn away somewhere. Kokushibou could scowl at the idea of whatever this fool could be entertained by. Douma began to speak, “Well, since you heard Lord Muzan speak on the recent killing of Daki and Gyutaro which is so sad.” The demon pretended to shed tears of sadness and went on about his poor underlings and what he considered siblings being ruthlessly killed considering their past which Kokushibou cut out and ignored for he didn’t care.

“Your point?” The samurai spoke sternly, he didn’t care what this clown had to say since he disrupted his mind wandering and being alone with his thoughts. Douma quickly wiped away his “tears” which there weren’t any. He can’t cry from what Kokushibou could clearly see. “Oh, well Nakime recalled that the archer demon fella you know was seen within the discards of the red-light district. Lord Muzan didn’t talk about it or anything. So, since you know this demon perhaps, we could recruit him to fill in for Gyutaro? Whittaya think?” Douma leaned too close into the samurai’s space for his liking but the words he spoke next would anger him farther. “Well, I would love to give him a share of my blood. The look of him drinking it and being all inside him, watching him grow strong from my blood makes me want to melt huh? Then we would be bonded forever, ugh~ just imagine!” Douma’s words even made Akaza’s skin crawl. Upper rank three despite punching and wanting to kill his superiors sensed something amiss.

The surrounding air around Kokushibou grew darker. The surreal feeling of bloodlust embodied the air. The older demon turned his head towards upper rank two slowly. His words cut deeper than his sword could now. If he wanted to, he could kill Douma without a care, but the hierarchy and whatnot. “The archer is not of your concern and never will be.” Within a flash, the eldest upper rank was gone. While Douma and the other two demons took a moment to react, half of Douma’s head was cut off in a simple slash. Nakime quickly with a strum of her biwa sent the other two away at once away from the infinity palace. Kokushibou found himself at the remains of the red-light district. The moon was high into the night sky. Barely even midnight, the demon used his sets of eyes to scan the surroundings for any truth in Douma’s words. Even if what he said was correct why should the samurai be angered. The archer was an independent demon who despised the twelve kizuki for personal reasons not even Kokushibou could figure out. But in what world would he take Douma’s blood, why when he is the strongest? His blood wouldn’t be tainted by the humans Douma devours on a regular basis.

Kokushibou bit down on his lip so tightly it bled, scarlet red drips from his mouth. Staining his pale and cold skin. The demon felt centuries worth of anger and rage thrash in his entire being. ‘The night is still young, if the archer were here, he’d be cornered. There would be no point of him being here.’ Kokushibou reasoned within himself, if he was here then an attack would be hurling towards him. Kokushibou disappeared from the rubble of the red-light. He found himself on the outskirts of the city near an open patch of field. His senses were guiding him this way. His last bout with the archer made his smell and aura very hard to miss. The demon just as Kokushibou had calculated was slinked over in a tree. His body was cast within a shadow making it hard for him to be seen. But his eyes shined evidently in the moonlight, as a lion with his prey his eyes were aligned straight with Kokushibou’s first pair of eyes. The night was silent in the small field, the humans within the red-light were too far away to hear or see the stand off about to take place.

The archer demon, otherwise referred to as Yasumebe [Name] didn’t move towards Kokushibou. Their last bout was a little over a hundred years ago and left some nasty remarks and memories. Whether it was the pride Kokushibou held or the little shame within his mind he kept from being human that he eternally blocked out those memories completely. But that doesn’t mean his body doesn’t remember, yes, his mind lacked the connotation Yasumebe’s stare had on him, but his body did. His body secretly craved the attention and feeling, the absolute abuse the archer put through. Not just the thrill of an exciting battle but rather the tender and more explicit side of his body craved. The touch of a thousand swords could never beat the long engulfing feeling of pure sexual arousal. Kokushibou, no matter how much meditation or pure and thorough training could make his body go back the same way as before. Times of his own privacy the core of his abdominal begged for the tightly wound coil to snap within him, letting him experience the bliss his body needed once more.

But here he stood, not moving but only observing the archer, neither spoke. An exchange of words would only lead to a fight, but it seemed neither of them wanted to. The archer then finally spoke, “You have nothing to acknowledge do you? Upper rank? Nothing at all?” He looked enthused, almost joyful if it wasn’t for the smirk spreading across his face. [Name’s] large kasa hat covered most of the upper half of his face but the lower half smirked greatly. His lips curved into an almost joyfully cruel smile. He asked the samurai demon once more. “So, your memory fails you no Upper rank? You have come all this way for a reason, not to eat and devour the fools among the red-light district remains, is it?”. The demon moved off the high branch of the tree he sat upon and jumped down to the empty field across from Kokushibou. Kokushibou stayed in his position but kept his eyes on [Name], what could he be speaking of? What acknowledgement is he speaking of?

“You hunted me down Upper rank, what comes about then? Why have you cornered me here? Your mind seems at halt, but your body still has a memory, doesn’t it?” The archer crossed his arms against his chest, he looked just as well-fit and neat as he did before. His appearance was still the same. The shape of a phoenix demon slayer mark curved along his jaw and down his neck and towards his chest. Before he met Yasumebe, Kokushibou had no idea the breathing styles worked for other weapons. However, Kokushibou now could see the archer didn’t have his arrows nor his bow. Therefore, a fight would be useless, as if disappointment was evident the archer summoned an arrow with his blood demon art and twirled it between his fingers playfully. “Ah, you didn’t come here for just a fight, did you? Ask what brought you here Upper rank. My patience is thinning.” The archer crouched down into a squatting position and pointed the arrow directly at where Kokushibou’s heart would be. Kokushibou stifled, his tone wasn’t serious or playful, he was dead serious.

“Another Upper rank demon of the twelve kizuki has spoken to you. Yes, or no?” Kokushibou started “Straightforward as ever aren’t your Upper rank? But to humor your troubling worries no, I have not spoken or seen another upper ranking demon of the twelve demon moons at all, other than the fool I am speaking to now.” Kokushibou hissed and began to correct the archer.

“Watch your tongue, Yasumebe. Know and acknowledge your place within this moment. I have no need for your arrogance and ignorance.” This made the archer lean his head up completely, now his attention has been captured completely.

“Oi, oi, Upper rank. I acknowledge your power here and I acknowledge your weakness. Your memory is failing you. Perhaps I should remind you within the time we have… However, I just have a question to start with then.” The demon stood slowly and began to approach Kokushibou, he slowly walked toward the samurai demon. His eyes locked with the second pair of eyes on Kokushibou. His voice unwavering but deadly calm. His twisted and cruel smirk lined his lips, the moonlight cast a shadow over his face again due to the kasa.

“Why does it matter if another upper rank came and spoke to me? Did your body feel betrayed at the idea of another letting me use them for entertainment? Or did you come here to cure your bodily amnesia?” the demon asked. He looked enthused at what answer could come about Kokushibou. “I care not of what they think of me now. But answer upper rank, my patience is getting close to snapping. I’m being as nice to give you a chance.” Kokushibou stifled but he recomposed himself. “If another weaker demon were to impose on- “

“Impose on what Upper rank?” The archer was now a foot away from him, the arrow now pointed downward towards Kokushibou’s feet. “What would another weaker demon impose on? Tell me, answer my dying question?” The archer moved forward again, now he was inches away. Kokushibou felt his heart rate speed up, was this fear? No, he wasn’t afraid. He was afraid at the feeling of death being inflicted on him but now he felt his abdomen tighten. He took a step back.

“Ah, I see. Your body does remember, your mind is keeping it from enjoying it then. I’ll adjust and fix that for the both of us then.” The archer within a snap of his fingers quickly let the arrow stab into Kokushibou’s foot. The samurai was quick enough to dodge the first arrow but when the second came after he wasn’t as prepared. His senses were off, his mind was hazy, and his body felt warm. Like the sun was beating against his skin, his pairs of eyes closed slowly. The lowest pair of eyes were open when the archer was sitting in front of him. The scenery was changing, were they still in the field? Where was he? When did he-?

“Such a pain, if you would have been a better brat then maybe this would have been easier. The arrow point wisteria must be working…You’re still semi-awake.” Kokushibou fought to open all his eyes, his vision was unfocused, and his limbs felt numb. His eyes finally focused and saw he was in a dark room. The only light-source was the small lamp in the corners of the room. He felt a gnawing sense of pain course throughout his body. His body was against the patted bedding on the floor. A thin mat with blankets underneath his body, the strong smell of iron engulfed his nose. His sensory functions were heavily delayed and altered. The pain overtook everything.

Kokushibou tried his best to angle himself to see what was causing the amount of pain he was experiencing. Arrows dripping in wisteria poison and blood other than his own. The arrows were embedded within his limbs and joints. His body was on fire, tingles spread against his skin, he slowly angled himself back on the mat. His stomach and front of his body were pushed against the bedding and floor. Only leaving his backside facing upward. He was stuck. The demon heard what could be an airy chuckle, Kokushibou turned his head to face the direction of where the noise came from. Within the darkness [eye color] eyes shined and beamed back at him. Staring at him pitifully with no care or remorse. The archer was slumped in a chair near the only lamp within the room in the corner. He rested his head in his palm, his kasa hat was discarded beside the chair. His long [hair color] hair was pushed back away from his eyes and face. The beauty of his face was like a work of art, no matter how much hatred and anger Kokushibou felt in his body, the pleasure and pure anticipation he felt between his legs subdued that hatred.

“Had your fill? Or do you want to continue playing dumb and we can get this over with?” Yasumebe asked, his voice dripped in disgust and pure arousal. The look of lust and desire he basked in was addicting. Kokushibou’s mind was melting as he knew it, like his body was setting up for something it was made to do over a thousand times. He opened his mouth to speak but [Name] came and stopped him. He lowered himself to the floor to be at Kokushibou’s forced level. “Shh, upper rank, I promised you to help you regain your memory as my purposeful bitch in heat, didn’t I? I’ll fill you up so many times you can regain all your memories and never suffer from this awful case of amnesia.”

The archer grasped his jaw and moved his thumb into Kokushibou’s mouth gently. Naturally by muscle memory, rather than bite Kokushibou started to suckle and tease with his tongue on [Name’s] finger. The archer’s smirk grew widely, but he removed his finger and began removing the fabric belt keeping his hakama pants tied to his waist. Kokushibou’s mouth salivated and opened on instinct at the sight of Yasumebe’s cock, the archer was surprised he did not even need to speak to the upper rank.

Mouth ajar and tongue out Kokushibou’s mouth awaited in anticipation for [Name’s] cock to stuff it full and for his throat to abused fully. Yasumebe found humor in the way an Upper rank demon as powerful and as fearful as Kokushibou, was begging like a bitch in heat for his throat to be fucked by another demon who bested him in any way possible. He slowly entered his cock into Kokushibou’s mouth, the upper rank wrapped his tongue like a snake around the thick and large dick within his mouth. Once fully pushed all the way to the hilt, [Names’] pubic hair tickling his lower eyes and filling all his senses at once along with the pain of the poison coursing through his body, Kokushibou moaned deeply at the feeling. His throat was pushed so wide, his lungs couldn’t get enough hair in and out, the gagging sound from the back of his throat where the tip of the archer’s cock was made his throat tighten and quiver. His upper set of eyes closed out of pure bliss, the thrumming ace of pain and his own cock springing to life under his weight brought his haze-like state into pure fantasy. Was this what his mind wanted to forget so badly? His body felt so at peace being abused and used like a proper sex slave.

His only purpose was to fuck and swallow how much cum [Name] could dump into him. The archer closed his eyes out the feeling if such a warm, tight pussy-like throat. “That’s its upper rank… use your throat to milk it all out… been pent up for eons for your cunt. I’m going to stuff your throat so good…” Yasumebe was mumbling while slowly rocking his hips into Kokushibou’s throat. Kokushibou’s jaw went slack, as much as the poison and the uncomfortable position was, he slowly with as much strength as he could have, he rutted his thighs against the bedding to get some friction against his cock. The slow rocking then turned into harsh and fast ruts against Kokushibou’s throat. He gagged and tried breathing though his nose, even concentration of breath was useless with thew archer demons’ erotic pace and sounds of pleasure. Groans and curses under his breath lit a fire in Kokushibou’s soul. His tongue moved quickly while eagerly tightening his throat and focusing on the tip of Yasumebe’s cock. Sucking in his cheeks to create more force and flattening his tongue to lick up and taste up off the thick and delicious precum coming out of the tip.

“Enjoying yourself Upper Rank? Good we are only getting started…”

TO BE CONTINUED-

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ghost-proofbaby · 13 days

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too sweet (astarion ancunin x reader)

"you know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain. pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. [...] you're too sweet for me."

summary: astarion realizes you're too sweet for him, and he probably shouldn't let this go further than necessary. but, oh, he's going to. isn't he? (based on this request and the song 'too sweet' by hozier <3)

pairing: astarion ancunin x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for games regarding camp dialogue with astarion, discussion of astarion's past trauma, talks of self-loathing/disgust with sex, vague mentions & allusions to sex having been had, manipulation at it's finest! minors dni.

wc: 2k+

a/n: i just wanted to get inside this man's mind when he drops that fucking line the second time he tries to sleep with us/tav. why does his face fall like that? why?

divider by @firefly-graphics <3

As Astarion observes the rise and fall of your chest in the soft morning light, he can only think one thing: shit. He fucked up.

And he had spent most of the early hours trying to retrace his steps, trying to decipher exactly where his monumental mistake had begun, but it seemed useless.

It could have been somewhere between the first and third bottle of wine shared with you last night during festivities, where he’d sweet-talked you to the high Hells until you’d agreed to return to his bedroll in the dead of night. Where he’d made the joke that wasn’t all that funny – the joke that he loved you. Three pretty words tried out on his tongue, and they hadn’t been nearly as light-hearted as he’d wanted them to be. More of an experiment, a quick sip to see if he liked the taste. And he had fucked up, because he did like the taste. He liked the sweetness that stuck to every corner of his mouth as he delivered the sugar-coated lie to you, his entire face falling as a new weight appeared in his chest.

But perhaps it had been the first night he tasted you – well, your blood, that is. The night he’d awoken from a nightmare of Cazador and in his vulnerability, had chosen you as his victim of yet another experiment. A test to see if he was truly free. One drop of a thinking creature’s blood, that was all he needed. But you’d given more than he’d bargained for, and your cloy ichor had coated his taste buds so addictively, and he had just known that night was only the beginning. It was the first time, but certainly not the last.

He thinks he could drink in whatever you offered him, and only that, for the rest of his days while still finding some sickly, twisted version of reprieve regardless. Not a drop more than he needed, always vying for more.

He’d be okay with that type of hunger, that type of yearning, and that might have been his first real mistake.

Or maybe, just possibly, it had been that very first meeting. Maybe he had doomed himself from the moment he’d pressed a blade to your neck, when he had dragged you to the ground with him and felt all that warmth, all that fear, radiating off of you. So frightful, and you still had offered your help to him when it was all said and done. Perhaps that was when he had well and truly screwed himself over. One simple introduction, void of his usual wine and flowers, and he’d locked himself in for pure trouble.

Not even the fun kind, at that. What a shame.

At the end of the day, or rather the beginning of the day as it is now, it doesn’t matter where his threads had started to unravel. All that matters is that they were – every carefully thought out line of his plans had all frayed, all detangled from the bigger picture, all because of you.

Heart of gold, blood of honey. You were far too sweet for him, and he knew it.

“Having fun, are you?”

“I am, it’s hard not to with you.”

You’d taken each of his tactics in stride, hadn’t you? Whereas his face had nearly crumbled beneath the weight of that beautiful lie, insides twisting uncomfortable as the humor had slipped through his fingers, your eyes had only glittered as you bit back a smirk. To so lightly tease him, to banter right back with him, instead of see the truth behind it all. He didn’t know if you were simply that naive or if you were another kindred soul – Perhaps you were finding just as much safety, just as much sanctuary, in whatever dance he’d dragged you into. An entanglement of lies, a blithe facade, a daring smile that whispers come now, play with me.

And play with him, you had.

You’d played with him, you’d drank with him, and you’d now slept with him. Twice.

“You’re up early,” your voice murmurs, silken tone cutting through all his racing thoughts.

He hadn’t even noticed you had stirred, rousing yourself out from underneath his stolen blankets to peer at him curiously as he perched on the edge of the bedroll. As far from you, and as far from your sweetness, as possible.

“Oh, you know what they say, my dear,” he chirps, rolling his shoulders as the act wraps him back up. The charismatic charmer. The illusive rogue, trained impeccably to coax you in and secure his safety, “No rest for the wicked.”

He’d awoken before you last time, too. Had watched the sun rise and enjoyed the warmth of it plastering across his skin long before you’d ever woken up. He half-hopes you’ll be less talkative this time; he half-hopes you’ll try to rope him into whatever discussion you can, if only for a few extra seconds of your attention.

You were too sweet. Too sugary on his tongue, too soothing in his chest. He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary.

You hum thoughtfully, the blanket slipping and exposing more of your chest. With the light flickering in from his tent’s entrance, he can easily spot those two scarring dots along your jugular where his fangs fit perfectly, “I don’t know if I’d describe you as wicked, lover.”

“No?” Roped into discussion, it is. “How would you describe me then?”

He’s not comfortable in this lighting. He feels feverish beneath your steady stare, the way your eyes take their time as you look over every inch of him. The languid observation has him convinced you’re seeing right through him – your glance can pierce right through all his armor and expose every flaw. You see him for the monster he is, you see him for the bitter soul he’s become, you see him as the unworthy spawn he believes himself to be.

He almost swears that you even see right through his nice, simple plan at hand, not so easily fooled as he had believed you to be.

“Charming, certainly,” you suddenly sigh, sitting up and keeping your body mostly covered still with that knitted blanket. He’d only snagged it because the shade of the wool nearly matched your eyes – not that he was paying attention to your eyes, of course, “But then again, you’d have to be to have bedded me twice now, wouldn’t you?”

“We can always make it thrice,” he banters back, ignoring the bile that builds at the insinuation. But if that’s what it takes – laying on his back over and over again – to guarantee your protection, he’ll do it. He’d do it a thousand times over to keep himself as far away from Cazador’s chokehold as possible, “Does that entice you, love?”

When he turns his body fully, beginning a carefully and calculated crawl up the bed roll, ready to slot his body back between your thighs and encourage you to have his way with him, you stop him. The heel of your foot delicately presses against his chest, your head tilted curiously before you shake it.

“Who’s the eager pup now, Astarion?”

He likes the way his name drips off your tongue. Almost as if he might be made of the same sugar and spice as you, the same pure honey flowing through your veins also inhabiting his. You say it like a song, articulate it like the sweetest fruit.

He shouldn’t like it. It shouldn’t be able to overpower his lingering disgust with himself so easily.

“It’s hard not to be eager when it comes to you,” he says the line with good practice, beckoning a purr to his tone that had always won over the victims he’d entrap in dark taverns back in the city, “I said the Gods had made you just to ruin me, and I meant it.”

He’d meant it more than he’d realized. It wasn’t just your body that had been sculpted to draw him in – it was everything. Your entire aura, your entire glacé demeanor. All that innocence and all that geniality enticed him more than he could ever admit. You were certainly going to ruin him, so wholly and so entirely. You’d already started to, really.

You don’t respond at first, and he swears he has you. You’re locked in on his distraction, caught up in his web, just as he needs you to be. One lithe hand lifts to your ankle, cool fingers wrapping around your warm skin as he begins to lower his lips, ready to pepper kisses up your leg. Prepared to offer you his mouth, his body, in return for the one thing he needs. Self-loathing be damned.

Old habits die hard, right along with pride, and he’s not quite ready to bury either at your grave yet.

But just as he presses the first chaste kiss to your skin, nearly taken back by how your sweetness still breaks through the salty surface, you’re pulling the limb away from him. Your knee draws back and a disarming smile has risen on your cheeks, eyes glittering at him just as they had the night before.

“I suppose I’ll have to come find you when everyone is asleep, then.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

What exactly had he been waiting for? You, of course. But had he been waiting for you to find him solely for what had transpired? To explore your portfolios of talents once more, as he had put it? Or had it been for something more… precarious?

Was he nothing more than a prey, waiting for you to be his demise?

Had he actually been waiting for this?

The challenging look in your eyes as they reflected back stars, the warmth of your skin so close to him he nearly melts into you. The upturn of the corners of your mouth, outlining the way you certainly know something that he doesn’t. A look you wear well, a look that shakes his foundations and rattles his bones.

“As tempting as you are, I’ll have to decline. Duty calls, as they say.”

Can you see right through him?

He should be more deflated when you start going through the motions; he should be pouting or overthinking it all as he watches you gather your clothes once more, covering up the few bite marks of his that litter your skin. Every moment you prepare to leave his tent should be one spent overthinking where he’d gone wrong – why didn’t you want him? Was his plan even going to work?

Were you truly too sweet for him? Would he have been better off trying to romance the likes of Gale for the safety just shy of his grasp now?

He doesn’t, though. For once, his mind is quiet as he watches you patter about. The bile retreats, the disgust fades. For the first time in a very long time, Astarion is leaving this interaction not feeling used.

Maybe it’s in the way you cheekily snatch one of his shirts as you both pretend he doesn’t notice it, or maybe it’s in the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair as you pass him to pick back up your discarded weapon. Maybe it’s in every shy glance you offer him, or maybe it’s in your ever present grin.

Watching you leave should worry him, but it only feels like a breath of fresh air. A wind that comes sweeping in with the promise of next time just as you pull back the flap to his tent.

And he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting patiently for you to turn back to him until you do just this, offering him one final glance that sets him aflame, “Oh, and before I forget – you can feed on me tonight, if you need to.”

Heart of gold, blood of honey. He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll see your delicious self tonight,” he takes a pause, one big and unnecessary breath filling his chest alongside that warmth you bring to him. The fearless leader, the kindest soul. His most apt nickname for you yet falls off his lips in a content sigh, “My sweet.”

He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary.

But he’s going to. Gods, he is going to.

After all, the sweetest fruits always fall from the most forbidden branches, do they not?

#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 #god i fucking love this song #idk why i really like the heart of gold blood of honey line #when i wrote it it really scratched an itch in my brain? it's probably stupid #no taglist except for reblogging on my makeshift tagging blog because i still have been too lazy to add astarion to the options #womp womp

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