#residentevil8

Mother Miranda X F! Reader

Word Count - 1386

Summary - Youre infected by the Megamycete.

It was an innocent affection, you told yourself— though you weren’t certain you believed it.

Your hands trembled over the altar, beguiled by her avian crest, her golden gaze which followed you across the chapel.

Mother Miranda. In the midst of the early morning, her indefatigable stare seemed almost complicit.

The gilded portrait; strung together by weaves of garlic, hung straight over the table beside the four lords, none of whom held your interest.

You never had any reason to indulge the other Lords as a priestess.

You tended to the Black God, lighting her candle, beginning your prayer.

“Mamă a umbrei și a renașterii,”

The rosary collected insouciantly against the lines of your palm as you softly spoke.

“Tu care veghează peste satul nostru și cunoști”

As you continued the prayer, you felt a brief sense of unease wash over you.

Like something, or someone, was watching you.

You ignored it, pressing the rosary into your palm hard enough to split the skin- until a thin line of blood welled and slipped steadily from your hand.

“Sub aripile tale negre ne plecăm frunțile și ne lăsăm voii tale,”

The feeling only grew with every word. You turned around, only to find nothing looking back, nothing staring.

You swallowed, your throat constricting against itself. You were imagining things like you always were.

Yet this felt less like imagination and more like intrusion, a pale rot unspooling beneath your skin, betraying your body.

It began in your veins—a thick, black ichor threading through your arms before rising to your lips and seeping past their edges.

You caught the blood on your fingertips, as you retched onto the rug.

What the fuck?

You heard a gargled voice escape you. It wasn't yours. It sounded oddly like Mother Miranda's.

Then began a low thrum beneath your hollowed out lungs, throbbing and pulsing like an insistent mold.

The Megamycete. You don't know how you knew its name.

The candle beside the altar blew out, and a wooden staff hit the floor.

You looked up to see the Hag, clothes wilting over her decrepit body, hands grasping the staff,

trembling.

“Oh, I know-“

She began, running against her own words, choking on her breath as she coughed, trailing on indefinitely.

Then, something caught your attention.

“Mother Miranda will take good care of you.”

You were confused, dazed, hindered by your own imagination, at least you thought, to the woman's words.

Your hands grasped the air as you collapsed against the floor, reaching towards nothing in particular.

You hit the stone with a thud, chin chafing against the chapel stone, hands trembling as you steadied yourself onto your knees.

“Mother Miranda will make you better again.”

The Hag cackled obscenely, before turning towards the door, as you reached out, lip quivering-

“Dont leave!”

The elderly woman looked towards you, staff hitting the ground, as she continued to laugh, shutting the wooden double doors behind her.

You thought upon her words, a thin dribble of onyx blood frothing at your lips.

Your fingers caught on the substance, spreading it between themselves, as you coughed, a heap of it collecting on the rug.

Something was wrong with the Black God.

Something so obscenely wrong.

You didn’t know how you hadn't noticed it before.

You stood groggily, veins pulsing a dull grey beneath your skin.

You ran.

You don't know how long for.

You felt the wind whip past you, hair flowing in the wind, legs moving without thought.

You ran past Luizas. Past the Village Centre, past everything, past the bare trees that decorated the outskirts of the village.

You ran until you physically couldn't, falling onto the snow, collapsing into the cold.

You felt it creep up your spine in oscillating waves, that noise again; hollowing out behind your ribs, pressing against your lungs.

It became incessant, like a bleating lamb.

You clasped your hands against your ears, but you still felt it within you, within every inch of your being, every breath you took and subsequently had stolen from you.

“Leaving so soon?”

You didn't turn around. You didn't dare. The wind died as if strangled, and the air grew reverent.

“I—I have done nothing wrong,”

Your meek voice hovered over her own.

“I’ve given what was asked.”

You've devoted your life to her. You didn't understand.

You began to weep.

“Hush, now child-“

Mother Miranda's hands fell against your own.

“Why don't we bring you home?”

You didn't have any energy left to deny her. Every bone in your body pulsed with an electric want, spores scattering beneath your pores.

You were infected.

Mother Miranda infected you.

And somehow, you thought it was a gift.

-

You arrived again at the chapel.

Mother Miranda stalked behind you, hands collapsing onto your shoulder as she whispered into your ear.

“Pray for me.”

You fell against the stone, hands sweating, desperately interlocking themselves with one another, as you mumbled under your breath-

“Mamă a umbrei și a renașterii-“

She stopped you before you could finish.

“No.”

You were confused, desperation lilting your voice hoarse, as you asked why- what you had done.

“Pray for me.”

Mother Miranda continued, hand threading itself into your hair from behind.

She pulled your head to look at her.

You seemed to understand then, what she was asking, and flushed.

“Priestess, are you afraid of me?”

You nodded, as much as you could with her hand in your hair, entangling themselves in the strands.

She looked content and smiled, dropping your head back down, as she pressed a hand against your chest.

You paused, letting her free hand catch in yours, as she trailed down your abdomen.

“So good for me, aren't you?”

You murmured, and she tilted your chin to meet her lips.

“Louder, girl.”

As the Black god pressed her lips against yours, you pulled away, whispering.

“Yes.”

Her lips folded into yours, softly nipping.

You began to shake, her voice pressing against you louder now, incessantly worming its way into your head.

You couldn't shut her out.

Her hands caught at your stomach, lifting your dress.

“Accept my gift, Priestess.”

Your hands trembled as she worked her way to your breasts, fumbling neatly with the hardened flesh.

“Yes- please,”

You moaned, as her hands wandered lower down your abdomen, thrusting politely against your pelvis.

Her hands worked to your garments, pulling them down to chafe against your ankles, hands pressing against your arousal.

“Good girl.”

Mother Miranda pressed an eager finger inside you as you groaned, tilting your head back onto her shoulder.

“Fuck-“

You breathed harshly, as a hand went to your mouth.

“Shhh-“

She pressed a finger against your lips, prying them open, letting spit gather on her fingertip before letting it into your cunt.

Your hands fumbled within hers, fingers grasping at her own, as you pleaded.

“Black God-“

Another finger pressed inside you as you screamed.

Her knuckles curved, hand letting go of yours and pressing against your clit.

You moaned obscenely, her lips taking yours once again, her tongue exploring your mouth.

“Y-yes-“

You didn't know what else to say. Your limbs were jelly, soft and bruised against their sockets.

She set a slow pace, fingers folding inside you, as she trailed down your neck.

“Say my name, Priestess.”

Her bruising lips left marks upon your nape.

“Mother Miranda-“

You screamed as she entered a third finger, pressing against you insistently, soaking her skin.

“So wet for me, hm?”

She noted, as you murmured.

“Close-“

Her hands stopped suddenly, as her lips went to your ear.

“Beg me to come, Priestess.”

You fell to her shoulder, hands fumbling with the ground.

“Please, Black God, let me come-“

Her fingers entangled themselves inside you again, pressing in all the right spots, and you couldn't help the scream that let from your lips as you came.

The Black God continued to press inside you, fingers indulgently lapping against your wetness, as she drew them out and brought them to your lips.

You tasted yourself on her fingers, as she crooned her neck to meet your lips.

“Such a good girl.”

She whispered, letting her hands drop, as she spoke.

“Clean up, Priestess.”

render

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《𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘛𝘈𝘐𝘕𝘚: 𝘙𝘶𝘵𝘴, 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘌𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘦》

'tis the season... you know what that means! Lady D in the house (castle?)! 🤭✨️🥰