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satoruni · 2 years ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Boss' Daughter - Snake x Reader

WARNINGS: f!reader, virginity loss, age gap, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praise

Snake knew he shouldn’t be staring at Ketil’s adoptive daughter but how could he not? You were a sweet thing who was always smiling. It didn't help that you had an angelic visage with the most alluring eyes.

His eyes drifted downwards and couldn't help but notice your curvaceous figure. His lustful gaze lingered on every inch of your seductive form, as desire and passion burned within him. Every fiber of his being ached to seize this ravishing beauty and indulge in carnal pleasures. The thought of losing himself in the throes of wild abandon with her consumed him entirely, leaving no room for rational thought or hesitation. All he wanted was to possess you completely and satisfy your primal urges together until you were both left breathless and satiated.

As you turned to flash him a gentle smile, his heart leapt into his throat. The shame of his feelings overwhelmed him - how dare he even think that he could have a chance with a woman like you? You were the belle of the village, with admirers aplenty, and he was just a lowly servant with a tarnished reputation as a disgraced warrior. Any man would kill to have you for their own, and yet he couldn't help but want you. But what right did he have to even entertain such a notion? You deserved so much better than him, and he knew it.

“Grandpa you have to rest more," You pouted as Sverkel grumbled. Before the old man could even reply, Snake slithered into the room with his usual swagger.

Your heart raced at the mere sight of him. You would dare not tell a soul but you harbored affection for the older man.He was an imposing figure, with bulging muscles and a commanding aura that made you feel both safe and exposed at the same time. But you were sure that he only saw you as a little girl, not worthy of his attention. A man like him probably had a slew of lovers so what were you in comparison?

“Yeah old man, one day you’re gonna collapse," Snake taunted, throwing a teasing grin in your direction. You blush furiously, hoping he hadn’t read your thoughts.

“Heh I know you’re waiting for that day so you could plunder everything” her grandpa retorted, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

As the two bantered back and forth, you fidget nervously, trying to ignore how your heart jumped whenever Snake looked your way. You knew it was foolish to feel that way but you couldn’t help it. He was everything you wanted in a man.

You were in the kitchen, hands busy as you scrubbed the pots and pans. Your mind wandered, as it often did, to the Snake. You couldn't help but think of him - his strength, his confidence, his piercing eyes that seemed to look right through you.

Lost in thought, you didn't hear the door open behind her. It was only when a deep voice spoke that you jumped, dropping the pot you were cleaning. You spun around to see the Snake standing there, a faint smile on his lips.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and smooth. "What are you doing here all by yourself?"

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you tried to compose herself. "Oh, just cleaning up," she stammered. "What brings you here?"

The Snake chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Just thought I'd come see you," he said, taking a step closer to you. "You know, see if you need any help."

You felt your heart race as he moved closer, his body just inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

As he reached past you to grab a rag, his hand brushed against yours. You felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body, and you couldn't help but look up at him, your eyes pleading for something you didn't quite understand.

For a moment, you two stood there in silence, your eyes locked in a wordless exchange. And then, without warning, Snake leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

As they kissed, you felt herself melting into him, your body responding to his touch. You knew that your feelings for him were foolish, but at this moment, you didn't care. All that mattered was the heat of his body against yours, and the way he made you feel alive.

As you two broke the kiss, Snake gazed down at you, his eyes intense with desire.

“You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, caressing her soft cheeks.

He had always wanted a taste of you, and now that he had it, he wanted more. Taking advantage of your gasp, he completely devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. You tasted so sweet, your shy mewls only incited him further.

As they finally broke the kiss, Snake rested his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire.

You smile shyly, your cheeks flushed.

"I feel the same way," you admitted, your hands still resting on his chest.

Snake couldn't believe his luck. Here he was, with the woman he desired most in the world, and you felt the same way.

As he deepened the kiss, Snake couldn't help but revel in the feel of your soft body against his. He wrapped his strong arms around your lithe waist and pulled you against his chest, his fingers trailing over the curve of your back. You blushed furiously at being so close with him, but he could sense the desire in you as well.

“Ah~ we really shouldn’t-�� you gasped out, not meaning a single one of those words.

“No one’s gonna hear,” Snake growled out and smashed his lips against your plump ones again, causing you to moan.

“Oi!” the loud voice of your annoying brother Olmar was heard making you gasp and you quickly pulled yourself away from him. “Come out mom’s calling for you”

Snake gritted his teeth annoyed and held himself back from snapping at him.

You looked nervously back at him and his eyes softened as he pecked your lips again.

"Wait for me in your room," he whispered in your ear, playfully biting it. Face flushed, you giggled and nodded. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and then ran back out to meet Olmar, her heart still racing from the intensity of her moment with Snake.

"What's going on?" Olmar asked, noticing your red face.

You pouted at your brother's interruption, annoyed that he had ruined the moment with Snake.

"Nothing Olmar," you muttered, still lost in the memory of Snake's touch.

You were lying on your soft bed, anxiously waiting for Snake to come. What were you thinking? He was probably laughing about you with his friends. Suddenly, you heard a thud at your window, and your heart leapt with joy. As he climbed into her room, you could not help but feel a surge of excitement.

“You came” you exclaimed happily

“Of course I did," he smirked and pulled you close to him. Grabbing the back of your head, he crashed his lips on her, devouring you completely. He leaned back, his eyes heavy with desire which made you gulp nervously.

“Let’s take this off," he murmured and ripped off your thin nightdress, leaving you completely nude. You blushed heavily and avoided his eyes. You had never been naked in front of anyone before.

Snake stared at you like you were the goddess Freya herself. He then pressed his cold palm against your chest, pushing you to lie down on your bed. You shivered at his cold touch.

“You are so beautiful” he whispered, making you blush and close your eyes as he took one of your tits and sucked on it fervently. You gasped at the new sensation and kept your moans low, scared to wake anyone up.

“Oh!” you moaned, quickly covering your mouth as he pinched your sensitive nipples and gave several kisses along the valley of your breasts.

Pulling off his shirt, he kissed your plush lips and stuck his tongue inside your sweet mouth. You blush at the sight of his muscular and scarred chest, feeling a delicious mix of nervousness and desire.

He took his trouser off and his cock sprang out. You gasped shyly and nervously bit your nails at the size. No way was this supposed to fit inside her. Snake laughed at her shocked face.

“It’s fine, baby, I will be gentle,” he laughed. “Come on spread your legs, like that, good girl”

He spreads you even further, making you gasp. Snake seemed to find amusement in this, making you pout. Your eyes were fixated on one of his long fingers slowly going inside, making you breath heavily.

“Gonna get you all stretched out for me” he said heavily, making you moan at the quickening pace as he pushed into two fingers, scissoring in and out.

“Oh!” you moaned out. This was already so much, how can you handle his cock?

Snake could not wait to put it in you as he pushed his large cock inside your tight pussy. You mewl and moan at the sudden intrusion. Good thing Snake stretched you out beforehand. However it did not stop the tears forming, your eyes pleading with him.

“Snake, please-” You wanted every piece of him, now.

“Shhh..” he pressed gentle kisses on your lips. You felt your pussy stretching deliciously to accommodate his large cock.

“Ah!” you gasp out as he slowly enters you, letting you dig your nails on his broad back.

Snake groaned, wanting to push it all in but you were a virgin. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

“Good girl” he whispered into your ear, slowly easing in, until he was fully in.

“I feel so full!” you said, your voice shaking. Snake laughed at that.

“You will be feeling a lot more full after I am done with you”

You gasp and pant for air, writhing underneath him. You were subject to the onslaught of his merciless thrusts. He had one hand on your generous hips and the other gripped on your lithe waist. He had better stamina than you so you were struggling to keep up. The strength of his hold leaves an ache in your body that warns of bruises to come, yet even in the midst of this pain, you cannot bear to ask him to stop. It was simply too good. You had orgasmed for the first time where it felt like your body electrified. If it was this good, you would have opened your legs for him earlier.

As he continued to pound relentlessly into you, Snake had already released himself into you around four times, leaving you exhausted from the countless orgasms you had. He had stuffed you with his cum, leaving you full and satisfied.

He felt like he was in heaven. He had you on your knees and was fucking your tight wet cunt. Your body was nothing less than perfect and your beautiful face only adds fuel to his burning desire for you. Every shy whimper and plea you utter just serves to increase his fervor for you until he feels like he might never get enough of you. His eyes then fell on your plump ass and could not help but give it a firm slap, making it jiggle.

“Snake!” you hissed, turning back at him with an angry pout.

“Sorry,” he smiled apologetically, his calloused hand stroking the soft flesh as he continued to pound into you. Oh gods, you were going to be the end of him.

“Oi, Snake come out,” Fox whispered near your window. Snake woke up and grumbled angrily, gently pulling off your arm that was wrapped around his waist so as to not wake you up. Then, he quickly got dressed already feeling irritated. .

“Snake?” you murmured sleepily. “Are you going?

“Yeah, sorry” he replied apologetically, quickly pressing a kiss on your bruised lips.

“But I want to stay with you," you whispered, looking down.

Snake inwardly groaned at your pretty blushing face and pushed down the urge of leaping at you and fucking you again.

“As much as I would like to do that more than anything else, I need to leave,” he said with a wry grin. “Besides, Thorgil is returning tomorrow. If he finds me like this with you, he'll skin me.”

You gulp at the mention of your older brother. No one terrified you more than him. Snake kissed you again, stroking your soft cheek and smiled, making your heart skip.

“Sleep well”

With that, he sneaked out of your window, leaving you to fall into a blissful sleep.

Fox waited outside as Snake came out, looking disheveled but satisfied.

"Hey, you were gone for quite a while," Fox commented with a smirk, knowing exactly what he had been up to. “You lucky bastard”

Snake rolled his eyes and punched Fox playfully.

"Shut up. Let's go." He walked away, trying not to think about you and the temptation you posed.

#snake vinland saga #vinlandsagaxreader #vinland saga x reader #vinland saga #vinland saga season 2 #x reader #vinland saga smut #vinland saga fics

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terrence-silver · 3 months ago

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I thought for Halloween spooky scariness it might be fun to ask a broad question that could apply to pretty much any of TIG's characters:

"What would a nightmare starring [insert name of TIG character here] look like?"

Is it a dark noncon? A hunt through the woods? Pure unadulterated stalking? YOU DECIDE... if you want to that is!

(my top characters of love to read about are, predictably, Cash, CK Terry and Valek, but any and all you feel like writing for would be amazing!)

---

― For Jan Valek, you dream of what seems like a distant funeral pyre. Or perhaps a burning stake. You don't quite see or deduce who's tied to it and set aflame amidst the silent crowd of hoods and robes but the shape seems eerily familiar, speaking to you with a voice you know. Almost seductive. Almost lulling. Beckoning. So tender. Like an old yet loving friend's re-assuring, inviting caress. You walk past the spectators on the foggy cobblestone square the and unto the burning, blackened wood stacked up high into a colossal, looming pile without blinking or even feeling any pain. Any sensations. Whoever's there in the center of the red inferno of crackling embers embraces you with both arms as the church bells on the forum strike noon. You feel strangely at home swallowed by the flames. Maybe this isn't such a nightmare after all?

― You're buried alive. You know you are. You're awake for it. Alive, when you rightfully shouldn't. You can breathe. Experience every sensation. Every vestige of claustrophobia. The fear. You realize your muffled cries will never be heard by anyone and that you'll undoubtedly die down here, choking due to lack of air. You even realize scratching the surface of your coffin is futile. That you're not getting out of here, from the oppressive, strangulating pitch blackness. Kicking, screaming and fighting it will get you nowhere, the same way when you feel a calm, focused hand reach out from beside you a grasp your fingers, you're fully aware they're Jack's. Jack Blaylock, Timothy Calloway is in there with you. You're in here together. Trapped for all eternity. You figure, that's exactly the way he'd like it too. Wouldn't surprise you if he personally orchestrated this himself.

― With Gus Travis, you live in a house floating on the cold sea. And it's much like any other suburban, family house, really. It has a fridge, and a kitchen, a living room, a bed, carpets, decorative throw pillows on the couch and all the mundane knick knacks, commonplace any family apartment should have, making you realize nothing's amiss --- nothing at all --- as you explore the winding corridors of your abode floating on the waves, your neighbor nobody in particular but the vast expanse of water, grey, not unlike the winter coastline before the stormy tempest. You hand your husband his slippers and a beer. Maybe set him up with lunch. You wash the dishes. Clean, polish and organize them, ever so diligent. This place, it has just about everything, except a front door and a way out, you realize too late as he's fucking you up against the wall.

― Cash? Well, there's eyes in your walls and they're everywhere. In every crack. Every corner. Every hidden nook and cranny. Like an infestation of bees nesting in the skeletal scaffolding of a cellar or a basement. They don't ever blink and they're blue. The light, icy cerulean type in shade. You know they're his eyes. How could you not? They're unmistakable. You're well acquainted with them by now because they don't never go away. You also know they belong to a face and not merely floating in the abyss, but it's not a visage you ever see, hidden behind layers of concrete and bricks he's observing behind of, like a veneer. He's always there, of course. Never closes his lids to rest or take a break. Watches you dress, undress, eat, sleep, shit, piss. Your world is a quiet world. A dark world. Never disturbed. Never shaken. But, you're never alone and that frightens you.

― Oh, a nightmare starring Terry McCain is positively Kafkaesque because the world is black and white --- entirely monochromatic --- like in an old detective movie and you realize the absurdity of it all even as it unfolds and as you're being effectively questioned in what's a stereotype of every interrogation room you've ever seen. Sharp light overhead, handcuffs around your wrists, a metal table, you and the Detective asking the questions. You don't know why or when, but a fellow uniformed colleague of his comes forth carrying an entree of meals even though you've never asked for anything and he has the mannerisms of a waiter in spite of his badge and nametag. The desk of your cross examination is littered with dishes and plates and a hand lights a candle between you and McCain. Someone pours you wine. What's happening?

― You're General Taligaro's bride but that part hardly constitutes the nightmare; it's the notion your matrimonial gown of ceremony consists of all the trinkets of his conquests --- your cape is made of the sown together scalps of all the virgins of the realm, your necklace human teeth, ears hang attached off of the belt that adorned the waistline of your dress like so many pearls, your bodice a boney ribcage held together with golden string and jewels; the spoils of so many wars --- you're a gruesome sight to behold as you're led to him to complete the ritual of union and you feel just as gruesome --- demonic --- all stickiness, blood, gore, stench and carnage. The picture of all of the backstabbing, machinations and kinslaying on display as he lifts up your veil adoringly, looking at you like you're the most beautiful, ravishing creature in all the kingdoms.

― There's a telegram you couldn't open for a week now and it frustrates you to no end. It sits there on the table like a silent yet harrowing obligation you can't shake off and no matter how much you may try, the envelope refuses to rip open, it refuses to be cut, scissors are like butter against its paper yielding no result and even gnawing on it with your own teeth like an animal doesn't help. Attempting to burn it is a useless endeavor too, almost like the damn thing's fireproof. You know these are news of Terry from overseas. You can tell by the official stamping and by who's delivered it to your doorstep. You know something bad has happened. You can feel it. But, your inability to do the laughably miniscule task of actually opening it, almost as if your hands had no strength in them whatsoever kills you.

― It's the 80's and you can tell by the front row of unhinged bleached perms and sharp shoulder pads lining the perimeters. It's a bidding. An auction. The subject of interest being a live human heart on display. You. You have no body. No arms. No legs. No head. Just a heart --- a beating, fully conscious organ on a pedestal in front of a crowd of hundreds on stage. Terry Silver's right there. Of course he is. Dressed to the nines, fully in his element, like he doesn't seem to be bothered at all you lack your basic physical attributes. Even in your nightmare, you think this is a very on the nose metaphor but it doesn't make your helpless predicament any more terrifying as the auction host slams his wooden gavel against the cathedra. Going once, going twice, sold --- somehow, perhaps unsurprisingly, Terry outbid the King of Burma for you, because of course he did. You're handed over lovingly to him like something he owns. He bites into you like an d'oeuvre.

― With old man Terry, you're attending an awkward party. Everyone's artificial, everyone's putting up a front and everything's an act. The social tension is hardly the worst of it, of course. Somewhere mid-mingling, you accompany him back inside of the manor away from the gaggle of the chipper crowd and into the nearest bedroom featuring a closet of immaculately organized suits that would put a high-end catalogue to shame. For some reason, he's decided to change his attire. In watching him undress and a firm lipped, stony faced assistant helping him into a new suit you also watch him peel off his own skin and throw it aside like a fleshy, useless rag promptly collected by a manservant until your Terry's nothing but red, gaping flesh and nerve endings. He walks out like that, practically flayed with you underarm and everyone smiles. They complement the host's wonderful finger food.

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creative-frequency · 11 months ago

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Raphael x Reader: Act II: The Dinner, pt.2

Summary: Your patron Raphael invites you for a dinner with multiple ulterior motives. Part 2 of 2. Word count: 3853 Notes: Dinner date with Raphael at House of Hope. Some romantic tension finally relieved, making out with the devil.

Previous part

“I’ve been looking forward to spending an evening with you,” Raphael mused just as you pulled your hand back from his. His warmth lingered, burning your fingertips.

He had brought you into a grand foyer. Nervous about the new situation and Raphael’s company – and not really knowing what to reply – you gaped around at the decorative hall. Massive pillars stood in rows at each side and the ceiling was impossibly high. There were no paintings on the walls unlike in the rooms you had previously visited, but devilish sculptures stood amidst the pillars. No doubt sculpted after Raphael’s own visage. Deep red drapes softened the masonry.

Raphael lingered in the middle of the foyer while you paced around a bit, marvelling at the interior.

“Before we dine…”

You turned to look at him.

Raphael snapped his fingers. A sweet wave of nothingness washed and settled through you – silence.

“There. A little privacy from our tentacled friend,” he said with a complacent tone.

The Emperor was going to be extremely upset about you dining with the devil and denying it the chance for eavesdropping. It already had opinions and dire concerns of you lending your ear to Raphael. Even more so about sleeping in the devil’s bed, but that was a conversation you rather wanted to forget.

“Oh. It’s… quiet,” you said, bemused.

The whispering and humming of the Artefact in the back of your mind was gone. Not once had it occurred to you that Raphael might have the power to do such a thing. At the same time, it warranted slight worry about his motives for silencing your astral guide. What had he planned for the night that he didn’t want anyone else to hear?

“This way, my raven.” Raphael motioned towards the hallway and you stepped into pace at his side.

Your mind truly was wondrously silent, thanks to the devil. While it felt weird, a sense of bitter longing filled you. What a luxury it was to remain the only inhabitant of one’s skull. You couldn’t get rid of the tadpole soon enough.

The earlier times you had visited the dining hall of House of Hope, you had not exactly been keen on examining the interior design. Raphael didn’t seem to mind that you were taking in every detail of your surroundings now. Hells, he even seemed pleased at your silent awe as your gaze moved around from the massive painting of the devil himself above the fireplace.

There was a simple brass bell on a chain that was mounted into the wall. The bell was almost invisible in the middle of all the elaborate decoration, but something in it drew your attention.

Raphael followed your gaze and hummed in thought. “Go on, give it a ring,” he urged.

You moved closer to inspect the item.

“What is its purpose?” you asked but didn’t dare to touch it despite his encouragement.

“It is merely a simple dinner bell. Ring it and I will know the table has been set.”

You reached for the short chain and gave it a light tug. The bright jingle sound reverberated in your skull and made your teeth ache momentarily. If that sound couldn’t travel through different planes, nothing could.

“Satisfied?” Raphael spoke while you held your cheek to stop your head from spinning.

“And regretting it,” you asserted with a pointed glance and moved in for the seat he was offering. Raphael let out a low and soft laugh while ensuring you were seated comfortably, then took his own seat opposite.

The hexagonal table was once more laden with dishes that you had never seen or tasted before. It seemed that Raphael currently held a taste for the more exotic Southern flair as many of the foods originated from Calimshan. There was roasted goose and stuffed portobello mushrooms with cherry port wine reduction and foie gras stuffing, aqua-tinted Green Calishite cheese, pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables – the same dish you had eaten on your first meeting. He also served you a glass of trike, a sweet and strong wine made from palintrike. Oranges, apples, sunmelons and other fruits were plentiful on the table, cut into bite-sized pieces and served with a sweet paste made of dates.

Raphael took care of most of the conversation on his own while you ate. He told you about the ingredients and spices in the dishes, their preparation methods and the history of the area they originated from. While it was certainly interesting, you couldn’t figure out a natural way to bring up Astarion’s dilemma.

After five courses and three different wines to match, you couldn’t possibly eat anything more. When Raphael paused to sip his drink, you braced and went for the direct route.

“Can I bring my companions here for dinner?” you asked.

Raphael arched a brow at you.

“They’re not my clients,” he replied, unsurprisingly, and leaned forward. “You are. My most precious one, in fact.”

The weight of his words made you shiver and a wave of apprehension coursed down your spine. It had been evident that he really didn’t care for your companions, but when he accentuated it like that… You had to avert your eyes in a flush and focus on the empty plate in front of you.

Raphael placed his glass on the table and fixed a curious gaze to you.

“What is on your mind, little raven?”

You inhaled quickly, remembering why you had brought up the topic in the first place: “So, about Astarion…”

Raphael made a calming gesture and smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m motivated to help him.”

Your loyalties were already stretched between your companions and your devil patron. To both of them, you essentially owed your life. Raphael could stand to be pressured a bit more. You straightened up on your seat.

“How soon?” you questioned.

“As I’ve previously stated, I’ll think about it and get back to you. Don’t fret,” Raphael replied and, to your astonishment, added: “Until I offer the little vampling a mutually beneficial solution, take care not to tread into any perilous dens on your adventures.”

He was talking in riddles again and looked impossibly complacent.

“I don’t need your approval,” you replied coolly and sipped your wine.

Raphael hummed with mirth and spread his arms theatrically. “Certainly you don’t.” The balmy timbre of his voice sent another wave of shivers through you, but this time the sensation made you feel warm.

You swirled the wine in your glass, examining the deep red colour against the light of the fireplace. Raphael leaned back in his seat, gazing at you contemplatively.

“I was surprised to see you at Last Light today,” you said to change the subject. “A mere coincidence, I take it?”

Hells, you were apparently starting to imitate his way of speech now. That was too much wine.

Raphael chuckled, as though pleased with your question. “There are so many people ripe for temptation,” he replied. A non-answer.

Your brows furrowed as you remembered Mol. Had she already made a deal with the devil? You had half a mind to ask Raphael, but he probably wouldn’t provide an answer other than citing whatever patron-client confidentiality rules devils lived by. You sipped from the glass again, flushing down the thought.

“Does it ever bother you to make a living out of mortals’ suffering?” you questioned and watched Raphael’s reaction over the rim of your glass. He snapped his fingers and the glass filled up right in front of your eyes.

“Life is not a fairy tale, my dear,” he replied in a low tone, posture relaxed and not at all bothered by your questioning.

You paused to huff in thought before answering: “Yet mine already has the main antagonist on stage.”

“Oh?” Raphael raised a brow. “I didn’t realise I was the villain in your narrative,” he said, clearly amused. If the line was meant to taunt you, you held back any further retorts and sipped the wine.

Raphael didn’t let the silence sit for long, eager as he was to continue painting the analogy. He leaned forward over the table. “And what does that make you, little raven? The hero? The sage? The victim?”

You leaned back on the chair. “Isn’t it a bit too late to choose a role?” you mused. “I am clearly the underdog.”

Raphael laughed. “Everybody loves an underdog, don’t they?”

You hated the blush that crept over your cheeks. “I should hope so,” you murmured nonetheless.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at the sight as a self satisfied smirk crept across his lips.

“The journey has changed you already,” he noted.

Despite having a whole table between you, the moment felt as intimate as him buttoning up the borrowed shirt on you that morning in his boudoir. Heady and tender feelings coiled inside you, and it didn’t exactly help cooling down your flushed skin.

“How so?” you asked.

Raphael brushed any doubts aside with a burgeon motion of his hands. “You’re no longer the tender bud I encountered at the site of calamity. You’ve grown, little raven. Flourished.”

“Right…” You didn’t really know how to react when he was suddenly showering you with compliments. “I hope it hasn’t been a complete waste of time for you to watch me grow.”

“At least I can’t say I’m not entertained,” Raphael said with a warm chuckle.

“Enjoying the show, then? I’m glad.” It was the wine talking, but damn if flirting with him didn’t make you exhilarated and hot all over.

“Very much so, my dear.”

You placed your elbows on the table and locked your fingers under your chin, never breaking eye contact with the devil. Raphael’s eyes glinted at the sliver of gold on your finger. His lips curved upwards. He too leaned over the dinner table, fingers intertwined, and immobilised you with a heated stare. The honey-tinted brown eyes had gained molten swirls. Your heart started drumming faster.

“How your features and string of tragic misfortune have entranced me,” Raphael said, surely in jest, but the voice. It was a lover’s voice, sensual and suggestive. A sharp pulse of desire shot through you. His attention was intoxicating. You wanted more. A flutter sprang to life in your chest.

You blinked and focused on trying to stay calm even though your head was spinning.

“Shall we enjoy the rest of the evening in a more comfortable setting?” Raphael asked carefully. The rumble of his voice set your very soul alight. Gods help you, you were hanging on his every word. A pulse of desire was pooling into a warm liquid that spread through your body.

“You’re the Master of the House, so I’ll follow your lead,” you managed to reply.

Raphael arched a brow in surprise and chuckled. He stood up.

“Undoubtedly I am. Come.”

He offered his arm to you like the perfect gentleman and walked you down to the next room. Just holding his arm threatened to turn your legs into jelly, but you steeled yourself, determined, though nervous to see the evening through.

The room was a small parlour with plush sofas and small tea tables littered with delicacies and confectioneries. You made a little gasp. Calimshan Knots, Mraed and different kinds of chocolate were on display on a luxurious silver tray with three layers. It looked almost too beautiful to break a piece from the work of art for a taste.

Raphael guided you to sit down on one of the red loveseats and sat down next to you. Exhilarated at the proximity, you had to force yourself to breathe, only to inhale his sweet scent of cherries concentrated in the air.

“Please. Indulge.” He motioned towards the sweets, but you felt the words had another underlying meaning. Your blood started running hotter in your veins.

Raphael examined your features with great interest.

“You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me…” you suddenly remembered.

“Ah, yes. There is a matter of great importance that your little group will soon have to resolve,” Raphael stated and his head tilted slightly in thought. “One way or the other.”

“Oh? What kind of matter?” you asked unsure if you really wanted to hear this. “I assume it has something to do with the Artefact?”

“Technically, yes,” he said, a hand to his chin, “I happen to possess an item of great interest to aid you in this predicament. I could be persuaded to part with it.”

You blinked. “And what would I have to offer in return for this item?”

Raphael chuckled mirthfully. “Very good, little raven. Your skills in the art of infernal negotiation are improving. But, for this particular instance, I’m willing to take a loss.”

Simultaneous feelings of unease and pride clouded your mind. “That’s… unexpected. You would lose hold of such an item for me?”

“If it means you win, my dear,” Raphael purred and leaned closer. “However, it still comes with its conjectures.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” you said quietly, “What would those conjectures be?”

“I’m willing to loan you this item, if” – Raphael lifted exactly one finger in the air – ”you promise to return it along with another trinket of my choosing.”

He could very well ask something impossible of you and do whatever he wanted with your soul in the end when you inevitably failed to deliver. So far Raphael had been fair in his dealings, but you had to be careful. Cryptic and unhelpful hints aside, you didn’t want to think about the Artefact, the tadpole or the Absolute right now.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” you murmured.

Raphael barked a laugh. “Indeed. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, my dear.”

The laugh left the remnants of a smirk over his lips. You swallowed. His scent of fire and cherries was making you go mad as it addled your poor, tadpoled brain. He lifted his arm over the sofa back and angled his body properly to you.

“You, my most troubled protege, will surely make the right decision,” his lover’s voice whispered with a rumble you could almost feel over your body.

Raphael’s hand dipped to caress your shoulder. The touch ignited a trail of fire in its path. He leaned closer and instinctively you leaned away. A proper smirk now curved his lips. So it became a chase; the fox hunted the raven. Your breaths grew shorter by the second.

He placed his other hand on your knee, a gesture to keep you still. The touch shot a wave of heat through you and you barely held back a wince. Thanks to the wine and your general ludacrity, you were already feeling wanton enough in his company, so you wouldn’t be able to take much of his enabling to finally snap and throw all noble notions into the fires of Hell.

That was presumably his goal.

“I’ve grown fond of you, little raven,” Raphael purred, “I’d hate to see you make the wrong choice.”

His every word caressed your skin, adding fuel to the liquid fire raging in your body. You swallowed to gather the last bits of your prudence and said: “I’m sure my companions and I will make the best decision we can under the circumstances.”

Raphael’s smile widened, his head leaned to the side. “That is most gratifying to hear, my dear.”

His hand still lay on your knee and you believed you felt it inch up your thigh while the other one continued caressing your shoulder, trekking up to the back of your neck. You couldn’t take your eyes off Raphael’s face. His gaze lowered to your lips. You placed your hand over his on your thigh and saw the delight spill into his expression. His skin was hot and you were already dreaming how it would feel wandering around your body; caressing, circling, fondling…

Did he do this with all his clients? Somehow you knew the answer. You could read it in the curve on his lips and the spark in his eyes. Mortals often held no such interest to him.

You were special.

In the back of all the lust-ridden thoughts, you wondered how it might feel to be loved by him, to wake up next to those molten saffron or darkened honey-tinted eyes.

You swallowed as Raphael’s fingers moved to the inner side of your thigh.

“Though I could use some motivation…” you heard yourself saying loud and clear.

The devil’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before they were lit with plain and clear desire.

“What a brave and naughty little thing you are. You never cease to surprise me,” Raphael husked. The words were latent with seduction and promise.

He leaned closer and you felt his shallow and waiting breaths fanning over your cheek. Only the warmth radiating from his body and his scent of sweet cherries, deep musk and smoky brimstone was registering at this point. You felt almost woozy, aching in the trepidation that he might pull away and not give you what you craved more and more with each passing second.

Raphael’s eyes were the colour of dark honey, his eyelashes so dark and beautiful, and the thought of his lips on you… The consuming craving to taste him was overwhelming.

“It’s the company I keep,” you intended to say, but in the end were unsure if the words actually left your mouth or were blocked.

Raphael kissed you with overwhelming heat and hunger.

He cupped the back of your head and pulled you right into him.

The kiss was searing, passionate and would’ve swooped you right off your feet had you been standing. His hand instantly made headway up your leg, fingers already tracing your inner thigh and unceremoniously delving closer to your aroused, aching sex.

You gripped Raphael’s shirt, pulling him even closer. You wanted him closer. You wanted him so much. How you wished the clothes on your back would just burn away.

He pushed you against the sofa back with his body. His mouth moved from your reddened and swollen lips to plant hot kisses on your cheek, jaw and down to your neck. You mewled with pleasure and offered yourself to him, indulging his every motion and brush of his lips.

Two thoughts fought for purchase in your head, but neither gained any foothold: were you really doing this with your patron and what consequences there would be. Your soul was already damned. He had been tempting you for weeks so it was about time for things to progress this way. Tangling your body with his surely didn’t actually mean anything.

“Give yourself to me,” Raphael whispered into your ear, his breathing tickling. His hand reached its aim between your legs and you gasped as he resolutely stroked your clothed sex.

Your whole body quivered from the delicious friction of the contact and you bit your lip. A tight sensation coiled in your lower abdomen, ready to burst at the next hint of touch.

You wanted more of him.

“So eager…” Raphael whispered. He kept your head still and close, turning it as he pleased to reach the sweetest spots of your skin. You acquiesced to all of it, too stunned, too ravenous for more to move. The grip of your fist tightened on his arm and at the hem of his shirt.

He claimed your lips again. You spread your legs and his nimble fingers stroked you through your clothes with the most perfect pressure, all the while his heavy breaths tickled your neck and the shell of your ear between demanding kisses. The more you gasped and moaned, the more laborious his breaths also became.

“R-Raphael…” Your throat was dry and your voice already hoarse.

Your hand wandered south with the goal of reciprocating the pleasure he was giving you, but the brushing motions of his fingers sped up and you waivered, abandoning mission. It was extremely hard to focus on anything else besides the pleasure Raphael was so expertly giving to you.

Amidst the kisses and hot breaths on burning your skin, your release was hell-bent on building fast and hard, and, frankly, it surprised you both.

It hit you like a pit fiend running into a wall at full speed.

You gasped for air, clutching Raphael’s forearm and felt the ravaging pulsing against his fingers through your clothes.

“Fuck…” you huffed, voice hoarse.

Raphael’s motions stopped as it dawned on him: You had reached an orgasm in a shamefully short time. It was certainly… surprising.

“Uh, guess I was more motivation-starved than I thought,” you managed to mumble in what you aimed to be an apologising tone. Your head was spinning from the sharp and intense orgasm, and it was extremely hard to think in complete sentences.

Raphael slowly drew back from you with a muted expression. No tender kisses, no praises, he was just staring at you in mild disbelief.

“I, uhm. Do you want to…?” you mumbled ambiguously, but couldn’t quite reach the shame waiting somewhere in the back of your mind. It had felt way too good to be ashamed.

You took a deep breath to clear your head and Raphael straightened his back.

Then he laughed, low and rough and assumed back his role. “Like I said, you never fail to surprise me, little raven.”

You blinked. He was acting as if he had not just kissed you silly and made you come with his fingers while both of you were still fully clothed.

“Hopefully the evening was as enjoyable to you as it was for me,” he continued in a cultured tone.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. So that’s how it was going to be. You hurried to settle your clothes into a more presentable state and hopped to your feet. Your legs were shaking and you felt lightheaded. There was no way your companions would not realise what had happened. Astarion would take one look at you and start either yapping or giggling.

“Yes, uh. Would you be so kind and send me back now?” you inquired, trying to reach an impassive tone but failing spectacularly.

Raphael paused, clearly deciding whether to abide by your request or not. Not a hint of the earlier lust was visible on his face. Either he hid it extremely well or your little display had not affected him at all. How frustrating. So he could make you come with a single finger, but you had no effect on him.

“Of course. Far be it from me to keep you here against your will,” Raphael said with an incline of his head. Not even a hair was out of place on him.

With a quick snap, he sent you back to camp right then and there. A swift look around told you that no one was awake. Good.

Only a moment later you realised that by ‘motivation’ Raphael probably had not meant to allow you to come. Oh well, what was done was done. You could only hope the consequences of your own actions wouldn’t come back to haunt you.

My writing masterlist

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x you #raphael x reader #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #the devil wears house slippers

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blessed-by-umbral · 6 months ago

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Violence

@daily-writing-challenge

Topic: Violence

---

Weeks had gracefully slipped by since Baetylus embarked on its voyage to the enchanting shores of Tural, and now, four days had passed since the intimidating vessel had anchored in this unfamiliar haven. The air was thick with the scent of adventure and the promise of discovery, a curious juxtaposition that enveloped Ondrea Cress in a cocoon of anticipation. The strangeness of being enveloped by the unknown was not a source of trepidation for her; rather, it was a vital embrace, a welcoming that whispered of new beginnings and uncharted paths waiting to be trekked.

The passage of time had woven a tapestry of curiosity as the allure of uncharted lands beckoned from the shadows of the past. Those privy to the secrets of the sea had embarked on a meticulous endeavor, crafting maps and devising plans for their ambitious voyages. Yet, for Ondrea, this pursuit appeared to be a futile exercise, akin to embarking on a grand expedition without the slightest hint of direction or guidance. It was only when a reliable course was presented to them, a beacon of certainty amidst the vast unknown, that they finally set their sails toward the horizon.

On this afternoon, the sun reigned supreme, casting its golden rays upon a canvas of immaculate azure. The heavens were devoid of any clouds, creating a breathtaking expanse that seemed to stretch endlessly. Yet, in the depths of her heart, she harbored a profound disdain for the sun. The relentless heat was an unwelcome companion, transforming her midnight tresses into a sweltering burden, while the sensation of her leather attire clinging to her skin felt akin to a serpent ensnaring its unsuspecting victim.

The accoutrements of freshly squeezed fruit juices was a welcome reprieve, as a particular concoction of citrus we dutifully set upon a table before an open window overlooking a breathtaking view of the lush greenery interspersed with the architectural elegance of the nearby buildings.

As the echo of a knock reverberated through her space, it disrupted the serene equilibrium she had cultivated, drawing her attention with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Ondrea's signature style, a blend of shadowy hues and intricate textures, spoke volumes about her character; she embraced the darkness not merely as a fashion statement but as a shield against the world’s judgments. The aura of mystery that enveloped her was both a source of intrigue and trepidation, ensuring that she remained an enigmatic figure, cloaked in the very essence of her chosen attire

As Ondrea opened the door, she was greeted by a visage that resonated deeply within the annals of her family. Cormac, a steadfast presence since his youth, stood before her clad in his signature ensemble—sleek, armored leather adorned with a distinctive bell sigil prominently displayed on his chest. This emblem, a testament to his unwavering loyalty and dedication, seemed to shimmer in the soft light.

It was evident that Cormac had taken the time to present himself with an air of refinement, embodying a sense of readiness for the day ahead. His hair, meticulously groomed and freshly washed, framed his face, which bore the marks of a recent shave.

Ondrea couldn't help but notice the subtle yet inviting scent of coconut that lingered around him, a fragrant whisper of tropical allure that seemed to complement his polished demeanor.

"My Lady." He addressed with a bow of his head. "All men are accounted for. Our ships are docked and being tended to as we speak. It's been recommended that we tip the service crew. I wanted to get your input."

Ondrea retreated a step, extending an invitation to Cormac as he entered her sanctuary. In stark contrast to his presence, the air within her abode was devoid of the exotic fragrances that characterized this new land; instead, she had meticulously chosen to fill her space with the familiar aromas of incense, carefully selected from her homeland. The delicate tendrils of smoke curled upward, weaving a tapestry of nostalgia that enveloped her, reminding her of of home.

Though she found herself amidst the unfamiliar, the longing for the essence of home lingered in whatever vestiges were left in her heart.

"Extend to them a generous gratuity, one that would comfortably sustain their needs for the forthcoming weeks. Should their circumstances demand further assistance, we shall delve into our reserves to accommodate their requests."

Cormac acknowledged the suggestion with a subtle nod, his gaze drifting toward the window. The vibrant calls of exotic birds echoed in the distance, their persistent cries resonating like a siren song, beckoning him to embrace the allure of this uncharted territory.

"-We've gotten word from some of the locals regarding some concerning news. Like many lands, they're wrought with bandits, enemies, those who would seek you out to cause you harm or your family harm simply because of your status. These warnings you're familiar with. I ask you now, Lady Cress---how would you like to proceed if met with violence?"

The interval stretched between them, enveloped in an almost palpable silence that seemed to linger in the air. In this serene yet charged moment, the only sounds that penetrated the stillness were the distant echoes of the bustling city below, a symphony of urban life, harmonizing with the sharp cries of seabirds soaring overhead.

"My father once said: "Violent excitement exhausts the mind and leaves it withered and sterile." I find it ironic, considering the means this House has taken in its past. Perhaps, in some way, he sought to extinguish that flame."

She paused without contemplation, but more so for effect. "Our words are "Light your candles". Keep them lit, guide the dead home, tolling of the bells--all that history you're intimately familiar with."

"Aye." Cormac affirmed.

"To preserve equilibrium in our interactions, it is essential to respond to hostility with an equally assertive stance. Those who seek to embody this principle to its utmost will find themselves confronted with a response that is magnified tenfold, ensuring that the scales of power remain justly aligned. This approach not only safeguards our interests but also serves as a testament to our unwavering commitment to resilience in the face of adversity."

Cormac found himself unable to divert his gaze from Ondrea's striking visage, captivated by the intensity that radiated from her. It was no revelation to him that her response would carry such weight; in fact, he had secretly wished for the tempest of turmoil that raged within her to find some semblance of calm.

Yet, he recognized the futility of such hopes, as the storm seemed to only grow more ferocious with each passing moment. She stood before him, a living testament to the void, and he could almost perceive the dark tendrils of it wrapping themselves around her very essence. Despite the overwhelming nature of the situation, he felt an unyielding determination to engage with her, to reach through the shadows that enveloped her.

"Might it be possible..." he ventured cautiously, "...that extending a measure of mercy could yield positive outcomes? We are in uncharted territories, after all, filled with diverse cultures and unfamiliar customs."

Ondrea's response was immediate, her thickly shaped brow arching in skepticism as a low, dark chuckle escaped her lips, reverberating with a chilling resonance.

"Do you truly think they would entertain such notions about us?" she retorted, her voice laced with a steely resolve. "I refuse to gamble with the safety of our people."

Cormac drew in a deep breath, savoring it before exhaling sharply through his nostrils. "So be it. Violence will be met with violence."

#Kharris and friends!#it was so nice catching up kharris! :>#i'm excited to do these! ♥#ondrea cress #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #writing challenge #ffxiv balmung #house cress

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fairlyabookie · 3 months ago

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Flames

Author's note: this is my first rollo post omg... enjoy :>

Content warning: mostly character analysis

He found you in the middle of flowering meadows, ripe with color and fragrant sweetness. The way your silhouette glided through flora, leaving sighing flora in your wake. He recalls a warm smile tugging by the corner of your lips. Such an enticing vision, one that he cannot get out of his head.

He asks to rid of this foreign sensation blossoming in his heart, his mind scrambling for something - something not relevant to his classes and teenage angst. Such straying thoughts were not to be tolerated - he had to restrain himself more.

He sees bursts of color blossoming by your feet, leaving a trail of vibrancy behind you. Magic? What he witnessed was something he deemed sinful - a boorish display of a spell, something cheap for the eyes of a commoner. He places his handkerchief on his lips, colorful words unworthy for the Keeper of the Bell to say. How dare he look in your way, thinking that you were once a beauty in his eye.

You watched Rollo from afar, curiosity abating you as you peer above to see his ashen visage. His frown merely deepens the second you made eye contact. You muster a smile, hoping to abide any foul misgiving coming his way. Unsuccessful, you could only watch his silhouette drift further down the windowless walkway from the bell, ignoring your burning gaze with indifference. Under the gaze of the radiant sun were you able to glimpse Rollo, a tinge of disappointment dispersing your smile.

You regard Rollo with friendly smiles, bows, and nods, yet he doesn’t return the favor, his arrogance reeking in frowns and side-eyes. Your conscience ponders on your wrongdoings for Rollo to regard you in such a matter. You thought of appeasing him with flowers, a little imparting from your magic as a greeting. Yet, Rollo could tell the bouquet was made out of magic - he can sense it, feel it, and fathom the telltale remnants of magic. He disregards you once more, this time even more disgusted.

Rollo sees himself in those dancing flames, engulfed in unimaginable sin. Only the warmth of the fire embraced him, cleansing him of sin. He thinks of those flowers, made of profound blasphemy, that gaze captivating him as a trap.

“No, I mustn’t cave in.”

He tells himself, watching enraging flames hike higher and higher as they attest to his chastity. Magic was forbidden, beauty a devilish tract of magic meant to entrap the beholder’s eye. He mustn’t cave into those temptations, or the Bell of Salvation shall make its judgment. The Keeper would rather avoid being judged, merely letting those flames consume him, hoping very well that the vices of beauty and this wretched feeling shall cease to a halt.

#twst x reader #handle with care #promptober #twst rollo #rollo flamme #twisted wonderland rollo #rollo x reader

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hehosts · 2 months ago

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❝ it was good of him ... to bring you to me. that's what he's supposed to do. ah, ji-hun — come to me. now stay. good boy. see, you might find him disagreeable ... but me? ah, i find him to be very agreeable. ❞

as if activated, ji-hun does everything he is asked of. bring them here to this office, stand beside his master, and wait to salivate until the bell of pavlov rings again.

❝ in the end, what separates you from him? i'm sure you've wondered. is it power? my power? or merely my grace? hm. perhaps ... we'll never know. either way, you're here now, and this is not about him. ❞

though the eyes of the cobra never waiver — they never quite leave their visage. still, it is time for that man to speak, thus ji-hun resides in silence, oddly still as if a statue, while the great man lounges carelessly, legs crossing and uncrossing whenever it suits him to seek comfort.

❝ this is about you, isn't it? what you want? or is it ... what you need? ❞

#♡ that man #♡ ji-hun #♡ ic #♡ open #a more serious one from both of them but a less serious one is coming #then a deng and ji one bc that's also been requested

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perry-the-platypus-f1cs · 13 days ago

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Mr Bell, come out and play.PT7

Aceplaysgames7462

Chapter 7: Explosions and angst

Summary:

Phillip bonds with one of his kidnapper's and Bell goes through a small existential crisis

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

The reaction is instant as Bell watches the faces of his comrades drop their once tired postures, straighten some of their faces, and darken as they stare at the unsuspecting teen in disbelief in their eyes; others look at Bell in shock and rage.

A heavy silence falls over the room, and Phillip looks up at Bell nervously sensing the tension in the room as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands held together, his body shrinking in on itself.

The woman with the eyepatch, Kitsune or Kaori Tannaka, notices how uncomfortable and nervous the young teen is and clears her throat, catching everyone's attention before she addresses Phillip, “Hey, Philip... you wanna see something cool?” She says, jerking her head in the direction of the open garage door, its interior lightened up by a small bulb in the middle of the concrete room.

Phillip's eyes light up at an opportunity to get away from the awkward situation; he nods, and Kitsune smiles, taking a step towards the garage door, gesturing for him to follow her, which he does without a hint of hesitation, eager to flee what he assumes is going to be a fight.

The second the garage door closes, cutting Phillip off from the confrontation, Bell is hailed with questions from all sides. He keeps his mouth shut, waiting for a chance to speak, to explain to his comrades who entrusted him to lead them.

“What the hell, boss?’ Stone reiterated his tone more forcefully, glaring his eyes over comrades before sighing heavily, breathing deeply through his nose, trying to ready himself.

“Eat some food; I’ll explain everything during the debrief,” he says, straightening up and walking towards another room next to the now-closed garage door.

The door closed behind him, and Bell let out a heavy sigh, his eyes raking over the intricate plans laid out on the large table, bullets and other items scattered on top of the papers. Bell feels his rage simmer in his belly, but it was not rage at his comrades; no, he could never bring himself to get mad at them, ever.

It was rage at himself, at his idiocy, his sympathies towards a mere child. He knew deep down that he couldn’t be weak, merciful, especially towards a child that he had spared before, his enemy’s child. If any of his followers were in his position, he believes that they would have shot Adler in front of the child just as another ‘fuck you’ to Adler’s legacy. And so Bell’s rage boils over, and he slams one of his hands onto the table, creating loud, echoing bangs, before he swiftly swings his arms across the tabletop, knocking everything off of the table.

The sound of breaking glass reaches his ears, and he looks down, seeing the shattered visage of the remains of what once was a glass jug lay at his feet. A small tingling wet feeling springs on his thigh, prompting him to glance down to see a small, jagged piece of glass sticking out of his meaty thigh.

Bell sighs, rubbing his eyes in frustration before ripping the small, sharp piece of glass out of his thigh, throwing the small piece across the room, adding to the massacre made from his rage.

A similar tingling feeling emits from the hand he had used to throw the piece of glass. He looked down to see his hand cut and slowly bleeding. Frustration and anger mount, making Bell's back hit the wall before he slowly slides down the wall, plopping down on the floor, curling his knees close to his chest.

“What the hell am I doing?” Bell asks the silence, giving no solace or answer to the question burning him from the inside out.

—----------------------------------------In the garage—----------------------------------------

“And that is how you make a Molotov cocktail!” The woman who introduced herself to Phillip as Kitsune exclaimed happily, gesturing to the tightly packed beer bottle placed delicately on the table.

She laughs softly, seeing Phillip's wide-eyed fascination; her smile widens when she sees Phillip's begging eyes. “Go ahead, kiddo; let's see how close you were paying attention.” Before she could utter the last syllable, Phillip bolts around the room, arms swinging wildly as he grabs the ingredients for the small explosive, haphazardly tossing them onto the table, then setting to work, his hand moving faster than humanly possible, and after a few seconds of muttered swearing and the sounds of teen chaos, Phillip finally finishes the small bomb and hands it to Kitsune with a proud cock smile.

The Molotov cocktail was the worst one Kitsune has ever seen in her life. But was she going to say that to the adorable American teen in front of her?

Yes.

Yes, she was.

Phillip notices the small laugh bubbling from her throat and frowns, his eyebrows pinching together and his mouth curling in annoyance, “It's shit, isn't it?” He mumbles, and Kitsune bursts out laughing, wiping the tears of laughter from her eye. “No, it’s... it’s something,” she says before letting out a sigh, trying to calm herself down but failing to do so at seeing Phillip's still-pouting face.

“Come on, we can test it in the range.” Kitsune says, jerking her head towards a connecting door on the other side of the room, momentarily stopping Phillips' brooding pout, turning his expression into one of awe and excitement.

Kitsune and Phillip walk briskly towards the door, opening it to reveal a small staircase that Phillip quickly descends and opening another connecting door revealing a large underground gun range, the walls made of thick concrete slabs and gun stations lined up one after the other in an orderly fashion.

Kitsune leads Philip to the furthest end, revealing a station larger than the others, presumably for more room to throw explosives. Phillip watches as Kitsune presses a button attached to the wall, making several bullet-punched range targets fall down from the ceiling.

“Now let's see if that explosive packs any punch, kid,” she says as she hands Phillip some protective eyewear and a small lighter. She takes a few steps back, leaning her weight onto the wall behind her as she watches Phillip’s hand fumble with the Molotov cocktail in his hands before lighting the fuse and throwing it at the line of targets.

The throw wasn't bad, but it could use some work, but the explosion is what took both Phillip and Kitsune off guard, especially Kitsune when she realised that she didn't give Phillip or herself any protective earwear. “Oh shit!” She yells before rushing forward, picking Phillip up and then sprinting to the opposite corner of the room, quickly using her hands to cover Phillip's ears as the fuse finally reaches the gasoline-filled chamber.

BANG!

The explosion echoes through the concrete room, making Kitsune's ears ring. She opens her eyes to see a large plume of smoke curl up from where Phillip threw the explosive. She shakes her head, trying to get rid of the nonstop ringing and buzzing in her eardrums, but the one thing that brings her mind back to its current predicament and the realisation that there is a small American teen in the room with her is a curious, high, squeaky voice of the teen.

“That was so cool!”

The teen's loud, joyous exclamations make Kitsune wince, her newfound ear sensitivity blaring. But the joyous reaction from Phillip quickly dies as a British voice roars from the top of the stairs.

“What the bloody hell was that!?”

Notes:

Hello! hope you all enjoy this chapter sorry for the long wait! have a good day/night! (if you can comment pls do, your comments are the only motivation i have to continue this fic)

#call of duty #bell cod #cod cold war #phillip graves #russell adler #dadler and graveson #kistune #cod fanfic #black ops 6 #Mr Bell come out and play

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drainthehero · 2 years ago

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Superman and the Brotherhood

Superman appeared as if from nowhere, with only a faint outline of a blue streak indicating that he had not just materialised. One moment the sky was clear and the next he floated majestically in mid-air with one spandex covered muscled leg bent slightly at the knee. His bright red cape billowed behind him in the afternoon breeze and his arms were folded with his big round biceps and his massive chest all competing to burst their way out of the tight spandex costume which struck fear into the heart of all villains.

A stern frown currently sat on his boyishly handsome face as he addressed the lone man standing in the park. So this was the guy who had created all this commotion, he thought to himself as he realised this must be a new villain at large. The man was about 6’4” with a muscled physique and a face which could have been crafted by the gods of old. His short blond hair was immaculately spiked and he wore a calm and disarming smile, which was somewhat at odds with the scene around him. The only truly unusual thing were his eyes which were as black as the depths of space.

Strewn around the man was the evidence of the fight prior to the arrival of the Man of Steel. Clutter and debris of all shapes and sizes, most of which appeared to have once been vehicles, statues, furnishings or trees. They were now smashed into large chunks and the muscled superhero noted to take care as the villain clearly had super strength.

What was more alarming was the total lack of any mark on the man, nor any sign of stress or exertion. Indeed, as Superman looked more closely he noticed that the man wore a tightly fitted black spandex suit which hugged a muscular frame, and there was not a single mark on the suit.

Superman breathed in but before he could deliver a scathing line to the new villain, words rang up from the ground clear as a bell through the breeze.

“Ahh, the hunky hero has arrived to save the day,” called up the man. He had a calm and soothing voice which the Man of Steel assumed would have served him well in a public role. Superman bridled briefly at the sexualised description and realised the man was trying to get under his skin.

He shook his head softly as he replied. “I don’t know who you are, but your little reign of terror has gone on for too long.” Superman paused for dramatic effect before continuing. “Give yourself up now and come quietly.”

The man gave a thoughtful look while nodding his head slowly. “I am One,” he said simply. “You make a lot of sense Superman. Rain of Terror seems quite fitting.”

Without warning the Man of Steel felt something heavy and solid impacting the back of his head as he was driven at a high pace directly toward the paved ground below. He was caught off guard and unable prevent himself from being driven into the ground face first, left with the dark object standing upright from his back. His cape lay lazily off to the side and his booted feet twitched slightly while one hand was hanging limply from an upraised arm. The Bubble Butt of Steel stood out from the paved ground, covered by the tight red spandex briefs.

One appeared in no rush to follow up his surprise assault, and he waited patiently for the muscled hero who, after a few seconds, brushed off the groggy feeling and quickly repositioned himself in the sky, this time armed with a heightened sense of perception and the strange object. He felt his biceps flex as he held it and did his best not to show the strain of lifting the inexplicably heavy object.

“Hey, I think this is yours,” quipped the Man of Steel as he threw the object toward One, who merely watched impassively as it hurtled toward him.

However, just inches before the object could smash into the handsome face of One, it connected with an unseen barrier in front of the strange villain and instead was stretched out to either side of his still calm visage. “By the way, you were almost correct,” came the deadly calm reply. “I would say this has gone on just long enough, to lure you into the perfect trap.”

Superman could not hide his shock as the amazingly heavy object was manipulated like a piece of putty. Realising he must be dealing with a powerful telekinetic he started to scan the area more actively and carefully for signs of attack.

The object continued to be manipulated and was soon turned into a long thick floating piece of ribbon-like material. Without warning it launched toward the hovering hero and began to wrap itself tightly around the Man of Steel. It moved with pace and expert design, with his arms trapped to his sides by the quickly moving object.

“Ugghhhh,” grunted Superman, as he struggled to free his arms from the ever-tightening bands. Within a few seconds he felt himself practically immobilised. Thinking to escape he activated his power of flight but then strangely felt the mass of the object increase exponentially and start to drag him down.

“Wha… how?” was the only confused sentence he could muster. One simply watched quietly, giving the mighty kryptonian a look as though he were chiding a naughty child.

Superman felt the band get tighter and tighter, as he landed heavily to stand on the ground. The bands were only wrapped from his waist to his shoulders, leaving his spandex clad groin and muscular blue legs free of entrapment.

He realised the bands were not relenting and noticed that he was getting short of breath. “Ugghh…” groaned Superman as he felt a wave of dizziness wash across his mind and felt his vision blurring as his eyelids fluttered in a feeble attempt to stay open.

One watched calmly as the most powerful superhero on the planet swayed unsteadily on his feet. His eyes were clearly out of focus and his head listed weakly off to one side. His breathing had become shallow and laboured as the bands removed almost any freedom for his lungs to expand and draw in precious oxygen. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, appearing to be failed attempts to question his attacker.

In less than a minute, the weakening kryptonian gave in to the immense mass wrapped around his mighty frame and he collapsed to his knees. He found himself unable to fall to his side, with his legs instead spread apart painfully as the weight continued to pull him inexorably down.

Finally his painful journey ended with his big red bulge squashed onto the pavement, pressed down by the terrible weight of the object, and his legs split out to either side. His head was held up by an unseen force so he was made to look at the man who had defeated him so quickly and effortlessly. Short gasps of breath could still be heard forcing their way into his lungs and drool was clearly visible as it traced its way down his slack chin.

One moved over to stand before the muscled mass of hero and reached down to feel the big bulging briefs. “My, my, Man of Steel,” he murmured, a smile now visible for the first time. A smile which, while terrifying for Superman, made One even more beautiful to behold. “This feels even nicer than it looks.” He felt carefully through the briefs of the immobilized Man of Steel. “I am going to have a lot of fun playing with this,” Superman groaned as he felt his shaft being squeezed by a sightless force, “and these.” A much more pained groan escaped his lips which was accompanied by a grimace of pain as the Orbs of Steel were crushed by the same sightless force.

One reached out with a cloth to carefully wipe the drool from the lips and chin of the Man of Steel, then leaned in to give him a long and passionate kiss.

The Man of Steel was disturbed and turned off by the approach but was helpless to resist the soft lips as they first grazed then pressed into his own. The tongue quickly followed and explored his mouth and throat.

“I think that should about do, don’t you Superman?” asked One as he stood back to admire his handiwork.

The mighty hero felt a fresh band wrap around his massively muscled neck before all the bands tightened yet again. He knew that his lungs would no longer be able to accept any of the precious oxygen he required and gave into his defeat.

One observed intently as Superman succumbed to what was effectively an extreme sleeper hold. Within moments of his breathing being cut off, his eyes fluttered then closed and his entire body hung limply in bands and unseen telekinesis. One and Superman then glided up and away from the scene of destruction and carnage.

The Man of Steel awoke to a pounding headache, sore testicles and a tight stretching sensation across his entire body. The headache quickly passed and he realised with relief that his powers were still intact. Within seconds he was fully alert and had assessed his grim situation.

The wall in front of him was a giant mirror and in its reflection he could see he still wore his costume and was currently suspended about four feet off the floor with his arms and legs running straight out and away from his torso, held by some kind of golden energy bands circling his wrists and ankles. He noticed in horror that a small slit had been cut in the lower region of his shiny red briefs. His balls had been pulled through and an extremely heavy weight was attached to the sack and was even now stretching it painfully down and away from his pelvis. He assumed it was augmented in similar fashion to the object which had been used to capture him.

Without thought Superman flexed his powerful body to break free of his restraints. The big muscles across his chest, shoulders, back, thighs and biceps all rippled and then turned to hardened steel as he pulled with all his might. But his exertion was useless against the powerful energy bands keeping him suspended.

With a sigh he returned his attention to his predicament. The bands of light had no clear point of origin so they probably derived through some form of magic or telekinesis.

Switching to his X-ray vision and super hearing he could see that the walls, floor and ceiling were all lined with lead. Barely muffled sounds could be heard behind the mirrored wall, suggesting that the lead coating was quite thick.

He continued to hang in his trapped position for another hour as his ballsack was painfully and humiliatingly stretched. At this point it looked as though he could fit his entire hand around the loose skin between the base of his shaft and his now low hanging balls. During his wait he felt the burning humiliation of his defeat and his exposure at the hands of the villain. Recalling the practically effortless way he had been totally manhandled and overpowered by One brought a fresh burst of red to his cheeks as his embarrassment grew.

In the adjoining room, One stood with a small group of men who observed Superman on a monitor bank as his massive muscles strained and flexed against the golden bands. To the side could be seen a small army of young men seated in a meditation pose with their eyes closed, sporting various looks of calm, focus and concentration.

As Superman was seen to struggle against his prison, One noticed the effect on the young men. Some groaned, some strained visibly and a few passed out, only to be replaced from a large pool of waiting Supplicants.

One nodded in contemplation as the test on their will was met and passed. “He has proven to be much stronger than our modelling suggested,” commented One as the group returned to their calm meditation. “I was surprised we needed 48 in the circle to subdue him.”

“Indeed,” responded an elderly man with a sharp and angry nod. “Naturally we came prepared, but never expected to have the circle so large. 18 of those men were burned by the Connection and a few more will likely be witless for the rest of their lives.” The voice carried no sympathy nor sadness. He merely stated the fact.

“Worthy sacrifices,” added another elder. “The work here is much less taxing on the Supplicants,” he continued. “The Foci are boosting their talents as expected.”

“And how is the work progressing with the link?” asked One.

A new voice offered his knowledge. “As you know, the alien has the benefit of strong defences and the completely unknown psycho-physiology. But we have succeeded in planting a Spy and a Seed. Each performed adequately under testing.” He paused briefly before adding. “Test suggests that any Seed will perish once absent from a direct link. However, the Spy appears to have adapted to the alien environment and should flourish independently.”

“Good,” responded One. “Can we take control of a power?”

“Yes,” nodded the same voice. “But only when he experiences pleasure. When he is in pain or rage the Seed will be burned. Also, even with the Foci our time here is limited. Anything more than an hour of him actively fighting and we will likely run out of Supplicants.”

One considered this information for a moment before nodding and replying. “Well, that makes clear our course of action: Pleasure. Heat. Pain. Are the Supplicants ready for the ordeal ahead?” Upon observing a confident nod, One merely added, “good. Let’s test some limits then,” as he exited through a door.

As Superman wallowed in self pity a door opened to his left, admitting One into the room. He carried himself with an unearthly confidence, something which the mighty kryptonian was unaccustomed to in an adversary, and therefore added to his own feeling of discomfort. Superman noted with curiosity that the eyes of One were no longer entirely black and were now a very human shade of jade green.

“Welcome Superman,” said One with that quiet confidence. “I trust you understand your situation and do not require the drudgery of an explanation.”

The Man of Steel grunted before saying. “I don’t know what sick plan you have in mind, but you won’t get away with it.”

A smile tweaked the side of One’s lips. “Who really can tell the future? I much prefer to live in the now.” He reached down and using one hand, picked up the weight and collar and held them in front of Superman’s face. “How are those Orbs of Steel feeling Superman? They seem to be hanging a little low down there.” He fondled them briefly eliciting a groan before adding with a tilt of his head. “You know for some reason I thought they’d be silky smooth.”

The Man of Steel bit back a retort, knowing any words would be hollow. But his cheeks flushed a fresh burst of crimson as he felt his balls being fondled by the handsome blond god with the green eyes.

One placed the weight on the ground then ran his hand over the spandex covered torso, feeling the tight and powerful muscles through the thin fabric. Relishing this moment he locked his gaze with the mighty hero as he played with the bulging arm and chest muscles and returned to fondling those low hanging balls.

He finished by working his hand down the washboard abdominals, making a comment as he did so, “that ten pack must take some time in the gym.” When he reached the bright yellow belt he unbuckled it and let it hang open, not wanting to remove any piece of the hero’s well known costume.

One then ran his hand over the red briefs and played with the shaft beneath. He knew that the teams in the other room would be scrambling the sensory perceptions of the hero to reduce his resistance and enhance his willingness to enjoy. As if on cue, a low moan escaped the lips of the bound hero and One could feel the shaft stirring under his hand. One resisted the urge to kiss those lips as he knew it would likely feed the resistance being offered up by Superman’s subconscious.

Instead he broke the eye contact to look at his prize. The bulge within the red briefs was growing and already the outline of his hardening cock could be seen. The stroking continued as did the fondling of the balls, leaving Superman to moan mindlessly under the combined pleasurable assault on his groin and mind.

Within a few minutes, Superman was sporting a full boner in his briefs and a small patch of precum showed the position of his head.

One took a calculate risk to draw the hero further in with a question in a soothing tone. “Does that feel good Superman? Do you feel the stress and pressure fading away?”

The answer was obvious, as the Man of Steel no longer strained against his bondage, but it was a good step to get his conscious mind to agree.

“Mmm-mmmm,” he murmured and nodded gently in agreement. “Ahhh… feels so good. So relaxing.”

“That’s good Superman,” continued the soothing tone. “You deserve to relax and enjoy yourself sometimes, don’t you? That sounds fair to me.”

“Mmm-mmmm,” he murmured in agreement once more. “Oh god… yes… deserve... sometimes.”

The replies from the Man of Steel suggested his mind was well into his pleasure centre, so One slipped down the band of the shiny red briefs and pulled out the rock hard Shaft of Steel with it’s uncut head glistening precum.

“Let me help you relax, Superman. This won’t take long.”

The eyes of the mighty kryptonian were glazed over by this point and he simply nodded his agreement and gave One a look of slight longing, which quickly changed to a look of ecstasy and need as the hand of One wrapped around the hard shaft and began to stroke with a slow steady rhythm.

The stroking continued and Superman was lost to the feelings of pleasure coursing through his body. He let his head slide back and started to make small thrusting movements with his pelvis as an urge to cum started to build.

One felt the thrusting and knew its meaning but continued his slow deliberate strokes. His patience was rewarded in less than a minute when the moaning stopped and the hero offered up a single word. “Please.”

“Yes Superman? What can I do for you?”

“Agghhh,” came the moaned reply. “Please go faster. Please make me cum.”

“Of course Superman, only too happy to oblige.” True to his word, One increased the pace of his stroking and the Man of Steel went completely limp in his golden bondage as he felt himself approaching the climax.

One stroked harder and faster and continued his stroking as the orgasm crashed itself across the superpowered body. Superman’s entire body flexed involuntarily as bursts of cum shot out of his cock, only to be captured by unseen bands of energy and removed quickly for safe storage.

One kept his hand wrapped around the still hard Cock of Steel and gently teased the sensitive head, causing Superman to come out of his euphoric state and buck in his bondage.

As though coming out of hypnosis, a shocked and disgusted look set itself on the face of the Man of Steel as he saw his hard cock sitting in the hand of the villain with remnants of cum dripping from the head. “What? How? What have you done to me?” came the outraged questions.

“That was the first of our procedures for you Superman,” came the confident reply from One. “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“You’re sick. How dare you!” Superman blushed and struggled in the bondage but still he couldn’t budge the golden bands.

“The second phase will be somewhat less enjoyable I’m afraid.” As he said the words One stepped to the side of the Man of Steel and said, “please focus your gaze on your balls.” Sensing the resistance he added, “believe me when I say it will be easier if you comply.”

“I mentioned earlier my surprise that you do not have silky balls Superman, so I wanted to test a theory. Can your heat vision burn them smooth?”

The only reply was a look of distaste and disgust from the hero who could not believe what he was hearing.

“Focus your gaze on them please. I realise you won’t trust me, but I suggest you believe me.”

Superman stubbornly refused to comply and felt the unseen force moving his head to the desired position so that he was looking at his poor stretched ballsack. He then closed his eyes, partly in defiance, partly in shame for their treatment, feeling a small sense of victory.

That sense was short-lived though, as he suddenly felt shock and fear as his heat vision activated and began burning into his eyelids, forcing him to open them immediately.

One simply nodded as the heat vision was activated and reflected from the mirror back onto the Orbs of Steel. Immediately they started to glow a dull red and the smell of burning hair filled his senses.

Superman cried out in pain as his own heat vision burned his ballsack and watched as the unseen force manipulated his elongated sack, moving it around such that the entire surface was burnt clear of any hair.

“They look much better now Superman. Smooth and silky like the balls of a whore. I better wait for them to cool down before I feel them so let’s see how much they can take!”

“No! Please!” cried the bound hero as he desperately attempted to shut down his heat vision. The burning sensation increased as the sack was no longer being moved around, causing the effect to be focussed onto his testicles. “Arrghhhh! Arghhhhh! Please… the pain… stop!”

The Man of Steel was desperate to protect his balls and he struggled violently in his bondage, this time not giving up despite his failure. The pain was terrible and relentless as the power of his heat vision continuing to pour from his eyes directly into his reddened sack.

A thoughtful frown sat on the face of One as he observed. “Clearly we are getting near the melting point of those Orbs of Steel, Superman. They are glowing red now and look like they’re about to be melted clear off your body. How would it feel to have no balls Super…” One trailed off. “Hmmm. What would we call you then I wonder? Supereunuch?”

The rage and pain continued to build in the Man of Steel and he felt shock and surprise as control of his heat vision finally returned to him and he shut it off immediately. In spite of the terrible pain in his balls he experienced a burst of hope and flexed and strained with all his might.

One knew that the end of their experiment was drawing near so he proceeded to the final phase. Picking up the weight it immediately transformed into a telekinetically enhanced baseball bat. With precision and skill, One proceeded to swing the bat at the fully exposed and still very sore Orbs of Steel.

Whack! A sound like two heavy lead objects colliding filled the room. The low hanging balls were hit with such force they stretched out to the side before curving up and smacking into the steel thigh muscle and returning to dangle low and exposed.

Superman had been so busy fighting the golden bondage that he had no awareness of the new assault by One.

As the bat collided, Superman gave out a high-pitched scream laden with suffering from the pain which burst across his body like lightning. His powerful muscles spasmed in a natural response to protect his jewels, and he noticed that he had finally managed to move one of the golden bands.

Fighting the urge to give up, he took a deep breath to flex again but was interrupted by the second blow to his balls.

Whack! That same reverberating sound of two heavy leaden objects colliding. Again the balls were thrown up into the thigh of the hero, this time looking slightly misshapen and still red when they stopped their movement.

This time the cry from Superman was choked and tears were evident on his face. But the involuntary response was even more powerful and he finally found movement for both his arms. He wrapped his hands around the golden bands and began to pull, tensing and bracing himself for the next impact.

Whack! The third impact sounded more like a crunch than a thud and the pain gave the Man of Steel the strength to wrest his arms free as the golden bands shattered into nothingness. He quickly cupped his precious and hurting balls, desperate to curl into the foetal position and ensure nothing could ever hurt them again.

But self-preservation soon took over and he directed a murderous look of hatred at his foe, eyes glowing a fresh shade of red as he prepared to activate his heat vision and turn One into a smouldering corpse.

Infuriatingly, One simply slung the baseball bat over his shoulder and watched with one raised eyebrow as the threat of a painful death hung over him.

Superman risked the removal of one of his hands from his poor balls to wrench his ankles free and was soon hovering above the hated villain, one hand cupping his exposed and pain-wracked testicles.

With a howl of rage Superman directed his heat vision at the ceiling above One, bring rubble and molten material down on him instantly. The mass was then blasted with heat vision and cold breath as the Man of Steel fulfilled his primal urge to protect himself from the terrible foe.

Finally believing that he was safe from One, the Man of Steel launched himself through the new hole in the roof and flew away in an instant to heal, lick his wounds and lament his horrendous final actions.

After the hero had left, the shell of molten and frozen material shattered and was flung away from the unharmed form of One, who was shortly joined by the small group of men from the other room.

“That went better than planned,” opined One.

“Agreed,” replied the older man. “A lot of data about his limits and weaknesses.”

“And the Supplicants?” queried One.

“The alien was even more powerful than our last encounter,” came the reply. “Even with the Foci we would not have lasted much longer than when we dropped the bands.”

“The approach is validated,” added the older man. “We will develop additional methods to test and control him. It is just a matter of time.”

#superman #superman defeated #cbt and ballbusting #superhero defeated

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luckiestb · 2 years ago

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Luckiest On Earth- Doomslayer x reader

Chapter 2: A Glimpse of Salvation

(WARNINGS: Canon-typical gore and violence, Reader suffers from trauma/mentions of PTSD)

It had been a day since you had left your previous ‘safe house’, and everything seemed peaceful so far. You had picked your way over crumbled mounds that had once been buildings, clambered over upturned vehicles, and took a running leap across a gaping fissure in the rapidly dying earth.

However, you knew peace meant danger.

As you had travelled, you weren’t bothered by any demons. Where there should’ve been hostile abominations bent on destroying you were instead blood stains in the rubble, merely red shadows of what they once were. This should’ve been a blessing, right? Wrong. Demons were as common as birds at this point, and the silence (though a nice relief) meant that something was strong enough to mow down hoards upon hoards of these monsters. As you stepped over a dismembered horn, long lost from its owner, you couldn’t help but shudder. Whatever killed these demons was terrifyingly stronger and more determined than any imp or hellish soldier could be, and it unnerved you. ‘There’ll always be a bigger fish in the sea.’ Your inner monologue reminded you, but the sentiment just made your skin crawl. If it could decimate these underlings of hell, imagine what it could do to your mortal, human body… Utterly and thoroughly spooked, you contemplated on finding another room to hole up in until the demons filtered back into the area.

‘Are you insane? You might not get another chance like this.’ Your mind reprimanded you, and you felt ashamed for being so cautious. The apocalypse had no place for care. It was either you lived boldly or rotted quietly. And you didn’t barely survive for 3 years just to become a demon’s version of leftovers. So you carried on, senses heightened towards this dangerous enigma that had rampaged through before you.

About half an hour after your moment of weakness, you stumbled upon something that made your stomach twist in horror.

At a long-abandoned intersection was an open field of gore. Mangled remains of what had to be an entire herd of demons. But it wasn’t the horrific end they met that scared you: you hadn’t been a pacifist these past years— killing was an integral part of surviving nowadays. And the handful of demons on your kill count weren’t put down peacefully.

What actually scared you was that the bodies were still warm. They steamed under the crimson sky, a stinking mass of death. You felt a cold chill shoot down your spine as you tried and failed to swallow the lump of anxiety in your throat. ‘It’s been here recently.’ Alarm bells were ringing in your head, not unlike the automated messages that had warned you of impending doom three years ago, ‘It’s been here recently, and it might still be around.’

Before you could spiral, you felt a feeble tug on your leg. On reflex, you swung back your steel-toes boot and kicked whatever dared to move. You heard a sickening crunch and a dying grunt, and you glanced down to see the collapsed visage of a zombie, already sprawled on the ground from the damage the seemingly unstoppable force from before had dealt it. ‘Fucking animal.’

You weren’t sure whether that passing thought was directed to yourself or the carcass.

After spitting on its newly killed body, you took a swift look around, feeling your mindset slip into the logical survival mode that had led you through hell on Earth. There were a number of demonic soldiers dead amongst the carnage, and you wished that their guns could have been at least some use to you. The pistol held tightly in your hand seemed almost laughable compared to the invisible threat that may be lurking around the corner.

But you continued on, picking your way carefully through the carcasses. You tried to breathe through your mouth to redirect the disgusting smell emanating from the gorefest, but it backfired once you started to taste the infection that was embedded into the creatures at your feet. Trying not to gag, you carried on.

That was all you could do in the face of adversity, carry on.

You entertained the idea of turning back, of finding a different route through the city. It’s not like you had a clear path anyways, you were simply searching for an ARC camp. You turned over the idea in your head, distracting you from the bloody mess surrounding you. You’d be safer if you showed caution towards this stranger and avoided them entirely… But maybe the being responsible for the massacre was like you. A survivor. Sure, a brutal survivor— but a survivor nonetheless. You weren’t sure whether it was the sucking hole of loneliness planting seeds of hope in your mind, but maybe you could finally see another living person. Someone you could trust, someone who you could take turns with holding watch whilst the other slept, someone who could turn your feeble survival into living. You certainly would welcome the company, and God (wherever it may be during this era of Earth) knows if you would carelessly throw caution to the wind when it meant there was a possibility of having human contact again.

Whilst you were distracted by your slowly building fantasy, you didn’t notice the faint sounds of footsteps and fighting in the still-intact buildings above you. By the time you had noticed, it was loud and distinct enough that you could pinpoint where it was happening: in the skyscraper to your right, about 5 stories up. You stopped, taking a few steps to the left to try and peek into the window. You craned your head as far back as possible, hand intently gripping your quivering pistol; but you couldn’t see a thing other than blood splattering the windows from unknown carnage. At least you had encountered some life now, even if it was ‘mortally challenged’— as the UAC call them. ‘You’d think that they would get along.’ You commented in your mind, surprisingly relieved to hear the presumed infighting of the demon forces.

Before you could think any deeper into the behaviour of demons, one came flying out of the window, landing with a bone-shattering crunch about 8 feet away from you. You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the surprised shout that you had instinctively made, and instantly pressed yourself against the wall; aiming your pistol at its unmoving body. It seems the fall had killed it, and you breathed an internal sigh of relief.

It didn’t last for long, though.. As a huge green mass flew out of the same window, crashing into the building on the left at the same height. You didn’t have enough time to properly analyse it, but it looked terrifying. You watched it stand up from its crouched landing position, heart almost jumping in your chest, and ogled at it as it brushed off a few broken shards of glass before moving on further into the building.

‘What the FUCK?’

#fanfic #fanfiction #doom eternal #doom slayer #doom slayer x reader #doomguy #doomguy x reader #first fic #x reader #x y/n #doom guy

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dorian-wilde-writings · 4 months ago

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The entirety of Chapter I

Working title: With Warmest Regards

(Written more just prefer to release the whole thing at once instead)

Upon the embrace of a late spring afternoon, one Dr. Matthew J. Ames, M.D., Ph.D., found himself sauntering with an air of initial nonchalance along the aristocratically vibrant streets of London. In a lover's caress, his fingers dallied with the velveteen textures of burgeoning green carnations and lavenders, themselves audacious interlopers in the urban sprawl. He leaned, ever so slightly, to partake in an olfactory repast — the scents a symphony of spicy, clove-like notes, interwoven with the reserved sweetness of floral undertones; an aromatic reverie, reminiscent of cinnamon's embrace, mild yet unyielding in its presence. Such petals, bold in their incursion, adorned the gates of an estate he frequented, a realm known yet enigmatic in its familiarity, its grandeur a whisper from history's depths.

Dr. Ames embodied strength, not merely in the corporeal sense but as an ethos. His visage was marked by a formidable brow and a physique that seemed to challenge the very fabric of his attire. His ensemble bore the essence of tobacco—a scent not so much worn as carried, a testament to years of tempered indulgence. Though designed for a gentleman, the attire bore the scars of time and toil; his coat, once a vibrant burgundy, now whispered tales of past grandeur and present weariness.

The man took out the golden pocket watch from the chain attached to the inside of his vest to check the time before he stared down those horrid gates, his mind filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Yes, Matthew was a strong man in every sense of the word, but as he stepped against the gravel and up to the ornate door of the estate… he felt weak as ever, unsure of what state of living he would find inside. The suspense was palpable, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared to face whatever awaited him.

The thick air with the scent of blooming flowers became a stark contrast to the fear that gripped Dr. Ames. Placing a hand on his chest to feel his heart as it thumped. His face flushed, and his hands trembled as he approached the ornate silver doorbell. Taking a deep inhale of the floral scent that momentarily distracted him from his anxiety enough to - with a trembling hand - press the doorbell. A weight finally lifted from his chest at the sound of the bell echoing through that quiet estate.

Before Matthew stood quite a sizeable wooden door, weathered by time and neglect, rugged, chipped wood against the doctor's fingers. Moving along to feel the carvings that jutted in and out of the wood that created swirling, intricate shapes that began to strain one's eyes if you examined it for a bit too long, all this emphasised to Ames - the threatening aura seeping from the wood whilst also inviting, a succubus lurring its next victim. The door now opened slowly, letting out a horrific, grating creak as it did. The sound resounded through the hushed estate, a sound that sent a shiver down Dr. Ames' spine.

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Hello?” A voice uttered through the gap between the entrance and the wall, his face obscured by shadow, tiny, spindly, spider-esc fingers wrapping around the wood's frame. “Who is it?” The voice, though muffled, carried a hint of curiosity and caution. Dr. Ames' hand, still trembling, reached out to grasp the doorframe for support.

“It- It’s Ames, dear. Could you open the door a tad more? It seems awfully dark in there.”

“Matthew!” Exclaimed the voice in excitement, now flinging the entrance open entirely, almost harming the other in its enthusiasm. And now, standing in the soft sunlight of spring, fully lit up and grinning from ear to ear, was Victor Barret, Matthew's long-time friend and confidant despite being a mere lad of 20 - yet his condition would easily convince one otherwise.

Victor, a self-proclaimed academic, was a sight that stirred deep concern in Dr Ames and surely any other who came to see him. His dishevelled appearance, from the pronounced bags under his eyes to his cravat hanging loose and his hair in disarray, hinted to Ames the toll his studies had taken on him. This was the Victor that Matthew knew so well, a brilliant mind often consumed by his work. However, there was something more, something that Dr. Ames couldn't quite put his finger on, that had led Victor to this state. It was this mystery that kept Matthew on edge, his concern growing with each passing second.

“Come in, come in! Oh, how I've missed you, Matthew!” Victor's voice was filled with joy, and his actions were quick and eager as he moved aside, now shuffling his feet that sat in undone dress shoes, to lift the blinds and let more of that spring light flood into the room, a gesture typical of his cheerful and naive nature. His eyes, usually bright and full of life, now held a hint of exhaustion, which Ames took as another sign of the toll his studies had taken on him.

The room, adorned with off-white floral-patterned fabrics that hung before every window, was bathed in the soft spring beams as Victor flung them aside. The sun's rays glistened in, illuminating the two men who stood side by side one another and reflecting off the silver accents of the boy's home decor.

Unlit candelabras, their waxen bodies gleaming in the sunlight, sat upon every shelf and surface, their warm sunlight bouncing off them and hitting the piles of literature with titles about ‘the human mind’, and ‘the state of being’, scattered upon the floor and silver flower vases filled to the brim with white lilies that filled the room with their scent, even in their state of beginning to wilt.

The sound of swallows and starlings chirping outside added to the springtime atmosphere. “Sit now; I’ll fetch you some tea,” Victor said, filled with a mix of excitement and dread, body tense as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next turn of events.

Matthew slowly made his way over to Victor's dark plum divan. He sat upright, always proper in his mannerisms and, therefore, never comfortable, unlike Victor, who was always comfortable and hence- never truly proper. Ames couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between them, the way Victor seemed to fit so naturally into his surroundings while he always felt like an outsider, a visitor in his own life. This stark contrast, this constant struggle to find common ground, often made him question their friendship, wondering if they were genuinely compatible or if their differences would eventually drive them apart.

Victor, his voice trembling with excitement, returned with the tea. He rambled about their lack of communication, which Dr. Ames couldn't help but find intriguing. His brow furrowed slightly, a sign of his growing concern.

“Yes yes-” he said as he waved Victor off, “that's all well and good, Victor, but I feel I must mention… I have been sending letter after letter to you, my friend. In fact, I have come here repeatedly and was beginning to think you needed a new doorbell!” Ames’s voice, usually steady and robust, quivered with concern. The tension in the air was palpable as if the room itself was holding its breath and waiting for Victor's response.

“Oh… oh, I see,” Victor whispered, holding his thumb to his tip in thought as he crossed his arms, resting his elbow on the other arm, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I am—quite sorry, Matthew. I truly had no clue. See, there's something I want to tell you.” A small smile beamed over his face, clouding over the previous worry. “Well then, my boy, do tell, I would love to know what has kept you from me for so long!” Matthew queried, hands carefully wrapping around his tea as he crossed one leg over the other, raising an eyebrow at the younger one in interest, relief washing over him at Victor's grin, knowing that whatever it was, it mustn't be all that bad.

Victor made his way over to the other, leaning back as he sat on the divan next to him, lighting a cigarette. “I met someone.” He spoke rather bluntly, looking over at Ames, “someone very interesting; I’m afraid over the last few days I have been so incredibly enamoured I have completely forgotten about the outside world altogether.” Matthew's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected news. The revelation left him with a mix of emotions, from curiosity to concern, as he struggled to maintain his composure and process what Victor had just said.

Matthew watched his face intently, watching Victor's eyelids settle slightly as he relaxed. His pupils widened as he spoke of this mystery person, and now Matthews's eyes darted down to see his leg bouncing rapidly despite his calmer state. “That's all very well, Victor, and please do forgive my curiosity, but I cannot stand your vagueness; it is a horrible habit to have and one you indulge in far too much.” He criticised, crossing his arms as he placed down his cup.

“I know far too well that if I do not ask explicitly, you won't tell me.”

“You can be awfully horrid to me sometimes, you know that. Let a man indulge in some mystery… but alright, what are you going to ask?” Victor huffed in response

“I want to know how you met this person. Do tell me everything, won't you?”

“Yes, yes, I will” Victor took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling his lids press together as he went back in his memory, truly unable to forget that moment in the first place

“He was a clever fellow by the name of Julius Foale… I was out for an evening stroll, and the sun swirled into that lovely orange sky as it went away. I’m afraid I was so enamoured with my research notes that I wasn't looking where I was going in the slightest.

That's when I ran into a man who had the same idea for a promenade as I did, our paths colliding as I fell to the ground. He was undoubtedly a bit of a dandy if I’d ever seen one. A man of the finer things myself, the first thing my eyes went to was his clothing.

A beautiful blue velvet coat wrapped around him and framed his figure nicely, bending in at his waist ever so slightly and hugging his shoulders. All this is paired with a colourful, soft floral waistcoat peeking out from the blue and tied together with a velvet cravat. Of course, I’m not so materialistic that I’d only see another man's clothing. You know me that well, Matthew- anyhow, I looked up from my place on the concrete and was met with a pair of shining, golden brown eyes that seemed to have been touched by Midas himself.”

Matthew leaned over to the other as he spoke, borrowing the cigarette from Victor's hand, which was so bony in comparison to Matthew's. “I do hope he’s humble since you seem to speak all his glory for him.”

“There is really no need to tease me- anyhow. When I looked at him, I swear for a moment I was looking at the sunset again, along with his golden hair falling down his face. I felt as if I was making a terrible mistake by being in the presence of such an angelic man, and that's when he spoke to me, asking if I was alright after the tumble. And his voice! Oh, his voice… He sounded of honey and the harmony of angels, the calming tone of a mother singing her infant to sleep.

I hastily mumbled an apology, my tone quivering from pure nerves. I took his hand as he reached out to help me up, pressing my palm to his. His skin was soft and delicate, almost like a woman's hand. He felt like he was unhurt by the cruel world. His hands were so gentle and smooth, with prominent knuckles that I felt with my thumb as I was pulled up to face him directly, his scent wafting over me from the pull.

Floral and spring-like at first, that of a young boy frolicking through freshly bloomed flowers… but- there was something else there which I couldn't quite pinpoint, perhaps notes of opium? Yet- not entirely, it was off, some sort of scent I wasn't familiar with myself, yet everything else was so beautiful I just simply looked past it; I’m sure I’ll regret that one day, it's a horrible decision for any academic to be so enamoured like this.”

“I’m afraid you are correct in that statement, Victor. I don't agree with a lot of what you say, but I am sure of that. You have an incredible mind, at times to your detriment, for sure, but I agree that those sorts of friendships are purely distractions to any great mind. Neither one of us can afford such a thing… Although that is not to say I’m against it, it is simply another complexity of the human condition. All great people crave distractions from their minds.”

“Matthew, I truly despise when you speak like that. It distresses me; I think far too much on my own. I would like to not indulge in your brain as well, despite how lovely it can be.”

“Yes, yes, I thank you for the flattery and whatnot, but I don't suppose there is any way I can meet this fellow? I must know anyone you speak so highly of,” Matthew inquired, extremely curious as he allowed the other to finish their shared cigarette before taking a sip of his tea, the mix of bitter tea with sweet honey stirred into it, flooding over the previous taste of tobacco and smoke. Taking a deep breath of fresh air to combat the bitter smoke in his lungs, the senses calming his mind and body.

“You have absolutely brilliant timing, my friend. I was invited to dine with him tonight; I’m sure he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Oh, you must come with me. He’s absolutely brilliant. I am positive you will adore him just as I do.”

Matthew's mouth contorted to a slight frown that sat upon his face despite getting precisely what he had asked for, unsure about the pit that sat in his stomach, twisting and swirling in sharp pain as his brows furrowed against his forehead, falling deep into thought as he analysed his own thoughts feelings and senses, observing his experience of the human condition.

A slight tingle came over his fingers and a quiver in his chapped lips as they slowly parted to speak out a response, at first it being just an empty breath, unable to push anything past his throat, the flesh of it closing up against his words, breathing in that spring air again before managing to speak. “Yes Victor… I think that would be quite lovely, and he sounds like a very respectable man.”

A slight hiss hung through the now painfully stiff air as the shared cigarette was put out against Victor's silver, intricate ashtray. The boy stood now with a wild smile across his pale face, grinning ear to ear at Matthew's agreement to join him as he pulled the older man into a tight hug, completely ecstatic.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! You really have no idea how much this means to me. In all honestly, I was afraid to go alone. I’m glad I’ll have a friend there with me. I so despise going to events when I don't know anyone there that well; it is terribly awkward, and I have so missed you, even if I’ve been a tad too distracted to realise.”

“It’s really quite alright, my dear. I would love to meet this Julius Foale of yours, and you do need more friends, after all - be a doll and write down the information for me, and I shall go home to get into my evening wear, alright?” Ames muttered, giving Victor a slight grin in response, gently pushing the small man off of him as he himself stood.

The old wooden flooring creaked slightly underneath his leather shoes as he put weight onto them, echoing throughout the quiet house beside the occasional chatter between the two men and the faint footsteps of Victor's butler. The two men stared at each other now, looking into one another's eyes in silence for a moment and embracing the presence of the other that both of them missed and longed for horribly, Matthew's fingers twitching slightly while fighting against the urge to reach out for Barret.

“I’ll be on my way then,” Ames insisted, turning away from him, nerves running through his body as he did. I’ll see you soon then, my dear boy.” Matthew truly did feel glad for his friend, knowing Victor tended to seclude himself from society; he needed more socialisation, and it would be good for his state to get out - yet he still had this horrid swirling in his stomach telling him something was off as he waved goodbye to Victor Barret, floors creaking as he walked out that old grand house.

———————————

Matthew gazed towards his reflection, finding himself at his own estate, now adjusting his evening wear in the silver gilded mirror of his bed chambers and his fingers grazing over the stalk of alyssum positioned within his lapel, delicate, decadent and soothing little white petals forcing him to be careful, wary with his touch as he felt the frail flower. Fearing that if he gave into his desires, his hands would spoil it before he took in the fragrance of warm honey that the alyssum gave off and subdued his mind from the apprehensions he had built up about this mysterious new friend of Victor.

A bitter taste formed within his mouth caused by the dryness in his throat, forcing his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth as he carefully manoeuvred his dense hair, preparing himself for what was to come. The doctor's face was illuminated by the candles that had sat before his mirror, dark blue wax that had been forced into the candelabras, small pieces of scraped wax poking out around it, going from blue to white from the minor scrapes unable to hold to the rich colourisation that the candles maintained, mimicking the life of royalty in his upper-class estate.

Ames leaned forward ever so slightly to triple-check the ivory bowtie that sat around his neck, the flickering orange lights of the candles contrasting with the azure of his candles warming his face, heat spreading throughout the rest of his body in the slight cold sting that the spring nights caused to slip into the homes of London, crawling its way through the gaps of windows, floorboards and cracks in the walls, chilling one's bones. Matthew savoured this warmth, grateful he could remain in comfort while others did not before taking a breath of sharp air and extinguishing the flames.

Matthew's brain felt a slight sense of relief as he walked down the halls of his estate, the man's ears calming when he didn't hear the creaking sounds that he had gotten so used to hearing when visiting Victor. Ames seized a lightweight scarf as he departed the building, soft fabric against his skin, dark yellow with pink and magenta carnations enveloping and spiralling around the pattern. The diaphanous fabric rustled around and hemmed him pleasingly, adding a touch of colour to one's typically very drab and plain evening wear, a gift from his dear Victor a fair couple of years ago.

The outside air stung his face as he stepped out onto the streets of London, cold and sharp as daggers that attacked any slight peak of bare skin that left itself open to the senses and open for attack. Gravel moved under his dress shoes, creating a crunch that echoed through the streets as it maneuvered around him to make way for the steps and his mahogany cane, pebbles clicking and crashing together with each action. The sound bounced around his ears and rang through his brain as his eyes adjusted to the dark sky of the evening, focusing on the street lamps that lit the area.

The gentle glow they emitted reminded him of the flickering candles that adorned his bedroom. It seemed to mock the radiant rays of the sun as if humanity's desire to reach divine status was both exquisite and terrifying in its essence. Matthew halted in his steps, retrieving a cigarette from his case and delicately positioning it between his lips. As he struck a match to ignite the cigarette, he felt a sense of godlike power akin to Prometheus bestowing fire upon mankind with his own hands.

After his time walking, he stared down towards the information of the evening on the paper that Victor had written for him, eyes now looking up to find himself at this strange new friend's estate. The building was well-kept, with three stories of clean windows and flowers surrounding the light blue walls, buttercups sprouting upwards from the grounds, and double daffodils towering over them. Matthew's eyes then focus on the peaks of pink coming through the green grass.

Ames hesitated as he approached the door, the lush azaleas surrounding the grounds creating an atmosphere of caution. The faint buzz of conversation seeped through the gaps in the doorway, unusually loud for a typical dinner — a red light filtered through the dark blinds of the crystal-clear windows, casting an eerie glow. Matthew gazed at the peculiar lighting, feeling a wave of confusion wash over him before mustering the courage to knock on the door. The door painted an enigmatic deep purple, seemed to loom over him as he took a shaky breath and rapped his knuckles against it three times before stepping back.

#writeblr #writerblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #classical literature #historical fiction #writer #writers #writing community #with warmest regards

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years ago

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SR Sebek Zigvolt Masquerade Dress Personal Story: Part 2

"I shall thoroughly beat it into your head!"

(Part 1) Part 2

[Noble Bell College – Lecture Hall]

Sebek: Are you the Vice President of the Noble Bell College Student Council?

Vice President: Yes, I am. And you are…?

Sebek: I am Sebek Zigvolt, the esteemed Malleus Draconia-sama's chief retainer!

Sebek: It is beyond impertinent for a mere human to speak ill of Malleus-sama! Avast!

Vice President: …Eh, me, speak ill? What are you talking about?

Sebek: It's useless to act unaware! I have heard the testimony against you! You said you did not wish to go anywhere near Malleus-sama.

Vice President: Th-This is a misunderstanding! That was simply something I couldn't help but blurt out due to being so in awe of Malleus-san's greatness.

Vice President: If that was seen as an impertinence, I humbly apologize. Please accept my sincere apology!

Sebek: …

Sebek: Of course, that's what I was! Perfectly understandable reaction to witnessing his greatness, even more so for a human as puny as you are!

Sebek: Though I am currently my liege's retainer, even I was unable to raise my head to look up at him when I first met him.

Sebek: I had believed it would be much too awe-inspiring to behold Malleus-sama's visage directly.

Vice President: Is that right? Then what incident propelled you to have the position you do now…?

Sebek: Humph, my lord's trust cannot be bought by a mere "incident"! But, hm, let me think…

Sebek: It is possible that that one moment may have been the pivotal incident for me.

Sebek: Back in my hometown of Briar Valley, I would often run in the forest as part of my training…

Sebek: One day, I happened to encounter Malleus-sama there.

Vice President: In… the forest?

Sebek: Exactly. Ordinarily, Malleus-sama would reside in his castle, but that day he had come to visit our master.

Sebek: It may have only been a coincidence, but I had the chance encounter to meet him… I remember when that happened, I was more than startled.

Sebek: I was rendered speechless before such an esteemed person, and yet, Malleus-sama said to me…

[FLASHBACK]

Malleus: Oho, it seems you are continuing your ardent training today, as well.

Malleus: Lilia was praising your efforts. Keep up that diligence of yours.

Sebek: I still remember those words he spoke to me that day…

Sebek: Since that moment, I fully devoted myself to my training and continued to improve myself!

Vice President: Oh… I see, Malleus-san had such a kind side to him. I had no idea.

Vice President: I am starting to feel much closer to him. Perhaps I'll try to drum up the courage to ask him to a dance when the next song starts.

Sebek: WHAT―――――!?

Sebek: I dare you say that again. A dance with Malleus-sama!? What an impudent human!!

Vice President: Huh!?

Sebek: You truly must not fully comprehend Malleus-sama's greatness… How else would you be able to make such a presumptuous statement?

Sebek: As it stands, I shall thoroughly beat it into your head!

Vice President: He gets mad whether I'm frightened, or in awe… What am I supposed to do here…!?

Ruggie: Oh maaan, looks like the Noble Bell College Vice President guy's in a pinch. Sucks to be him.

Jamil: Can you really say that as the guy who led Sebek in his direction? If you really feel that way, why don't you go to save him?

Ruggie: Oh, I can't possibly do something so uncouth～ 'Cause, this is a "school exchange," after all.

Ruggie: Those Noble Bell College students…

Ruggie: They gotta just chat, chat, chat away with Sebek-kun, and deepen those ties with him, y'know!

Vice President: Thank you very much… I understand how spectacular "Malleus-sama" is…

Vice President: Urgh… You said the words "Malleus-sama" so loudly, so many times that my head is spinning.

Sebek: Is it? I have only just begun… After all, you are not the only student here at Noble Bell College.

Sebek: I must make sure that every single person here fully comprehends my liege's greatness.

Sebek: Now then, if you'll excuse me. Farewell, human!

(Part 1) Part 2

#twisted wonderland #twst #sebek zigvolt #ruggie bucchi #jamil viper #malleus draconia #twst sebek #twst ruggie #twst jamil #twst malleus #twst translation #twst glorious masquerade #mention: lilia #mention: silver

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paradiqms · 2 years ago

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(2) to you, 2000 years from now.

hongjoong x fem!reader.

tags: angst, captain!hongjoong, royalty!reader, betrayals, misunderstandings, mentions of death, cruelty, fluff here n there, fantasy setting, strangers to lovers to enemies to..?

summary: after the death of your parents and near fall of your kingdom, you have no choice but to leave your first love in order to keep the kingdom in balance with you as the new ruler. years later, you see a familiar face - but instead of being in your arms, he's kneeling in front of the guillotine.

word count: 4,9k

currently, two out of ?

previous.

you awaken to the song of the first bird in the morning.

there’s a heavy weight on your middle as you try to move under the sheets that covers your body, and you realize that hongjoong has his arm wrapped around your waist whilst he sleeps, snoring away peacefully.

the candle beside his bed has long extinguished before the morning. with the help of the gentle early sunlight peeking from the cracks in the walls, you’re able to take your time and admire the face of the man lying beside you on the small mattress. there’s a reminder of the first day you met him in the dark alleyway in the form of a healed scar under his left eye. you reach up to place your hand on his cheek, gently caressing the scar with your thumb.

“good morning, joong.” you mumble quietly, merely receiving a small snore from the young man in response. a silent laugh falls from your lips as you lean forward to press a light kiss on hongjoong’s forehead before wriggling yourself out of his hold with slow movements as to not wake him up.

it’s your first time spending a night away from the palace, and you have to admit that you feel quite free. there’s no maid knocking on your door to wake you up, no one ushering you to the bathroom to wash up, no one fussing over what you should be wearing for the day and no one to nag your ear off regarding all the classes you have to attend or any other ‘princess’ duties to mull over.

it's just you and your dear joong, tangled within each other under his sheets. your heart feels full whenever you glance at the sleeping boy’s peaceful visage.

although you can’t help but feel a growing anxiousness in the pit of your stomach.

do your parents know of your absence? has any of the servants entered your bedroom to call you down for breakfast? has yeonjun entered your bedroom, like how he does every morning without fail to make sure you’re safe?

with a shake of your head, you answer your own questions with a simple no. if anyone had noticed you missing from your bedroom, there would’ve been commotion in the palace that you definitely wouldn’t miss–

your thoughts are interrupted by the loud, booming rings of the castle bells that resonate throughout the entire kingdom, followed by the gasps of the townsfolk nearby and hurried yells royal guards.

oops, you muse to yourself as you stand up from the bed. spoke too soon.

someone must’ve finally noticed you’re missing from your chambers. your guess is probably yeonjun, and you can only imagine the panic he’s currently going through. he had already been scolded by the captain of the royal guards several months ago when he lost you in town, the poor boy being forced to tend to stable duties up until now. you’re basically used to the smell of horse manure clinging onto your personal guard whenever he comes up to you in the palace.

as the sound of armored boots against muddied ground increase, you manage to gather the strength to pull yourself up from hongjoong’s comfortable bed to freshen up and return to the palace before your parents conduct a search party throughout the kingdom.

your hands smoothen over your blouse and skirt to rid of any creases, reaching over to hongjoong’s dresser for a handy comb to straighten out your bed hair. as you brush through the tangles in your locks, you lean over your lover’s sleeping figure to give him another kiss on the top of his head.

with a whispered promise of seeing him again tonight, you take your quiet leave from hongjoong’s room after placing the comb back onto his dresser.

as you descend from the attic space and out of the building, the streets are empty. you see not a single person outside of their homes, and you’re aware that the townspeople always wake up early to start their business in the marketplace.

‘maybe they’ve gathered in the square.’ your mind reasons as you walk along the quiet streets. your suspicions are proved correct as you catch the view of a crowd of townsfolk huddled around each other, but there’s something wrong. the people seem to be agitated as you watch how a group of men try to push their way through the royal guards that have lined up at the front, acting as a human barricade separating the people and the main gate of the palace.

as you slowly approach nearer, you’re able to hear the desperate shouts from the townsfolk.

“please, let us help!” a woman cries. “let us help! we will find the culprit!”

‘culprit?’ you question. and help with what, exactly? a pang of guilt begins to bloom within your chest. if you knew the people were going to be this upset over your sudden disappearance, you would’ve gotten up earlier to sneak back into the palace before anyone checks up on you.

without wasting any more time, you squeeze yourself through the crowd until you manage to find yourself at the very front and facing the guards. one of them notices you, and a wave of relief shows itself on his aging face.

“your highness!” he exclaims. “oh, praise the stars, you’re alright. we were worried sick.”

“i’m alright,” you offer the guard a small smile, unnoticing to the way his eyes fall only seconds after brightening up during your appearance. “please tell my parents to cease whatever… this is. i hope they haven’t started an unnecessary search party.”

you watch how the guard lowers his head at the mention of your parents, and he doesn’t respond to your words for a moment. instead, he reaches out to you, muttering a few quick words to the other guards before bringing out pass the gates and into the palace grounds. you’re confused, but you follow the man anyway.

“where are you taking the princess?!” you whip your head around at the loud yell coming from another townsfolk. “don’t bring her into the palace, you fool! it’s dangerous!”

“guard,” you tug on the man’s arm, your own voice shaking from the blooming anxiety that the entire situation is dumping on you. “what’s going on? why is the palace dangerous?”

the guard refuses to look at you. you feel your patience running low as your heart races within your tight chest, threatening to burst out and fall into your shaky hands. the distant yelling from your people on the other side of the tall palace gates are muffled by the sound of your own heart thumping inside your ears.

when the man clad in armor finally speaks, the screams of the townsfolk are drowned out by your own cries of agony.

“the king and queen have been murdered.”

you don’t attend the funeral.

the whole kingdom mourns for the loss of their beloved king and queen who have left their only child alone with a burden so great. the townspeople are dressed in black as they gather within the palace, their cries echoing throughout the pristine walls as they gaze upon the two caskets that lie next to each other.

you don’t have to be around to know that people are questioning your absence from the funeral of your parents, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. you’ve locked yourself up in one of isolde’s rooms, curled up into a ball under the sheets, far from the palace where the ones who raised have been murdered in cold blood. you can’t stand another second within those walls, now tainted with blood.

you don’t register the soft knocks on the door before it slowly creaks open, revealing a tuft of familiar brown hair. yeonjun is out of his armor for once, his tall stature dressed with the dark colors that represent the sadness of mourning. your personal guard speaks out your name gently, as if he’s afraid of frightening you in your most vulnerable moment.

“i bought some tea.” the young man says as he holds onto a porcelain cup filled with steaming tea, his other hand reach out to place it atop your head that’s currently underneath the white bedsheets. you don’t budge, refusing to let your companion see how ruined you’ve become.

it’s been a week ever since the death of your parents, and you haven’t shown yourself to the public – even when it’s your responsibility to handle the situation as the only remaining ruler. fortunately enough, a close friend of your parents who also happened to be the king of a neighboring kingdom, was so kind enough to step in and fill in your absence while you mourn in loneliness.

if yeonjun is disappointed with your behavior, he doesn’t show it. you’re sure he’s aware as much as you are that you’re not ready to bear the weight of the crown yet, especially after losing your parents; the ones who were supposed to guide you through it all. although your destiny of ruling over the kingdom is as true as the sky is blue, it shouldn’t have been now. now, you’re afraid, is far too early. your wishes of enjoying your youth before the inevitable day of becoming queen are snatched away from your desperate hands.

as if reading your mind, yeonjun decides to speak up.

“i know this isn’t a good time,” he mumbles. “but i have some… news from the palace.”

when you continue your silence even after several moments, yeonjun continues.

“i wish you could’ve had more time, but your coronation is set three days from now.”

the young guard had expected you to give at least a single reaction from his words, but you keep your silence. not even a sob, an angry shout at how unfair it all is, or even a protest. hell, yeonjun wants to see you rip the sheets off yourself and grab him by his arms to yell all of your frustrations out, for you to express all of your anger and sorrow in the ugliest way possible instead of keeping them to yourself as if you’re ashamed.

truthfully, you are ashamed. you’re ashamed you are the only one left alive – young, incompetent, foolish little you. at the very moment, you wish for nothing more than to beg at the feet of the heavens to reunite you with your parents instead of disappointing them even further beyond their last moments once you carry the crown on your head. you wouldn’t be able to live up to their expectations of ruling a kingdom even when you were destined to.

“i understand,” is all you managed to rasp out to yeonjun after a while. “i will be there. thank you.”

the brown haired boy has his head hanged low as he slowly stands up from the bed, untrusting in his abilities to keep himself composed in the face of your current condition. he feels as if he could break down in tears if he were to hear another word from you.

during his time serving as your personal guard, he has never heard you sound so defeated.

“i –” yeonjun’s voice shakes, and he clears his throat before continuing. “i.. i will take my leave now. i cannot bear to see you like this anymore.”

as he turns to exit the room you’ve confined yourself in, the young man stops himself just as he’s about to turn the knob of the door. he calls your name out gently.

“just so you know,” he speaks. “i miss you, dearly. and so do the others within the palace. once you return, please.. don’t hesitate to open up. i know you are expected to be many things, but emotionless is not one of them.”

the soft creaking of the door closing is all you’re left it once yeonjun makes his exit, as well as a trail of fallen tears.

years have passed, and you are now queen.

a quiet sigh escapes your chapped lips as you place your quilt down on the mahogany table, yet another migraine beginning to slither it’s way into your head while you stare blankly at the pile of paper in front of you. the soft lighting from the oil lamp that sits neatly on your left is the only thing that comforts you within the dark room that you’ve isolated yourself as you attempt to go through all the letters you’ve been sent from multiple lords and ladies form nearly lands.

just as you’re about to rest your eyes, a warm hand settles itself on your shoulder, startling you to sit up straight.

“oh,” a familiar, manly voice speaks from behind the chair you’ve seated yourself in for hours. “i’m sorry, did i scare you?”

you turn around, and you’re met with the well-chiseled features of the man who has ruled beside you for the past six years.

“a bit, yes.” you admit quietly, receiving an entertained chuckle from the latter. “when did you get in, juyeon?”

“several minutes ago,” juyeon responds with a shrug of his shoulders, his warm hand still placed on your exposed shoulder. “you were too busy with the paperwork to notice, i suppose.”

you merely give him a hummed answer before facing to your front once again. juyeon decides to place his other hand on your remaining shoulder, and you can feel the cold material of his gold ring against your skin. your eyes catch the glint of the small, yet elegant gem that sits nicely in the middle of the accessory – one that matches your own on the fourth finger of your left hand.

“have i not told you to stop overworking yourself?” juyeon scolds you as his hands begin to work over the tensed muscles of your shoulders, massaging them in attempt to help you loosen up. “you’ve done enough for today.”

you bite your lips to suppress the scoff you’re so tempted to let out.

enough is not something that you’d use to describe yourself, nor your efforts to keep your kingdom in a constant state of peace and harmony. it’s been countless cycles of day and night ever since the day you were crowned queen during your youth and yet you can’t find the courage or pride to call yourself a true leader, one who has done enough for her kingdom, when it’s juyeon who has been doing most of the work these years.

the day you married the son of the king who helped fill in your absence after the death of your parents was a day you felt completely hopeless, even as you wore the light colors that were supposed to symbolize the happiness and purity of becoming one with another person. just several weeks after your coronation, the king from the neighboring kingdom had suggested you marry his son, where he said you may only gain benefits if you were to agree. sure, juyeon is a nice man – he has been more than adequately trained to rule a kingdom ever since childhood, resulting in his ever so present confidence in his own abilities, which makes him a perfect partner for you who was quite the opposite.

“my son has enough knowledge and experience to rule both of our joined kingdoms if you were to marry him,” the king had attempted to convince you, his hoarse voice scratching your brain in the most unpleasant ways. “we both know you are incapable of doing the same thing, so please. accept his proposal and make your parents proud.”

the king’s last few words had made you clench your jaw, for how dare he stoop so low as to mention your parents in his attempt to win you over?

but, as much as you hated to admit it, you agreed with the tall king. you couldn’t quite trust yourself to rule your kingdom by yourself for the following years, so you lowered your head as you accepted the king’s words.

on the day of your marriage, you couldn’t help yourself but imagine another person standing beside you by the altar. a stature not far taller from your own, with eyes so bright, light hair that shined like stars under the moonlight, and a scar under his left eye that you’re so fond of – the person who you promised to spend the longest of eternities with.

the person who you haven’t seen ever since the day you fell asleep in his arms.

your first love. your dear, dear poet.

“what was that?” juyeon’s voice brings you out of your own head, and you straighten yourself up before turning around to face the man who has a confused look on his face.

you shake your head to assure him that it was nothing. ah, you must’ve been thinking out loud.

“… i see.” juyeon sighs as his hands cease working over your shoulders, removing them from your exposed skin only to brush your hair out of your face. he leans closer to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering there for several moments. an act of affection that you have grown used to after these years. it offers you some amount of comfort from the man who has done nothing but care for you all this time, yet you can’t bring yourself to even search for a crumb of real, unconditional love within your own heart for him.

for how could you, when all the love within you has been bled dry by the man who disappeared when you need him most back in your youth?

“i’m going to sleep after this,” you mumble, earning yourself a satisfied hum from your husband who’s currently combing through your hair with his fingers. “let me… rearrange my work table neatly first. i will join you in bed once i’m done.”

“that’s my girl.” juyeon offers you a smile as he pulls back, his posture returning to that as tall and straight as a king is expected to. “if i don’t see you in fifteen minutes, i’ll make you sleep outside.”

you snort at the man’s words before swatting away his hand that’s still perched atop your head. juyeon’s laughter echoes off the walls of your study before he turns to exit the dim lit room, leaving you alone to head off to your shared bedroom once the door shuts.

once juyeon is out of sight, you stand up from your seat as you arrange the mess on your table neatly. you wouldn’t enjoy returning to your table the next morning if it were in disarray. once you’re satisfied with the current arrangement, you blow out the oil lamp, allowing the soft moonlight that peeks from the windows behind you as the only thing that’s keeping you from being surrounded by complete darkness. with a turn of your heel, you approach the tall glass windows to close the curtains.

a gust of cold midnight air brushes against your cheek, and you shiver.

“… i don’t remember opening the windows today.” you mumble to yourself, before shaking your head. maybe you did open the windows to let some fresh air in, but the amount of work you had to get done earlier must’ve washed the memory away. without another thought, you close the window securely, allowing it to click close before drawing the curtains.

the room is pitch black, save for the miniscule amount of light from the hallway outside leaking underneath the door. you’ve grown out of your fear of the dark anyway, so you take your leisure time to gather your things before exiting the room.

just as you’re halfway to reaching the door, you stop in your tracks.

something shifts in the darkness. you can’t call yourself the most perceptive person out there, but there’s an uneasy feeling crawling up from the base of your spine and up to plague your head. the room is eerily quiet as you hold your breath, trying to make out if there’s anything out of the ordinary within the dark space you’ve found yourself alone in.

it’s nothing, you breathe out. you’re just tired.

you ignore the feeling in your gut, forcing yourself to straighten up and continue your away towards the door.

you’re not given the chance to even reach out to the doorknob before a hand clasps itself over your mouth, muffling your surprised gasp.

“long time no see,” someone whispers into your ear, their voice muffled as they spit out the next words as if they were poisonous. “byeol.”

your breath hitches.

only one person in the entire kingdom knows you as that name. you feel like you’re going crazy, a sick feeling starting to bubble inside your stomach, but you’ve used that wretched name with only one person during your entire life.

“… joong?” your voice trembles behind the hand. the person’s grip around you loosens ever so slightly for a short second before tightening, their hand pressing against your lower face painfully.

“you don’t get to fucking call me that anymore.”

before you could even try to mutter out a single word, your world spins as you succumb to darkness.

“joong?” you call out, earning a hum in response from the boy who’s currently resting his head on your lap, his fingers skillfully knotting together the ends of several flowers to form a crown.

“have you… ever thought of running away?”

hongjoong’s hands slowly come to a stop, as if he’s trying to focus on how to answer to your sudden question.

“sometimes,” he replies eventually, picking up another flower from the pile beside him to add it into the crown. “but it’s not exactly running away. i want to travel the world, see other kingdoms and civilizations, and find more inspiration for my writings. maybe even write a book, you know?”

at his response, you smile softly as your fingers play around with his soft hair. oh, i do know, is how you wish to reply to the latter. you know all too much about wanting absolute freedom from any responsibility and ties to a certain place.

“why don’t you, then?” another question falls from your lips before you can stop yourself. hongjoong’s lips pout a little – a small habit of his that you’ve noticed when he’s thinking hard about something. you find it adorable.

“because i have a family to come back to,” he says after several moments. “i can’t just pack up and leave. my parents and my brother… they need me as much as i need them.”

you nod your head slowly, showing understanding at his explanation.

“the book part though,” hongjoong continues. “i might actually make one someday – because i have more than enough inspiration right here.”

before your could query him any further, the light haired boy lifts himself up from your lap to sit properly in front of you, a cheeky smile on his lips as he places his finished flower crown on top of your head.

“you’ll forever be my muse.” you feel your cheeks burn up at hongjoong’s words, to which he merely chuckles at your embarrassment. “you look pretty good in a crown, starlight. ever considered committing treason and overthrowing the crown just to become queen?”

despite his words being a clear joke, for a moment there, you feel your heart stop.

right, you think to yourself. hongjoong doesn’t know you’re the princess.

“sometimes,” you decide to humor him despite the uneasiness in your gut. “only if you’ll be king and rule the kingdom with me.”

it’s hongjoong’s turn to be embarrassed by your words, coughing into his fist and looking away in attempt to cover his reddening cheeks up. you laugh fondly as you give the boy a playful smack on one of his crossed legs, to which he reacts dramatically by wincing as if he’s been cut.

at his silly antics, you close your eyes and throw your head back with a loud laugh, unintentionally making the crown on your head fall onto the grassy grounds.

once you’ve calmed down and opened your eyes, hongjoong isn’t in front of you.

“…joong?” you call out, your smile quickly falling from your lips when you turn around to look at your surroundings, but you see no one.

“hongjoong?” you call louder this time. your legs bring you up to stand as you circle the big tree that you were sitting underneath previously, but there’s still no sign of the light haired boy. you’re starting to panic, heart beating erratically within the confines of your chest.

“this isn’t funny, hongjoong.” your voice is trembling just as much as your whole body is. you call out for him again and again, each call louder and more desperate than the last until you’re frantically running around the expanse of the hill you’re currently on.

‘i need to find him.’ you cry to yourself in your head. ‘i can’t lose him, please. not again.’

the flower crown is forgotten beneath the tree.

“hongjoong!”

“y–your majesty!?” the sound of something akin to metal falling onto the ground startles you, a surprised gasp falling from your pale lips. you look up to see a servant at the end of the bed you’re currently in, who seems like she had been scared out of her wits, hurriedly picking up the mess she accidentally made on the floor.

you blink once, then twice, before a splitting headache grows in and makes you groan out loud.

“what… happened?” you breathe out, earning the attention of the servant as she abandons her task to come closer to you.

“oh, you poor thing,” the servant frowns as she places a hand over your forehead as if to check your temperature. “your majesty, you were attacked by an assassin last night. thank the stars that king juyeon decided to enter your study when you didn’t come to bed after a while, or you would have been killed!”

you’re not given a chance to respond before the servant continues talking as she presses a damp towel over your forehead.

“you must be so shaken. you were so restless while you were unconscious, and you even shed tears! oh dear, you even woke up by shouting that filthy assassin’s name although i’m not sure how you– ”

“what?” you breathe out, eyes widened at the servant’s words.

“oh,” the woman stutters for a moment at your reaction. “the– the assassin’s name, your majesty. he has been revealed to be kim hongjoong, and the king is about to have him executed –”

“what?!”

“your majesty, wait!” the servant almost trips over her own feet when you suddenly got up from the bed and began running towards the execution grounds, not caring over the fact that you’re in your nightgown and barefooted.

a part of you doesn’t believe it. there’s no way the person who tried to kill you was hongjoong, your hongjoong. the dear poet who would write about you as if you were godsent, the lovely boy who would go out of his way to see you laugh and smile when you tell him you’re having a bad day.

“no, no, no,” your voice shakes, sprinting through the palace hallways and out the main door. “please, don’t be him. not him, please.”

your soles of your feet sting against the rough cobblestone of the road leading towards the execution site, but you don’t care. you need to stop juyeon from executing hongjoong – if it’s truly him. you’re praying that it’s not.

a hear the crowd of people at the execution grounds before you see them, the sea of people shouting all sorts of profanities and insults as the masked executioner brings up someone who seems all too familiar for your comfort towards the guillotine.

as you try to force your way through the angry folks, juyeon’s voice reaches your ears amidst the chaos.

“kim hongjoong,” the young king announces, and you let out a cry in disbelief that’s easily drowned by the increase of angry shouting from the townsfolk. “you have been charged guilty with the attempted assassination of her majesty the queen, and pira –”

“STOP!”

the crowd’s shouts dissipate to quiet muttering after your outburst. you stand at the front of the crowd, facing the wooden structure of the guillotine. you can feel the eyes of the public on you, but you bear them no mind.

“stop the execution, please. i – uhm, i must speak with him.”

even from the rather big distance between you and juyeon, you manage to make out the confused look on your husband’s face at your sudden request. the chattering only gets louder from the crowd as juyeon stares at you, his eyes sharp as if they’re trying to figure something out from you, but they soften up not a minute later once he notices the desperation in your own eyes.

“… free the man. bring him to the dungeons until the queen and i schedule another execution.” juyeon announces, watching with narrowed eyes as you make your way up onto the guillotine and towards the executioner who’s dragging away the assassin who currently has a sack over his head.

juyeon merely watches, as the sack is removed from the assassin, revealing his face to you.

and juyeon merely watches, as you fall to your knees in front of the assassin, your pitiful cries reaching his ears even as he walks away from the execution site.

next.

#hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #hongjoong x you #ateez angst #ateez x reader #hongjoong fluff #ateez fic #ateez x you #and so it begins

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