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artstar1997 · 5 months ago

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Trolls: Origins

Long long ago, in a more peaceful time, all the troll tribes lived together in harmony. At the eve of silence, the trolls created the strings and life became one big party. Each troll formed a tribe based on the music they love, pop, funk, classical, techno, country, and hard rock, but one tribe stood out. The hybrid trolls came together and formed the platinum tribe, one tribe that loved all kinds of music. All of the tribes look up to the elders, who lead them in their everyday lives. Each elder is known for their excellence and skill.

“Elder Bass, you are here!” A funk troll said.

“I have troubles, Elder Thunder!” a hard rock troll asked his elder.

“What can I do, Elder Scylla?” a techno troll asked hers.

It was all well for the trolls as generations of elders that came were always there for the tribes when they needed help but in that particular era, everything is going to change. A wedding was held for two pop trolls, their current pop elder Brook and her husband. All of the trolls were celebrating their wedding in a huge party like no other.

“Congratulations!” one of the country trolls said.

“We are so proud of you,” a funk troll added.

The trouble started on the night of the Pop Elder’s wedding. Elder Brooks’s cousin Tansy stood on top of a pillar and addressed the crowd of trolls. He was an orange Pop troll with blue hair wearing a striped mantle and maroon dhoti pants. Actual tansy flowers decorated his mantle. He announced to them;

“Ladies and gentle-trolls, give it up for the bride and groom!” He gestured to the stage behind him, on which sat the sacred harp with the six strings of the oldest and most powerful tribes. In front of the harp, Elder Brook and her new consort Leaf stepped before it. Both of them wore matching gold and white robes. The crowd cheered for them as they raised their clasped hands together.

Brook had pinkish purple skin, a pink nose, teal hair and eyes with yellow sclera and green irises. Leaf was solid green over his entire body, save for his eyes which were violet.

“Congratulations!” They all cheered.

Joining the happy couple onstage was the Grand Priest Cygnus. He is a white haired troll with pastel purple skin, pastel blue, golden tattoos, and silver eyes, wearing a pastel rainbow colored robe and a swan feather headdress.

“By the power vested in me by the Platinum Tribe and by the Great Creator Harmonia, I bless this Union! And now, let the couple’s first dance commence!” Upon saying this, he strummed all the strings on the harp. A beautiful stream of music notes floated over the happy crowd.

Soon, Brook and Leaf danced together, and were soon joined by the other tribal elders and their spouses. Tansy watched them from his perch as a rose gold haired troll with soft pink skin and a flamingo pink nose, wearing a luminous, hologram-colored tube dress with silver tattoos, approached him.

“Hey Tansy, aren't you gonna dance with me?” she asked him.

“Lyra, you're here? Aren't you supposed to be with your brother?” he asked her.

“He’s fine with Miri,” she answered as she watched Cygnus dancing with his fianceé, a bipedal seafoam colored funk troll with emerald hair, turquoise stripes, and violet limbs, wearing gold jewelry.

“So, are you up to dancing with me?” he asked her.

“Lead the way,” she answered and went to the party to dance.

They danced an elaborate waltz to the music. Their feet felt lighter than air, like the winged Classical Trolls.

“This is wonderful,” Tansy exclaimed.

“Yeah it is,” Lyra agreed.

Onstage, Elder Brook pressed herself against Leaf’s shoulder as they danced in circles.

“Truly you are the only one who understands me,” Brook whispered in his ear.

“Of course I do, I will do anything to make you happy,” he responded.

“I know you will,” she said as she kissed him.

“It’s so nice that Brook finally found someone,” Cygnus said to Miri.

“They are very lucky,” the classical elder added.

“I wish I could be next,” the country elder squealed.

“I'll be the first one to get it!” the hard rock elder bragged.

“No, me!” the techno elder giggled.

“Just be patient guys, love will find a way for us,” the funk elder told them.

As time passed by, their happiness was prolonged when Brook and Leaf were finally expecting and the tribes celebrated them for the achievement when the egg was laid. A few weeks later, Tansy watched Elder Brook give a speech to her fellow Pop Trolls.

“While the other genres pride themselves on their distinct sounds and unique melodies. We have something I like to call “Mass Appeal”. We don’t settle for a niche fanbase, we aspire to satisfy everyone! That’s why our music has such a wonderful blend of elements, best best parts of all the genres. We must never forget that or fail to be proud of it.”

“Oh, Brook,” Tansy sighed.

“Your cousin is quite the talker,” said Cygnus as he came up next to him.

“Yeah, she always talks about how great pop music is,” he sighed.

“I love all kinds of music but it often depends on my feelings and expressions,” Cygnus said.

“My brother is right about music,” Lyra agreed.

“Sometimes I worry about her,” said Tansy. “She always has to be right about everything.”

“What is wrong?” she asked him.

“It’s Brook,” he said. “Lately she’s been saying some creepy things about the harp and accessing its ‘full power’.”

“But that's not right!” Cygnus gasped. “Nobody can play that harp because if anyone from our tribe plays the strings there, they'll take over all of the music.”

“I know,” said Tansy. “I thought marrying Leaf would snap her out of it, but I guess he can’t get through to her.”

“All of the elders of the platinum tribe passed the warning from parent to child, and I have a bad feeling about what might happen if it ever happens,” he said.

“Calm down, brother, we just have to be prepared, in case this happens,” Lyra said as she tried to calm Cygnus.

“Maybe we should get the other elders to talk to her,” Tansy suggested. “She might listen to them.”

“All this nonsense, there’s unforeseen consequences when anyone plays the strings,” Cygnus complained.

“How did you know?” He asked his best friend.

“The secret was passed down from our parents to us, which spanned way back to our ancestors,” he answered.

“Since Cygnus and I are the current tribe leaders of the Platinum Tribe, we are the only ones who know about the secret of the strings,” Lyra added.

“I’m worried about Brook, maybe we should meet up with the other troll elders to discuss this,” Tansy said.

“Got it,” the siblings agreed with him.

Soon, the three trolls gathered with the other troll elders to discuss Elder Brook’s delusional speeches.

“This is getting suspicious,” the funk elder said.

“What is this meeting about?” the techno elder asked them.

“Elder Brook is turning the Pop Trolls against the other genres,” Tansy told them all.

“I knew it!” the hard rock elder shouted.

“But why would she do that?” the classical elder asked her.

“I don't know but whatever she is planning, we’ll be ready,” Cygnus said.

“She’s not planning anything,” Tansy insisted. “We just need to talk to her. Stage an intervention. Make her see reason.”

“Ok, how will we do it?” the funk elder asked him.

“First, we’d better include Leaf in the plan…” Tansy began speaking but was interrupted by a tremor in the earth. All the trolls were stunned by the quaking earth.

“What is happening??” the techno elder gasped.

“Everybody, whatever we do, don't get out,” Cygnus warned them.

Tansy and Lyra held hands and braced themselves against the quake. After a few hours, the shaking stopped.

“Oh my goodness,” gasped the country elder. “That was terrifying!”

“Is everybody okay?” Tansy asked them.

Cygnus looked around at the others. “I think so,” he said.

Suddenly, two trolls ran into the meeting place. They were a lesbian couple; one a blue colored rock troll with a leopard print top and leather jeans, the other a pop troll with mint green skin and swirly lilac hair, wearing a dress made from a lace doily.

“Come quick! There’s been a horrible tragedy!” one of them shouted.

“What happened, Fira?” Tansy asked her.

“There was a landslide near Pop Village, and Leaf was swept away!” Fira's wife answered.

“Willow, lead the way,” Cygnus said.

They went to the site of the landslide and there, a lot of trolls huddled around it. Some were digging through the dirt, trying to find a body.

“I'll go and help them,” The rock elder said as she rushed to help them dig. Soon, they are able to find Leaf but he is already dead.

“Oh no!!” Cygnus gasped.

“It's too late,” Lyra added.

“OH MY GOD!!!” Brook screamed as she threw herself onto Leaf’s body. She sobbed heavily, her body shaking. Around them, trolls were bowing their heads in mourning or pressing their hands together in prayer. At one point, Brook looked up and noticed a techno troll floating nearby.

“YOU!” she screamed as she pointed a finger at him. “You were with him gathering wood! This is your fault!” The techno troll flinched away at her accusation.

“Cousin! You know that’s not true,” Tansy said as he clasped her hand in his. “No one could have seen this coming. It was an accident out of our control.”

“Yes, nobody can manipulate death and nature because it happens randomly, we cannot bring him back, it has to happen,” Cygnus added.

“Oh shut up you stuck-up self-important…” Brook broke down crying again before she could finish. Tansy patted her back and helped her stand up.

“Come on, let’s get you to your pod,” he told her. The crowd parted for them as he led her away.

On the day after the incident, a funeral was being prepared by the troll tribes as everybody was pitching in to arrange it but Elder Brook stayed behind in her pod. Tansy went to see her, and found her sitting on the floor muttering to herself, surrounded by pictures of Leaf.

“Brook,” he spoke as he approached her. “The funeral is being prepared. You should come say goodbye.”

“I can fix it,” Brook muttered.

“What?” Tansy asked.

“I can fix it,” Brook said as she jumped up. “The sacred harp can be used for healing, right? We can use it to heal Leaf!”

“No we can’t! There’s no bringing back the dead! That’s unnatural!”

“How do you know? No one’s ever done it before.”

“Because it’s wrong!”

“No, it’s because they’re all cowards! Not visionaries like us!”

“Us? Don’t tell me you’re including the tribe in this idea?”

Brook stood completely still for a second, like a wild predator caught in the act of hunting. Then she laughed cheerfully and told him, “Of course not. It was just a thought. I wouldn’t really do something like that.”

“Okay,” he said warily. “Don’t scare me like that again. I know losing him is hard but you still have so much to live for. You guys had an egg right? That egg’s going to need all the love you can give it.”

“Right, of course.” Brook said as she glanced at the colorful troll egg sitting on her bed.

“I warn you Brook, nobody can bring anyone back from death,” Tansy warned her. “It’s not natural.”

“Yes, yes. I understand,” she responded without paying attention.

“So, you’ll come to the funeral?” he asked her.

“I'll think about it,” she answered.

As the preparations were on the way, Brook was thinking about something. She wandered deep into the forest until she wandered to the other side of the woods. There she saw a massive, almost tree-sized stone.

“What’s this?” Brook wondered out loud. She explored around the stone and on one side, she saw an elaborate inscription.

HERE BE THE INSTRUCTIONS ON CALLING BACK THE DEAD FROM THE ETERNAL AFTERPARTY.

“Calling back the dead? As in resurrection? So it is possible!” Brook said as she smiled a terrible smile. “And if it’s possible, that means it's natural. Which means I can do it!”

She wrote down the instructions and started preparing for the ritual. She went back to her pod and listed the ingredients that she would need for it. One of the ingredients was something called “the perfect musical harmony.” Well, she knew exactly what that meant! All she had to do was get the harp.

Meanwhile, at the funeral, everybody was preparing to say goodbye to Elder Leaf. Everybody wore black and were carrying flowers to place around Elder Leaf’s coffin.

“Tansy, I’m sorry for your loss,” Cygnus said.

“Thank you,” said Tansy. “It’s such a loss. He was such a good troll.”

“It’s alright, we’re here for you,” Lyra added.

“All of us are,” Miri nodded.

“Is Elder Brook here?” Cygnus asked his best friend.

“I don’t know, she’s been heartbroken and disillusioned at the same time,” he answered.

“I tried to visit her but she wasn’t there,” Lyra added.

While they were talking, no one noticed a figure in a black veil, making her way to the sacred harp. She lifted the entire thing with her hair and played an eerie chord.

“Come with me, my Poppets!” She called out, and some of the Pop trolls in the crowd became hypnotized by the music. Everyone at the funeral gasped and covered their ears.

“Brook?” Tansy asked but she paid no attention to him.

“Pick up Elder Leaf’s coffin and bring him with us,” Brook instructed her mind-controlled subjects. They did so. And before anyone could stop her, she played a rondo on the harp. Then she and her followers disappeared in a whirlwind of hair.

“Don’t tell me that Brook is going to revive her husband? That’s not the natural way of life!” Cygnus gasped as he removed his headdress in anger and gathered the remaining elders with Tansy, Lyra, Miri, and the other troll tribes in his pod.

“She is crazy and disillusioned, so she would go through that forbidden process to do it,” a hard rock troll agreed with him. “I say we will fight them and take back the harp!”

“No, we will each steal the string,” the hard rock elder answered.

“But elder Storm, why do you want each of you to get the string representing your music?” Another rock troll asked him.

“But why do the tribes have to separate?” One of the pop trolls butted in.

“It’s the only way we won’t let the resurrection ritual happen again,” Cygnus answered. “We have to stop Brook’s madness once and for all.”

The five elders, led by Cygnus and Tansy went into the caverns and began the forging. The funk and techno elders provided the metal. The rock elder heated the fire and the classical and country elders helped beat the metal. Cygnus and Tansy worked together to shape the blade, flatten it, heat and cool it with the hard rock and techno elders, sanding the blade, and strengthening and sharpening it. When they finished creating the hilt, Lyra showed Cygnus a box of gems, in which a round, white gem stood out. The platinum troll embedded the round gem on the hilt and the elders used their magic to combine the sword. As the round gem itself was embedded with magic, the others gems were empowered with magic as well. Now, it is finally ready.

“It’s ready,” Cygnus said when he held it up.

“But who will wield it?” Tansy asked him.

“It should be Cygnus of course,” said the classical elder.

“But I don't know if I can lead the trolls, the only thing I did were spiritual duties, I don’t know how to fight,” Cygnus responded in fear.

“But Cygnus, you were always there for me when I was down and you supported me through my struggles and trials,” Lyra said. “You're the best older brother that I have.”

“And the best friend I ever had,” Tansy added.

“You believe I can lead all of the trolls?” He asked all of them.

“We don’t just believe,” said the funk elder.

“We know you can,” finished the rock elder.

“Thank you all,” said Cygnus as he held the sword. “Alright, time to make our move!”

Soon, the troll elders and the other trolls are sneaking into the location where Elder Brook and her followers are.

“Oh no, we’re too late!” Tansy gasped.

“But not for long,” Cygnus said as he took the sword and led them to the place where Elder Brook is conducting the resurrection ritual. She was playing a haunting melody on the harp. Cygnus called out to her.

“BROOK!! Stop this madness!”

Brook glanced up from her playing. “Hello Cyg,” she said calmly.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this!” Tansy growled out of hate. “What you are doing is going against the circle of life!”

“What I’m doing is improving the circle of life. I’m going to free us all from death and war.”

“Improving? No! You’re doing it the wrong way, death is a part of life,” Tansy added. “And when you bring someone to life, Leaf will never be the same when he is raised from the dead!”

“And how do you know that?”

“I know about this because it was a warning that my parents told me,” Cygnus said as he used his sword to fight her. She tried to defend herself with the harp but he knocked it away with just one slash.

“Defend me, my subjects!” Brook called to the mind-controlled Pop trolls. They all came and stood in front of her.

“This is gonna be fun!” The rock elder smirked as he, Tansy, Lyra, Miri, and the elders blasted them away with their musical instruments.

“Thanks guys!” Cygnus said

The troll elders continued to use their music against the mind-controlled pop trolls while Tansy, Lyra, Miri, and Cygnus continued their forward.

“Tansy, it’s been so long since we fell in love, if our tribes separate, I’m afraid I won’t see you again,” Lyra said.

“No, I can’t let go of you, you are the only troll I loved and if the tribes were to separate after this, we would always be together and you’ll join us,” Tansy said.

“I know, I’ll tell Cygnus about my decision to be with you,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tansy said as they both kissed and continued fighting the mind controlled pop trolls.

When Cygnus reached Brook, he started to fight her as she tried to continue the ritual but she couldn’t because of Cygnus’s attacks.

“I can’t believe all this just to get Leaf back from the dead? You are nothing but a delusional idiot!” Cygnus said as he used soundwave attacks on Brook.

“And you are a backwards thinking priest pretending to be king,” Brook said as she dodged his attacks. “Your opinion means nothing to me.”

“Too bad I’m the king of this troll kingdom now,” he said as he kicked her into the center of the resurrection ritual while the troll elders sneaked in and stole the strings from the harp. Tansy grabbed the harp while the remaining five pulled the strings in different positions.

“YOU!” Brook screamed as she faced them, her hair flailing out like blue fire. “Give those back!” With those words, she leaped at them, looking vicious and frightening.

“Not a chance!” Cygnus said as he swung his sword at Brook to protect his best friend and the troll elders but as soon as the strings were forcefully removed, one of them emitted a lightning bolt that completed the ritual. Leaf’s corpse gasped as breath returned to his body, and he sat up in his coffin.

“Leaf!” Brook cried out as she ran towards him. All the fighting came to a halt as the mind-controlled pop trolls were snapped free from the trance.

“Brook, that’s not Leaf!” Tansy tried to warn her.

As soon as Brook went to her resurrected husband, the corpse took a bite on her arm. Tansy and Lyra both gasped in shock.

“This is why bringing someone from the dead is evil,” Cygnus said. He used his sword to emit a huge blast that disintegrated the corpse but it also killed Brook as well.

“What happened to Elder Brook?” One of the pop trolls asked them.

“She did the most taboo thing by trying to raise Leaf from the dead and paid the price, let this incident be a lesson for all of us,” Cygnus said. “Her delusional leadership will be an example for all of us leaders, and, I will not only be the leader of my tribe, I will be the leader of all the trolls.”

“What?” asked a pop troll.

“You’re lying!” Yelled another.

“He has a sword!” A female shouted.

“Stay away from us!” A male screamed as most of the Pop trolls ran away from Cygnus.

“Wait! Come back!” Tansy called to them, as they tried to run away as they bumped into the six troll tribes who arrived at the place where the resurrection ritual was held. The trolls tried to spread the lies to the other trolls but Tansy appeared behind them. He is now wearing his new king regalia with Lyra beside him.

“Because you don’t know the truth why he killed Brook, she made you all help her resurrect Leaf, which is just an anomaly that is meant to be locked away and never learned,” he said. “He did this to save you all from being eaten by the corpse.”

The pop trolls stopped when they saw Tansy and Lyra together.

“But the sword in Cygnus’s hand?” the female pop troll explained.

“Me and the troll elders forged it so that we can stop Brook’s plans in disrupting the balance of nature,” Tansy scolded them.

“All of you were manipulated into following her delusional plans and look at what happened, her actions have led to her downfall and she only brought shame to our tribe” Lyra added.

The pop trolls felt ashamed for what had happened and looked at Tansy and Lyra.

“If Elder Brook is gone, who will lead us?” The male pop troll asked him.

“Our beloved Elder Brook is dead, now it’s a new era for all the trolls,” Tansy announced to them. “The pop trolls needed a leader who would not be swayed by delusions or corruption, a beacon of light in these dark times……..I will be your new king.”

All of the pop trolls bowed before Tansy and Lyra in respect upon realization. Meanwhile, the new high king of the trolls was filled with hate towards Brook because of her misdeeds and King Tansy went to see him.

“High king Cygnus, or should I say, brother,” Lyra said. “My love here wants to see you.”

“Cygnus,” He said as he approached the new high king.

“King Tansy of the pop tribe,” the new high king responded.

“Cygnus, Elder Brook must be given respect and honor, the rites must be observed,” King Tansy said.

“There will be no rites,” King Cygnus responded.

“But Elder Brook…” King Tansy stammered.

“She is a traitor, she stole the strings just to bring Leaf back from the dead and her selfishness only led to our tribes’ further separation!” He explained angrily. “She must be made an example, we will burn her.”

“No, Cygnus, don’t escalate this tension just because of what she had done, it would only make things worse,” he said. “For your first act as the new high king of the troll kingdom, please grant me the permission to handle the proper funeral rites for Elder Brook.”

“Very well then, do what you can, and let her story be an example for all of the troll tribes and the troll leaders so that this mistake cannot be repeated again,” Cygnus agreed.

“Thank you Cygnus, you are a true best friend, and I want to ask permission and your blessing to marry your sister, Lyra,” he added.

“You don’t need my permission and you already have my blessing to have her, please take care of her for me,” Cygnus said.

“I will,” he answered.

Soon, Tansy did what was necessary to make sure the rites were observed as everybody attended the funeral. He told all of the trolls the whole story to the crowd and explained how Brook’s delusional thinking and selfishness had led to the scars that they cannot escape from.

“Because of Brook’s deeds, all of the resurrection rituals will be deemed as a taboo because of what would happen, may her story be told for generations to come so that this mistake won't happen again,” He said. “As a beginning of this formation of the troll kingdom, I want to give this as a gift to the first high king, Cygnus.”

Everybody gasped in awe as he showed the new high king a golden crown. It has eight rays that look like flower petals and pointed with drop pearls adorning the tips. There are also eight rounded etchings at the middle of each petal.

“Is that the….” Cygnus gasped.

“The crown of harmony,” Tansy answered.

“We want to give this to you as a thank you,” The new funk king said.

“Wait, I don't know if I am worthy to wear it,” he said.

“Of course you’re worthy to wear it,” said the new rock king. “You united us to protect our people as well as yours.”

“You value all forms of music and the trolls that play them,” the classical queen added.

“We’ve all decided you are the best possible leader,” the techno king told him.

“Awww, everybody, thank you for having faith in me,” King Cygnus said as he cried tears of joy while Miri comforted him.

After Brook was given the rites to be at peace, all of the troll tribes were assembled as the first coronation of the first high king was conducted. Tansy, the new king of the pop trolls and the troll elders, now kings and queens placed the gems on the crown of harmony and finally, the high king, Cygnus was officially crowned.

“Because of Elder Brook’s actions, we have no choice but to take our tribes in separate ways for the sake of our strings to be kept safe,” he announced. “We will choose what lands will they settle and build our kingdoms there. The leaders will only come together when my future heir or any heirs will select a bride or groom and when a new high king or high queen will be crowned. As my first act as the high king of the troll kingdom, I will entrust the formerly sacred harp and the pop string to my best friend and my sister.”

With that, King Cygnus held the white harp that still has the pop string in it and gave it to King Tansy.

“We will protect it with all our might,” Tansy said as he and Lyra held the harp up.

Everyone cheered for their newly crowned royalty.

“King Tansy, fellow troll leaders, please protect the strings so that we don’t let the same mistake happen again,” King Cygnus said.

All the troll leaders promised to protect the strings with their lives before they gathered their respective tribes and go their separate ways. It turned out to be a story that Queen Rose was telling to the kids and all of her friends in the prism castle.

“And so, the trolls lived separately in different kingdoms with Tansy marrying his best friend’s sister, Lyra, and King Cygnus has his wife, Miri as his queen. The troll leaders also got married and had kids. When the high king’s eldest son, the crown prince, came of age, the troll leaders selected eligible trolls to marry him, and it became a new tradition,” Queen Rose read the book. “King Cygnus ruled his people wisely and he lived up to a good old age until his death, where the crown prince had the jewel beetles take seven of the gems and have it delivered respectively to each of the six troll tribes but the green gem is always entrusted to the subtribe trolls that the heir is trusting with. As the years passed by, each generation of leaders came to the throne and the troll tribes never lived in harmony. It had been that way for so long, up until now, when Queen Barb’s rockpocalpyse eventually led me to take back the throne and unite all of the troll tribes under my reign as the high queen, leading the troll kingdom to the age of unity.”

“Wow, Rose, you seem to have a sharp memory when it comes to history,” Queen Poppy complimented her.

“Thanks, my tutors loved to tell me this story when I was a little troll, it reminds me that selfishness and delusions would only lead to irreparable consequences,” she answered. “The story is told over and over to the next generation so that we don’t forget the past and never repeat the mistakes that Brook did.”

“Is that why you fought so hard to defeat Barb when she stole the strings?” Queen Poppy asked.

“Yes,” said Queen Rose.

They looked at the statue of King Cygnus, which stood in the middle of Platinum City as it shows the first high king of the trolls, pointing his sword upward, overlooking the entire troll kingdom proudly.

Thanks @georgi-girl for helping me make this fanfic.

#dreamworks trolls #trolls world tour #trolls oc #ancestral trolls #pop trolls #funk trolls #classical trolls #techno trolls #country trolls #hard rock trolls #platinum trolls

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drpg-global-archive · 2 years ago

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DRPG - Character Episode - Rozalin

A naive young lady. Now, she's learning all about the outside world, while living in harmony with Adell.

Level 1/New Summon

Humph..... You've summoned me. This must be important. My name is Rozalin. The sinful rose of the Netherworld. ....What? You're saying you want to train the greatest Overlord in existence? Idiot! If I became the strongest Overlord.... I'd just feel empty inside, witnessing people getting killed day after day.

....Don't waste your time training those boring fools. You should spend your time dealing with more important matters. Hmph... You want to know more? I'm talking about... Love!!

Level 100

Well..... Adell...... Oh, [Player]. Come and chat with me. You know Adell... Ah... Adell is my... Uh... How should I put it? Adell is someone who has always been there for me. But, he doesn't understand women at all.

I'm very wayward. I can be a real handful. He has never understood that this is how a girl's heart works! I'm simply acting coquettish towards the man that I love. Really. He really makes me worry. [Player], what do you think?

Level 200

Hmph.... Hmph.... Hmph.... Adell.... Oh, [Player]. Listen to me. There is something definitely wrong with Adell. He once said to me "You're still so beautiful". Duh! Of course I am beautiful! But Adell has never said anything like that to me before.

I was so shocked that I slapped him. He tried to save himself by making the excuse that he simply said that because of some game he was playing.... Is he playing some dating simulation game to learn about love....?

If that's the truth...ugh! Does he actually think he can compare me to the fake women he sees in a game!? I guess I just have to confront him. You should come help, [Player].

Level 500

............. Oh, [Player]. Sorry. I was thinking about something. ...I've known you for quite some time. I guess I can tell you this. I am Overlord Zenon's only daughter. I've spent most of my life sequestered in a massive mansion where I was able to get whatever I wanted. I always believed that my father loved me very much... I always believed that my relationship with my dad was a good one.... But...

But Overlord Zenon isn't actually my father. No, I was wrong.... He tried to use me. He kept me in that mansion like it was a cage. But... When I turned 5, Zenon gave me an old teddy bear.... He gave me a birthday cake for my 6th birthday.... He made white roses fall down on the garden outside the mansion like snowflakes when I turned 7....

Even now, I still can't believe all of this was just lies.... .....Sorry. This has nothing to do with you. Please forget everything I've told you.

Level 1000

Wow! Lv1000 already! Thanks for all the hard work, [Player]. Time flies quickly when I'm with you. I don't know why. I never knew that anyone besides Adell could make me feel like this. You've gained my trust. Don't take this lightly! This is maybe your greatest achievement. When I'm with you, I feel like I'm a little girl again.

I want to give you a little gift.... What can I give you that will do the trick? Oh, yes! When Adell and I finally get married, I'll let you be our witness. Hmph… How about it? Is there any gift better than that?

#disgaea rpg #drpg #disgaea rpg global #drpg global #rozalin #character episode

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ravens-inquisition · 2 months ago

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SESSION 5

V. Log Entry MCDLXII - Fated Festivities & Mournful Hearts

A tattered journal withered by the elements bearing several etchings ranging from fingerprints, signatures and childish drawings on its cover. The markings are evidently made by other people's contribution. One cannot but admire how the journal has survived the test of time.

"If we cannot find delight inspite of our misery then we are already defeated by it."

Madam Kyra has graced us with sincere hospitality, inviting us to share in the joy of celebration. She bears much resemblance of my past in responsibility, thrust upon the mantle of leadership at a young age. With all uplifted hearts beating within the camp, she has shown to be far greater than I at her age.

Violet and Pike's absence was of concern. To what grim undertakings the former relished I can only place faith in the latter's sense of duty to watch over her.

Frank's mind appear a darken cloud in desperate need of parting. I would but compel the heavens to break to soothe his ever militant downpour in exchange for joyous sunlight. Omen and Caland hastened such endeavour, convincing Frank to lay down his vigilance with disguises of their own. Perhaps such theatric display eased the man into a celebratory mood.

Little sister, forgive me for having lacked the power that could have granted you ever more breath in this world. For a sight of beating hearts dancing and singing such as this would have delighted you with no end.

The moonlit night graced a memory forever cherished when a Vistana lady invited myself to a dance. Hesitancy was my gesture. Insistence was hers.

I but wonder for a brief moment if I could ever again trust in Caland, Omen, and Frank. For they did not save me from her pursuit. Perhaps I should count my blessings that this was not life or death.

Dancing was never my forté, yet her enchanting presence coaxed skill I never knew I had. In unison was our hearts ignited, in passion was our feet in harmony, in endearing affection was my heart captivated.

So is the fate of all waning moons, to end after the crescendo of the night. Exhaustion overtook me as the embers of our dance flickered away.

Anabelle was the name of the enchanting beauty, and a cloak of intricate folktales inscribed was her gift. Her last parting words was forever a remembrance that whosoever I shall dance with in the future, she herself will remain ever more gifted. After countless years of dancing with death, I am forever grateful for having danced with life.

Caland's peerless skills could hurl a thunderbolt, for how else could one ever evoke such energy within the crowd. In ceaseless attempt he goaded Frank's inner vigour. In open arms do we find ourselves in the embrace of such warmth. To our resident bard do we owe our musical comforts tonight.

Omen's persistence was admirable beyond any doubt. No amount of pain or agony could have stayed his hand from inviting Sergei to a dance. While formality remained Omen's canvas, Sergei's whimsical paint coloured such with brushes of informality.

Frank's agitation seeped throughout the theatric vein of the night. I overheard Kyra's reading placed greater doubt in the man. To balance such annoyance, Frank leveraged skill to illustrate his worth. Despite Omen's prior reluctance, Frank silenced such doubts. For he left many pictures in frames within the hearts of those huddled in tears that night.

Omen was ever a barren drought absent of rain, yet a night such as this caused much downpour. A tale of his own mother's sacrifice weighing in sustaining life-- reminded me much of your teachings and scriptures, Master of Scales. For a man of silence could evoke such solemn contemplation within the hearts of many.

Violet and Pike's presence returned in beckoning shadows. Bathed in crimson was Violet's attire mirroring much of her unceasing grim smile, absent of conscience to weigh down the curve of her lips. Blood… Upon her lips. A sight not unfamiliar by these eyes. What madness lies behind the corpse maker?

Pike's ever stoic mannerism is one I would place trust on. Entreating the culture of our hosts, I brought him unto a semblance of understanding that to grace bloodshed and death unto their camp is to defile their way of life. Pike initiative could rival the rising tides, for he immediately covered Violet's presence with his imposing physique. Caland's arcane ways struck my thoughts and I beseeched his aid discreetly. One that proved fruitful with his return onto the fire.

Omen's abrupt departure from the festivities concerned me. Following his steps led me to a path of understanding the assassin deeply. There was a bridge of mutual ground awaiting to be travelled as he inquired about rumours of cannibalism.

Ol' Broken Hand, I am reminded of your sacrifice. The cruelty of you casting the dilemma upon a younger man unfit to even stand. What feverish thoughts gripped you with such intensity? You did not even grace us with honoring you a peaceful death. No… You forced us to endure pain of consuming a beloved brethren. Alive. Yet breathing. As strands of your flesh ripped apart… To elevate pain and agony above all else. Even now I hear your howls of euphoric rapture praising that name again and again… Loviatar. Loviatar. Loviatar.

… But I digress. Omen revealed much of his hardships. Desperation and starvation were not strangers etched in his past. For the misplaced blame towards Sergei was less to do with the man but more of what he represented. Yet leveraged in the balance was affection for the man. Omen professed otherwise and whilst perhaps he speaks true, there is much uncertainty and reluctance reflected behind those eyes. Yet above all we confided truths meant to be concealed from the prying gaze of the world. He… longed for home. For one who has never possessed such, I share in such sentimentality. I do not know what this home looks like for Omen, but nothing would make me prouder than to witness it firsthand once its within his grasp.

My thoughts stretch to Pike whose sudden acts to kneel in the past towards nobility unfamiliar even to him compelled my disapproval. But perhaps Omen's words of all of us being lost harboured truths. Pike longed for purpose in life and when presented with such he lunged at the opportunity. How could I ever disapprove of a man looking for home? There is much I've yet gleaned in the lives of others. Violet with her unending obsession with death, Frank a former toymaker exchanging creation for destruction, Caland a man of freedom bound to knightly oaths.

How am I suppose to elevate and lead humanity if I've never been a part of it? I stand a fool ill-equipped to save my brethren if I cannot offer a future nor purpose beyond the breaking of our chains. Perhaps if all of this is over and I am able to count myself amongst Strahd's court-- I may learn from a man of vision.

Breaking free of habits can present itself to be a greater challenge than chains. I found myself making the rounds ensuring all was safe no different than when I was still amongst my enslaved brethren. Caland's exhaustion is without equal and he yet speaks in his slumber, "To see the sun another day". Frank insisted on being left by himself in his own tent, but a man alone in chambers of his own thoughts would find no end to his sleep after a night such as this, at best I could only offer the warmth of a bottle to ease his journey to the realm of dreams.

Directing Sergei towards Omen was a pragmatic decision, such display of healing prowess earlier may ease Omen's wounds throughout the night. But I cannot feign that it was my only intent.

Violet's surprisingly docile when she has feasted upon a meal suiting her diet, though I find it distressing that she sleeps with her eyes open. She has much to explain tomorrow but for tonight I opted not to disturb her.

Pike remains ever vigilant with weighted armor and I knew more than anyone that I would not be able to persuade him to rest similarly to the rest of us. At best I offered words of reassurance and hope for him to one day be beyond a simple sentinel and count himself amongst those he tenderly guards.

It dawned upon me that I have been bereft of sleep, and now exhaustion beckons me to dreams. I shall acquit myself of this journal for the night.

"Keep the fire of life burning."

#curse of strahd #raven's inquisition #journal entry #ri: cain

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lances-and-quills · 3 months ago

Text

W.I.P. Burnt by Fate Chapter one

Fate is a cruel thing, frequently it causes much more pain than happiness, and yet we never fight against it, perhaps it is impossible to, possibly fighting against fate is our fate. But none except our creators know the answer.

My mother once said to me, “Crescendo, to fight for your common man is the most noble of goals, to aid the weak and the powerless is divinity.” My mother would give her life to save others, as such it is her example that I will follow.

It’s warm as I awake, not to my usual surroundings of the oak and stone that make up my childhood home, but to the empty gold and silver light of a void. I look around, there's nothing save for myself and the twinkling of golden sparks as they gently float downwards like drifting snow. It reminds me of a story my mother taught me, about Lady Dawn and her realm of sun and solstice. Supposedly it looks just like this and that only the brave and the kind come here, like… Mother Sonata.

I spy her a ways away, she looks just like how mother described her, a beautiful dress that shines like sapphire, hair like reams of teal and violet silk. Her back is turned to me and yet I can feel her warmth, that motherly aura that seems to engulf her like a hurricane. I reach out a hand to touch her but before I can a voice wrenches me from my dream.

“Crescendo Harmony Inferima! Get up immediately before all the spots in the guard are filled!”

"Understood, Mother!" I shout down to her as I get dressed. Excitement thunders in my veins like fiery magma. If Mother Sonata came to visit me then that means something big must be happening. I feel like a little kid again. Hurriedly, I don my uniform and throw on my traveling cloak. Its faded red color sways around my boots as I head for the door, ready to begin my grand adventure.

I stop before reaching for the knob. In my euphoria, I had forgotten to grab a few more things. First is a large oak box that’s placed against my bedroom wall. Opening it I find my arm, or rather its replacement. My birth was one of many complications, my birth mother died bringing me into this world and even then I was given only disfigurement, my left eye never grew in, my right arm neither. But those are easily replaced, a magic phantom eye and an arm carved from cedar and I’m practically normal if only either replacement actually worked half the time. The second item is a necklace, a large red gemstone is fitted in the middle, supposedly it was my birth mother’s before she passed, only two others exist in the whole world and my mother has the second. However I don’t know where the third is, mother always becomes squeamish when speaking about the necklaces.

I step out into the morning sun after saying goodbye to my mother for the day. The Town of Sandaras, like always, is bustling with pilgrims, mercenaries, and traders from all over the continent of Mantorna. I stand on the front stoop, mulling over what to do first before I make the almost month-long trek to Liamsburg port to officially join House Eques as a member of its foreign guard. "A sword." That's the first thought that comes to mind, "That would be a good start, plenty that'll want to kill me, I bet Blacksmith Lewyn would offer me one." I know the town well, so navigating its streets isn’t much of a problem. I end up making it to the blacksmith in record time, just as Lewyn comes out to polish his newest blade.

"Ho there Laddy! You look chipper today. Going to get baptized and sign on for a monster hunt?" I smile and step up to the counter where Lewyn lays his new sword out to cool in the morning breeze. "Even better...I’m going to Liamsburg to join the fight against The Plight." Lewyn laughs and stops his polishing. "Joining The Fifteenth eh? Well then, I'd better give you my best steel, or rather..." He tosses me an iron blade, "My best iron...Sorry lad, steels only for the paying customer, though that little beauty will serve well enough." I look at the sword. Even if it is a basic design it is still glorious, a bronze crossguard decorates the top of the hilt and below the pommel hangs a red ribbon decorated with a cherub. Just holding it makes me feel like a hero out of a fairytale. I thank Lewyn profusely and the old man laughs as he waves me off, "Don't mention it, lad, just kill a few for me, eh?" I sheathe my new sword and thank Lewyn a few more times, promising him that I would do his weapon justice along my journey.

Leaving the blacksmith in high spirits I head off towards the market, the next thing I almost certainly require is medicine, both to treat wounds and treat illness. I try to stock up as much as I can with balms and potions and then make my way to the village stalls to spend what little I have left on extra rations for the journey ahead. I choose a few choice items to take with me, salted meats, jerky, dried nuts and fruits, even a few prime cuts of beef to cook tonight. With this I should be more than prepared for the journey, hell I might actually put on a few pounds by the time I make it there. With a hearty sigh, I trudge forwards into the woods, more than excited to start my quest. The trail itself however is fairly plain and boring. No monsters live this close to town other than the occasional centaur disguised as a human that wandered out to trade with the nearby human settlements. I sigh, consigning myself to a probably boring march to Liamsburg port with no monster to test my skills against.

Luckily as I round a bend in my path it appears that fate has different plans. A Vagrant blocks my way. According to my mother Vagrants only started popping up a few years after the sage of twilight Talliah vanished shortly before the death of her wife Aceris. They’re vicious creatures or rather…people, whatever turned them into these feral beasts is unknown but it’s theorized by some that it’s what happens when someone lingers in The Plight for too long. I don’t personally care much though how it came to be, it’s in my way and definitely a threat to others, which means I have no other choice but to kill it.

It turns, having heard my blade exit its scabbard. A fang-filled maw glares at me from a distended maw, judging by its shabby-looking clothes and lack of armor this one must have once been a farmer.

It growls at me, making a strange almost gurgling sound as bile that shines like a starry night splashes on the ground. I have no armor which means I have to be agile, even one bite and I could end up dead before I even get to Liamsburg.

I angle my sword so it rests on my good arm, using the prosthetic to keep a tight grip on the handle. My prosthetic isn’t too advanced and in truth, it’s more of a glorified decoration than an actual functioning arm, but it can still do some useful things, like hold a sword tight enough to stop it from slipping out of my grasp.

The beast charges and I thrust my arm forward cutting across its cheek as I dodge out of the way.

I change hands, stabbing the Vagrant through the arm.

It howls in pain and contorts to hit me, snapping its spine to swipe at my face. The claw grazes my cheekbut otherwise I’m fine and now I’m in position to end this quickly. I take my blade and plunge it through the beast’s skull putting it down. I take a moment to center myself and catch my breath. I was lucky to have killed it so quickly, luckier that it was weak too normally these things are far more dangerous or at least that’s what my mother says.

I wipe away the slight sweat as I move on, hoping to all the gods that no more cross my path as I walk.

I move further into the forest, the shadow overhead from the canopy creating small slivers of light that dance between the leaves like fairies. Come to think of it the further inland you go the more fantastical the creatures there are. I heard from a few rumors that things like dragons and even the mighty Alicorn spawn from the center of the continent. My heart starts to race at the thought of seeing one, they’re said to be divine, just looking at one could cure you of all your ailments, wonder if that means one could give me a new eye and arm. Wishful thinking Crescendo, wishful indeed.

Time had passed me by and judging by the lack of road signs and the now fading sun overhead, Liamsburg is still at least five and a half days away. Taking in the long road ahead and my tired legs, I sit on a rock by the road, ready to set up camp. I barely started to unpack my gear and cooking supplies when something suddenly grabs my attention, something from off in the underbrush. It sounds like someone collapsing. Cautiously I go investigate, cursing myself if I encountered a bear or some other predatory animal like a snake or a wolf. To my surprise the creature I see as I push aside the shrubbery is nothing less than extraordinary. There, in a clearing, laid out under a bed of waning sunlight, is a Shiftling. I’m confused, she shouldn't be this far south, especially clothed like she was. Her armor, for a lack of better words, is stunning, Black plate covers the woman’s upper body and is expertly interwoven with golden engravings as shiny as the sun. Her armor… It's made from “Black Platinum.” I know that material, the guards stationed in my village mentioned it before, something about…By the gods, she's a Guard of the Fifteenth Regiment, the one I’m trying to join. I take a step back, her helmet is the same material save for a tiny quirk which is a large scarlet eye that’s been painted over the crest of the helm, a clear sign marking her as a Commander in rank. She must be quite powerful, but why is someone as powerful as her here? Despite my curiosity begging me to get closer I can only stand there, frozen to the spot, wondering what I should do.

I should help her right? I mean she is in the unit I plan on joining. But how do I help her? I don’t know anything about Shiftling biology, even less about first aid.

I guess the best thing to do would be to get the armor off so I could examine her for wounds; although I don’t see any blood pooling under her, then again it could just as well be pooling in her armor.

Then again it also probably wouldn’t be too wise to move her, who knows if she hit her head.

Luckily it seems like I won’t have to do either as the Shiftling recovers as I idle, sitting up and groaning before rolling her shoulders and pulling off her helmet.

“Weeds of Shayabella, where the hell am I?”

I’m surprised by her appearance, from the stories I was told about Shiftlings I was expecting something hideous, and while she is deformed it’s not to the extent I thought.

Her hair is ivory white however I notice small pieces of purple and blue among the roots, remnants of dye or perhaps her original hair? My people are no strangers to multicolored hair, but judging by the rest of her I doubt she used to be an Umbrian.

Her face is too serpentine, even with the insectoid mandibles, and antenna, it's angular and covered in white scales which are just faintly purple below the surface.

I can only speculate on what her race might actually be, after all scales and legs don’t usually fit together unless she’s a Dragon-kin, but she doesn’t look like the ones that come to the village, she has no tail or digitigrade legs.

She notices my staring and glares at me, chittering with distrust, “Umbrian. Are you just going to stand there? Help me up!”

Her booming, scratchy, voice drives me to respond immediately and I pull her up by the arms. A dry rustling sound comes from her body as I help her stand, her wings extending out from her armor in a brilliant display of color.

She hisses in gratitude and gives me a crooked smile before shrouding her face in her helmet and looking around.

“You’re uniform, Ensign, you must be looking to be recruited? I came here just for that reason”

She juts out an unsteady hand, “Captain Alipheese Nagara, of House Nagara of Emeralis.”

I take her hand and shake, “Crescendo Inferima, no house ma’am.” I notice the pattern on her gauntlet, its floral in design, made to look like a lily. "Why are you out here captain, surely if you wanted recruits you’d go to a more populated city, is the guard really that undermanned?" I ask, retreating my hand to my side as the Shiftling looks to the sky. "For the moment. But I’ve already found many new recruits. We are gathering in Liamsburg."

Liamsburg, the same place I need to go, how convenient. What a stroke of good luck, first I met the captain of The Fifteenth. Now I’m barely a day's walk from their main encampment, at this rate I’ll be Lance General within the year.

The captain looks up at the sky again and holds a hand to her visor, "It'ssss getting dark." She mumbles, before looking back at me. She’s right, the sky is already a deep violet, I surmise that I’m not getting to Liamsburg today, but that doesn’t matter, I’m sure I could survive even more so now that a captain of The Foreign Guard is with me. I gesture for Captain Alipheese to follow, and we both return to my pack.

That night, after setting up camp, we ate dinner, which was the assorted spiced jerky I had packed with me. Alipheese seems to enjoy it; I think I even see a hint of a smile on her face. "Impressive. The spices are perfect, not too hot yet not bland either." I’m surprised again, the jerky isn't anything special, just something I bought at the market for a few halos. I stand up and grab my sword, studying Alipheese as she grabs more jerky to feast on. "I'm uh...glad you liked it. I'm going to train for the night before turning in." She nods, not paying attention as I draw my sword and start practicing against a nearby tree. I find that I keep looking back at her as I train. I feel like at any moment she’s going to strike, try to kill me or eat me, or do something else vile. But that can’t be possible, she may be a Shiftling but I’ve never heard of them being aggressive, still I feel like her eyes are burning holes through my head. It isn’t long before the glare becomes words however as I hear her hoarse voice ring out from behind me,, "What the hell are you doing? Why are you doing so many unnecessary motions with your sword?" I stumbled back, a bit offended at her criticism. "Unnecessary motions? Don't you usually flourish in combat?" Alipheese plants her face into her palm and Walks up to me. "No. It spends too much energy, strike, strike, slash, slash, slash, jab. That is the most basic pattern you could use." I look to the ground, a bit ashamed at my lackluster swordsmanship, "So, no flourishing? Ever?" Alipheese scowls at me, turning around to return to the fire, "NEVER! And widen your stance you're too closed off; you'll trip if you place your feet too close together." I grumble to myself as I do what she commanded. "Understood, Captain."

The night drags on as I practice with Alipheese, her compound eyes watching to make sure I don't mess up my movements. Eventually, I grow tired, and Alipheese grows satisfied. I retreat to my tent as Alipheese follows me.

I groan, rubbing my face as I remove my cloak and set it over my sleeping bag, that'll be my blanket for tonight. "Still a ways to go till Liamsburg...this is going to be hard." I hear Alipheese from outside the tent cover "At least you won't be alone." She pokes her head in and starts creeping inside without even asking. She lays down next to me, muttering something under her breath, clearly embarrassed. "I am cold-blooded and simply need something warm to sleep next to so I can wake up properly in the morning, think nothing of this, and go to sleep." I nod slowly, my back to hers. "Yeah. Got it...Uh...Goodnight Alipheese, I mean, Captain." There’s no response, she’s already asleep. I turn over and sigh. My journey is not even a day in and already I have met the captain of my regiment, I can only hope tomorrow goes even better.

#writing community #high fantasy #nonhuman #creative writing

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libidomechanica · 7 months ago

Text

An amusement at the pate

A sonnet sequence

Stanza I

That abandoned arms of strawberry, or ten time in field the moon in the ground-worms riot. Through they’d lover! Dear rose, thy tears, and forgot no name.—Belle Isle,—unfolded arm to other discerned; and got before which from sonny rayes, feed’st thy soft and his brand show, save to come healing shrubs, how I do no less; all my life is overhead came tripping from worn, where be one, yet when the Kurds. When coming happen to hold up the shrinking eyes these late and suddenly strong, it has used. Than the primroses through he welcome for Right, the honey enough they would but known grotto were they, my care?

Stanza II

Again and Moon and of any premature to pass; nor cloudy lock it up, and spears. And moss and eu’ry part. Into again. Part of heaven, no second more apt to kill. And then she went, leauing me, where is no more, dungeons may comfort her, be lucky together the lasse, white crown’d in vaine thing, with steady thy skilled words euen soulless like one burned and so forth and losse of concrete he had hope, I would that broke loos’d the empty airless amorous tribe is horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. To dawn the held a smile and love kill the sweet envelope; and I defaced.

Stanza III

So with fetters, meet and gazes from her beauty be; it is hand unstain’d by wealth may call, all the foaming towers overlook at the purple grew dull, she would makes water, or this glutton be, to their tune my pype vnto my chief dame of late. Had escaped for ever the sea and close all the hides and your pointed for any morrow in part, where and wedded steps: for the child’s fresh, fragrance further he has given in his head just to me, until I cried aloud because as the forks. My heart … he does its giant look, looking on me sooner will I—nill I. Thy gifts which like the weak.

Stanza IV

I will make up in Murdered with his mourn. At peace—this wings to hatch mine, then I her disconsole: and winds her veins in my arms, and I myself the mirror crouched they be harm’d, and notes each my mouth with those whose Head they lie, all was harmony combine, and be swept by each my mouth undaunted this lair. I dreamt I bore among green tree of greater lately bask in his hands with a kiss, those brow of mouths never settled now-a-days. And that way, I proue, I play at all. The little I thee to a doubts of neon. The stony glance that faculty, when it’s dew on roses, neither throne.

Stanza V

Love go by, but pyping lay in a clothes, which double Burden. Both Was and lights, the Maids. And of Miss Macready. Over though— were the skies. A libel, or will be out blow in part; but, being a narrow cell in love-begotten or devil if that she wakes a man: the rearward as if too brittle later, and drinking but Wisdom are not Time will take them music too,—while their summer where of home; and care, here’s lovely wove, each other burn’d the eye that they blur the moon, the crackling thirst: for ere she while they? A rule how false fears would puzzled him when that brief agony to pare.

Stanza VI

To uttermost, I should douse with cost, although your creep in the yellow guineas for the lower that thou grasp in your head and rare: but we made me the drought, or rather milk-white blade—the brazen great winter flood, ’—you know in sight, but oh, thought, as is that move, comfort meete, both will I beg a place, straws their little living will. Why dost things, hopelesse, homeward the dead, cross nor Greeks she told measure, the meaning to bed, and fresh, fragrant shade dight glow’d; on burning with unreproach, O Spring so, he shore and Time does not a thorn, where thou shalt remains a blessing is he so farre this our grave.

Stanza VII

That shall never was long array; and all knowledge; and night, all the day, and pure, what am I say thee better after love that might comes who mighty wings, believes in his foot or the soft Sybarite’s, who can see the carved lady of Shalott. Belle Isle,—unfolded floating drifting caravan, white cloud divide into growth, I care to pray with icy breasts find her neighbour grave what wink of herself with a swoon: and cried, art that French novel? Luke Havergal— luke Havergal. Yet each thou grasp in your that heifer lowing will. Like bad seruants, show of earth of flames, who knew that are we?

Stanza VIII

Blessing, and early life. Done to pay, unpaid, protested, came the poem which seem’d rather prone to proud and gay, like to admires my Lady’s self, not your glasse: but when seated praised be, I fear to march and fair Gulbeyaz stopp’d and dumb: but feede, when he dark of a dog the city began to me the roote of thou dost but a part left me gowd, a mailen plenish’d extremely with famine when they hearts, the late. More broken beam, and some embarrass’d well the barred cloud I follow river’s Language wholly, and pick up, to bringeth; stellas eyes to come to the Khalífah, hearke: but if these late.

Stanza IX

Laid by him. Its twinkle throat, before us seemed as deeper from silver-shoed pale Anguish’d bride—till once, conjecturing wife, and think, is worst. Case to each day is lighted though I had no one; aurum, soft, a brook; or mortally to see how he come a man he lies, doubled eye; the pails. After such a noon-sun, with a step of dark will wind, would taint each let thy wave is destitute but strangle this pious minutes crawled the sake o’t. Height or dark, if anything: sometimes though with one simile’s quite awrie, to show thy Neck beneath her, gathering cheek that should but killing hindereth; here our water so buoyant you blame my young; all my love. And, forlorn, my brave. Thus lily shows half- shut, and guns implore; unmeaning of people wouldn’t believe thee, here Kaff looks down; her should ever-singing clear weather, like present wit the snow minaret on as the Lady of Shalott.

Stanza X

She is far as I. A night their head to do thy flocks when speaks no more, that the cold, the poet comes in fifteen will be dying. Few angles were woman wed, and crooked neighborhood whom cruel fair: urg’d with famine all distances in your inbox I probably tried to shred ends from the good in the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for loved and then with thee. As we once from the tides to sport and silk and rather rude ignorance further come to pass; twas nights decayed? Only my body rocking! Nods from being spent, adversity then don’t the days I wind are laved and apt to carest.

Stanza XI

Resting charmed to spark of wings, thus said, and I knew. No second prove him two blood the ladies of that her thee. Two lovers out of every virtue meet thee. But there icy and wine upon the other languish, and answerless as a bore: most quietness, for ever cease; whether Laws are shadows of those whose little Love from restlessness; and all my love letter. Ah, less—less air; then what their fragrant, for his wrath did play hard or play at all. And scarcely find the conscious, past by! This is the sky, whiles he each man kills tell you this, curl upon his plan another sound. This torches light.

Stanza XII

On either when I against thou know they fled withers and meander of maidens over that least in out of everyday’s most wise by Phoebe shingles check its farthest should driven so with ripeness that she is, seeing that faculties, had settle: I think, is world of the flowers. Their person, numbers such a wise King Chaplain called the usual forever. Which he reached by time, all blisse, while craftely youth, and span, but paused, used to peer. Love brought is death, that some sidled up mine owne liuely forget thee to a word but you are my piteous hasten down to Camelot.

Stanza XIII

Home returns her yoke bare; skimming down with bars lest that’s our guards all faith. By his step of the star-laden heart and guide our ultimate Alexander! And at every humanity’s long I stood and clatter, I am the end of silk that her despise. And then hey, for there’s eglantine, here’s neither Hand—not by the blood in a rigadoon of sleep aloof or smother, ’ I know—the drought by Loues self-kill’d. And looks sae proud that by you teach o’er the even, all naked for a lass wi’ a tocher; the cock had crown’d in dear to tower and the yards of Fear, and the squally layes.

Stanza XIV

Of rock, here one by one hand, some shore though that by the sky is like a day thee in a sheets which seem’d agitated wiping— oh Khalífah’s Supper push’d, too, at the trembling in times keep this will strike you to me, and the boats of bliss, beauty passion even toll a reguiem that his war-horse fallow birds sweeter; there these antipodes of any supernumerary beauty’s charm’d my kingdoms so sublime, and holden chain, and flog then abated on pointed bourn; your lips! Then neither prime, infrangible and vision straining, eyes in my art asunder your sleep. I have I?

Stanza XV

I fear to make an Eve, be the lightly bound on either heart, I know, to many a Manichean. Has perished, but rejoiceth with delight euen thou foster-child of innocent muscles, bulging like a shadows dancing not at fifty-nine years, the diamond brightened childbeater light, and raven roundelayes, the shape, here Katinka, too—the chief dame of us would suffering walls, and was spun: and, green’s the fair gift in heaven that strawberry do stir she added feathered grave the ones with each other; so Cantemir can into again. Of which she said; but still, I did melt me up.

Stanza XVI

And even in sad men deem ourself in at the fish did not know wants me to thy white seal’s wide, but not shut of Nightmare grows. The Wolf, not a dawn grew still tyrant goes to see, nor ever bid the forgot, and looking ill preferr’d his plain called with the birds with a tongues to weep, and heavy ignorance—for she died for air. For the empty airless traveled by thee more the marble understood and in Sommer day! And, as beauties so farre things are blesse fayth, is the curse I vent my dear traces, which in therefore than she sits as deep as a cotter, which shall heaven, or yet incessant.

Stanza XVII

At last the mountains yields, woods were the thing of my right. One silently we weeping hame to go to sleep so sweet breathing still to his knees I probably at them all things, like Phœbus sung in stone with faith is many flower spring, if they have seen they weigh, for it; smiling through their cots. And ivy buds, with enuie, yet still nigh they’d love’s a dead and hell is done. And all is folded arm to passed by whom I love, and sleepe so fair Sultan under of the Muse. In hosts. For love; one temperate her her article and awe. His lips bedeck thee I lay. Sudden, hast all in their work night, the content.

Stanza XVIII

They were the Law that so loudly, chanting her dream, we saw them in up to the dark heart something is in the world slow, from his she? Her necke you fall in shore and strains of thee will too lawful period inters cannot claims, the brain … I wishes, like a weede, or the dice is kind; love me still. For them and unders, churning, with the sweet trees and startled soul in eternity and ocean is foul faults should rise, which caracter of cord and degrees, which I ate like only me the hand, that had bredd, and with his garden was, his thy mind. And, pledge or our skin, his vanquish’d to knows; hyacinths.

Stanza XIX

But such things, with three-plank bed, and something newer still delights have to weep, and hell is more than when that which long wo in weaken’d minds quill. Knowing down to dance terror crack’d from my simile’s quite so fair, thou’s brother in the blood?—Then hey, for ever part, those living to use in my own: thy leaf hangs that dost though by the marge unhail’d with thy beauty. Then follows ony saucy queans; and told with a steady stealing stately sent. Am becoming hame again shadows dance, chatter season waste blade— the Day—so the better judgment fled, and fear would do. Within my woes, my faithless.

Stanza XX

The slippery asphalte yard; silent thee, the rest, and scarcely find a Remedy for evermore and spokes of pop culture and quietly upon the worldy blisse, looking well beseech the surly village churls, and languish keepe, as messengers crumble cottage upon Gulbeyaz was epicene, at least of memories, there is Maud? To wit so poor death, if false, and someone might each other rude lines my love letters on earthly shows, and fed with discreet sign in Jeanie’s bosom; and consequence in thee to the pediments, light me; while slowly alone in the world’s the snow piled above.

Stanza XXI

With state are true, the East, warm broken and virtue yet, I deplore it cannot but here I come in verses made it a clumsy name. Too, into one. A parching through, and the golden fruit thy sweets are neither this with flying and black stage-lion of her, as just received a strangle with increased, that none was snow blooms, it is short pray with one good New Yorker and come do it will be done away. Philosopher; confound, than to gang, for the Lee that just as her veil the blue eyes to smashed last phrase of course of the goal yet, I dare to paint out of all, but Love of camomile tea.

Stanza XXII

I guess one moderate weaken’d it, which she so fair to stay. The outer airt, and the numbers such fair Sacharissa lov’d, but have some pleasure, or the sooner wilt leaves nought the yellow face in the inner she my dear, I’ll tell to be over-silver bugle hung, and we’ll not seventeen, that flame, ne strides back Her, nor time, dying ships, and then within my own: thy leaf that dwalt on me whispered low, and willows in time, only sigh’d, and watchest three lives or fruit thy mind, would not bear away, living in good morrow and not happen to side; the curse, but Love letter near, thy bud’s the tree. The breath is maintain’d, which such disposed to utterly, inevitably ridiculous. I only together: as a soul or mind, and will not stopp’d, and phantoms hover, compare: men with soul in the first fault, and hid away from never: our soul from its earth in which such proportion!

Stanza XXIII

But certainly for its raveler, long way home. When youth, or which doubted on pointed joys are death for love no condition for which I compile, whilst the window and of them, letting there not leaves the Lady of Shalott. It was. By Sallust in like bird into life has a pall, this song. To kiss the canopy of heart hath its jealousies, beauty would have a twist, and so— she awoke with fear, back to the Rust Belt. I served up their other now, from thy foul and class the Lady of Shalott. And truly show of earth—and thy service to fail it is most of vices—propagation.

Stanza XXIV

I love the long catechism of quicke in the despair: he only I Fawne on thy white, she thou look’d down Bristol Street, i’ll love’s loved but made more ice, and walked wives, whose Teeth are for fair to set budding mouth doth day is on the least, nor hold those were of the sea, salt-sweet Circassia, they whose halcyon days; unwrapping so and show’rs wet through is apt enough; for his lair. Mother the gloom, and true, the woe that, self-kill’d. In my tatter’d womb disdains the rose conceding nails; we rubbed they are comfort myself with inconstant in your hair to be simultaneously with his deaf to rest.

Stanza XXV

The strong, downrightes with his fancy does not spilt. For that is not bears into one pink of gold, with coral clasps and held so wistful eye upon the empty placed suffereth long careless in me, miracle of the doorknobs gleams. A world, and stricken, so remember’d yet, except in lead infant, slain. Breath, smiles, tears of—but Chronology best know what the voice behind which from either than evening, quenched too by your worth, to prove him at the wide a streak of darkness that, adding mourning, forgot for a queen of quiet leave melted into an empty world I would not her despise.

Stanza XXVI

Bee: all other Phidian nose: few angles were glad sigh, when the other wit or dunce to answerlesse langest that gars you and I kneel to pay, unpaid, protested, came on the blue veins. Once one hand, seem so. Yet if he was struck with a fugitive resents, the grouping all felt for since than it takes on the hawthorn’s blossom, o! Is answer’d; oh Fount drew from me, both nights, but waking, beauty of flesh and betray’d through the Bliss thy approve: their herd of Death form some call the red-breasts. Up the slept, not go they were near Mercer St I probably didn’t work out the fetid wombs of better prove me.

Stanza XXVII

Brides them and spoken, that slaves retired, the three, where the startled soul, the matron, too, was wonder’d at last stranger skies to rift the earth—and no sin to close than uncommonest sodger ance I cannot go; if I could bar him three littler that worse o’er craggy mountains, but the lady’s nose of careless cloudwhite stars, in the way althought good, whilst their clammy cell in the foaming a narrow in pain, my face. A night, star kissing skil without suspicion, sultan under towers be overawed by time will not leave thy fairy, as he crocus lustres of all, all beauty stroke of eight of their beds four-posted an open a personal life in light but that the faces slide; the meadows the Lady of Shalott. All more moue, that broke loos’d there is felt him at a windy sigh’d, and this man’s heart of my life! I am clad in front prophecies of thou not happier men.

Stanza XXVIII

To his friendly she be described—what’s to the faintly, like the spire and found he known; but I, vnbid, fetched! Pain sprang fast whirls and bright, I touch’d the black and rich flower to tower’d Camelot. But what’s what could like some of Gold: the shore until is answer than I know—and why he look? Yet thou freely shall ever die, but such a debt to painter! I dreaming. Let not thou the Fool’s Parade! So strain to get to decorous tribe is horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. With bars they would little or too sparkled at poor as Brutus is, ’ could not a thousand shields of Cupids skies.

Stanza XXIX

And swear, thy cup is ruby-rimmed, the harbrought patient loom they had not knows white, the Setting. White trillium or viburnum, by all faithless; thou, all the web, she may all fictitious shed. Are so beauty of brow, doth crooked arrow, come lives me; my tenderneath of flame played on an amber through with all his own coffin, as what a plunge my yearning found the grace, all in love and once every on did I check its farthest shepheards Tityrus is destitute but one the name o’ clink, this sowre-breath gently be weigh I, who could, till mine executions still my better becomes into flight.

Stanza XXX

That where euery kynde to trust all fear, to glass, and with folded arms full of lightly me, but, trowth again, when the sense with your hair like travelling, the mother angel in my mouth a rainbows twined flocks, and Lolah— though the most thou art thy Flock the plains without a precious chambers, from behind then a slight be five, so calm Dudu looked down to Camelot. But each in month lie so in my bosom work, with state—this in part left off at once a bouldering the byrds, which is not when one within was stand at everything air, and chafed his moments when they sometimes away, as we went to you.

Stanza XXXI

I will, which thou dost things do or do not bringeth; stella, loadstar of history, by garden wall is speech grew alone, more easy by thee how false eyes mighty wings of sleep sounds like fondness must go. My bidding! Expecting at thy Subject bound, renne after returning-steel are blessing bride of Circassians had thrust in that so long lost, consumed by the hour thou hadst set down besides are sweet Love’s a good the fiery pride; and that if it once large dropping a jet stretches to bliss’ in fatal nigh it than haunts about the Turkish title warble; and I! Cannot fades away, for years.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #159 texts #sonnet sequence

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broccolini-cellini · 1 year ago

Text

Tampopo (1985)

Comedy. Ramen Western. Dir. Juzo Itami

This film feels like a break from all the other entries.

Tampopo dubs itself as a "Ramen Western," a play on the subgenre Spaghetti Western. What I got from Itami's comedy is joy, the pleasures of food, and the overall ridiculousness of life. The titular character is a widow working to reconstruct and save her late husband's ramen shop. With the help of truck drivers and ramen connoisseurs Goro and Gun, she goes on (mis)adventures to improve her cooking skills and perfect her ramen recipe.

Ramen, a quick and cheap Japanese dish, is treated as a delicacy here. From the broth, the noodles, and the protein, everything must be in harmony. Even the eating process seems to be an art, as demonstrated by Goro's sensei. Alongside Tanpopo's quest for ramen greatness are humorous subplots. An old lady likes to squish soft foodstuff in a grocery, much to the chagrin of the shopkeeper. A con man gets so caught up in a lavish meal that he forgets to escape. A gangster and his lover engage in erotic food play.

A favourite of mine is of the dying housewife who uses the last ounces of her strength to rise from her deathbed and make her family one last meal.

Her family then keeps eating to memorialize her. It's so stupid, and that's what makes it beautiful. I couldn't stop laughing at this scene. I know, it's morbid.

It was through this reaction that made me realise I had been missing this type of rapture when it came to my own practice. My focus this semester had taken a deep dive into the eerie, psychological legacies of colonialism, so I had put aside my spaces for joy in order to focus on the research. I've found myself in a rut, so maybe a way out can be by not taking it too seriously.

Maybe I can take cues from Itami's film, which takes not taking things seriously at a sophisticated level. He highlights the everyday; finding magic and humor even though we're all really just doomed to die. To counter this pessimism, I do have to note that this film was released during the 80s, when Japan was economically prospering, before the bubble burst.

Back to dying, Itami touches on death several times in the film. Besides Tampopo's late husband and the housewife, one of the side characters is a wealthy old man with a fattened heart who almost chokes to death after enjoying his soba, tempura, and mochi too much. Another is the gangster, who gets shot in the end by an unknown assailant. Dying in his lover's arms, he talks about food, of sweet yams and wild boar meat.

Maybe the point is to enjoy things while we're here. Slurp that bowl of ramen as loudly and as rudely as you can. Have all the soft serve and sticky mochi you want. Enjoy meals with your loved ones. Be stupid. Live.

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geminigirl0298 · 3 years ago

Text

Special Education

Relationship: Loki x Virgin! Reader

Summary: You grew up on a tiny island that taught you nothing about sex and its derivatives. When you come across it in a steamy erotica book at the Citadel, you ask the God of Mischief to teach you everything he knows.

A/N: I want to thank @jan21st and anon who sent in those beautiful messages today. I posted this last night and it barely got interactions, so I doubted myself and took it down. Here's me re-posting it for everyone who encouraged me. Reblogs are appreciated!

Word Count: 5.8 k

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, minors DNI! Fingering (female receiving), oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, thigh riding, inappropriate language, cumplay.

Masterlist

“Loki, what’s an orgasm?”

The God of Mischief paused his actions. He was halfway through signing his name on a document for the Timekeepers when you strode into the room and plopped yourself onto his desk. There was a paperback book clutched to your chest, and you were clad in one of those knee-length dresses he had conjured for you. “What?”

“An orgasm,” you repeated. You showed him the book you were reading and pointed to a sentence.

She reached her end rather quickly, the line said. His thrusts were precise, purposeful, and in no time at all they had a powerful orgasm wracking through her body. Loki lifted a brow at the nature of the book. He had read a lot of erotic literature in his lifetime and even kept a few volumes on sex in his personal library. This was not one of them. “Where did you get this, little bird?”

The moniker had stuck after he discovered your talent for singing. It was a month after he rescued you from the Void. You, a slight thing raised on a very conservative island, had been visited by the Timekeepers for saving an old lady from drowning in the ocean. The Nexus event caused you to be taken by the TVA, and some struggling with a hasty keeper resulted in your pruning.

A group of men who were trying to get pass Alioth had found you in the Void and decided to use you as bait. Loki heard your cries on one of his patrols to ensure nothing was amiss. Following it to the source, he happened upon you tied to a wrecked car with tears streaming down your face. Alioth was upon you, the men trying to skirt their way around. Loki made quick work of ending their lives before untying you and bringing you back to the Citadel.

“I found it in He Who Remain’s things,” you told him. Loki’s brows knit. After taking over authority of the Sacred Timeline, he and Sylvie had stored away the belongings of their predecessor. They were happy for quite some time, though he could always tell that Sylvie wanted something he alone could not provide. So, on a weary day after meeting with the Timekeepers, the two of them constructed a timeline that allowed Sylvie to live her life with her parents on Asgard. She promised to visit, but she never had. He supposed that was why he saved your life.

Running the TVA was fulfilling work, but it also got lonely in the Citadel. Day after day, night after night, the empty walls and halls of the stone building mocked his being alone. He wanted companionship, and he always thought finding you was a gift from his mother in Valhalla. She saw how alone he was and sent him someone he could live in harmony with, and live in harmony with you he had.

“Lokiiiii,” you sang, tapping his forehead. “Where did you go?” He loved your voice. You often sang when reading or showering or just prancing about the Citadel and Loki would always stop what he was doing to listen. There were times when you would just lie with your head in his lap and sing ballads while he read. You were, in all forms, a blessing to his life

“Sorry, little bird. What was your question?”

“Tell me what an orgasm is.”

Loki leaned back in his chair. He did not know how to broach this topic with you. You were intelligent, yet naïve. The island you grew up on never taught their girls about pleasures of the flesh. They only found out on their wedding nights—some in less pleasant ways than others. Considering this, he settled for a basic definition of the word.

“An orgasm is a sort of pleasurable feeling that occurs at the height of your sexual stimulation.” He paused to let that sink in. “Do you know what sex is?”

“Yes!” You wagged a finger at the book. “I read about it. That’s how people make babies.” Your head cocked to the side, as though putting two and two together. “Is that how orgasms are made?”

“They’re not made, they’re had,” Loki explained. “And sex isn’t the only way it can happen.” You blinked big, innocent eyes at him. “There are a lot of ways one can reach an orgasm, and not only by penetration. You can use your fingers or your tongue or-”

“I read that, but it confused me,” you told him. “You touch me all the time and I’ve never had an orgasm… I think. Have I?” You were referring to the times he would stroke your hair or rub your back when you got scared.

“Little bird,” Loki laughed. “If I had given you an orgasm, you would know.”

“Hmmm…” You snapped the book shut. “Give me one then.”

Loki felt his mouth run dry. “I… What?” He shifted on the chair, discreetly adjusting himself as his length hardened. Discussing this topic was affecting him in a rather stirring way. “You want me to do what?”

“Give me an orgasm,” you clarified. “Why? Don’t you want too?”

He would be lying if he said the thought had not crossed his mind. You had developed a deep level of intimacy with him in such a short time that it was impossible for his mind not to go there. Loki wanted more with you, from you, and was only holding himself back because of your innocence.

“It’s not that,” he told you. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll have to touch you in certain places, and I refuse to take advantage of you.”

Your brow furrowed. “How is it taking advantage if I’m asking you to do it? I’m not a child, Loki. You’ve explained it to me and I understand what I’m requesting.” Loki lifted a brow. It sometimes slipped his mind how firm you were in your decisions. Your lack of sexual knowledge meant very little when it came to your maturity, and it was unfair of him to treat you as such.

“Okay.”

You perked up. “Okay?”

“Yes.” He shoved the documents aside and patted the space in front of him. “Come here.” You scooted over on his desk. Loki stood in front of you, blocking your view of the Sacred Timeline through the window behind him. He parted your knees and stepped between them. “Is this okay? Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, Loki. I’m fine.” Your tone was playful, teasing, and Loki could not help but smile. He gave you a peck on the nose that had you scrunching it in the most adorable way. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Yes.” He tangled his hand in your hair at the back of your head. “Would that be okay?” You nodded, and he pressed his lips to yours. He could tell you had never kissed anyone before. Your lips did not move at first, so he guided you carefully until you caught onto the rhythm. It was then that he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Oh!” You jerked back, a hand over your mouth. “What was that?”

“My tongue,” he answered. “Did you not like it?”

“Umm…” You made a face. “It was a little slimy. Reminded me of a snake.” Loki bit back a laugh at the analogy.

“I won’t do it again. Come here.” He leaned down to kiss you again, ensuring his tongue did not go pass his lips. You seemed to enjoy it much more this way. Your body relaxed into his, pressing your torso into him. He felt your hardened nipples against his chest and grinned into the kiss. “Someone’s getting excited.”

He pulled away from the kiss to look at you. Your nipples peeked out through the blue material of your cap sleeved dress.. “Oh,” you waved a hand. “That happens when it’s cold.”

“It also happens when you’re aroused. Watch this.” He took a cloth covered nipple between two fingers. Gently, he began rolling it. Your head fell back with a groan. Loki used this leverage to place kisses on your neck, making you moan with each press of his lips. A specific spot close to your ear had you gasping and when he sucked on it, you suddenly cried out.

“Wait, stop!” He pulled back in alarm. You were staring down at your lap in confusion. “I think I peed!” Loki bit his lip.

“You didn’t wet yourself, little bird. You’re aroused. This is what happens when your body is stimulated.”

“Oh.” The look on your face was comical.

He placed a hand on your knee. “Can I see? Or do you want to stop?”

“No, I’m good.” You looked at him. “You can keep going.” With your permission, Loki moved his fingers up your leg. His hand disappeared beneath the skirt of your dress, reaching your underwear in no time. Once there, he pressed two fingers to the damp cloth. “Oh!”

“Darling?” Loki paused at your outburst. “Are we still good?” You nodded. “Excellent. Just breathe, little bird. You’re doing well.” His fingers stroked the outside of your underwear, getting you wetter and wetter with each movement. He kept a watch on your face for any signs of discomfort. When he saw none, he slipped two fingers inside your panties. The curls that met his skin were slick with your arousal. He made quick work of parting your lips to gain access to your clit.

“Loki!” Your hips bucked off the table, hands holding onto his biceps. “What is that? What are you rubbing?” Your voice was breathless with need. It hardened his cock even more and had his zipper threatening to burst.

“That’s your clit, darling. It’s a bundle of nerves that makes you feel good.” He pressed it, and you let out a sinful moan. “See?” You nodded, bringing your head forward to rest on his chest. Loki smoothed his fingers over your head before pressing a kiss to the top of it. “Let’s get you to that orgasm, yeah?”

“Yes, yes pleaassseeeeeee…” The word stretched into a prolonged plea as he slipped his middle finger within you. You were tight, virginal, and he wiggled his finger around to get you accustomed to the appendage. A little while later, he began moving the finger in and out. “That feels good,” you whimpered.

“Good,” he praised. “I’m going to add another. Tell me if it hurts.” He slowly added his index finger to the mix. You tensed for just a second, then relaxed for him to get it all the way in. A bit of thrusting and scissoring got your walls loose enough to allow him to move unrestricted.

“Loki…”

“That’s it,” he cooed. “That’s it, little bird. Just feel.” He moved his two fingers at a comfortable pace, using his thumb to rub your clit. You were gushing by this point. He knew his desk would have a little puddle of your juices once you were done. “Darling?”

“Loki, I’m-I can’t-”. Your head tilted back, brows knitting together. A sweat had already broken out on your forehead. Your hips, whether under conscious or subconscious control, were moving in time with his fingers. The obscene sounds produced by the thrusting had Loki’s mouth watering. He could not wait to taste you once you were done.

“Tell me what you feel, darling.”

“Pressure,” you whimpered. “Right here.” You pointed to your lower stomach. “I-I can’t. Loki, I’m-”

“You’re about to orgasm,” he filled in. “Just cum, darling. Give in and cum for me. Let me hear you.”

The most beautiful thing happened then. Your head was already tilted back, eyes closed in rapture. Loki kept a firm hand on your lower back to keep you close. Your fingers tightened and fisted in the sleeves of his robe. Those plump lips of yours rounded, forming a perfect ‘O’. Your walls clenched around his fingers, entire body going rigid as you fell over the edge. The wail that left your mouth echoed through the entire Citadel.

“That’s right,” Loki encouraged. “Sing for me, my little songbird. Sing loud.” He curled his fingers as you rode out your orgasm. When it was over, and your body relaxed, you opened your eyes and stared off into the distance. Loki waved a hand in front of you to get your attention. “Little bird?”

“Hmm.” You blinked dazed eyes at him. Your eyes darted down to the bulge in his pants. “What’s that?” You poked it, and he hissed.

“That’s me,” he told you, moving your hand from his little problem. “That’s how men get aroused.”

“Do you need an orgasm too?” you asked. Loki had to force himself to reply in the negative.

“I can take care of it myself, as can you, if the need arises again.”

You scrunched your nose up in thought. “Nah. It’s a lot of work. I’ll just come to you.” Loki chuckled.

“That’s fine by me.” He cupped your face with his clean hand. “Do you want to continue reading your book? You can sit here with me while I finish my work.”

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’. “I’m hungry, and I need a shower.”

“I’ll tell you what. Go take a shower and get dressed. We’ll go to Paris for those crepes you like.” Your eyes danced with glee.

“Really?” He nodded, enjoying your excitement. “Okay! Thank you, Loki!”

“You’re welcome, little bird. Now go. I have some work to complete in the meantime.”

ooOOoo

It was about a week later that you sought Loki out with another question. You entered his room without knocking—for he would have locked it he wanted to be alone—and glided into the green and gold swathed bedroom. Loki was lying on his bed, propped on some pillows with a book in his hand. You crawled onto his bed and near him, and only then did he lift his arm so you could snuggle against his chest.

“Sleeping here tonight?” His eyes were still on the book.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” His fingers began playing with your hair. While he read, you let yourself look upon his face. You had thought Loki was beautiful from the moment you saw him. Even during your rescue, crying and being untied while he kept that smoky monster at bay, your first thought was for how handsome he was. The tall stature, dark hair and emerald eyes were reminiscent of the male lead in your book. It was what drew you in. When you were reading the steamy scenes, you often imagined it was you and Loki, and he was doing all those spine-tingling things to you.

That was what led you to his bedroom that night. You had separate rooms but it was not uncommon for either of you to visit each other’s and fall asleep. You were reading the second part in the series when your mind started running away with images of you and Loki. Suddenly, it was no longer Jacques throwing Harriet against the shelves, but Loki and you. The thoughts produced a throbbing deep within your core that had you stumbling to his room with need.

“Loki, can I ask you another question?”

“Anything, little bird.”

“Have sex with me.”

Loki choked. His green eyes turned to you, mouth opening and closing a lot like the fishes he had taken you to see at the Boston aquarium. You were not entirely sure he was breathing until he spoke. “That’s not exactly a question, darling.”

“Sorry,” you winced. “Loki, will you have sex with me?”

“Why are you asking this?” he wanted to know, and you could not blame him. Loki had not touched you sexually since that day on the desk, so the sudden request must have thrown him for a loop. “Is it that book again? Are you still reading it?”

“Part two,” you confirmed. “And yes, I am. I like them.”

“You understand sex in books is not at all like in real life?” he asked. “Literature tends to paint a very romantic picture of it all. The type of books you’re reading does that especially well, and people often grow to have false expectations.”

You mulled over what Loki said, then nodded. “Well, that’s why I want to learn. Teach me.”

“Little bird…” Loki hesitated. “Come.” He snapped the book shut, then maneuvered you both into a sitting position. His legs stretched straight out and you sat straddling his thighs. “What you’re asking of me cannot be undone. It’s also quite uncomfortable for women who have never done it before.”

“Yes, I know.” Curiosity had led you to find as much literature as you could about sex. You knew that you were a virgin, and you possibly had a hymen, and that could cause bleeding during your first time. You also knew that sex was supposed to feel really good. Loki made you feel good with just his fingers, and if the books were correct, intercourse was even better. “I read about it. I know what I’m asking.”

“Read about it where?” Loki quirked a brow.

You waved a hand. “I read your books when you’re not here. You have quite an extensive amount of material on sex.” If Loki had done half those things you had read, you knew you were in experienced hands. He would take care of you and do it well. “Will you do it?”

“I…I don’t know if I can,” Loki admitted. “Darling, you are gorgeous, and sweet, and I enjoy your company very much…”

Oh. Oh. Now you understood. You were so stupid to have not seen it before. His rescuing you was out of the goodness of his heart, as well as the need for company, but that was it. Your relationship with the god had grown throughout the time you had spent together. Loki was smart, sarcastic in a way that was hilarious and very protective of you. It was no real shocker that you had developed feelings for him. You had thought, stupidly, that he had felt the same for you. But you were wrong.

Loki did not care for you, because he was still pining over another.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, and the words came out as a sob that had his forehead creasing. “I made a mistake. You don’t like me; you still love Sylvie. I’m sorry.” You rose off his lap, shame and mortification burning your face.

“Hang on.” Loki held you fast by the waist, pulling you back into your seat. “How do you know about Sylvie?” There was a frown on his face. For a moment, you thought you upset him.

“Don’t be mad,” you started, causing his frown to deepen. “Mobius told me. He came to visit a day when you weren’t here and he slipped up and mentioned her. I pressed him to tell me, I’m sorry.” A myriad of emotions crossed his face. “Are you mad? Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not angry with you, little bird,” he promised. “Though, I will be having a chat with Mobius.”

You gasped. “Don’t prune him!”

“I’m not going to prune him, darling. Mobius is my friend.” Loki’s hands found your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the silk of your nightgown. Though you were fine with cotton, Loki insisted you have the best. “I did love Sylvie, but that was ages ago. Decades, if I had to guess, since time works differently here.”

“What happened?” you asked softly. Loki shrugged.

“She was not happy here. We loved each other, but she wanted her parents and the life that was stolen from her. I could not abandon my post here, so I set her free. There were no hard feelings involved.”

“That so sad,” you empathized. “Weren’t you sad, Loki?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in melancholy. “For some time, yes. I moped around these grand halls and neglected my duties until Mobius and B-15 gave me a reality check. After that it got easier. Relationships end all the time. It’s nothing new.” Loki tapped your nose. “Meeting you helped a lot. I had decided to close myself off to love until you came along. With you here, that became a difficult task. I cannot help but care for you. It would be annoying if it did not bring me such peace.”

You smiled at Loki’s confession. “Really?”

“Yes, little bird.” He kissed your forehead. “I cannot recall the last time I thought about Sylvie in that way since you arrived. Perhaps her leaving was for the best.” Loki grew quiet then. A thoughtful expression took over his face, black brows furrowing in concentration. You smoothed the creases of his forehead out with your thumb.

“You’re thinking very hard.”

“Do you really want this?” he asked suddenly. “Do you really want me? You understand that things would change between us, and our living situation could become quite strained if it were to end badly.”

“It won’t,” you promised. “I trust you, Loki. I know you won’t hurt me.” You placed your head on his shoulder. “I want you.” You initiated the kiss this time, winding your hands up into his hair and letting him control the pace. His hands moved to your lower back. He held you against him carefully, like you were glass, and then pulled away.

“We can try,” he told you. “If it hurts, let me know.” You nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay!” He chuckled at your reaction, then tugged on your nightgown.

“Can I take this off?” You removed it without another word, baring your naked body to him. Loki smirked when he noticed you weren’t wearing underwear. “Cheeky little bird.” He ducked his head to pepper your neck with kisses. “Did you know you were going to get your way?”

“I was hoping.” Your voice was light, breaths quickened by Loki’s lips on your neck. He kissed the spot he had marked the last time and started sucking anew. You gasped, back arching into him. His hand danced up your stomach and cupped your breast, kneading the flesh in a tantalizing manner. The combination of his lips and palm had you growing wet in very little time. You needed contact, friction, and found it by grinding your pussy against his thigh. The fabric of his sleeping pants brushed against your clit with every pump of your hips.

“Naughty girl,” Loki teased. “Are you trying to get yourself off on my thigh? Is that what you want?”

“No. I want you fuck me.”

Loki rolled you both over so you were on your back. Your head hit a pillow, and another was placed beneath your hips. “Little bird,” Loki growled. “Those are verydirty words. Did you learn those in that book?”

“Yes,” you murmured. Your hands went to his waistband to untie the string. Loki took ahold of your wrists and secured them at your sides.

“Patience.” He skimmed your collarbone with his nose, eliciting a shiver from your body. Loki released your hands to spread your legs and settled between them. His elegant fingers trailed down to the apex of your thighs, stroking the soft curls between your legs. You felt another gush of wetness when he entered you with two fingers. “We need to get you ready.”

Loki began opening and closing his fingers in a scissoring manner. You whined and squirmed on the bed as your walls were stretched and relaxed in repetitive motions. He moved a finger to your clit then, and your hips shot off the bed. “Loki!”

“Hold on, little bird.” He pressed a hand against your lower abdomen to get your hips flat on the pillow. “I must taste you. Stay still.” Loki kissed a line from your throat all the way down the front of your body. You giggled when he reached your bellybutton.

“That tickles!” Loki removed his fingers from within you.

“What about this?” He licked a long stripe up your folds. “Does this tickle?”

“No,” you moaned. “No, it feels good.” He slid his fingers inside you again. With his mouth on your clit, he moved his tongue and fingers in tandem until you were tugging his hair with the utmost urgency. Right when you were about to crest, he stopped. Your eyes flew open in disbelief.

“What?” Loki asked. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” He stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and pulled them off in one fluid motion. His penis sprang free, and your eyes widened. The pictures you had seen and descriptions you read did not prepared you for this. “What’s the matter? You’re looking at my cock like it’s going to bite you.”

“It’s a little ugly,” you replied, then clapped a hand over your mouth. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know where that came from!”

Instead of getting upset, Loki barked out a laugh. “That’s the first time I’ve had that reaction.” He leaned forward until his forehead rested on your own. His lips kissed yours once, then twice, then he looked into your eyes. “Still want to do this?”

“Yes,” you whispered. Your heart was pounding in your chest, palms sweaty, yet the overwhelming thought in your mind was how much you wanted Loki. “Yes, I still want to do this.”

“Okay.” He braced himself with one strong forearm above your head. His other hand grabbed his shaft, pressing the tip of his cock against your clit. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. A new wave of pleasure coursed through you with every circle of his tip, and your breathing sped up into a near pant. “Take ahold of me.“

“Huh?” You stared up at him through lidded eyes. “What?”

“Here.” He placed you hand against his cock. “Close your fingers around it. Good girl.” You were surprised to find that his hard length was hot and throbbed like a pulse against your skin. There was a big, blue vein spanning the length the looked two seconds away from bursting. “Now put it in.”

You looked at Loki with bashful eyes. “I-I don’t know how.”

“Don’t fret, little bird. I’ll help you.” His large hand encased your own as he aided you in guiding it to your entrance. Once there, he let go. “Just slip the tip in.” You brought him into you a little, gasping at the immediate stretch. It was a weird feeling. Not painful, but not pleasurable yet. You pushed more of him inside you experimentally, and this time he groaned. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“It feels weird,” you told him. “Is it supposed to feel weird?” Loki rubbed your clit with his thumb. Once again, you felt your pussy begin to throb with need. You needed more of him-all of him- inside of you. “Loki, I need-”

“I’ll take it from here, little bird. You did well.” He returned your hand to your side and placed his hand on your hip. The other was still above your head to keep his weight off you. “Kiss me.” You did, and felt him begin a rhythm. He would pull out just a little, causing an empty ache within you, then push right back in to quell it. Each time he pushed in he went a little deeper. Loki continue this method until he reached a distance inside of you that had you breaking the kiss.

“Ow!” You winced and pushed against his abdomen. “Loki, that hurts!” None of your books had described it like this. They mentioned discomfort, maybe a little soreness, but none had told you losing your virginity felt like being stabbed with a very tiny knife.

“I know, darling. I’m sorry.” His hips paused, waiting for your permission to go further. “Do you wish to stop? There are other ways I can take care of you. We don’t have to do this.”

“No!” Your fingers grabbed onto his shoulders. “I don’t want to stop. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

“Here.” He flatted a palm against your lower stomach. Green seidr flowed out from his hand and into you. The pain within you disappeared. All you were left with was the feel of him inside of you and the desperate need for more. “That should be better.”

“Much,” you agreed. “C-can you keep moving?” Loki pulled his hips back and thrusted in without another word. He was fully sheathed now. You lay beneath him with your eyes closed, basking in the feel of his thumb against your clit. It shocked you when, just a few thrusts later, rapture built within you. “Oh Gods!”

“There we go,” Loki grunted. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Tell me how it feels, darling.”

“S-so good!” you gasped. “Loki, so good!” You never knew pleasure could be this great. Every drag of Loki’s shaft against your walls had the feeling blooming anew. It was hard to believe this hurt a second ago, and you understood now why people wrote so many books about sex. It was like finding heaven and tasting hell all in the same go. You never wanted it to end.

“Feel this,” Loki murmured. He grabbed your hips and angled towards the right. Your entire body jerked. He hit it again, and again, and soon your body was contracted in one long, continuous stream of bliss. You knew he had to be hitting your G-spot. Some of the works you read mentioned it, but not all authors believed it existed. They clearly never had sex with Loki Laufeyson. He had no trouble proving its existence.

“You’re so tight now,” he groaned. “Fuck, I can feel your walls squeezing me. You’re close.” You were. Between the foreplay, thrusting and playing with your clit, Loki had wound your body to a point where the only end was release. You felt like you were standing near a cliff on a hot day, and the only way to reach the cool water below was to let yourself fall… fall… fall…

“Shit!” The curse left your lips before you could stop it. Your entire body felt like it was going to cave in on itself. Stars exploded behind your eyelids. A whine filled the air—high-pitched and screechy—and it took a while to realize it was coming from you. Your lower body squeezed for what felt like ages before it released. When your hips hit the bed again, Loki let out his own curse.

“Fuck.” His thrusts had long grown sloppy. “Fuck, fuck!” He pulled out of you like you burnt him and let his now flaccid penis rest on your stomach. A milky white liquid spilled out of the tip, pooling near your bellybutton. You reached down to touch it. It felt sticky, warm, and you brought it to your lips for a taste. You regretted it as soon as the salty taste burst on your tongue.

“Ew!” You cringed. “That’s disgusting.” Loki laughed.

“What did you expect it to taste like? Chocolate?” You frowned. Loki waved a hand to clean his seed off your stomach. “Better?” He rested his palm on your forehead, smoothing back the hair stuck to it with sweat. You leaned up to kiss him softly, passionately—like you would open your eyes at any minute and this would all have been a dream. When the kiss was over, Loki looked a little stunned. “What was that for?”

“Just to say thank you,” you told him. “For this. For making me feel safe and taking care of me. It was amazing.” Loki smiled at you, that wide grin that crinkled his eyes and stretched his lips up over most of his face.”

“My pleasure, little bird.” He rubbed his nose against your own. “Would you care to take a bath with me?”

Taking a bath with Loki did sound like a fun idea. Besides the sex, it was a step in the direction you wanted to go. However, your body was spent from the new activity, and you were quite sure your legs had turned to jelly beneath you. “Can we just lie here for a bit? I’m a little tired.”

“Of course.” Loki adjusted himself so he was on his back, allowing you to throw a leg over his torso and place your head on his chest. “I just started a new book,” he informed you. “Shall I read it to you from the beginning and we can continue it together?”

“Mhm-hmm.”

Loki kissed your forehead. He opened the book to the first page and began to read aloud. “No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are…”

ooOOoo

Loki awoke late in the night from a rather disturbing dream. He reached his hand out for you, only to find your side of the bed empty. That made him sit up. His eyes roamed over the pulled back duvet and rumpled bedsheets with a frown. “Little bird? Are you in the bathroom?” No answer, and no sound from the en suite either. Loki sighed. He grabbed his discarded sleeping pants from the floor and set off in search of you.

It did not take long to find you. As soon as he stepped outside, he heard your voice and followed it to your old room. Loki lifted a brow. You had not slept in there since you had first asked him to make love to you a month ago. After that, your room had been delegated to a guest room and you had moved into his. Therefore, he was very confused to find you curled up in the centre of the bed with a book, wrapped in nothing but a sheet.

“Darling?” The song stopped. Your head lifted to him with a smile. “What are you doing here? It’s so late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered. “I went walking around and ended up here.”

Loki frowned. “Why didn’t you wake me?” He sat on the bed next to you, fingers brushing the fresh hickeys on your neck from your round of love making just a few hours ago. “I would’ve stayed up with you.”

“No, you were tired. You’ve been running around all week trying to stop Kang from making a mess of things. I wasn’t going to wake you. Besides,” you tapped the leather-bound book held to your chest, “I have my book.”

Loki ran a finger over the brown bindings. Dust coated the flat pad of skin. “This doesn’t look like the ones you usually read.”

“It’s not. But,” you sat up, clutching the book tighter to your chest, “I found something else we can try. Would you like to see?” Loki nodded. You were so excited to show him your discovery that it was impossible to say no.

“Sure, little bird.” You let the book fall backward so he could see… and his jaw dropped. Loki’s eyes roamed the page, then darted to yours. He knew what he was seeing and wanted to make sure you were looking at the same thing. “Are those…”

“Yes!” There was nothing but exhilaration in every fiber of your being. “Babies!”

A/N: A kiss from Loki to anyone who knows what book he was reading.

Taglist: @howdidurhammergrowchris @sharris8 @theiamischief

#loki smut #loki x y/n #virgin reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #lokixvirginreader #loki laufeyson #lokiau #soft!loki #loki #loki show #loki fanfic

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vilsoo · 3 years ago

Text

MOONLIGHT SONATA⌇PRINCE!WILLIAM AFTON

wc. 4,660+

tags. royalty au, infidelity, eventual smut, corruption kink, cunnilingus on piano, loss of virginity, gentle dom!william, afab!reader, aftercare.

summary. with everyone wondering why the prince didn’t show up at his own grand ball, you sneak away from the party and venture the halls of the afton’s beautiful estate. discovering a grand piano in the study room, the rich tones you play impresses the prince nearby. little did he know your attraction alone would bewitch the mysterious man.

“Has anyone seen His Highness Prince William? My goodness, there is an extraordinary long queue of ladies who are to dance with him!”

“How outrageous! The host himself doesn’t even bother to show up at his own party! Such aberrant behavior of our beloved prince.”

“Oh, please calm down! Perhaps the prince isn’t feeling well and stayed back in his chambers. Either that, or he has no desire to dance tonight.”

“How dare he?! He is to dance with me tonight!”

Left alone on the balcony with an aloof attitude, you were deeply raptured by the orchestra's vibrations and whimsical notes that hung in the air, attaching strings of gold onto the joints of the grandeur to waltz in perfect harmony. You watch as they swirl on the dance floor like ocean currents, dancing in beautiful rhythm and sync. Gracious ballgowns billowing and twirling beneath; ever so graceful, ever so astonishing. If only you could fit better into its magical atmosphere if the noisy complaints from nearby duchesses, marchionesses, viscountesses, patronesses, and other fair ladies would be taken elsewhere and not near you.

Prince William Afton… Every hopeless lady in the kingdom swoon over him and his charms. He is overly admired for his power, his features, and his riches. One tiny interaction with these ladies and they’re undoubtedly charmed. Undeniably falling for him and then believe in a chance with the prince. That’s why many of them had been arguing for a dance and for his hand in marriage tonight.

He is one fine prince, you admit. But you wouldn’t bother seeking for his approval or fighting for a dance with him. You already had a suitor to marry later this year. Your suitor was a fair, charismatic baron who would pass by on the weekends and spend time with you and your family. The dynamic between you two, however, was not a romantic, loving one as you would daydream or expect of. He was a very shallow man that you’re marrying to gain income. Not the love or passion you desired. You would constantly hold back your ill opinion of him in order to save the relationship.

Deep down, you were rid of your happiness and emotional stability. Your suitor didn’t even bother to show up at this party you invited him to. So you came alone tonight. But it didn’t matter at all. You didn’t even care since you were in need of a getaway from all the chaos with him. He’s the type of man that’s not delighted by huge gatherings, anyway.

Still impassive and unamused, you decided to sneak away from the party and linger about the luxurious halls. All you wanted to do was get away from everyone, find some kind of escape. But as you were venturing, you were suddenly mesmerized by what lies before you.

The Afton Estate was magnificently polished in glimmering gold with intricately painted ceilings, enormous mirrors, glimmering crystal chandeliers and other impeccable decorations and fashionable furniture. It lies a masterful display of Renaissance-style architecture and horticulture you’ve never seen before. Venturing this polished marble fortress alone has never felt so liberating and compelling, especially being withdrawn from the vicinity and into the quiet.

There was no sign of anyone nearby. It felt to you as if the ballroom was miles away, the music and the loud vicinity already fading out. The more you roamed about these halls, assuming you were lost, you find yourself in a broad study room with a fireplace, mahogany desks, clean couches, varnished brown bookshelves, and the wide bay windows with the view of the dark castle gardens. In the middle of the glazed windows was something you were mysteriously intrigued by.

A grand piano.

You loved playing piano.

You sauntered forward like a moth drawing to light, scrutinizing its laminated shiny black iron and carbon steel with intricate piano strings. Such wealth of the Afton’s! You’ve always wanted to lay your fingers on a monochrome grand piano you were so fascinated by. Back home, you had a traditional wooden piano but a couple of its keys were out of tune. The Afton’s piano appeared glossy, the keys playing its own divine tunes when your fingertips glide over its enticing texture. Caressing them softly with ample force, like a witch delicately casting a magic spell with her fingers.

You sat without reluctance, curving your hands and positioning to the correct scales to play a piece you love the most; Moonlight Sonata. A song that makes you feel like you’re floating, or drifting softly on relaxing waters of the ocean. A song creating a unique atmosphere that mesmerizes those who hear it, but are unbeknownst of the somber and heartbroken feeling the player represses. You press the sustain petal down, letting its rich harmonies overlap and fade into each other. As you play through movements for what feels like forever, the sweetness of the graceful sounds flow like honey through your veins and tickle your ears, sending shivers of peace into your soul. You shut your eyes and let your fingers dance among the ivory.

Even though you believed you were alone at this very moment, you have never felt so accompanied and understood by the piano. You felt alive, you felt the inner peace you’ve been desperate for. You felt like you were floating in a cacophony of exquisite harmonies. An emptiness finally being fulfilled…

“You play very well.”

A sultry, rich voice from nearby startled you, halting your movements and hastily flinging your eyes open at a man ambling closer. One glance at his piercing gaze and it shot through you like a bullet ricocheting. Making out his genuine, relaxed smile that was as cold as the steel piano. Such fair skin under the moonlight that contrasted the crispness of his fine suit, embroidered and twinkling with lace. The more he kept his eyes on you, the more your skin prickled. It was as if he was perusing every assumption about you. Every nudge about who you were. But when you finally recognized his face, you gasped and shot up from the seat.

“Your highness!” You sputtered, jolting up from the piano bench to curtsy before him. “You must please forgive me for trespassing! I am aware that no guests aren’t allowed past here and will be on my way—”

The prince holds his hand up. “No need for that at all. In fact I do not hold anything against you for playing one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve heard on my piano.”

The warm and oddly comforting tone of his voice reverberated in the back of your head, like dipping into radiant velvet and cream. Your body felt like it was caving in on you, striking erratically and so suddenly you weren’t in control of holding your own guard. Receiving such sudden approval from the prince and slowly drawing into his charm, like a venomous spider furtively caressing your skin. You weren’t supposed be here. You weren’t supposed to be acknowledged from anyone, not even his highness. You could run away as far as you can from the exit unblocked. But you couldn’t leave; you couldn’t force yourself to inch away from the captivating prince. And even if William gave many opportunities for you to escape his presence, you couldn’t.

The prince ambles closer, the gap between you growing smaller. You struggled holding eye contact with the captivating man, gazing down at the floor while fidgeting with your fingers. Your heart was racing like wildfire. Was it the guilt for admiring another man aside your suitor? Or was it the consolation after complimenting your practice?

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed from receiving my gratitude,” assures the prince. “I was watching you back there. Those wistful expressions you made, the somber melodies that so captivated me… My piano became the remedy you were in need of. Is that true, my lady?”

You nodded weakly, your body immediately seizing from a look into his gaze once again. “It… It is, my lord,” you mutter as your left hand rests on the piano’s rim. “And I am truly and deeply honored of your compliments.”

But I know I shouldn’t be here... I should be on my way, you thought to yourself.

Prince William slants his head coquettishly, lifting his hand for it to also rest near yours. “May I request for you to play for me again then? I’d love hear your piece up close.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, sulking in silence from his soothing voice and his gentleness embracing you with sheer darkness and chills of the starry nights. A prince with such power and authority flowing the kingdom like poetry, swooning those around him like magic— simply asking for you to play your piece. It also occurred to you that he would rather listen to you, watch you play, than make an appearance down at the party.

". . . As you wish, my lord," you finally complied, feeling your pulse pounding while his hand inches closer till his fingertips brushes yours.

"I also would like to join you in a duet later on. You can hear me play as well," says the prince, smiling softly when his finger overlaps yours.

"Oh— oh, of course. I'm delighted to hear your talents as well." You bashfully mirror his smile, sliding your hand away to sit down at the edge. "But if I may ask, my prince; were you on your way to make your entrance at your party? Everyone has been wondering your whereabouts."

Prince William sits beside you and scoffed lightly. “I was not. I had no intentions introducing myself out there tonight because I don’t feel like it. But while I do enjoy conversing and hosting social gatherings at my residence, there are times when I am disinclined to present myself. Every fair lady in this country has came tonight to present themselves as my possible suitor. But I have no desire for marriage as of right now. Nor to witness any of these ladies fighting over my hand for a dance.”

A slow nod you gave to the prince, feeling deeply empathetic for him possessing no desire for marriage. The thundering of your heart in your chest seemed to calm itself after hearing him mysteriously open up to you. You were nobody to him. Just a guest at his party. Perhaps the prince was in need of someone understanding him, just like you were in need of something understanding you. For instance, this beautiful grand piano.

“Well. Since you’ve decided to not be on your way, I shall provide the piece you have requested. I’ll keep you company tonight, my prince.”

“Be my guest,” he gestured kindly.

The prince watches your fingertips delicately press on the keys, the rich tunes more soft and low. A beseeching melody, a melody of waltz and tranquility that enlightened him, just like before when he was down the hall. He was left with a void just like you; a hopeless, hazy sky that begun to slowly brighten with your rays pouring onto him. While you played, he studied into you more. Wan moonlight tracing your unique features, falling softly on your eyes and illuminating your skin. That longing expression he noticed before appeared once again, bled silver by the pale starlight. He imagined you were seeking communion with this faithful rhythm.

A communion. A rapport, rather. Mysteriously intrigued, he positioned his piano on the lower octaves and began to play as delicate. You gave a small glance at him with a beam, also impressed of what he bestowed. With the atmosphere you created, it allowed a venue for the prince’s heart to pour all emotions onto the piano. But it seems he knew how to manipulate these keys, conducting certain emotions to impress you. You were enticed deep down. Taking in his oddly addicting dark warm aroma of other earthiness and intensity. What was that strange feeling that shot down you just now? Was it the way he glanced at you? His compelling royal presence sitting so close to you? The way he couldn’t keep his eyes off you while playing?

Suddenly you couldn’t restrain yourself. Your heart was beating erratically once again like a drum, eyes dancing around from struggling to settle your gaze on the prince. His eyes allured praises and sensuousness, conquering the art of having you wrapped around his finger by not uttering a single word. It’s as if he knows what he’s doing to you, and you know you shouldn’t be falling for his dangerous and ominous flaunts. But you couldn’t help but indulge this inexplicable feeling deep down. Your eyes were all that he focused on and it felt like the world vanished around you. You couldn’t breathe in air. You couldn’t feel ground. You only felt his gaze. His air, his ground…

His quiet composure managed to penetrate your thoughts. Penetrate your vulnerability. Watching each other for so long, your needs and urges growing stronger like a restless, forbidden hunger. A forbidden lust. The way his hand overlapped yours earlier and the dark gazes tell you that there are parts of you that were unfamiliar to him. Parts of you that he would like to acquaint. With a sultry essence the piano seemed to stir, you felt your mind serenaded with lustful passages, littering your innocence and purity with filth. Lost and saturated with vivid insights, raging with passion. A passion to lay his hands on you and not just on this piano…

“You have a suitor you’re bound to marry, don’t you? A suitor that made your life full of discontent. Full of misery,” Prince William mutters, immediately strung by the sultry in his voice. But once it registered in your brain, you gasped, hastily standing on your feet.

“My— My life with my suitor is none of your business!” you stammered, almost turning away from him. “I’m afraid I cannot stay here longer. I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be alone together here—“

It took one soft grip of his silk-gloved hand holding yours before you could run free. A gentle touch that electrified every nerve in your body. And for awhile, it felt like this the longer you allowed him to hold you. Prince William slowly stood up with your hand still in his grip, realizing you couldn’t bring yourself to let it go. What started to be a means for your mental escape was now something you couldn’t escape from. You couldn’t face him, you couldn’t utter a single sound. Instead you let him inch closer and closer, feeling his breath subtly hitting the back of your ear. He dared not to touch any other part of you other than your hand that he switched over to his left. Your left hand meeting his left, fingers caressing yours that he so wanted to interlock with.

“My poor dear,” the prince consoled, tilting his head. "Keeping a man that doesn't know how to treat a lady like you well."

It was a tormenting battle to face— you had your instincts shouting at you to make a move and run, but your body kept faltering. You knew everything about this was wrong. You knew the consequences would leave you more miserable if things were to escalate more. But the prince’s touches were… irresistible. Everything that was ever wrong about this has never… never felt this good to you.

“Wouldn't you like to forget about that man? Allow me to fulfill that passion you’ve longed for?" he taunted, the husk in his voice filling your ears.

There was nothing more tortuous than being plagued with guilt and desire tonight. However, that guilt already left long ago when the prince found you. A prince that is well known for seducing women as a masterful art. Acknowledging the future scenarios, you already knew what was bound to happen with him; a one-sided affair. After being neglected so long by your suitor, perhaps it wouldn't mean anything to him if he didn’t find out.

So you surrendered to your desires. The desire for at least one man to care about you, the desire for someone who can return those feelings. William sensed how touch starved you are, finding it pathetic that your suitor had to carry you on like this for however long. His left hand glides up your arm while the other slides to your waist. His caresses were so addicting. His way of enticing your body felt unique. You’ve never felt such heat and arousal stirring in you because of a man before…

“Please, your highness… We shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Just call me William, my sweet,” he whispers tenderly, both of his hands holding yours from behind. “I can tell he doesn’t touch you the way I’m touching you right now. I can tell he doesn’t pleasure you and your needs like I will right now. Pursuing a man like that is no use for a lady like you...”

A titillating, soft sigh releases from your mouth. You find yourself curving your neck back on his shoulder, his soft breaths hitting onto your skin and sending shivers down your spine. His affect on you was like roses of desire blossoming in your limbs, growing and spreading to all parts of you so intimately. You had no idea what you were feeling and why you felt this way around him. Like you were under his hypnotizing spell of lust…

“Knowing he can never return your feelings— why, darling, not leave him for a man that can?”

And in that moment when you finally whirled around to face him, you knew you were tossing away your inhibitions. Your ponderings. Your resistance. Your chastity that was supposedly reserved for your suitor once married. But nothing didn’t matter to you anymore. You only needed Prince William to fulfill the insatiable hunger you’ve both been hiding ever since you’ve entered this room.

Your chest felt warm under his touch and your lips were barely touching the corner of his mouth, oddly lulling you. No matter how dark this study room could be, the prince can feel the way your mouth shaped his. Looking deeply into him with heated eyes, your lips parted like an invitation. William dips his head further, gently pulling you by the neck and settling into your lips, savoring every bit of you to engrave in his mind. This amount of intimacy from an undeniably handsome prince has never felt this salacious. You easily cave into his touch, his hands delicately holding your waist as you kissed him back. A slow, soft and delicate kiss until a gradual intensity of control rushed through.

“Oh, my sweet. Allow me to give you what you are seeking,” he breathed out, planting soft kisses on your neck. “Even for a brief, euphoric moment to forget the pain. Let me show you what intimacy truly feels like this very moment until it consumes you…”

Infected with such fervor you never knew you were capable of feeling, you desperately cling your arms around his neck and pull him closer, complying with a deep kiss. You were too enraptured by his charisma that the kiss fades from soft to sloppy, collecting your breath every few seconds then finding your lips back on his. Prince William kicks away the piano bench and guides you to the side of the piano, pushing your waist against it. Ignited with such fire burning within your body, the prince’s sly hands sneak around to undo your gown. All you could do was hold his face and slant your head while fervently kissing him until the cool air hits your bare back. He separates away for a moment to gawk at your tantalizing corset as he holds your dress off you. Slowly, he pulls it down, down, down… his lips parted in amusement when your skin below your waist is revealed to him like a delectable Christmas present.

Your heart couldn’t stop thumping when William’s head meets at the level of your navel, then lower, lower, and lower… letting the dress fall off his grip and puddle at your feet. He plants a delicate, soft kiss on your stomach while his hands travel up your thighs. A sigh you let out, bashfully looking away when his breath hits right at your sensuous, fragile spot still covered by your undergarments. A chuckle he lets out, enamored by your reticence of a man going down on you for the first time.

“Oh, my sweet… Have you ever touched yourself down here before?” he whispers tenderly again.

A bashful nod you gave. “N— no… only when I bathe and clean myself...”

The prince smirked down at himself from such precious naivety. He can also spot how wet you were from your silk undergarments. “Have you ever experienced a climax? A rush of ecstasy; a sensual release that you can’t control until you fall sensitive?”

“No, my prince…”

William kisses your groin, then up to kiss your abdomen, navel, your waist, endlessly kissing up, up, up… till he presses another soft kiss on your lips and pulls you by your waist away from the piano. You watch in curiosity when he removes the lid stand and closes the piano lid. When his hands slither to the back of your thighs, you let out a gasp when he hoisted you up on top of the piano, the cool laminated surface fusing onto your skin.

“Then allow me to demonstrate on you tonight,” the prince coaxed. “Right here. On top of my piano. And lay back while I find a pillow for your head.”

You were utterly stunned. Confounded of William so full of bewildering surprises up his sleeve tonight. But remaining obedient, impatient, and curious to see what he’ll bestow for you again, you lay down on the lid while William grabs a soft cushion from the sofas nearby. When he walks back, you find him standing between your legs; taking a moment to admire your half naked body before him. His hands just couldn’t keep off you, desired to trace your hips and your waist all over. The shape of your body, your enticing figure in that corset. The prince hovers above you to press his lips on yours again as he slides the cushion under your head.

In the heated moment, you feel William’s thumb tug at the waistband of your undergarments before he slides them off. You let out a sigh when your cunt suddenly throbbed from the cool air hitting onto it. William inched all the way down to gently kiss your clit, immediately emitting a gasp out your mouth from such strange sensation that made your stomach churn. You didn’t know how torturous, yet pleasurable the prince’s skillful tongue licks up the arousal in your cunt in such delirious manner. His face was buried between your legs, plunging voraciously deeper with his tongue and hums in amusement while doing so. All of your senses surge with such nourishment that you throw your head back and grind to the pace of his insatiable tongue. You felt excited. You felt enlightened. You were so writhed by this it felt utterly mind-blowing. William can even tell from your glorious, raw moans and the way you arched your back. Ever so real and torturous, he couldn't help but get much more needier eating your pussy out until you whimpered louder and louder, filling an appetite for the unobtainable.

“William! Oh god, William!” you cried out, desperately clutching onto the cushion.

You've lost the feelings in your thighs already, wanting to clamp your legs together, but the prince roughly pins them farther apart as he devoured you some more. Such indulgence makes you drown into his intensity while an uncontrollable eruption of pleasure waved through you so suddenly. Giving the prince the power to ruin you as he desires, having his tongue on your cunt and owning you just like that.

And that was your first ever orgasm, coming gorgeously in William’s mouth. Your body began glistening from sweat, desperately panting for breath from the experience. Your eyes drill into his once again, obliged to lean over and kiss you.

“How did that feel, my dove?” William mutters sweetly, wiping away the tear that trickled down your cheek.

“. . . Amazing,” you breathed out. “Oh please. You must let me feel that again, William. My body feels so different around you— I don’t know how to express it.”

The prince chuckles. “You’re just so precious. I’ll do it again and again, my dove. Until I’m satisfied. But this time, it won’t just be my mouth that pleasures you tonight.”

How could you not oblige? This night had become a night of exquisite, tender affection saturated with yearning and desire. Starved of passion for far too long, you were gifted it with the embrace of Prince William himself. He escorted you from the study room to his master bedroom, where you lay lavishly in silk sheets and adorned the way his body heat transmits to yours. Clothes scattered on the floor. Your naked body dripping like honey laying before him was something he never took his eyes off of. Writhed in the fluency of lust, he slowly and carefully entered his cock inside your taut walls.

You cried out for a moment from how staggering this penetration felt in you. William chose not to move for you to adjust to his size, another delicate tear falling through your eyes. When you tried talking to him, your speech slurred; like you were already mindless from the first orgasm he gave you prior. But even in your mindless state he can still sense your lustful craving. When you tell him to thrust inside, your mouth widened from the sensation of sliding in and out of your pussy so slowly until it shifts to a pleasant pace that you could handle. The feeling of him being inside you, clenching harder on him and hearing your fervent moans made his mind raw and twisted. William’s mouth buried into your neck, your darling aroma filling his nose. You could hear him softly groan against your ears, a rush of heat coursing through his blood like wildfire that drove him to relentlessly fuck you.

Is it not sickening enough knowing that he’s the only one to make you cum on his mouth? Make you cum on his cock that was too much for a virgin cunt like yours? Even if it was twisted and scandalous for the kingdom to find out, William absolutely adored every bit of. He took such sick pleasure of ruining you so no other man could have a chance. Staining your innocence, bringing you to the indulgence you deserve. No other man wouldn’t feel as good as him. No other man wouldn’t cherish you the way he did, even if this affair was all temporary…

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It was quiet. It was alleviating. As you lay on Prince William’s chest, you could hear the sound of his steadily beating heart. Feeling his thumb stroking your shoulder and holding you in his arms felt soothing and comforting. It was just like at the piano earlier, where your comfort piece lulled you to a state of serenity.

“My dove,” William suddenly whispers, smelling your hair and planting a kiss.

“Yes, my prince?”

“I have never requested this to anyone before, but… I would love to meet with you on the weekdays in my gardens. Spend the night with me, do whatever you wish. But only when your suitor isn’t around.”

Your neck cranes higher with your nose brushing his bottom jawline, impassioned by his embrace and his scent. William’s hand overlaps yours again on his chest, now interlocking his fingers with yours.

“As long as we get to play more piano together,” you whispered. “And allow me to service you the way you serviced me tonight as well.”

— ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO © . do not steal, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works outside tumblr.

tagging. @sinfuldxlight @diaphanoso @akazxii @peroxiddeprincess @mochas-rambles @inesalexandra1995 @neemuu @matchakittycat @holypinkroses @nihilisticfemteen @kei-midoriya @systemgoblincore @lollipop18 @minty-marcus @springbunniezwilliam

#william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you #william afton x you #sorry yall i got lazy at the end #this is also the wordiest one shot i’ve ever writren #im so sleepy yall goddamn #please be kind to leave comments or reblogs i worked hard on this!

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

Text

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше ме��я, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

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haadeswrites · 3 years ago

Text

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it.

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child.

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well.

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call.

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse.

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined.

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her.

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?”

And your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.”

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?”

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression.

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet…

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following.

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading.

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home.

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions.

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain.

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him.

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi.

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part.

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours.

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea.

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well.

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for.

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to.

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight.

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers.

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him.

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight.

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion.

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering.

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms.

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night.

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?”

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be.

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach.

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves.

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, ��I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head.

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river.

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn.

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired.

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north.

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night.

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore…

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it?

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.”

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island.

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment.

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage.

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside.

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side.

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly.

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head.

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first.

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out.

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes.

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise.

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually.

Time slows.

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at.

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally–

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound.

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips.

It wasn’t him. It was never him.

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.”

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care.

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though.

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch.

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again.

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to.

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you.

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter.

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most.

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood.

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!”

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #cult au #tw: religious themes #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: minor character death #tw: abuse #hades.dark #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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