Prompt: Illyasviel von Einzbern had won. Her servant Berserker, Minamoto-no-Raikou had defeated Shirou and his companions. She was finally going to get her revenge. Huh? Why exactly was Shirou grabbing Berserker's breasts? And why did her servant like it? Better yet, why did Illya kind of not hate it it?
Tags: Shirou Emiya/Minamoto-no-Raikou, Illyasviel von Einzbern, lots of focus on the breasts, mind break, crack
Kind of just lazy smut by me because it sounded hot.
The crunch of frozen underbrush echoed through the stillness, punctuating the silence like a codex of the cold. Illyasviel von Einzbern, felt the chill in the air but paid it no mind. Her eyes, a vibrant shade of red, gleamed with victory as she surveyed the battlefield.
Her Berserker, the mighty Raikou, loomed over the defeated forms of Shirou Emiya and his ally, Rin Tohsaka. The always stubborn Shirou lay sprawled on the frozen ground, his amber eyes glassy and blank. He should be bleeding out any minute- the sword thrust through his gut would ensure that. His servant, the noble Saber, was motionless beside him, her once unstoppable blade now discarded and buried in the snow. Illya felt a thrill of triumph as she looked upon her brother's broken body and that of her allies, the bitterness of her long-held resentment momentarily sated.
Approaching Shirou, even her small frame loomed large, she tilted her head to the side, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Do you have any last words, Onii-chan?" she asked, her voice a blend of sweetness and malice. Her loyal Berserker stood by her side, a hand on Illya's shoulder.
Shirou's eyes flickered, a spark of defiance lighting them up. He coughed, a spray of red staining the pristine snow beneath him. "Illya... you don't have to do this." His voice was weak, his voice strained. "Kiritsigu wouldn't want-"
"Shut up!" She kicked his side and he groaned in pain. "Don't tell me what he would or wouldn't want! He's dead! He abandoned me! I don't care what he wants!"
Illya took a deep calming breath and forced a smirk across her face, she leaned down, her cold breath ghosting over his face. "But I do want this, Onii-chan. I do." She grinned down at him maliciously, as Berserker's eyes snapped to Shirou, her gaze sharp and hungry. "Finish them," she ordered, her voice a chilling whisper. "I'm cold and want to head home."
Shirou pushed himself up onto his knees, his body screaming in protest. "I won't let you kill me," he growled through gritted teeth. "I can't die yet, not before, I've saved anyone!"
Illya rolled her eyes, "Oh, please, spare me the heroics. You're in no condition to save anyone."
Shirou, driven by sheer willpower and desperation, managed to stand, his body trembling with the effort. Illya idly noted that his stomach was no longer bleeding, the long deliberately non-fatal gash that her servant had inflicted healing over in a matter of minutes. Illya scowled.
"You're as stubborn as ever," she murmured, watching him struggle.
Shirou's gaze locked with hers, determination blazing like a fire in his eyes. He took a step forward, his legs wobbling beneath him, and traced two new swords in his hands. "Cut him down, Berserker," Illya pouted. "I'm tired of this game."
But as the purple-haired Berserker lunged at him, Shirou did something unexpected. With a swift motion, he threw his swords and lunged towards Berserker with naught but his bare hands. Illya's eyes widened in shock, her breath catching in her throat as she watched the scene unfold.
Shirou's hands found purchase on the woman's obscenely large breasts, and with a snarl, he ripped her top away, exposing her to the unforgiving cold. Berserker's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she paused in her charge, stumbling backward as Shirou's fingers dug into her soft flesh.
It was a stupid gamble on Shirou's part- yet a calculated move. He had noticed during their fight that whenever he had brushed against her breasts- his arm getting bumped into them or the time he tripped and his face wound up in her chest. But, every time they were touched, her eyes widened and she shivered. Shirou knew he stood no chance in combat against the Berserker. Not when he had already been defeated once- and Saber had fallen too, despite her power. But in this? He at least had a chance if this week was anything to go by… Somehow, this was his only chance he had at victory.
The world around them seemed to slow down as Shirou's thumbs brushed against Berserker's sensitive nipples. She gasped, her pupils dilating, and a tremor rippled through her body. Her massive breasts bounced from the sudden exposure, the cold air nipping at them like a thousand tiny teeth. It was a sight that would have been comical under any other circumstance, but here, with victory already assured, it was… even more comical.
Illya watched, stunned, as the tables turned. Her invincible Berserker, the warrior who had never known defeat, had been disarmed by a mere touch. Shirou's face contorted into something feral, a stark contrast to the gentle expressions she had often seen him wear. His eyes burned with a newfound intensity, and she realized that she had never truly seen him like this before. The air grew thick with an unspoken challenge, and she felt a strange mix of fear and excitement stir within her.
Berserker's reaction was even more unexpected. Instead of the fiery retaliation Illya had anticipated, she saw a softening in the woman's eyes. The Berserker's body went slack, and she took a step back, a low moan escaping her lips. Her breasts were apparently so sensitive that this meager groping had her moaning like this. Illya couldn't look away. The sight of those breasts, now bare and exposed to the elements, was almost mesmerizing. The delicate pink tips of her nipples stood erect, a stark contrast to the pale skin surrounding them. Illya could see the way Berserker's chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, the cold air caressing her flesh.
Shirou, his grip still firm on those voluminous mounds, leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the softness of her flesh. A thrill shot through Illya as she watched the scene unfold. She felt a strange warmth between her own legs, a sensation she hadn't anticipated. Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping out loud. Berserker's eyes rolled back in her head, and she made a sound that was more animal than human. It was as if Shirou had found some secret button that could overload her circuits, reducing her to a puddle of pleasure.
Shirou's movements grew more deliberate, his thumbs rolling and teasing the sensitive tips of her breasts. Berserker's body responded in kind, arching into his touch. Her sword slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground, forgotten. The sight of this powerful warrior brought to her knees by such simple pleasure was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was like watching a lion being tamed by a mere housecat. Was her servant actually the legendary Minamoto-no-Raikou? With her fame bonus, she should have been unstoppable in Japan, but here she was coming undone at the hands of her idiot brother! Literally at his hands!
Berserker's moans grew louder, her breathing shallower, as Shirou's hands continued their relentless assault on her chest. Her eyes remained closed, lost in the sensation, and Illya couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy-anger. It was one thing to be defeated in battle, but to be brought to such a state of helplessness by someone so weak- by how pathetic Berserker was- that was another thing entirely. The girl's thoughts raced as she took in the scene before her, her cheeks burning with a mix of anger and arousal.
Shirou's fingers moved with a surprising deftness, kneading and pinching the sensitive flesh, drawing gasps and whimpers from Berserker. The servant's body swayed, the muscles in her arms tensing and relaxing as she fought to remain upright. Her legs began to wobble, and she stumbled backward, landing heavily on her heels, just barely managing to stay on her feet. The ground beneath her shook with the impact, and yet she made no move to stop Shirou's advances. If anything, she was asking for more, her massive exposed breasts bouncing with each step she took away from the battle.
Berserker's knees buckled, and she would have collapsed if not for Shirou's unyielding grip on her breasts. He held her up, his own eyes never leaving Berserker's, as if daring her to look away. Her moans grew louder, more insistent, and Illya watched, fascinated, as the color rose in her servant's cheeks. Had she just orgasmed with him only touching her tits? The girl's thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and anger. How could this be happening? How could Berserker, the mighty warrior who had never shown an ounce of weakness, be so utterly undone by such a simple act? Illya shook her head, it didn't matter what this was, she was done letting it happen.
"Get him, Berserker!" Illya ordered her servant, intent on ending this farce of a battle and her farce of a brother.
The mighty Berserker paused, her eyes fluttering open to meet Shirou's intense gaze. The pressure on her breasts grew stronger, the tension building until it was almost unbearable. And then, as if the command had pierced through the haze of pleasure clouding her mind, she leaned in, her full, pink lips brushing against Shirou's. Illya's eyes widened in disbelief as she watched the scene unfold. That was not what she meant by get him!
With a sudden burst of speed that belied the injuries he should have had, Shirou shoved Berserker backward, his hands still mauling her breasts. The woman stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her, but she made no move to resist. Instead, she moaned into his mouth, her body begging for more. Her hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, her nails digging into his skin. The sound of fabric ripping filled the air as he tore her bodysuit away, exposing her completely to the cold.
Illya's eyes went wide as she watched her servant's body react to Shirou's touch. Berserker was hundreds of times stronger than he was; she shouldn't be this vulnerable, and yet, she was. The girl's mind raced as she tried to make sense of it all. Her cheeks grew hot, a mix of anger and arousal burning within her. How could he do this to her? To Berserker? And why was she enjoying it?
Shirou's hand left Berserker's chest. He slid his fingers down the woman's flat stomach, past the swell of her hips, and into the warmth between her legs. Berserker's eyes snapped open, and she let out a guttural moan, her body instinctively pushing against his hand. Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood, but Shirou didn't flinch. Instead, he grinned, a feral expression that sent a shiver down Illya's spine. His fingers found her clit, and he began to rub it with a vigor that was almost violent. Berserker's legs trembled, and she let out a keening wail, her body arching back as if offering herself to the heavens.
Berserker's voice grew louder, her cries of ecstasy piercing the silent night. "Mommy needs more," she begged, her eyes squeezed shut as she lost herself to the sensations. "Yes, yes, like that," she panted, her hips bucking against his hand. Illya's eyes remained glued to the sight, watching as Shirou's fingers danced between her servant's legs, disappearing into the folds of her sex. The sound of the plunging of his hand into her very wet snatch echoed through the clearing, and she felt a strange, almost guilty pleasure at the thought of her powerful servant being reduced to this.
Shirou's other hand remained wrapped around one of Berserker's massive breasts, kneading and pinching it with a roughness that was surprisingly tender. Illya watched, her own breathing growing ragged as she took in the sight of her servant's body writhing under his touch. Berserker's muscles flexed and relaxed, her whole being seemingly under his control. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a whimper, her back arching sharply as an orgasm ripped through her.
The ground beneath them trembled as Berserker's body convulsed, her long purple hair fanning out around her like a dark halo. Her teeth were clenched, and Illya could see her face straining as she fought to maintain consciousness. It was as if every part of her being was focused solely on the pleasure that Shirou was giving her, and for a moment, the girl couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy- hatred. This was not the stoic warrior she knew; this was a creature of pure, unbridled desire.
With a final, guttural moan, Berserker's orgasm subsided, leaving her panting and trembling. Shirou didn't give her a moment to recover. He yanked her to the ground, the snow crunching beneath them as he flipped her onto her back. He was stronger than Illya had ever seen him, his movements swift and decisive. He didn't even bother removing his own clothing, his erection pressing against the fabric of his pants. Instead, he focused on Berserker, his eyes never leaving hers as he pushed her legs apart and bent them at the knee, placing them over his shoulders.
The girl watched, her eyes wide with shock and something else—fear, maybe?—as Shirou's unreasonably large cock slid out of his pants, standing tall and proud despite the frigid temperature. Berserker's eyes grew even wider, and she made a sound that was half-moan, half-whimper as he lined himself up with her entrance. Illya had never seen anything like this before, had never even imagined it. Her mind raced as she tried to process the scene before her: Shirou, her gentle, kind-hearted brother, dominating their powerful servant in such a primal, carnally aggressive way.
"Take me," the legendary warrior Minamoto-no-Raikou cried out. "I want to feel all of my big strong son inside of me."
The words pierced the frosty air, leaving Illya frozen in astonishment. She had never heard such a plea from the stoic Berserker before. Her mind reeled as she struggled to comprehend the scene. It was impossible to ignore the sheer power dynamic that had shifted so dramatically. Shirou, the one she had considered weak, the one she had objectively defeated just minutes ago, now had the mighty Berserker begging for his touch. And to her horror, it was a sound that resonated within her own core, a sound that sent a tremor of confusion and excitement through her.
Shirou didn't hesitate. He positioned himself between Berserker's spread legs, his large erection pointing at her scared Illya more than the sharpest of swords. With a brutal grace, he pushed inside her, his body moving in a way that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. The woman's eyes grew wide with shock and pleasure, her breath hitching as he filled her completely. The snowy ground beneath them melted where their bodies met, the heat of their passion clashing with the cold.
Berserker's moans grew louder, her whole body tensing as Shirou began to move, his hips thrusting in a rhythm that seemed to shake the very earth. Illya watched, her heart racing, as the woman's body responded to him, her breasts jiggling with each forceful push. It was a dance of power and submission, a battle of wills where only pleasure was the prize. And it was a battle that Shirou was winning, his every move calculated to wring another orgasm from the woman beneath him.
Berserker's cries grew more fervent, her hands searching the snow for something to grip, as if to hold onto reality itself. "My strong son," she murmured, her voice thick with lust. "Mother needs you to fill me up." Illya felt a strange ache in her chest at the words, a mix of anger and... something else. Something she didn't dare name. The sight of Berserker's pleasure, of her complete surrender to Shirou, was unlike anything she had ever witnessed. And yet, she couldn't look away.
Shirou's strokes grew deeper, more forceful, his muscles straining with the effort. He was relentless, his focus solely on the woman beneath him. Illya's eyes were glued to their entwined forms, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions she couldn't begin to untangle. Each time Berserker's body tensed, each time she screamed out in ecstasy, Illya felt a twinge of something that she couldn't quite identify. It was as if she were witnessing a part of herself that she had never known existed, a part that craved the same release, the same power.
The woman's body began to convulse, her legs shaking uncontrollably as another orgasm ripped through her. And yet, Shirou didn't stop. He pounded into her, his movements growing more erratic as he approached his own climax. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the clearing, a symphony of passion and dominance that seemed to echo off the trees.
Finally, with a roar that seemed to shake the very heavens, Berserker's body went rigid, and Illya watched in awe as a third orgasm was torn from her. Her eyes rolled back, and she let out a scream that was part pleasure, part agony. Her muscles clenched around Shirou's cock, and he groaned, his movements faltering for a brief moment before he regained his rhythm, his own orgasm approaching. It was a sight that was at once terrifying and exhilarating, a demonstration of power and vulnerability that Illya had never before witnessed.
The girl's own breath was ragged, her chest heaving as she tried to make sense of the scene before her. Her thoughts were a jumble of anger, confusion, and something else—desire? She couldn't deny the heat that had pooled between her legs, the way her body responded to the raw passion playing out just a few feet away. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but she couldn't look away.
How was he still going? Had her pathetic Berserker really just orgasmed a fourth time? Or was that the fifth now? Shirou's strokes grew faster, his own breathing now labored. He was close, so close, and Berserker knew it. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deeper, her voice now a constant stream of pleas and praise. "Yes, my son," she murmured, her eyes glazed over with lust. "Show me how much you love your mother." The words were like a knife to Illya's heart for some reason she couldn't explain, but she couldn't tear her gaze away.
With a grunt, Shirou pulled out, flipping Berserker onto her hands and knees before plunging back in. The woman's breasts swayed with each brutal thrust, and Shirou took full advantage, grabbing onto them and squeezing with a ferocity that made Illya's own chest ache. Berserker's cries grew more frantic, her whole body shaking as Shirou's powerful hips pistoned into her. The girl watched, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and fascination as the woman's orgasms mounted. Five, six, seven—each one more intense than the last. What kind of animal was he? Is this why Kiritsigu chose him over her?
The snow around them had turned to slush, their combined body heat creating a small bubble of warmth in the otherwise frigid air. Berserker's moans grew more desperate, her voice now a high-pitched whine as she begged for more. Shirou's grin never wavered as he complied, his hands never leaving her breasts as he continued to fuck her with a brutal, rhythmic force. Each thrust elicited a new cry from the warrior, her body rocking back and forth as if she were a ragdoll in his grip. It was a stark contrast to the calmness of Shirou's expression, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that sent shivers down Illya's spine.
Illya watched, her mind racing, as Shirou brought Berserker to yet another peak. The woman's body tensed, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. And then, with a scream that could have shattered glass, she came again. Her orgasm was a symphony of pleasure, her body a canvas for Shirou's artistry. He had overwhelmed her, broken her, and now he was building her back up, piece by piece, orgasm by orgasm. It was a dance of power and submission that Illya had never seen before, and she found herself unable to look away.
Berserker's eyes rolled back in her head, and she would have fallen if not for Shirou's tight grip on her breasts. He was holding her up by her tits, using them to control her as he pounded into her from behind. It was a display of power that made Illya's head spin—Shirou, her gentle, selfless brother, showing such dominance over a creature that was, by all rights, hundreds of times stronger than he was.
The woman's massive chest bobbed and swayed with each thrust, her back arching beautifully as she was brought to orgasm after orgasm. Shirou was conducting a symphony of pleasure with every movement of his hips. He was relentless, his focus never wavering from the task at hand. And Berserker, for all her power and prestige, was putty in his hands. She had never seen anyone dominated like this, let alone by Shirou, and especially a heroic spirit. This was not how a grail war was supposed to be fought. It was both thrilling and terrifying. Illya's hand moved between her legs without thinking.
Shirou's grunts grew louder, his breath coming in harsh pants as he approached his own climax. But he was a master of self-control, it seemed, because even as his own pleasure mounted, he never lost his rhythm, never faltered in his pursuit of Berserker's peak. The woman's cries grew more desperate, her voice rising and falling with each thrust. "My son," she moaned. "My son, I need you to give me more children! Breed me!"
Illya's cheeks flushed at the words, her hand unconsciously moving faster between her own legs. She had never felt anything like this before, never even imagined such a scene could exist. The power in Shirou's movements, the way he claimed Berserker's body—it was as if he had become something more than human. And yet, he was her onee-chan The very thought was both thrilling and repulsive, a taboo that sent shockwaves through her.
With a final, savage thrust, Shirou pushed Berserker over the edge once more. The woman's body spasmed, her orgasm so intense that Illya could feel it in the very air around them. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a keening wail that was almost inhuman in its intensity. Shirou's own release followed, a roar that echoed through the forest. The sight of him, still dressed in his battle-torn clothes, pumping his seed into the unmoving Berserker, was something Illya knew she would never forget. She wanted that.
As the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through the Berserker's body, she collapsed onto the snowy ground, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Shirou remained above her, his cock still embedded deep within her, his chest heaving with the exertion. For a moment, the only sound was the harshness of their breathing and the soft patter of the falling snow. Then, slowly, Berserker opened her eyes, looking up at Shirou with a mix of adoration and something else—something that made Illya's stomach twist.
The girl couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be in her servant's place. To feel that power, that intensity, to be the one brought to her knees by such a man. By her brother. It was a thought that was as tantalizing as it was forbidden. But as she watched Berserker's body shudder and convulse with pleasure, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Shirou's ability to bring her servant such pleasure was something she had never seen before, and she couldn't help but fantasize about what it would be like to experience that for herself.
The woman's eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at Shirou with a dazed expression. "My son," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "My son, your mother needs more of you." Shirou's grin grew wider, and Illya felt a stab of anger at the woman's words. But she also felt something else, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was as if the lines between love and lust had blurred, and she was caught in the crossfire.
With surprising agility, Berserker managed to get onto her knees despite her weakened state. Her eyes were still glazed over with pleasure, but there was a newfound determination in them. She reached out to Illya, her hand trembling slightly. "Your turn," she said, her voice hoarse from her many screams. "Come, taste your brother's strength. Come find the happiness, you've been denied, in the arms of your brother alongside your mother."
Illya's heart raced at the proposal. She had never considered such a thing, never even allowed herself to entertain the thought. But as she stared into Berserker's eyes, she felt a strange pull, a desire that she couldn't resist. With trembling legs, she took a step forward, unsure of what she was doing but driven by a primal need to know what it felt like to be under Shirou's power.
Shirou watched her approach, his expression unreadable. "Are you sure you want this?"
Illya nodded. "I do brother," she whispered. The intensity in her chest was overwhelming, a storm of emotions she had never felt before. She was about to do something she knew was wrong, but she couldn't help the ache between her legs, the way her body craved the same release she had just witnessed. His cock was so much bigger up close. Illya's knees hit the slushy snow with a wet thump, and she felt the cold seep through her stockings, but she didn't care. All she could focus on was Shirou's manhood, still glistening with Berserker's juices, standing tall and proud before her. This was where she belonged, for the first time since her father left her for Shirou, she had a home.
A/N:Not my favorite chapter. I'm a sucker for crack type stories- and this fits the bill, but I don't think I executed very well and it lacked the depth to be what I envisioned it as. Usually I like my stupid crack premise to be treated seriously and just eh. Sorry to the prompter for the mid execution.
Telling the story from the perspective of Illya for the most part was fun though, she was also the only character here that was even remotely in character so... Enjoy the shameless smut, I guess. Next chapter will be a bit better with Medb/Shirou/Rin in a threesome.