Letseattrash

A single, heavy sigh left your lips. He had practically broken you, leaving only a shell of your former self.

You used to be strong until the night you met him, now you were nothing. Driven by cowardice, watching your comrades drop like flies. Their blood stained the foliage, stealing your reaction time as one's splattered across your face. Not a drop of your own had yet been shed.

The male members of your group had been dismembered at your feet, while you were left untouched. You felt like a lamb that had stumbled into a slaughterhouse, only to be tormented with time.

But your death never came. Instead, the imposing demon shattered your sword before you could complete a blink. Sheathing his own sword before you could react to the horror unfolding before you.

You wanted nothing more than to flee. The demon standing before you was Upper One, so surely the corps would understand your lack of bravery in the heat of the moment. It was a death sentence to fight him alone. Everyone knew that.

Yet, you couldn't move. Your feet remained planted in place. Blood from the fallen soaked into the fibers of your sock. Body frozen from shock.

The demon had spoken slowly, deliberately choosing his words, “Despite your attire, you are quite capable; impeccable form. It would be a shame for your talent to go to waste.”

Six eyes stared at your revealing attire, judging your immodest wear. He made no attempt to hide his disdain, even though your uniform allowed him better access to examine your body.

As you snapped someone back into action, you tugged on your skirt, lowering it. But that only gave a better outline of your silhouette.

He bit his lip, holding in satisfaction, “Excellent hips. Good for breeding.”

“Breeding..?” You repeated slowly, feeling your tongue go numb as you pieced together a terrifying puzzle.

While to your knowledge, demons couldn't procreate, but technically you had no proof to back this claim. Rumors floated among the corps like fables, but it was never substantiated…

Until now.

“I will give you a choice: you will become my vessel — my wife — or you can join the others.”

You never did answer the question — remaining too stiff from fear — so he chose for you. Taking you violently on the forest floor, finally spilling your blood. Abducting you from your post, leaving behind only the deceased and a rumor invented by the Kakushi about the torn shreds from your skirt.

A taunt.

He knew very well what the corps thought of those who laid with demons. Consenting and the raped alike were viewed as mentally broken, and thus mercy killed. Exceptions existed, but those were far and few between. Most who endured this form of wrath never did seem to completely recover from the intensity of their trauma.

Typically, rehabilitation attempts all ended the same, with the insect hashira gently taking their life. She had a special toxin just for this occasion, honoring the quarry with a swift, painless death. It was murder encased in the veneer of duty.

You once viewed it as compassion, but now you weren't so sure.

He still had yet to reveal himself, so you rubbed the swell of your stomach in silence. Awakening light footsteps under your touch. For a moment, you could pretend this was normal, not day one hundred and eighty-six of captivity.

Twins boys — at least that's what Kokushibo told you many weeks prior when he initially spotted them in your womb. For once, his aloof tone faded into a whisper, hijacked by his pride. Not only had he done the impossible by impregnating you, he had done so on his first try.

Quickly you came to understand that Kokushibo took a bride only as orders. Tasked with impregnating a human woman to create some sort of hybrid child. Offspring Kibutsuji could experiment on to gain immunity to the sun. To your husband, you were nothing more than collateral damage; a womb for rent.

Maybe that wasn't fair. You did more than simply carry his spawn. You kept the few rooms you were permitted to safely meander, tidy.

Home making — if you could call it that — was what ate most of your time. Not only did you have to worry about Kokushibo's insane standards, you had to concern yourself with a female demon that entrapped you in her blood demon art. And neither were afraid to strike you if they found an ounce of insolence lingering in your bones.

It was difficult to gauge whether or not Kokushibo viewed you as a wife or a pet. Being held hostage read to you that it was likely the latter, but on occasion, kindness slipped through the cracks. Rare and fleeting, but still kindness nonetheless.

One day, he had returned with blood of a fellow demon splattered across his chin. He could easily absorb it, but instead, he kept it. Not admitting that he wanted to feel your gentle caress as you washed away the stains of insolence. Craving the way your knuckles grazed his skin, but refusing to beg for it like a pathetic shill.

“You two certainly are active.” A faint glimpse of a grin rose to your face, feeling those rough flutters pound into your abdomen. Thankfully your placenta was anterior to cushion the blow; another observation your so called husband made, “I should feed you.”

Eating itself was ruined for you overtime thanks to Kokushibo. He brought in every morsel, and from the moment he declared you pregnant, he expected you to eat raw meat. Quickly he “conceded” into allowing you to eat rare meat, but the texture was always off.

For your sanity, you told yourself it was pork.

For your submission, he always hung the threat of feeding you your former comrades over your head. Threatening only once to serve you the head of your former mentor when you had mentioned being the tsuguko of the water hashira.

Jealously wept from his pores that evening, so for the first time, you made the decision to proposition him. Allowing him the illusion of your affections, feeding his ego with the deadliest weapon: femininity.

However, the blood he forced you to consume however was not something you could be tricked with. Nor was it negotiable. You knew very well that it was drained from human remains — likely other slayers if you had slipped up the previous day. Bodies were desecrated, revolting your stomach, but you drank it anyway for the sake of your sons.

Every time you clung to their father's side was for them. Lowering Kokushibo's guard little by little in a vanity project attempt to give them a softer father.

Every touch.

Every kiss.

Every…

There was an intentional creak in the floor. He was finally revealing himself.

By reflex, you bowed with the respect of a Sengoku Era bride, “Hello, my lord. Welcome home.”

You had quickly come to learn that he was a man of tradition, of discipline. Whereas other demons you had met were rather animalistic, he was poised and refined. You had only questioned this only once, only to be informed your preconceived notions were naive.

While a lot of inferior demons were rather primitive in nature, those with more of that man's blood could be rather civilized. Kokushibo was no exception to this rule, he was living elegance, and he expected the same from you once your fertility vanished.

When he first mentioned turning you, death seemed so appealing. Now, it is becoming difficult to imagine a life without him. Your head was a fuzzy war zone, but deep down, you knew your demise was more honorable than your life.

Not to mention: what would become of your children should you choose death?

“Hello, wife.” He wasn't necessarily cold towards you, but he was detached. Until it was time to bed you… “How are my sons?” His nose crinkled on the word “sons”. Outdated wives tales that birthing multiples was bad luck fresh in his brain. Silently crestfallen, only reconciling in the fact that at least he hadn't fathered a daughter.

“They're okay.” You forcefully swallowed, struggling as your throat grew tight, “A lot of kicking though.” Inhaling sharply, you forced undeserved grace onto him, “Would you like to feel?”

Silently, a large palm laid flat on your bump. Countless times he had seen his sons nestled safely in your womb, but this was the first time you had prompted him to feel them. While your muscles tensed, giving away your unease, a faint grin tugged at his lips. This soft exchange was progress, and for that he was thankful.

Fatherhood was only a distant memory now; he couldn't even remember the faces his children wore. The memory of their names also evaded him, serving as a reminder to not squander his second chance at life. True guilt was ever fleeting, naturally he couldn't remember when it had been so long.

So why could he so easily recall him…

“That's your Papa.” The singsong lift in your voice cracked. You wanted to cry, but couldn't. Not here.

Papa. It had been so long since someone referred to him so casually. It almost felt nice.

His eyes were fixated on your stomach, gazing through it to watch your children. Breath nearly catching, watching as one of his sons reached out for his twin, fumbling in the amniotic fluid. But even with his poor motor skills, eventually he grabbed onto what he was reaching for: his twin brother's hand.

“They stopped kicking,” You whispered as if he didn't already know. Exhaling in relief, regaining moderate control over your own body, “They must've fallen back asleep.”

They were beginning to doze off, but Kokushibo knew better, “They've simply found peace holding each other.”

“How sweet,” You smiled down on your bump none the wiser. Placing both of your hands over his, finally adjusted to his presence for the day, “They're already best friends.”

Despite the horrific circumstances, they were your children, and for better or worse you had bonded. The story of their conception was anything but romantic with their father violently raping their mother on the forest floor, but regardless you were forever bound to that man in a contract signed in blood.

Upon recognizing your pregnancy, Kokushibo banned anything that could possibly be an abortifact. Confiscating certain medicinal herbs he had given you and monitoring you constantly to ensure you did not terminate your pregnancy through violent measures.

He only eased up after telling you about Gyokko's pet's horrific miscarriage. Her body hadn't expelled the entirety of that cursed child, resulting in sepsis, and eventually, her death. This frightened you, but satisfied his need to control you. Fear worked wonders.

Plus, he secretly enjoyed the way you subconsciously clung to him upon hearing this. Your strength was what initially attracted him to you, but your increasing codependency with him was so much sweeter. He had a taste of heaven and couldn't let go.

“Pregnancy suits you.” Gathering words had never been something Kokushibo excelled at. But looking at the glow radiating so beautifully from your face did things to his dead heart that he couldn't explain, “After your postpartum impurities fade, we shall have another.”

“Another one?” You squeaked.

That sounded like a threat.

No. It was a threat.

“Yes,” He gingerly grabbed you by your waist — aware of his own strength — pulling you closer. You could smell the carnage lingering on his clothes; the death, “You will take whatever I choose to give you. It is the natural order.”

For a moment you wanted to fight. For a moment you had a flicker of light grace your eyes. Your former flame.

But instead you whispered softly, “Yes my lord.”

Intimacy with Kokushibo was calculated; domineering and humiliating sure, but he also carefully read your body. When he sensed uncertainty from you, he'd lessen his brutality. You couldn't be too sure if this was for your sake or for the babies. It didn't matter, you were thankful nonetheless.

Whenever your body betrayed you, his thrusts became heavier, deeper. Claiming you in every sense of the means, turning it into a dainty project. Every moan was a carefully plucked note, stroking his fragile ego.

Finding pleasure laying with Kokushibo still remained a struggle. He had yet to completely shatter your resolve, leaving the shared intimacy hollow. You'd retreat into your mind, trying to make sense of what was happening to you. Making any attempt to lessen the pain.

Eventually, you would find your thoughts drifting to the water hashira, Giyuu Tomioka, instead. He was your mentor, and in all honestly, you viewed him as more of a brother figure, but given the circumstances, you made due. Closing your eyes and picturing Giyuu sweaty and on top of you instead, rather than the abomination that called himself your husband.

But whenever you opened your eyes you were sent back to that first night in the woods. In that moment, your body went rigid, and you were no longer on a futon, but the cold, hard ground. You could still feel the twig that scraped your back with every violent rock of his body against yours.

Pebbles plunged into your skin, your back forcefully pinned to the ground, embedding smooth and jagged designs along your spine. Dirt and leaves clung to your disheveled hair, mixing with your sheer sweat. Your scalp was aflame and itchy but he had your wrists pinned to your sides.

While your fingers remained at your side they flexed, remembering how it felt to weakly claw at his palms in protest. Your naked body remembered the way the uniform you once wore with pride was violated.

How you were violated.

But deep down you knew this wasn't like that first night; it couldn't be. Kokushibo had a small bump to be cautious of, and your will to fight had long since grown weary. Laying back and taking it was all you could do. He was upper moon one, even if you weren't weakened by the strain of pregnancy, fighting was futile.

Every time he bedded you, your body betrayed you eventually. After the initial dry shove of his fat cock, your body would adapt by having you grow wet for him. Over time, your walls had grown used to quickly adapting to his intruding appendage; memorizing it as it belonged to the only man you had ever known.

The only man you would ever know.

When fantasy failed you, you resorted to fawning. Kokushibo would never admit it, but his ego yearned for you to desire him back. His cock throbbing inside you whenever your clammy palms to the muscular biceps that kept you caged beneath him. Squeezing strong sinew as though you didn't want him to stop. Feeling guilt twinged in your stomach whenever you felt a sliver of physical attraction towards him.

Bile burned the back of your throat. He was the enemy, and yet, overtime, some subjective attraction had blossomed. You had only met with the wife of Kokushibo's direct subordinate, Douma, once. She compared your marriage to that of a lotus, telling you to find the beauty within muddy waters.

She was completely brainwashed; you knew this. Sometimes you found yourself wanting to listen to her blissful yapping. She was caged too, and yet, somehow she had found freedom within.

She didn't know what you did though. She had yet to see the slaughter. The terror. But you sheltered her, it was better this way. She was happy, and you refused to take that away from the foolish woman.

“You look so pretty when you take me,” he grumbled into your ear, captivated by your enticing mewls and flushed face.

His eyes never left yours, enveloping you on gold whenever your lashes fluttered open. If he hadn't murdered hundreds, if not thousands, perhaps this moment would've been sweet. You could almost pretend you were lovers, not captive and capture.

Sometimes, you found yourself wondering what Kokushibo had looked like as a human. Even with the additional eyes, he was traditionally handsome, so surely the same had to ring true without them. Were they also golden back then? Similar to his current six, save for the red sclera? Maybe they were more amber? It was difficult to say, and you couldn't exactly ask.

There was a single time you questioned who he once was a few weeks into captivity. Far too quickly had you realized what a mistake that was. Asking the simple question of, “How did you learn moon breathing?”

In that moment, the nerves in his hand tensed as though he would strike you, but he expressed restraint. Instead, the corners of his lips curved upwards with something akin to bemusement and his hand relaxed. So instead of beating you, he gave a vague answer and warned you to never waste your breath on such a foolish question again.

You needed to save your energy, after all, you were with child.

“T-thank you, my lord.” He had beaten Sengoku Era etiquette into you, refusing to give in to modernity, “You feel so good.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, taking pride in your moans. Yielding the upper hand in experience and skills, utilizing them to their full advantage. Intentionally fucking your sweet spot ever since the initial time he bedded you. Reading your body's cues with accuracy you could not comprehend. Calculating how to maximize your pleasure with each intentional thrust.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the intense gaze of his upper eyes; the middle set were now greedily fixated on the bounce of your breasts. His bottom lip grazed against his fangs as beads of milky white colostrum formed at your nipples. With each piston of his hips your diaphragm would raise and more pearls would form; a testament to your fertility.

Every time he caught a mere glimpse of your bump, Kokushibo knew he was right to pick a slayer for a bride. Stripping you of your rank, and branding you with violent love bites into the elevated position of the wife of an upper rank had been glorious. Far superior to accepting one of Douma's simple minded cult followers when offered his pick of the litter. And certainly better than when Daki offered a beautiful courtesan, not yet aware that the girl was infected with syphilis.

His lips brushed against your throat, teeth scraping against the delicate skin, “You are a golden ray of light that somehow found the dark side of the moon.”

The rhythm of your heartbeat became irregular, taken aback by his perplexing declaration of affection. He was from a time where men weren't expected to love their wives, only produce heirs. That scenario had been replicated once more but under far more dire conditions, yet he extended the occasional warm slip of his tongue. Intentional, but sweet.

Before the wilted roots — forcefully planted in weak soil — could flourish in your heart, his fangs slowly sunk into your scarred throat. Accustomed to this custom, only a small, whiney mewl tore from your vocal chords. Pussy clamping down hard on his cock, body beginning to betray you.

The tip of his tongue dragged over your hot skin, making your back arch, sending jolts down your spine. He shuddered in delight claiming once more, drinking in your metallic essence with control rather than completely giving into his animalistic urges. Your blood was divine, but he refused to actually hurt you. Physical punishments were strictly forbidden by Muzan while you were in this state, set to resume once your body was purified during postpartum — not that Kokushibo considered this a punishment.

In his head, you were nothing more than the spoils of war; something to be claimed. Considering you lucky that he kindly took you in as a war bride rather than a casualty. Giving you purpose through the dark.

“My… my lord,” You squeaked, struggling as you feebly tried to push against his chest, “Too… it's too much.”

The bulbous tip of his cock grinded into your cervix; an empty threat that he would tear the delicate tissue should your protests persist. He relinquished his predatory grip on your throat, grunting in your ear, “You will take what you are given.”

No matter how many times you tried to pretend this wasn't happening, that it wasn't real, that he was someone else, the delusion came crashing down. Rivers streamed down your burning cheeks, leaking from the pools within your tear ducts. He always found a way to remind you that you were prey. You were his toy, and he was careful not to break you.

Telling you to have humility for how graciously he served you, that most husbands from his time didn't care for their wife's needs. That beautiful, demure women were to serve their man, that men preferred opportunity, not equality.

Once he had told you what happened to disobedient wives — or rather pets. That's what they really were. Kokushibo was a lot of things, but he was not a liar, so you believed it when he told you that upper moon four had dismembered their previous toy. She couldn't fight back without limbs, nor did you need them to birth heirs. So your body went limp, hands loose at your side save for your thumb and index finger rubbing together as you lost your spirit.