WARNING: Before you starts to read it, keep in mind this story will soon turn into a LEMON. It means the next chapters will be characterized by sexual contents, smut, non-con main character, sadism, masochism, kidnapping, scurrilous language, Stockholm syndrome, BDSM and a long list of questionable fetishes.
If you feel like one of the things listed above could disturb you, I then suggest you to not read it. Otherwise, please enjoy the reading and feel free to leave a comment; constructive reviews are gladly accepted! :)
Also, please keep in mind that I absolutely DON'T support rape. These kind of stuffs are made to be enjoyed only and only in written form, and don't reflect my ideal idea of sex.
White Stone - Intro
Black. You were lying on the ground, head aching as if cracking in half.
How you'd gotten into this mess you just didn't know. Ironic how at the beginning the day promised well. To tell the truth, that day was supposed to mark an important step in your career. As ordered by your boss, you had to go as his representative to the World Meeting Conference, attend the entire session, take some notes and write a report for him. Even though you weren't actually a country, you had been allowed to participate, on condition that you would have kept the information you recorded top secret. Thanks to your job, you already had occasion to meet some of the countries, but you never thought to have the opportunity to attend one of their legendary meetings. Needless to say that you were so excited at the thought.
Unfortunately, all your expectations were shattered when, at barely 20 minutes after the start, right on the conference's table formed a cloud of flying punches and kicks, containing no others than France and England intent on beating each other after a not-so-friendly argument about the Frenchman's military inability.
In a few moments, chaos was totally unleashed. China and America tried to separate the two litigants, only to be engulfed in turn by the brawl; Germany was yelling like crazy to stop immediately; Italy, frightened, quickly hid himself under a chair; Russia watched amusedly the scene with his usual childish smile; and as for Japan, well, he just shook his head in disappointment, not saying a word. Water glasses shattered on the floor and paper sheets flew everywhere, soon turning the meeting room into a chaotic battlefield.
In the middle of that mess, you couldn't understand anything anymore. And as if that weren't enough, the few notes you were able to write weren't anything of so important. Knowing that as a common person you couldn't have done anything to calm the quarreling nations down, you decided to go out and get some fresh air, hoping for the situation to pacify at least a little. Thinking this, you excused yourself and silently walked out from the noisy room.
"And now what will I tell to the boss?" you thought worryingly, slowly walking toward the main door.
And it was at that precise moment that it happened.
Just crossed the threshold, you froze as your ears were suddenly deafened by a loud bang, which simultaneously came with a sharp pain that seemed to explode in your nape. The last thing you remember was you, lifted in the air and thrown forward by that monstrous hit, and the asphalt, going up and giving you a big, rough kiss. A salty, ferrous taste formed in your mouth. Your vision turned red, then black.
"..."
"... ..."
Voices. There were voices all around you.
You groaned, trying to understand what they were saying but your head started to hurt terribly, preventing you from concentrating. Your lower lip stung, still tasting of blood. You moaned in pain again, and this time the voices suddenly stopped. There were few seconds of silence, soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You could hear them better and better as they slowly approached, making you feel their almost imperceptible vibrations across the floor until they stopped, halting right next to you.
"Gentlemen, seems that our guest has finally decided to wake up." said a cheery, British accented voice.
With a huge effort, you slowly opened your eyes. Despite your vision being still blurred and darkness surrounding you, you recognized that you were staring at the tall ceiling of a room. Suddenly, a strange figure that your eyes identified as a blurry mass of bright colors leaned on you.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," he chuckled, "For now."
Slowly, the color spots began to stabilize, taking the shape of a young man with blonde strawberry hair, bright blue eyes and thick, bushy eyebrows. After a quick look, you noticed with fright that his features corresponded exactly to Arthur Kirkland, the English nation you had met at the meeting. But something was not quite right, starting with that wicked Cheshire grin that sent chills up and down your spine. The colors of his clothes were as bright and saturated as his eyes and hair: a pink shirt with long sleeves, a purple sleeveless wool sweater and a curious, electric blue bow tie at the neck. A look way too eccentric to belong to the serious Englishman.
With trembling arms, you got up into a sitting position, beginning to painfully massage your head with both hands. "W-what happened? Where am I? Who are you?" you weakly asked.
"Oh, how impolite. Where are my manners?" With a little bow, the colorful stranger gently took your hand and kissed it. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name's Oliver Kirkland. And what's yours, poppet?"
You blushed, shivering slightly at the feeling of his lips on your skin. "M-my name's (y/n)." you answered shyly, your chin slightly tilted as you looked up at him.
"Such a pretty name for a pretty lady." the man presented himself as Oliver commented, showing another toothy grin and kissing your hand once more.
"Cut the crap, shitty eyebrows!" A younger, rougher voice suddenly echoed from the darkness, making you jolt. "We haven't brought her here to drink a cup of tea together!"
Another figure approached strode, coming out from the shadows to join the Englishman. This one was tall, sturdy, with deep red-brown hair and red eyes. He wore a black bomber jacket with a red star on the left side of the chest, blacks leather gloves, dark torn jeans, heavy military boots and a pair of dark sunglasses, currently pulled up atop his head. The thing that surprised you the most was that his features were identical to the American nation known as Alfred F. Jones, the one who that morning had welcomed you so cheerfully. Well, except that instead of his typical smiling and happy-go-lucky expression, this one emanated the greatest aura of hate and violence that you had ever felt in your entire life.
As you scanned the man with fearful look, your eyes casually fell on his right hand, making you scream when you realized what he was holding: a long bat with nails and sharp pieces of glass planted at the end, dangling from his grip like an cleaver in a butcher's hand. Your eyes grew wide in horror as you noticed the stains of blood that tarnished it all over- some old and coagulated, others more recent.
"Al, Al, please, control yourself. You're scaring her." Oliver said, gently petting your head.
"So what?! Soon it will not matter anymore!" Al replied, rolling his scarlet eyes in annoyance, "And anyway, I don't wanna stay here all the damn evening listening to your mawkishnesses!"
"Well, if we were to follow YOUR methods, my dear Al, we would not gain anything except a nice little brain splattered on the carpet." Oliver said with a bitter laugh.
"I think both of you should stop all this unnecessary noise and go directly to the point." A third voice, this time with a strong French accent joined the group, followed by a stinging smell of cigarette.
Your vision was still a bit blurry, but with a bit of effort you succeed to identify the shape of a third man leaned against the wall; his arms were crossed, the reddish-orange light coming from his cigarette lightening his face enough for you to better recognize his features. Long, dark blond hair inordinately fell on a serious face marked by a scraggly beard and purplish-magenta eyes, staring at you boringly while the smoke from his cigarette drew little dancing snakes in the air. He wore a purple, ruffled shirt, black loafers and same color long jeans that seemed to bring the dirt of a month. Despite your mind was trying to deny it, you couldn't help but find he looked like the evil twin of Francis Bonnefoy, the French nation.
By now you were really starting get frighten. Who the hell were these creepy weirdos? And why do they all sinisterly resembled to the countries?
"I must be dreaming..." you cried between yourself, hoping to wake up as soon as possible, "Please, make it be just a nightmare..."
Now that your eyesight was slowly returning to normal, you could finally distinguish more or less clearly the place where they brought you: by its size, the room looked like belonging to a nineteenth century villa... or at least, what it supposedly had to be long time ago.
The plastered walls, once of an elegant pastel color, were blackened by what looked like burns from a great fire, showing signs of cracking and chipped paint. Below you, there was a large Persian carpet whose intricate designs were abruptly interrupted by rips and burns, as if to mark the end of an era. The left side of the room was composed almost entirely by tall windows whose glasses had been totally blocked by metal blinds that seemed no one had opened in many years, preventing the sunlight from naturally lighten the room up. The whole place looked shabby and rather empty, except for some old gutted armchair, broken furniture and pieces of plaster and glass here and there on the floor. The only thing that seemed to remember the magnificence of the place was a giant crystal chandelier; once it had to dominate the room from above, now it just lay in pieces in the middle of it, like the skeleton of a large fantastic creature. The entire room was lit only by a small bonfire, obviously too weak to properly illuminate the surroundings, shyly crackling into a large, marble fireplace.
A low chatter formed by a blend of foreign languages seemed to come from different corners of the huge room, causing a worrisome particular to finally hit your mind: there were other presences. Unfortunately, they were too far and it was way too dark for you to recognize who they were. At that distance, the only things you could distinguish were some slight orange glow that danced with irregular rhythms on the shapes still hidden in the dark. Damn it, just how many people were currently surrounding you?
"I think Vincent is right. I suggest to start right now." Oliver suddenly said, looking at you and widening his smile even more.
You were so busy looking around to not realize that the three strangers had stopped arguing and had begun to slowly get closer to you. As soon as you noticed it, you tried to get up but dizziness made you fall back again on your butt, apparently not fully recovered from the hit. Panicky, you tried to get away from them as much as possible, pushing yourself back with your legs and arms but ending up with your back pressed against an armchair.
"Stay back!" you cried in fear, your body shaking uncontrollably, "D-don't come near!"
Chuckles rose around you, obviously amused by your pathetic actions.
"Please (y/n), I beg you, wake up! WAKE UP! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP...!" You began to frantically slap yourself. Soon you'd wake up in your bed, went to work and recounted to (best friend's name) about the strange dream you had tonight...
Strangely, you still felt the hard floor under your ass, cold air on your skin and fire on your cheeks. And as if that was not enough, the laughs were not gone... Indeed, they seemed even increased! When you opened your eyes, Al and Vincent were immobile, their head slightly tilted to a side, looking confused while Oliver was bent over in a hysterical laughter, nearly losing his balance.
"Just what in the world are you doing?" he said, pressing his hands against his belly and barely stifling another laugh, "Now you hit yourself?"
You were still there.
You felt a slight discomfort in your chest, almost as if the heart were trying to get out of the rib cage, making its way between the ribs. "W...W-Who... t-the hell... WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
At your words, the laughs suddenly stopped. Their expressions seemed to change, first expressing surprise, then irritation, as if you were making fun of them. The only one keeping a slight smile being Oliver.
"Are you trying to piss us off, or are you just stupid?" Al hissed between his teeth, tightening the grip on his bat.
"She must be new," Vincent said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with two fingers, "Maybe our First Players haven't still explained anything to her..."
"Wait, First Players?!" Hearing those words, something seemed to emerge from your mind. Back in your childhood, your grandfather used to tell you many stories. One of these recounted the existence of beings, similar in appearance to the nations which he had fought side by side during the war, with the only difference being that they incarnated pure evil and did terrible things to people who had the misfortune to meet them. Every time this story made your hair stand and hide yourself under the covers of your little bed. Growing up, you started to say it was just a legend, a joke only used to scare you. If you don't remember wrong, he called them...
You gulped hard. "The Second Players..."
The Englishman made you a little applause. "Well done, little poppet! See that you know us?"
"What... what the hell do you want from me?" you asked, doing your best to assume a threatening tone.
"Oh, nothing complicated, my dear. Just some things that we would like to know also from other little countries like you," Oliver continued, "Data, information, weaknesses... Things like that."
"Collaborate and we're not going to hurt you... Pas beaucoup." the Frenchman added, blowing another smelly puff of smoke.
Hearing these words, your stomach suddenly seemed to weigh a ton and guts knot up in balls of throbbing viscera. "They... think I'm a... nation?!" Your (e/c) eyes widened and jaw dropped. Now everything was clear to you. Too much clear.
"We are waiting, honey." Oliver said with icy calm.
"L-listen, sirs... I-I'm sorry... but... but..." You paused, desperately trying to swallow the large lump that had formed in your throat. "Now they're going to kill me... "
Droplets of sweat started to form on all over your forehead, despite the goose bumps on your skin suggested the room's low temperature. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes and picked up all your courage.
"Look, I'm sorry b-but you have been mistaken!" you finally said, squeezing your eyes and fists, "I'm not a country and I don't know anything about what you're looking for! P-please, just let me go!"
You waited few seconds, silently cursing yourself for saying that, then slowly opened your eyes, raising you head to look up at them.
Your blood froze in your veins.
Their eyes seemed to have lost that bit of humanity they had, and in them you could now only see the reflection of the fireplace's flames. Oliver had lost his usual smile, now replaced by a contorted and insane grimace. Vincent's eyes narrowed dangerously, his mouth furiously chewing the end of the cigarette. Al's muscular body stiffened and his right hand tightened, clutching the bat so hard that the handle made a slight crunch of protest, all while gnashing his teeth and snorting from his nose like an enraged bull.
You hadn't even the time to think of running away that your respiratory tract was suddenly and brutally blocked by an iron grip closing on your throat like a bear trap. The same grip lifted you effortlessly, bringing you up with it until your incredulous (e/c) eyes got at the same level as those red and furious of the American. He had grabbed you so quickly that you hadn't even seen him move. Immediately, you began to squirm and kick with all your strength, desperately trying to loosen his grip or hurt him in some way, but he was way too strong for you.
"She is taking us the piss..." he growled right in your face, causing some spits to wet your cheeks, "THIS BITCH DARES TO TAKE US THE PISS!"
You grimaced and held back your breath, waiting for the smell of saliva to go away. "No! I swear, I told the truth!" tears began to form in your eyes, "Please, put me d-... Ah!"
"SHUT UP!" he tightened his grip even more, "Have you taken us for fools?! I saw you sit down at their table and leave the conference room! No ordinary person can attend one of their meetings! You MUST be one of them!"
Your face began to turn a bluish tint and your squirming grew weaker and weaker. "N-no... I'm n... pl..." The rest of your words were lost in an incomprehensible series of guttural sounds. "Shit, I'm really going to die..."
Your vision began to blur due to lack of oxygen. After a last weak struggle, you let yourself hanging from his grip like a hanged man from a noose, waiting for death to take you.
Instead, you found yourself on the floor, curled up in a fetal position and taking in sweet oxygen with all the strength of your lungs. The muscles of your throat seemed on fire, your hands shaking so much that you were barely able to massage your neck. Tears rolled down your cheeks, making them wet and itchy. You just don't know how long you remained there, trembling and wailing while the Second Players just stared at you with their soulless eyes.
"She keeps saying the same things even in front of sure death... She's crazy, or maybe she's really telling the truth." Vincent said, overlapping his voice to your noisy breaths.
"Are you telling me that I've done all this trouble and almost be fucked by those assholes for NOTHING?!" Al growled, kicking a broken chair away, "This little bitch is completely useless!"
"Knock it off using that word! Problems can't be solved by swearing for no reason and destroying everything." Oliver sighed, now seemingly calm; his usual grin peeking on his lips. "Well guys, what are we going to do with this little one?" he then asked in a loud voice, so that everyone in the room could hear him.
"Just let me go, please..." you begged, weakly returning to your sitting position and still massaging your throat, "I haven't done anything to you..."
"Hahaha! Sweet white soul, ours is a dying and violent world," the colorful Englishman chuckled amusedly, like if you said something funny, "A nice tidbit like you would not survive a single second out there."
"Y... your world? But then..."
It was at that moment that you finally realized. How could you have been so stupid to not think about it? As parallel nations, they obviously had to come from a parallel world. And now, well, now you happened to be right there. A place controlled by warped countries in which their madness is law. And as a consequence, all your escape plans were suddenly crushed, as well as your future. You couldn't expect to survive alone in a world which wasn't yours, just as you couldn't hope in the help of anyone. You were completely at their mercy and you would have never seen your home again. All your friends, family, colleagues, even your boss and that unpleasant secretary that have always gave you annoyance... At their remembrance, cruel daggers of ice stabbed your heart, causing your eyes to glaze over with tears. Sniffing, you hugged your knees and lowered your head on them.
"Awwww, c'mon, don't cry..." Oliver moved by your side and began to gently caress your (h/l) (h/c) hair, pretending to comfort you.
"Leave me alone..." you sobbed quietly, not liking his touch.
Seemingly not caring about your begs, the Second Player knelt in front of you and gently took your chin with his left hand, forcing you to look into his icy-blue eyes. "It's a shame that such pretty face is ruined by tears, don't you think so, guys?" he smiled, rubbing your chin with his gloved thumb.
A soft whimper escaped your lips as you parted them to say something, but that was all you managed to say. You didn't know why, but there was something very entrancing in those eyes, as if they had some strange magnetic power, so beautiful that you couldn't look away. So dazed by those piercing irises, you didn't even notice when his right hand moved from your hair and gently placed on your left thigh, beginning to slowly and sensually stroke you up and down through the fabric of your jeans. As if in a kind of hypnosis, you felt your body slowly relax, making you close your eyes while a shiver of pleasure climbed up your back like a bunch of little fidgety lizards.
Seeing the blissful expression on your face, he chuckled delighted and came even closer, until your noses barely touched. His warm breath exhaled scent of cupcakes and cookies, tickling your lips.
"U-uh..." Butterflies began to form in your stomach and a slight blush flushed your cheeks. You'd never felt so good in your entire life.
"I know how to make you feel better, poppet." he purred in a smooth tone, licking his lips greedily as he slowly closed the distances between you two, still massaging your thigh up and down, up and down, up and down...
Your eyes suddenly snapped open when his fingers moved down on your inner thigh and slightly blushed against your private parts, causing you to wake up from your trance and realize what was going on. In an explosion of adrenaline, you smacked him hard on the cheek and jumped back, finally being able to stand up on your feet. You glared at him angrily, your face never been so red in your entire life...
Soon enough, your temper turned into fear when you realized what you had done, and grew even more as you saw the Englishman slowly stand up, one hand pressing against the sore cheek. Wide eyes injected with psychotic rage glared at you, making your heart froze.
"Dear God, what have I done?!"
But under your incredulous eyes, instead of getting angry Oliver just smiled again and began to chuckle. He calmly massaged the painful area and looked at his hand, grinning with insane amusement. "Wow, you're a feisty little one," he laughed, "I didn't think you were such a prudish little flower that would be shocked for such a trifle..." He paused for few seconds. "Unless..." His smile widened as ever and his eyes glowed in excitement, sending a shiver down your spine. "That's it! You must be a virgin, am I right?" He then said triumphantly.
"I-I'm not your fucking business!" you yelled in embarrassment, blushing madly and hugging yourself in your shoulders, as if trying to protect yourself.
"Well, ma chérie, since it seems you'll stay here with us for quite a long time, I think that now you are actually our business, non?" Vincent said, throwing away the cigarette end with a snap; his lips curled up into a devilish smirk.
"I fully agree." Al grinned like a shark, gazing at you like a pile of fresh meat.
You gulped hard at their sudden hungry eyes. "Y-you can't be serious..."
You began to back away slowly, small diamonds of cold sweat rolling down your forehead as the gears in your head worked crazily, trying to find a way out. After just two steps, something pointed and sharp pressed against your back, preventing you from continuing. You froze, shivering dreadfully at the blade's coldness.
"Dove credi di andare, bella?" someone behind you breathed near your neck, making you a hot and humid tickling.
A small, peculiar particular came back to your mind like a punch in the stomach: you had completely forgotten about the others.
You had to get out of here. Now.
With heart pumping adrenaline in your veins, you jerked and began to run wildly, making a last desperate attempt to escape by launching yourself at breakneck speed through the only place that your attackers didn't occupied. Incredibly, you managed to pass through the circle of men who surrounded you... just before a pair of arms wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back against a muscular chest and lifting you from the ground.
"Think of it as a punishment for making us lose so much time." Al nibbled your ear from behind, giving it a hot humid lick as he took a first taste of your skin.
At the wet, ticklish sensation, you began to squirm like crazy, kicking desperately and screaming for help with all of the air that your squeezed lungs allowed you to use while panic finally took you completely. A strong hand crushed on your mouth, choking your screams to simple muffled wails. You looked up, only to find yourself staring at a pair of starving, purple eyes.
"Save it for later, little robin." Vincent purred lustfully, crushing you with his body against Al's chest. In your current position, you could feel the hearts of both men, palpitating with excitement behind their rib cages.
The Frenchman slid his free hand under your shirt, making you shiver terribly at the feeling of cold, cold fingers caressing your middle and slowly crawling up to your breasts. He cupped one in his palm and gave it a hard squeeze, making you yelp. "Mmmm~ you're so warm and soft..." he whispered, hungrily sweeping his tongue over his lips; his hot, smoke-smelling breath itching your nostrils. The wicked hand then sneaked under your bra and grasped your bare bosom. His fingers circled your hardened nipple, pinching it teasingly.
You squeezed your eyes shut and grimaced, feeling extremely violated.
Behind you, the American turned his attentions to your neck, licking and biting it roughly like a hungry animal. "And tasty too," he grinned against your skin, "I like it." Not wasting time, Al gave another long lick, following the valley of your neck until the beginning of the shoulder, enjoying every bit of your warm shivering flesh under his pink muscle. He then artfully unbuttoned the opening of your jeans with one hand and slid it inside, beginning to roughly massage your womanhood through your panties, feeling the warm, delicious softness under his gloved fingertips; your little trembles and wails turning him so on.
"Hey! Leave her to the others too!" the Italian accented voice of before suddenly echoed in your ears, and it didn't sound too happy.
"Luciano, get the fuck out... We're busy." Al snarled against your neck, his voice lightly muffled as he continued to lick and suck.
"Col cazzo, now it's my turn-a!"
A pair of not very large but surprisingly strong hands suddenly grabbed your arm and began to pull hard. The sudden stroke made you widen your eyes and cry in pain. With the corner of the eye, you managed to see the fourth man. A boy, to be more precise. His hair was the color of reddish bronze, while red-pink eyes shone over the tanned skin of the young man. He wore a brown military uniform, a same color cloth cap on his head and a pair of black gloves. An elegant purple feather hung from a side of his hat, waving sinuously at the slightest air movement, like engaged in an endless lightweight dance. Excluding his basic features, he was completely different from the shy and sweet Italian you knew. The only thing they had in common was the characteristic hair curl, that swirled up from the left side of the head.
"Let go immediately, you fucking spaghetti idiot!" Al growled, tightening his grip.
"I don't see your-a name on her!" Luciano hissed darkly, pulling your arm stronger as he abruptly unsheathed a throwing knife from his belt and began to dangerously cleave the air from side to side, narrowly missing the faces of his adversaries.
"Stop being a baby and wait your turn... And throw that damn thing away from my face, imbécile!" Vincent yelled in anger, trying to kick him away and painfully clutching your thigh like the claws of a raptor in the flesh of his prey.
As for you, you felt like a piece of meat torn between stray dogs. You had the feeling that your limbs were going to tear away from the body, like a bug in the hands of a naughty little kid. You screamed in pain as the vertebrae of your spine began to crackle dangerously, sending a painful shock up your back.
"Guys, guys, please," Oliver interrupted them, raising his hands to get their attention, "Calm down, there's no reason to fight."
Everyone turned toward him, letting you ungracefully fall on the ground with a thud. You left out a gasp, sighing in relief by feeling your joints return back in place.
"We shouldn't be so rude with a guest, am I right (y/n)?" he asked, smiling and looking down at you.
You nodded, weakly smiling back in hope.
"Speak for yourself, freak!" Al snarled, "I expect a treat after all this effort!"
"Oh, you'll have it, don't worry..." the Englishman smirked, giggling by seeing your smile disappearing, "But let's decide peacefully, like true gentlemen do." Said this, he gave you a playful wink and trotted out of the room.
"And now what's on his brain?"
You felt the anxiety growing in your stomach, until he suddenly returned with a mischievous smile on his lips. In his hand, you noticed he held now a lovely blue velvet bag, with a thin pink cord that closed the opening. Gently pinching it with two fingers, he opened it and put his hand inside, pulling out a handful of black and smooth pebbles.
You frowned, puzzled.
"Let's play a little game. As you can see, this bag contains nothing more that black pebbles," He paused, putting them back in the bag. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out another one, the same size of the others, but it had a milky white color. After showing it, he put the little rock with the others and began to shake the bag to well mix the content. "Now, in turn we'll put a hand inside and take a stone each one. The lucky guy who will find the white one, will spend the night with the lovely lady right there. Understood?"
All the Second Players gazed at you.
You froze, feeling as if the whole world had just collapsed on top of you. Literally. "W-wait a minute! You can't just-!"
"Yes, I think it can work," Vincent said at last, not even paying attention to you, "I'm taking part."
"Tsk, I already have the victory in the bag-a." Luciano said, giving Allen a defiant smirk, who replied by flipping him the bird.
"B-but I don't want to do that!" you cried in protest, "You can't-!"
"Poppet, have you not yet figured out?" Oliver chuckled, opening the bag and getting ready to start the game, "Now that you're here, we can do everything we want with you," he stared at you darkly, "Tease you, play with you, make you beg... And there's nothing you can do about. You can't rebel, you can't escape, you can't call for help. You're our little toy from now, don't forget it again, honey... You belong to us."
Saying this, he turned away from you and began to walk among his fellows, which in turn began to put their hands in his bag.
You remained there, seated on the floor, your head bowed. Your empty eyes facing the floor, without fixing anything in particular, without tears for cry. A feeling of shame overcame you, followed by a huge wave of despair and disgust at the thought of what was waiting you. His words echoed in your head, cutting your brain like sharp knives.
You belong to us. You belonged to them. I belong to them.
Once everyone had a stone in his fist, they slowly opened their hands in unison.
...a single white stone surrounded by black ones.
Writer's comment:
This is my first attempt to a Reader-Insert story.
It's just an intro of what I have in mind to write. Also, please note that English is not my mother language. If you see any mistakes, please let me know.
I did my best, so I hope you enjoy read it. :) If not, tips and constructive comments are always welcomed!
PS: According to you, who has found the white one? Write it in the comments, I could consider your decision ;)
The characters available are:
- 2P!America/Allen "Al" (DONE!)
- 2P!England/Oliver (DONE!)
- 2P!France/Vincent
- 2P!Russia/Vladimir "Vlad" (DONE!)
- 2P!China/Shao
- 2P!Canada/Matt (Next incoming)
- 2P!Italy/Luciano (DONE!)
- 2P!Germany/Lutz (DONE!)
- 2P!Japan/Kuro
- 2P!Spain/Rodrigo
- 2P!Romano/Flavio
- 2P!Prussia/Gerald
The choice is yours (Mwahahahaha!)
Translations:
(FR)
pas beaucoup = not so much
ma chérie = my dear
imbécile = imbecile
(IT)
Dove credi di andare, bella? = Where do you think to go, beauty?
Col cazzo = Fuck that
All character rights belong to Hidekaz Himaruya©