Escape the reality @viridxs - Tumblr Blog

I got multiple asks about how the demons would be with darling in a sexual sense, especially about when I mentioned Muzan using aphrodisiac on reader. So let's dive into it.

Yan!Upper three x Foreign!Female!Reader x Yan!Muzan

Foreign!Reader masterlist

Warning(s): heavy dubcon, use of aphrodisiac, drinking alcohol, heavy NSFW, AFAB!reader, fivesome, BDSM elements, power imbalance, sexual teasing/edging, oral F!receiving, oral M!receiving, penetration, masturbation, strong language, bodily fluids, overstimulation, exhaustion, a bit of cannibalism if you squint, reader is going through it, Douma >:(

WC: 5.5K

18+

A/N: Sorry if the chess moves are not realistic, I don't know anything about it and asked google for help.

What Goes Up Has To Come Down

"Okay, but why me?" you asked before you could even think it through.

To be fair, you weren’t really thinking anything through at the moment.

Somewhere between your third glass of red wine and the outfit change—from the delicate kimono Kokushibo had given you to Akaza’s loose pants and one of Dōma’s shirts—you’d stopped filtering your words at all.

For once, the Infinity Castle was quiet. No shifting walls, no sudden rearranging of rooms and windows—just the gentle drift of a carpeted platform through a sea of a thousand glittering lights, blurring into stars with how foggy your vision had become.

Your alcohol tolerance wasn’t high to begin with, and Muzan rarely allowed you to drink unless it was for a special occasion.

Aside from the rare offerings at Dōma’s cult—gifts from his followers to honor “the God-given woman”—you usually drank only once or twice a month.

So when Muzan suddenly offered you a glass of specially brewed red wine, you were far too miserable to question it. You’d learned long ago that asking the wrong questions only led to privileges being stripped away. So you nodded right away, taking the dark liquid with an eager smile.

For whatever reason, he let you drink something worth more than your ribs—and the taste, along with the slow buzz, was worth it.

You’d forgotten how hazy alcohol could make your mind feel, though.

"What do you mean, 'why you'?" Akaza asked, sliding his pawn to e4.

The wine sloshed inside the crystal glass as you took another sip, trying to clear your head enough to think of both an answer and a counter move.

The glass rested delicately between your pointer and ring finger while your other hand pressed a knuckle against your lips.

"Y’know—why am I here?" You mirrored his move with a pawn to e5.

Akaza finally looked up from the board, staring straight at you. You tilted your head back at him.

You hated that stare of his—the one he gave you whenever he thought you were being dumb. The slight tilt of his head, the raised brow, those eyes practically shouting at you.

"Because we like you, my flower! You know that." Dōma chirped, fanning his cheek as he leaned in from the cushion beside you.

You huffed, straightening your back. You’d been sitting crisscross on the floor, hunched over the chessboard like a child.

"Yeah, I know that. But why do you like me? You’ve all lived for hundreds of years without ever doing this with anyone else."

You took another sip, savoring the sweet taste as it slid across your tongue.

Akaza shrugged before sliding his rook all the way down the file, the piece landing with a solid thunk.

"You're different," he said flatly.

You groaned.

"Different how?!" You whined, throwing your arms up. The wine nearly sloshed over the rim of your glass before Kokushibo plucked it neatly from your hands.

He’d been sitting beside you this whole time, watching as you lost—and lost, and lost again—to Akaza.

In your defense, you’d only just learned to play when you entered the castle. Akaza had years of practice on you.

Kokushibo returned the glass once you lowered your arms, though his glare lingered.

"That’s for us to know," he said, voice calm and low.

You threw your head back with a noise of pure frustration, then forced your attention back to the board. Brow furrowed, lip jutting out, one hand propping up your cheek while the other brought the only good thing here—your drink—back to your lips.

"Fine, fine, fine. Stay mysterious, or whatever," you muttered, fanning yourself as the heat built under your skin—probably from frustration.

The haze from the wine wasn’t helping. All the pawns were starting to blur together as your vision began to spin.

Maybe you should quit after this glass.

Kokushibo leaned down, whispering in your ear.

You grinned, sliding your queen to h7.

Akaza shot you a long, unamused look.

"Cheater," he muttered, tipping his king over.

A giddy laugh slipped out of you as you tipped back the last gulp of wine—a victory shot.

Kokushibo took the empty glass from your hand just as you started clapping, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Finally, I beat you," you cheered, lobbing your king at Akaza with sloppy aim. He caught it effortlessly and tossed it right back.

You didn’t catch it. The piece thunked against your forehead instead. You blamed the alcohol to save whatever shred of dignity you had left.

With a dramatic groan, you flopped onto your back, sprawling across the carpet as the flickering lights above swam in your vision.

It would have been beautiful—if it weren’t your cage.

You tugged at your shirt, skin clammy and sticking to the fabric. Did alcohol always make you sweat this much?

One hand pressed against your cheek—it was burning hot.

Your fingers fidgeted, your feet wiggled, and a restless energy crept through your body.

Out of the corner of your eye, you registered Akaza packing up the pieces while Kokushibo’s knee nudged lightly against your side.

A shiver ran through you at the touch, heat spreading deeper.

God, you’d definitely had too much to drink.

Tilting your head back against the floor, you caught sight of Muzan scribbling in his notebook, entirely unfazed by anything happening in the room.

Dōma shuffled closer, flopping onto his back with a soft oof.

You felt his rainbow-colored eyes flick from you to the ceiling, then back to you again.

"What," you hissed, tilting your head to glare at him with a dead-eyed stare.

He only grinned wider, fangs glinting as he edged just a little closer.

You’d grown used to Dōma’s antics by now—enough to recognize which flash of teeth meant what.

And this one was mischievous. You hated those.

Dōma shrugged.

"Nothing. Just wondering if you want another glass?" His cold palm brushed against your cheek, tracing idle patterns across your skin.

Your eyes fluttered shut, heart kicking up at the refreshing chill of his touch.

The realization hit, sharp and sudden—you inhaled too quickly and shot upright again.

"No—no thanks. I think I’m going to bed soon," you forced out, pressing your hands to your head as the discomfort clawed deeper. The heat wouldn’t relent. Your heart thudded uncomfortably in your chest, your head pounded, your limbs restless. It was smarter not to stay up much longer.

Dōma reached for you again, but you jerked away from his touch.

"Hmmm, okay. Probably for the best—your words are slurring, and your accent’s getting heavier," he cooed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You squirmed under the gesture.

"I didn’t even notice," you muttered, clicking your tongue as if that could somehow reset your slipping Japanese.

Kokushibo gave a small nod. "If I’m honest, I have barely understood a word you’ve said for the last fifteen minutes."

You pulled a sour face at him.

"Then why are you letting me keep drinking? You know I hate it when you can’t understand me."

You didn’t even know why you felt so frustrated—alcohol had never made you feel like this before.

There was no answer to your question.

You sighed, waving your hand weakly as your body grew unbearably hot. Your breaths came shallow, legs shifting restlessly to ease the uncomfortable pressure pooling low in your belly.

You hadn’t eaten enough before drinking.

Maybe that was why the effects hit so hard, so fast.

Dōma offered you his fan, but you declined with a small shake of your head.

That was when you noticed—all of them were looking at you. Not with their usual I’m just admiring you kind of gaze, but with something sharper. Intent. Expectation.

Akaza leaned forward slightly. Dōma bit his lip. And Kokushibo… you were almost certain he hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

You shifted again, desperate to relieve the burning, stingy sensation twisting in your abdomen.

"Shouldn’t you all be out on missions or something? Your staring is bothering me." Your sentence broke apart with a soft pant, and you tugged at your shirt to stir even the slightest breeze against your flaming skin.

Akaza’s eyes flicked nervously across the room. Dōma snorted lightly. Kokushibo only stared, as though he were waiting for a cocoon to split open and reveal a butterfly.

You groaned, shifting your thighs to create the smallest bit of relieving friction before turning toward Muzan.

"Muzan… what is going on here?"

The demon king didn’t lift his eyes from his notes. He ignored you completely.

You pressed a hand to your forehead and shut your eyes tight.

The haze thickened, blotting out thought until all you could feel was the fire spreading beneath your skin, your heart hammering faster and faster.

"Never mind—I’m going to bed," you muttered.

You pushed yourself up, but your legs wobbled. The room spun, your head too heavy, thighs trembling under you.

Before you could fall, Kokushibo caught you, suddenly towering from behind.

His hands settled on your sides, and you whimpered at the contact—the sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alive, screaming.

It felt like your body registered even the faintest touch a hundredfold.

"I got it, thanks," you rasped, but your feet wouldn’t move. His fingers had already branded a path down to your hips, burning trails into your skin.

"You don’t look so well, darling."

Dōma’s voice chimed in your ears, and you jolted when his cool palm pressed to your forehead. His colorful eyes broke through the blur of your vision, narrowed in exaggerated pity.

He pouted.

"Seems like our little lady is burning up," he sang, then straightened, his face slipping out of sight.

You dropped your gaze, breaths coming heavy, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

All you could think about were Kokushibo’s steady hands on your hips—and Dōma’s suffocatingly close presence.

The fire in your belly only burned hotter.

"I—" you swallowed, "I feel sick."

A groan slipped from your throat when Akaza came to your side, his hand brushing against your cheek with delicious, cooling relief.

Your head instinctively followed as he pulled back, desperate to chase that fleeting comfort.

"Maybe it was the wine. You guys should’ve stopped me from drinking so much," you whispered, voice ragged and thin. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the fire crawling under your skin, writhing toward your belly like insects.

Akaza hummed softly, allowing you to press your head back into his hand in search of something cold, something grounding.

But your breaths came faster now, shallow and uneven. You couldn’t understand why—why the fog in your brain thickened instead of lifting, why you leaned into their touch, why your body responded this way.

This wasn’t alcohol. It couldn’t be.

Had you caught some kind of illness?

The faint snap of a notebook closing made your eyes flicker open. Muzan was standing now, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps.

His icy crimson gaze swept over your flushed face.

He raised one clawed hand, tracing lightly along the curve of your cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut at the touch, nerves sparking wildly, screaming for more.

And before you could stop yourself, a breathy moan slipped past your lips.

If the rational part of your brain were still intact, you’d probably feel embarrassed at the sound you’d just made—or at least wonder how his touch could draw such a noise from you.

"Do you want me to help?" Muzan cooed, his fingers drifting toward the neckline of your oversized shirt, teasing along the hem.

You bit your lip as another whimper slipped free, his voice mixing with his touch to send a flood of heat crashing low through your body.

"Darling, do you want me to take this feeling away?" he asked again, firmer this time, his tone sharpening when you didn’t—couldn’t—answer him at first.

A ragged breath escaped you as you finally nodded.

"Y-yes… please…" Your voice broke into a low whine when Kokushibo lifted your shirt just enough to rub slow circles into your hips with his thumbs.

Why did everything ache so much? Why was their touch the only thing that soothed it?

For a flicker of a moment, your mind managed to claw its way through the haze, catching on the absurdity of it all.

Was this really happening because you’d had a bit too much to drink? You weren’t sober, sure—but you weren’t drunk, not like this.

So why? Why, why, why—

"Ah—" your thoughts shattered when Kokushibo pressed closer against your back, his lips testing, tracing a slow path from your earlobe down the line of your neck.

You shivered, tilting your head instinctively, as though baring your throat might quiet the nerves screaming for more.

"’Shibo," you slurred, the name breaking apart under your tongue. His kisses were overwhelming, so much that you couldn’t even manage to say his name properly.

Normally, you would never have let him this close.

But this—

This felt too good.

You were already lost in the way his mouth mapped your jawline, so distracted you barely registered Dōma sliding his icy palms beneath your shirt.

You yelped when his nails dragged under the swell of your breasts, tracing their outline with deliberate cruelty.

"Look at you," he purred, his voice suddenly at your ear, breath brushing your cheek. "We’re going to make all the pain go away, flower."

Then he kissed you—softer than he ever had before.

"Promise," he whispered against your lips, before seizing your mouth again, rougher this time.

You whimpered, your brain short-circuiting as dopamine flooded your system like a drug you couldn’t get enough of.

You panted and whined with every insistent press of his mouth. He didn’t even need to coax your tongue—he was already inside, taking, devouring.

Dōma’s mouth wasn’t only good for talking, you realized, as the need for more of him became unbearable.

You would do anything to put out the fire consuming you.

Your vision blurred, your nerves tangled, but you still felt Akaza’s hands charting your body—soft, reverent, tracing the places the others hadn’t already claimed.

"You want us to get rid of the feeling here, yeah?" Akaza hummed, pressing his palm to your lower stomach before sliding it downward. His hand slipped past your waistband, cupping your sex.

Your senses erupted, your body moving on its own, desperate for friction. Even the smallest touch made you feel ten times better.

You tried to answer him, but all that escaped was a pitiful moan, swallowed instantly by Dōma’s eager mouth.

You didn’t even know what you were doing anymore—you only knew that whatever they were doing felt good.

It didn’t feel right.

But that thought scattered the moment Akaza tugged at your panties. You sagged back against Kokushibo like he was the only thing holding you upright, hands clutching at Dōma’s shoulders while Akaza worked his fingers through your folds.

"Oh my—you're soaked," Akaza breathed.

You groaned in reply, thighs quivering, your abdomen blazing with want.

Dōma chuckled, pulling away from your lips. You let out a weak protest at the loss, ignored instantly.

"She ought to be, with the amount she took."

The fog in your head was thick—too thick—but that sentence cut through it.

"W-what—" you fumbled, the word breaking apart as Akaza gave your clit one experimental rub. A moan nearly slipped free.

Dōma’s fingers traced along your chin before catching it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Nothing, love. Let me taste you again."

And just like that, you were plunged back into the consuming heat of Dōma’s mouth dominating yours.

Meanwhile, Kokushibo bit at your skin like a starving man, his broad hands roaming up and down your sides.

The bulge straining in his pants didn’t go unnoticed by your overstimulated senses as it ground subtly against your backside.

You couldn’t even keep track of the noises spilling from your throat when Akaza slid one finger into your dripping cunt with ease, testing the shape of you before pumping slowly.

His eyes never left your face, drinking in every twitch and flicker of expression.

The burn only intensified, and you whined desperately for more, practically begging for another finger.

Akaza let out a surprised laugh before sliding a second one in, teasing you with the stretch.

You gasped into Dōma’s mouth as he pinched and circled your nipples, drawing another whimper from you.

Then Akaza curled his fingers against that perfect spot inside, and a high-pitched moan tore free of your throat at the overwhelming bliss.

If Kokushibo stepped back now, you were sure you’d crumble to the floor—you leaned against him so heavily, his body the only anchor holding you upright.

It was all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. The fire crawling across your flesh only raged hotter, refusing to be extinguished.

Your lungs burned too, begging for air, but Dōma was merciless, pulling your tongue into his mouth, refusing to let you go. Weakly, you dug your nails into his shoulders, clinging for breath.

He growled at your resistance, tugging at your bottom lip before letting it go.

"Sorry, baby. Forgot you’re weak."

His tone wasn’t playful anymore—ragged, deep, hungry—and you whimpered under it.

Behind you, Kokushibo tugged your pants downward, his arousal pressing harder against your lower back.

"Let me help," Akaza murmured, sinking to his knees.

You huffed at the sudden emptiness as his fingers slipped away, your body clenching around nothing.

"Akaza—" you bit down on your lip to stop the word from turning into a plea.

When had you ever begged for them?

"Hold on, angel. Hold on."

With one swift tug, you were bare.

The fabric pooled around your ankles, and you gasped as cold air licked over your exposed sex.

Then Akaza’s mouth was on you—devouring, relentless, like he meant to make you his three-course meal.

Your head snapped back against Kokushibo’s chest as pleasure surged, your arms sliding down Dōma’s body until they found the Upper Three himself.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as your moans echoed through the Infinity Castle.

Your legs shook violently, but the three demons kept you upright, refusing to let you fall.

The fire inside you flared higher, but with it came an even sharper craving—for more of them.

At some point—when, you couldn’t tell—Kokushibo had freed himself. You only realized when you felt the thick length of his cock dragging across the seam of your ass.

Dōma pulled back, leaving your mouth stuck in a perfect, breathless O—and Kokushibo immediately claimed it with his own.

Dōma didn’t hesitate to replace Kokushibo’s teeth on your neck with his own.

You whimpered, shaking your head in weak protest as his tongue traced the scar he’d left on you so long ago.

"Oh, just a little. Don’t be scared," Dōma cooed—then bit down, hard.

You screamed into Kokushibo’s mouth, but he didn’t let you pull away.

Dōma drank greedily, sucking and slobbering, desperate to draw every drop he could from you.

He moaned at the taste.

"If it wouldn’t kill you, I’d do this all day long," he rasped, soothing the sting and burn with a lazy swipe of his tongue.

Meanwhile, Akaza devoured you like never before. One moment his tongue plunged so deep inside you it felt like he brushed your g-spot, the next he was clamping onto your clit, circling and massaging until your thighs quivered uncontrollably.

"Are you done yet, Akaza?" Kokushibo’s voice rumbled above you, startling in its suddenness, his gaze dropping to his companion on the floor.

Akaza only hummed in response, the vibrations making you arch your back with a desperate whine.

The heat in your core was tightening, coiling, threatening to snap.

"Please, ’kaza… please… feels so good," you begged, fingers knotting tighter in his hair as frustrated tears welled in your eyes.

The fire still raged under your skin, every touch overwhelming, but it wasn’t agony anymore. Not with the way he was working you apart.

Kokushibo growled low in his throat as his deft fingers slid down to your clit.

Whatever sound escaped you was swallowed by his tongue as he doubled his efforts—impatient to have you, or maybe just jealous.

Kokushibo had always had jealousy issues.

With Akaza’s tongue and Kokushibo’s fingers working in tandem, it didn’t take long before the coil in your belly snapped. A sharp cry tore from you as your body convulsed.

Your chest heaved, shallow pants spilling out as you shook through your climax. Akaza slowed his pace, while Kokushibo drew his hand back up to your sides, steadying you.

For a moment, the fire dulled, leaving you suspended in bliss.

You collapsed fully against Kokushibo’s chest, but he didn’t even budge beneath your weight. Dōma leaned close, lapping a stray tear from your cheek.

"So pliant, so sweet. We can just do whatever we want with you, huh?" he murmured.

Half of it didn’t even register—your brain too tired, too foggy to keep up with the Japanese.

Below, Akaza licked up everything that spilled from you with an eagerness that made something in you twist uneasily. He moaned against your cunt, and you hissed at the overstimulation, pushing him away with a trembling hand.

Sweat slicked your skin. Your mind drifted between consciousness and the pull of sleep.

And then—

The fire returned. Sharp this time, like knives pricking at your lower belly.

A sob ripped from you, frustration mixing with exhaustion. You just wanted to rest.

Kokushibo eased you down onto the floor. Instinctively, you curled into yourself.

"No. Come on, darling. Open," he commanded, not asked, nudging your legs apart as he slid into place between your thighs.

You whined as the head of his cock pressed insistently at your entrance.

"I don’t—it hurts—" The words tumbled out broken, half-formed. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say, or if your brain could form a coherent sentence at all.

All you could do was feel—and hope that fire inside you would finally burn out.

Your hands clung weakly to his robes, but Kokushibō seized your wrists with ease, pinning them above your head in one hand while hoisting one of your legs high over his hip.

Then he pushed inside without warning. Not fast, but not gently either—for someone his size, it was overwhelming.

A choked moan clawed up your throat as your back arched involuntarily. Your walls clung to him, slick and desperate, pulling him deeper. The confusion made your head spin—you didn’t know if you wanted to resist or to beg for more.

Kokushibō held you steady, driving into you with unyielding control. His thrusts stayed deep, never pulling out farther than the thick ridge of his head, his balls slapping wetly against your ass with each movement.

You felt every vein, every ridge, every drag of him stretching your cunt. The fire dulled beneath the weight of overstimulation, replaced by a dizzying blur of too much sensation at once.

Your shirt rode up higher with every thrust, fabric bunching beneath you as the rough carpet scraped against your back.

A low groan rumbled from Kokushibō’s chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, then crushed his mouth against your lips.

You babbled—broken words, maybe his name, maybe nothing coherent at all.

"Here, let me help with that," Dōma’s singsong cut in from above.

His cold fingers toyed with the fabric bunched around your chest before tearing it clean apart. The shirt split open, leaving you bare, sweat-slick skin finally kissed by the cool air of the castle.

But Dōma didn’t leave. He sat down instead, lowering your head into his lap, smiling down at you as if you were nothing but a doll to be passed around.

"Kokushibō, could you please turn her for little old me?" he chimed sweetly.

You didn’t catch the words—your foggy mind could no longer keep up with the Japanese. All you heard was the relentless squelch of Kokushibō driving into you.

Then—sudden emptiness. He slid out, leaving you clenching around nothing.

Before you could make a sound of protest, Kokushibō manhandled you onto your hands and knees, and slammed back inside as though the thought of being out of you for even a second was intolerable.

Dōma hummed, sliding a hand into his robes to free his aching cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, a helpless whimper slipping past your lips.

“Shhh.” He hushed you with a smile, pressing your head forward. “C’mon, open that pretty mouth of yours. I’ve been waiting all night for you to turn into putty.”

His claws gripped your jaw, squeezing until your mouth parted. You were too far gone to resist, lips slack and trembling. Dōma took it as an invitation and slid himself into your mouth.

Your whine vibrated around him as he guided your head up and down with a rough rhythm. Tears streamed freely, salt mixing with the slick mess he was making of your lips and chin. You tried to flatten your tongue, hollow your cheeks, anything to keep up.

“Thaaaat’s it, little flower,” he moaned, shuddering at the tremors your sobs sent down his length.

Behind you, Kokushibō shifted, angling his hips to slam the thick head of his cock against that devastatingly sweet spot inside you. Each thrust rocked you forward, driving Dōma even deeper down your throat until you gagged.

As if that weren’t enough, another touch grounded you—warm, steady. Akaza caught your trembling hand, wrapped your delicate fingers around his shaft, and guided them into motion.

“You look so good, love,” he murmured, voice softer than the others, reverent even as he used your hand. “You’re doing so well for us.”

The praise blurred with the overload of sensation. Kokushibō pounded into you with ruthless precision, Dōma fucked your throat like a man drunk on the sound of your choking cries, and Akaza moaned low as he moved your weak grip along his cock.

You were unraveling, a sobbing, trembling mess. Your body clenched desperately, that unbearable fire curling tight and ready to snap.

“Through your nose, just a little longer,” Dōma coaxed, his tone sing-song despite the way he was panting. He drove your head faster, laughing lightly as your tears dripped onto his thighs.

Kokushibō’s thrusts grew more erratic, more forceful, his chest rumbling with a guttural growl. He struck your sweet spot again and again until your climax crashed through you like a tidal wave. Your moan was strangled, muffled around Dōma’s cock, but it shook through your whole body.

Kokushibō’s rhythm stuttered. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, grinding his hips forward to keep every drop from spilling. His mouth found your shoulder, your spine, biting over marks Dōma had already left as if to claim them for himself.

“This is how it should be,” he murmured against your skin, though you couldn’t make sense of the words.

Dōma groaned, shoving himself all the way down your throat, holding you there until you thought you’d choke. His release spilled hot and thick, and his laughter rang out as he watched your throat bob.

“Swallow it. Pretty please.”

You did, choking it down until he let you go, pulling back with a hiss of satisfaction.

Beside you, Akaza’s breath came ragged and low. His cock pulsed in your fist, and with a strangled growl he spilled in thick, hot ropes across your hand. “Sorry—sorry, love… you just feel so good.”

When he finally let go, your wrist dropped uselessly at your side.

Kokushibō pulled out with a satisfied grunt, leaving you trembling, sore, and leaking onto the carpet below.

Your thighs trembled, and you fell onto the carpet, boneless and exhausted, the fire still shimmering just beneath the surface.

Dōma pulled out of you with a wet plop from your lips. He held your head in his palms, forcing you to look up.

"We should do this more often." He grinned, and all you could do was shake with silent sobs escaping you.

You were on the floor now, spent and overwhelmed. Your cheek pressed against the carpet, and all you wanted was to sleep this off.

But the world wasn’t on your side tonight. Your body was flipped onto your back.

"Tired already? From them?" Muzan’s red eyes bored into yours. He was between your thighs before you could react.

You forgot he had been watching the whole thing play out in front of him, and he had done nothing. He just enjoyed you being taken by his strongest demons; waiting until he could wreck you for the last time when you were already broken in.

A cold hand slid down your stomach to the mess between your legs. You cried as his fingers brushed over the mingled juices of Kokushibō and yourself.

Your weak hands tried to push him away, but he didn’t even notice.

"I didn’t know the drug would be this strong. You didn’t scream or resist once," Muzan continued, undoing his own trousers.

Your brain was putty—but that didn’t mean unfocused.

"Drug?" you whimpered as Muzan kissed your collarbone, sucking at the flesh beneath your ear. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation.

"Looks like all this made you lose your ability to speak Japanese," he said, almost softly.

He was speaking in your tongue now. You hadn’t even noticed you could understand.

Muzan slotted himself inside you like the man he was—no hesitation, no thoughtfulness, just his needs first.

Your throat was too hoarse to make any sound other than whimpers, choked moans, and occasional sobs.

He moved inside you, filling you completely, staking his claim over the others.

"I thought I put too much at first, but it seems like it was just enough." He rocked your body like it was nothing to him—just a warm hole to lose himself in.

He kissed you, pressing your head into the carpet—a show for the others.

She’s mine.

"You fall for my trickery too easily, dear. And you want to survive in the outside world? Not a chance," he mused, laughing at the tears and drool sliding down your face, broken syllables of his name spilling from your swollen lips.

He wasn’t pounding into you like usual, making sure everyone knew you were his, and the others were just leasing you.

He was slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch of his pulsing length.

When his fingers began circling your swollen, overstimulated clit at a deliciously steady pace, you realized what he wanted: for you to come undone first. To show the others he could make you feel better than anyone who had ever had you.

"That’s it, good girl. Let them hear who’s making you feel this way."

You gasped his name in response, arching your back as the last coil of heat in your belly tightened.

"That’s right. I’m the one taking the pain away, aren’t I? And I can return it just as easily." He pinched your clit, making you jerk and cry out. "But I’m feeling merciful today—taking all of us like a good little pet."

His pace didn’t falter as you clenched around him, a hoarse cry spilling from your mouth as the coil snapped and the heat dissipated into nothing but an aching cold.

Muzan rode you through your high. His hips didn’t stutter once as you fell limply to the floor. He used your body like a ragdoll, waiting for his own release.

The only indication he was close came when he shoved his tongue into your mouth, dominating your own. He came then, burying himself fully in your aching, abused cunt.

He froze like that for a few seconds, drinking in the sight of you, his mouth devouring you as if trying to consume you wholly—but being denied.

Muzan pulled out, letting your body drop to the floor like a worthless object, there only to serve his needs before vanishing when he was done.

He never lost that regal posture, tugging himself back into his pants and straightening his blouse before returning to his notebook.

You were aching, boneless, your brain reduced to mush. Tears stained your cheeks, silent sobs still shaking your body.

Akaza picked you up, as he always did.

"I'm going to take care of you. Just rest, love," he whispered against your ear, pressing a soothing kiss to your temple.

All the effects from before melted away. You weren’t sweating, and your heart no longer thundered in your ears. The heat lingered, but it wasn’t painful anymore.

You laid your head against Akaza’s chest, closing your eyes.

Hopefully, you could beat him at chess tomorrow without Kokushibō’s help.

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