Bad Time Bingo Summary: Never finished fanfic ideas/outlines/notes for Hunter-centric stories. Lots of angst, dark themes, and one-sided relationships. Hunter aged!up to 20 years old minimum. Each chapter has its own story concept and is written unrelated to the others. RATING MAY GO UP.
Ships to post eventually: Hunter/Belos | Hunter/Collector | Hunter/Adrian Graye Vernworth
ch. 4 Summary: The task of guarding Belosian Empire borders isn't easy, especially as the de facto leader of a squadron stationed in rough mountain terrain. But it'd be easier if he didn't have to argue with his superiors just to receive basic supplies. Hunter's about to hit the limit of what he can do when the Emperor makes an announcement that threatens to change everything he's worked so hard to protect.
The royal intends to host an Empire-wide event. A gala. Or two. Or as many needed to find someone befitting the role of Empress.
Hunter thinks nothing of such events. He'd been scorned for his half-a-witch status since he was a child and no doubt wouldn't be invited to attend. Regardless, his ever-rotating-crew depended on him to keep them alive. He couldn't just leave!
But he might not have much of a choice when it comes to the Emperor's demands.
Warnings: Has a dubiously-consensual, incestuous, and slightly explicit (not fully graphic/intense) EmpGold blow-job near the end. Overall mature themes. Implied violence, occasional swearing, and references to non-consensual relationships.
Intended Ship: Hunter/Belos
Notes: This chappie is a direct continuation of Bad Time Bingo Ch 3: The Consort from Mountain Infantry Part 1. Tried to make this coherent but been fighting with it so long that if I don't post it now then I might never.
Shoutout to Anmaii and TellyCope/TeenyCacti over on AO3 for tossing me ideas and morale boosts for this AU concept!
Chapter 4 – The Consort from Mountain Infantry Part 2
The Coven Heads noticed Hunter's absence from the gala. Apparently they kept a guest list and crossed off everyone who had attended from their roster. By not attending and being one of the few who didn't put him on their radar.
After the 1st month passes with no backlash, Hunter assumed he's safe from potential consequences. He's wrong.
2 months after sending the invitation, 60 days later, they seek him out.
Why hadn't he attended such a prestigious event? It was rude to refuse such a highly coveted invitation especially to such to a rare event! Then outright offensive to not even bother to respond with an explanation for why he hadn't shown.
It was suspicious. What could he be hiding?
At the end of the 2nd month and thus the start of the 3rd month, Hunter makes the usual trip to the Command Center and assumes everything will be normal like the last visit. Last visit no one had followed up on his invitation. No one had harassed him about it. So he figured everything was fine.
Everything is not fine. He enters the Command Center expecting either the usual antagonism of glaring or just being ignored but instead the lobby is unusually crowded. The moment the doors swing open all eyes lock onto him and the previously muted chatter halts.
Eerie silence descends.
Stemming from the lobby receptionist counter, the crowd flows away from something like liquid. The wide-eyed group reveal someone clearly important making their way for the doors. Hunter hastily steps aside only to realize the stranger's gaze has locked onto him like the rest.
He sucks in a sharp breath as his own gaze scans them. The stranger isn't just someone important. They're a Coven Head. A member of the Emperor's own inner circle: the Head Witch representing the Abomination Coven. The witch before him not only has the Emperor's respect within his private council but the public's admiration as well.
Darius Deamonne.
Why was Head Witch Deamonne here? And why was he looking at him? Ohhh boy, what had he done? Frantic, Hunter scans his memory but can't think of anything noteworthy. He'd spent the past 2 months doing his job alongside the mountain borders. There hadn't been anything noteworthy to report but he still submitted the required check-ins. Still sent his routine requests for repair kits and medicinal supplies. Still received the routine, rude denials.
There's nothing that could have warranted a coven head's presence. So why was he here?
The head witch glided to a stop, shoulder cape flowing from the slight movement, and towered over him with glowing green eyes. The purple gooey hair bubbled and rolled and Hunter had to resist staring like the awestruck idiot he really was.
"Hunter ADD SURNAME HERE, correct?"
Hunter gaped, hypnotized. Was that really hair and did the man's eyes really glow or was that a deliberate but subtle use of magic? Even the goatee moved. Ohhh and the sideburns did too! But why did the ever-shifting hair bun have a glowing green center? Was it an eye? Could it see? Did he get headaches when it rolled like th–?
The witch cleared his throat and Hunter snapped to attention. Hastily clicked his heels together and straightened his posture in a near-forgotten salute. Oops. Not a great way to start.
"Y-yes! I am–That is–Me! Reporting for duty, sir!" His cheeks flared and he fumbled horribly for someway to salvage this wreck. "As in I am Hunter ADD SURNAME HERE of Squadron F-section 4A. Of the Belosian Military, sir Deamonne sir!"
Oh Titan. What a terrible introduction. This was just getting better and better, wasn't it? Ohhh…
Head Witch Deamonne tilter his chin down, lips pursed and distinctly unimpressed. Hunter sweated. So many eyes were on him, judging him, but the worst of them all came from the powerful and elite in front of him. Coven Heads were among the highest of authority figures or a reason. And this witch's gaze alone was making him crumble under unseen pressure. Was he going to puke? Hrnnngh…
"Why did you not attend the gala?"
There was definitely bile in his throat now. The witch hadn't even bothered to pull him aside for privacy. Not that anyone ever offered him that courtesy, but still. At least with privacy he could have puked in relative peace! Because he was definitely a dead witch now he's sure of it.
The witch waits a second more then lifts an expectant brow.
"I'm not a suitable suitor." Hunter blurts in a panic.
Because oh fuck, holy shit, oh no a Coven Head was HERE and was talking to him and he knew it was a mistake to not attend that stupid thing. He knew it was a stupid thing to ignore it. Fuuuuck. He was dead he was so, so dead.
"And why not?"
Hunter fumbles for something, anything, some sort of justification that wouldn't get him killed but he has nothing except the truth. "I–well, I'm the leader of my squadron I can't just up and leave–"
The brow rises higher, unimpressed.
"It's a dangerous territory!" He can't but defend on reflex, blasting a metaphorical hole in his foot as he goes. "Near impossible to survive especially since I have to fight the Center just to get–uh–um–"
Eyes slowly narrow, steadily darkening with the familiar expression of annoyance. Everyone wears that around him.
"But those aren't the real reason I mean–" he trips over the next words, awkward and painful to admit despite everyone shoving them into his face every month he visits. And with them all watching him suffer alone like this with delighted smirks hurts more than he'd like to admit. His shoulders slump. "I'm just half-a-witch. And I can't afford formal wear even if I wasn't one."
The head witch shifts his weight. One white boot turns away from him and taps lightly against the tiles while the other settles heavier atop the flooring. Hunter can't help but try to ignore the impending verbal lashings by studying the witch's boots. How does he keep them so pristine? They're white! But there's not even a speck of dirt. Weird.
"…your condition was mentioned in the official records." The head witch's voice snags his attention. A slow but smooth sound with clear but careful enunciation. Deliberately chosen words. "We were fully aware when we sent the invitation. As for formal wear…"
At this, the head witch stepped back to openly examine him top to bottom. Lips curled and brows furrowed, openly disgusted at his unkempt appearance.
Hunter's cheeks bloomed with heat and he tried not to curl in on himself at the clearly roving gaze. The blush spread from cheeks all the way to ear-tips when the man gestured for him to turn.
He wasn't handsome by any means, he knew. Everyone sneered at him for more than his half-a-witch status claiming he was the ugliest thing they'd ever seen. Nasty scars littered his body and blemishes were something to scorn.
And sure, his clothes were a patchwork mess so he always looked like a mess of walking rags instead of seamless refinery like any visiting nobles he'd pass in the Center halls on certain months.
And okay maybe everyone in the Center had always told him his hair was a ratworm's nest in desperate need of plucking but there just wasn't time for managing appearances. Hygiene was necessary out of functional survival but aesthetic appearance wasn't practical while living in the wild. His hair could be messy or tangled, trimmed just long enough to retain body heat, and it wouldn't matter in the woods so long as the hair was clean enough.
They always called him ugly and now here he was being told to turn around like a thing on display. Snickers rippled through the crowd. Hunter swallowed down both bile and a nasty case of nerves but pivoted in place. Waited a moment before checking over his shoulder and the man nodded. He pivoted fast and couldn't help but cross his arms, uncomfortably self-conscious in such a bizarre interaction.
"Since your place of employment wouldn't have anything formal on hand, I will personally ensure you have something to wear." The man nodded. "You figure is fairly common despite those horrid rags masking your shape. At a glance you seem to be more muscular and defined than the norm but it shouldn't take too long to find something workable. Definitely something more suitable than those glorified bags you have on."
Hunter's flush deepened and fingers burrowed into the stained and tattered patchwork sleeves. His grip tightened hard enough to become painful but grounding. Basically hugging himself with the standoffish/defensive posture.
Deamonne flicked a gloved wrist–also a perfectly pristine white in sharp contrast to the deep, dark molten tones of unblemished skin–and strode for the exit. Only to pause with a lingering, almost musing thought aloud.
"Oh, you will be attending, won't you?" Glittering green swept over him once more, no longer neutrally examining his figure but critically assessing him with open judgement. "Unless of course, there's a reason you'd refuse such a honor…?"
"Y-yes–I mean no! No not to refuse but yes to attend!" Hunter stammered and curled into himself, brain shutting off and oozing abomination goo out his ears from both embarrassment and panicking fear before he realized something important. He extended a palm, an instinctive signal to ask for time, and opened his stupid mouth.
"Wait!" Eyes wide, Hunter needed to know. "Wait, please, when–"
"Oh, hmm…" Deamonne tapped fingers to the gooey goatee, twirled a finger and absently opened the door. "Yes, that should work. My schedule can accommodate this. Come along then."
"W-what?" Hunter stumbled after the man, hurrying to follow as he left the lobby completely. "W-wait! Wait!"
Outside, Deamonne mumbled to himself and ignored him as he approached.
"Sir!" Hunter fumbled to understand. To see if he understood anything happening right now. To explain he couldn't just drop everything if he did correctly understand the situation. "Sir, I'm confused. Please explain–"
"We are going to get you cleaned up then leave immediately. I'll bring you to the nearest tailor and have you fitted into something decent for the trip to the castle. Then we will find you an outfit suitable for attending the Emperor's event. Of course, you will be delivered to the castle but you will have to find your own way back."
"What?" He squawked. "You can't just–I have responsibilities I can't just lea–"
"You should be grateful I'm not only delivering you to the castle for a highly esteemed event but also allowing you to keep two whole outfits. They will be far better than that look you have on now."
Mind running a million miles a minute while sorting through the overload of information, Hunter still manages to catch the insult. He bristles. "What's wrong with how I look?"
"That outfit." The man twirled an index finger in a wide circle, "is the ugliest thing I've ever seen. An absolute eyesore. I want it gone."
Hunter huffed. "It's practical. Fancy and thin clothes are useless on the Knee. And speaking of the Knee my crew–"
"Will be fine." The man continued to stride and Hunter hastened his pace to match. It was an easy pace to match but the sheer absurdity of the situation made it hard to keep up.
"No, you don't understand!" And he needed the head witch to understand. "It's damn near impossible to survive up there. The only reason we've been able to last so long is because of me."
"Ah, yes, the ever entitled youth of today." The older witch mused. "Shocker."
Any embarrassment that had overwhelmed him before drained at that comment. Famous and powerful Head Witch or not, this man did not understand the severity of his own demands.
"Head Witch Deamonne," Hunter forced himself to walk in front of his superior and block the path. His voice dropped and expression darkened. "I will not attend the Emperor's gala if it means my crew will be left without the equipment to survive in my absence."
An eyebrow lifted but this time with intrigue. "You think yourself special?"
"I think myself a tool." He snaps back. "I am the most experienced soldier there. The turnover rate is high in that location due to its inhabitability. My squadron has lost too many seasoned members from both the environment and the quitters. The current crew is inexperienced. Almost all of them are new and one of them is already severely injured. The only reason I even risked coming down here was to beg for medicinal supplies. You drag me from my station and you will be sentencing my entire crew to death, do you understand?"
The head witch studied him, wordless.
Hunter sucked in air, sharp and angry. "I will not be abandoning my crew, Head Witch. Consequences be damned. Do you understand? I'm not leaving them to die up there."
The man tilted his head in a languid movement. Arms crossed and expression shifted to something softer, maybe even contemplative. Hunter held his glare and aggressive posture for several minutes refusing to cave or argue his stance any further.
But eventually the aggression seeped out of him and he was left with nothing but exhaustion and a desperate need to keep his crew safe. "Please, Head Witch. Don't… don't drag me away from them. I'm doing everything I can to keep us afloat up there but it's barely enough."
"Why?"
The question was quiet but he startled as if it were loud. "What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean?"
Hunter studied the witch but couldn't get a proper read now. The posture and expressions were the same as before but… almost seemed neutral. Not giving him any indication of thoughts or of what answers the witch wanted to hear.
So… he answered what he thought the witch could mean and hope that was enough. "There's several 'why's' you could be asking, but… The main one would probably be: why are we struggling so badly up there? And… it's because of several reasons, actually. The main one is also the most obvious. I'm just a half-a-witch."
The witch continued to watch with a blank expression so Hunter barreled on.
"I'm a half-a-witch and everyone at the Center reminds me of that every time I come down. Once a month I have to leave the camp to get their mail and try another shot at haggling for basic supplies. Normally I have to spend my entire month's earnings just to receive a basic medicinal kit or two."
"The Center doesn't provide them?"
"No." Hunter exhaled, heavy and drained. "Like I said: I'm just half-a-witch. That's their main reason for denying me anything. Usually I can manage to find what I need for the land itself up there but… But this season's been incredibly rough and almost the entirety of my crew is new. I…" Despite himself, tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "I don't think I have enough to provide what we need for this month. And I'm not sure what resources I can cut without sacrificing either the health of my entire crew or just my own."
He sagged and threaded trembling fingers through his hair, gaze darting away as his feet began to pace back and forth in front of the head witch. Now that he started babbling he couldn't stop.
"I'm only a soldier so I don't earn much. Usually it's just enough to resupply the food stores and some medicinal supplies that are hard to recreate in the wild. But there's been a drought recently and the crops I've managed to grow won't provide enough. And too much game has left the area because the lakes have dried so we won't have as much fresh meat."
"But you mentioned the food stores are refilled each month." The man frowned. "And they should be refilled by default unless you are consuming excessively."
Hunter shook his head, riling himself into an anxious tizzy. "No, the food stores are supplemental to the game we hunt and the crops we harvest. I've tried demanding more but they refused. Said people like me have to earn the supplies. No free hand outs. Which means I have to pay for them and–"
His breathing shortened, lungs expanding and contracting in quicker bursts. "But I'm only paid a soldiers salary and that's not enough to feed my crew this month! Not when there's not enough from the land to pick up the slack. But there's not enough healing potions and SOLDIER NAME HERE was already in bad shape when I left.
Gloved fingers clawed his hair, gripping strands. "Worse, The local monsters–especially the slitherbeasts–have been acting up lately. More dangerous. Straying from their territory and attacking our camp. I'd assume mating season was happening early but it might be because of the lack of resources."
"There's just–there's not enough supplies up there and I've always struggled to make sure we have what we need to survive but this month? This month I don't–I don't know what to do but I can't–I can't just let my crew down. They'll die if I don't figure something out and I can't–I can't let that happen! They're my squadron They're counting on me and I can't–I can't fail! They're my responsibility!"
"…don't you have a general?"
"No!" Tears overflowed and he struggled to speak past the clog in his throat. "No we don't! The Center won't promote anyone because no one stays long enough to qualify for the rank!"
"How long have you been stationed there?"
He sobbed the number.
"…and you haven't been promoted yet?"
He dug the fat of his palm into his eyes, rubbing hard and too distraught to care about appearances anymore. "I'm half-a-witch." He emphasized again. "Half-a-witches don't deserve such a rank. I haven't earned it. I–they said no and my crew is going to die because I can't get my shit together to figure out a solution I–"
His legs convulsed unable to carry his own weight and he crumpled to the ground. Curled into a tight ball and sobbed into his knees. Any other time he would've been mortified. Any other time when he was only struggling for scraps but certain he could make things work, he would have never let himself lose composure like this. But right now? Right now he was terrified his incompetency was dooming his teammates to an early grave.
What the hell could he do? What could he do? They'd die if he didn't figure something out.
"Perhaps…" Footsteps approached and stopped somewhere near the top of his head. "We could come to an agreement of sorts."
Hunter shook his head from within the cocoon of his own limbs. Breathed wet and heavily. Managed to lift his head enough to untuck his mouth and for his words to be audible.
"Unless you can guarantee my crew will receive the rations, medical kits, tool repairs along with new tools to replace the irreparable ones, and a set of shelter-based equipment whether newish or old but still repairable… then it's an agreement I'll have to decline. We've got nothing up there and the prices for supplies have gone higher than I can afford."
"Oh, I'm sure you may find what I can offer more than satisfactory." The witch hummed. "You said your squadron was…?"
"Squadron-F Section 4A." He recited dully. He didn't expect anything charitable would happen but answering questions was usually harmless. He hadn't been scolded for lack of decorum, at least.
BLAH BLAH BLAH
Darius works out a deal. Hunter's squad will receive stuff if Hunter attends the ball. Hunter doesn't trust it so he demands to supervise the received equipment and check for sabotaged and/or faulty stuff. Like spoiled or rotting food. If he was going to commit to this stupid deal then it damn well better be worth it.
He also requires he supervises the stuff being brought to the squadron. Wants to make sure it actually gets there and there isn't an "unfortunate accident and all the supplies were lost in the crash. Oh no wow. So sad. Too bad. Sucks to be you, half-a-witch brat."
Darius thinks his demands are ridiculously paranoid until he walks in to the room of offered supplies to find Hunter has already established a significant pile of bad rations/faulty equipment. Then realizes the paranoia is justified because the Center is heavily prejudiced against Hunter. They sabotage him everywhere, especially since they view Head Witch's attention on Hunter as unfair and a terrible crime. Half-a-witch like Hunter obviously didn't deserve such honorable attention!
Hunter is incredibly relieved to find his crew still functional when he returns. Darius is horrified by the living conditions.
"You live like this?"
A mere dejected sigh from Hunter. "Yes. It's… not great but doable. We have to work with what we got."
Darius is horrified enough by the abysmal situation – this is a squadron protecting the Empire's borders–a critical role in the military–and they're doing so with below bare minimum support from anyone let alone their superiors. Guarding the border is known to be a respectable job given the difficult nature. But the other squadrons are given not only an incredible amount of respect from peers and superiors, but regularly receive above minimum supplies and more than enough rations.
The fact that one soldier has been keeping an entire crew–skeleton crew or not–alive, functional, and healthy enough to defend the border from enemies and their camp from monsters is absurd. One witch has single-handedly kept an ever rotating crew of untrained newcomers alive and well while teaching them on the job.
It's–it's incredible.
It's horrific.
No witch or demon should bear so much responsibility all while fighting their own superiors just to receive basic necessities. No wonder the kid nearly imploded right in front of him over the idea of taking a break and attending a fancy party. He was the only reason his crew was alive and knew it. The burden of carrying the weight of an entire team was heavy and the poor boy was cracking under the weight.
When they return to the camp with the triple-inspected for safety and health supplies, Hunter's thrilled. His whole crew is there. Ragged and worn but alive all the same.
And then he delivers the bad news. All these brand new supplies means he has to go attend a party. They're not happy about it. Why should he get to go on vacation while they're stuck up here and miserable?
The ones who'd been there the longest understood the more inexperienced frustrations. They also didn't want Hunter to leave for a longer period of time. Despite more experience, they felt woefully unprepared to live here without him.
Their leader had an endless well of knowledge. He was most equipped to lead and the one who best knew the area. There was only so much he could teach in terms of theory and practice. Most of learning to survive in the wild was by doing and observing those who had done it all before.
The injured one was terrified they'd all die without him. He was the one with the most medical experience as well.
Hunter had tried to soothe their worries: reminded them endlessly of where he put the medical supplies and healing potions. Anxiously rambled on tips and tricks for survival and reminded them on important routines and oh, had they double-checked the camp perimeter that was important to do to avoid ambushes–
Darius has to pull him away from the camp and from his crew. All the while he frets and fusses and calls suggestions and reminders and make sure you change that bandage regularly INJURED's ONE NAME HERE but save the cloth that's used! It can be cleaned and repurposed for something else. And oh don't forget to–
Darius stuffs him into the carriage and commands the driver to leave. Hunter shoves aside the heavy curtains, heaves open the window, and calls more suggestions. Sticks his entire upper half out of the carriage and pitches his voice to carry as he calls out more and more reminders until the camp starts to shrink and Darius tires of the endless worrying.
Grabs him by a wrist and hauls him back inside with an annoyed. "Sit down."
Hunter reluctantly complies. The man had come through on his end of the bargain. Now it was his turn to do his side.
BLAH BLAH
Stuff happens. Hunter attends the ball. Darius wanders off to find Eberwolf and gossip about the absurd story of a soldier single-handedly keeping a ragged skeleton crew alive in an impossible environment and horrifying living conditions.
Guests of various ranks overhear the story and want to learn more of this fantastical figure. Coven Heads hear bits and pieces of gossip and venture to learn it from the storytelling source: Darius. They then spread it around within their own circles until everyone is talking about Hunter without them knowing its Hunter in particular and without Hunter knowing they're talking about him specifically.
The story spreads like wildfire in the crowded ballroom. By the time it's Hunter's turn to introduce himself to the Emperor (the last on an endlessly long list–the event is almost over for the night before guests are required to leave and return the next evening), Belos has already heard the tale.
Hunter awkwardly introduces himself to the Emperor, unsure of proper salutations or etiquette while in a royal's or nobility's company. He was raised around those of military status, not the political sphere of high ranking noble classes.
He fumbles his way through and settles on a standard salute intended for high ranking officers and hopes that's enough. The night had been going better than expected at that point. He'd been pleasantly surprised by the unfamiliar scene.
Witches and demons had actually talked to him while there. Some had held a full conversation or two with him! There were a few that was pretty sure had even flirted with him. It was unbelievable. But truth be told he heavily suspected it was due to their ignorance of his true status. Had they known his half-a-with nature then they'd never indulge/humor his presence at all.
And then he's standing before the Emperor's throne. Sweating spells and hoping he hadn't utterly ruined the greeting and in turn failed his end of the deal with Darius, when Belos flicks a wrist. A servant scurries forwards and the Emperor murmurs something into the pretty witch's ear.
The male witch glances Hunter's way before nodding and hurrying elsewhere. Hunter continues to sweat in place, unsure if that was a dismissal and not sure he should leave without or not. Would it be rude to linger if it was a dismissal? How would he know when he was dismissed? Should he ask? Could he ask or was that not allowed? Ahhhh, shit what could he do?
Darius glides into view.
Belos smiles a slow and steady thing while greeting. "Head Witch Darius. Do confirm if this is the one from your… impossible tale?"
A dip of the head, slight tightening of a jaw, a brief confirming on some story Hunter wasn't privy to, and then Darius was verbally dismissed. He blinked perplexed and lost.
Belos slowly rises from the throne and Hunter isn't sure if he's supposed to retreat or leave or stay. His body screams at him to run or curl into himself and hide. Make himself a smaller, harder to hit target. He doesn't know why his instincts are reacting like this: it's the Emperor he should've have anything to fear from such a prestigious man, right? There was no reason to react this way… right?
Emperor Belos was only the most important person on the entire Boiling Isles, so…. Nothing to fear, right? Ha…
Belos openly scans his frame. Grasps him by the chin and tilts him side-to-side. The surrounding nearby crowd stills, gawking at the two of them. Somehow Hunter had snagged/drawn the coveted attention of the Emperor himself. He didn't know what to think about this. Didn't know what to feel about it either.
Belos pulls away, calmly demands he follow, and guides him into private quarters. A guest chambers of some sort, maybe? Or… an entertainment room for guests? He's not… he's not actually sure where he's at within the castle or why they're there. He doesn't know much of anything right now.
Belos titters at him. "Calm yourself. I merely want to chat. Sit down, my boy, and tell me about yourself…"
Hunter sits while Belos wanders to the nearest window. Stares outside and at a distance while he prods and pokes and pries Hunter with questions. Calmly if indirectly demands Hunter's life story. Throughout it all, Hunter trembles from his spot on the lavish couch cushions and wonders if he'll have a heart attack young.
Why does the man want to know so much? Why does he keep asking for more information when everything that's known about him is already on paper and in official government files? He doesn't understand but he doesn't dare ask.
BALH BLAH BLAH
Eventually Belos forces Hunter into accepting sex? Basically non-cons him and pseudo-kidnaps him.
Belos announces they will be wed but Hunter knee-jerk refuses the proposal. Belos turns around and says it's not a request. He's not asking Hunter to be his Empress. He's TELLING Hunter he will be his Empress.
Hunter shakes and tries to argue in favor of his anyone else. He's only half-a-witch, clearly he's not a suitable match! There's no way he'll be a viable partner! And his squadron is counting on him back home, too!
Belos then says either Hunter willingly becomes his suitor or Belos will guarantee Hunter's squadron will be utterly isolated and denied any and all future resources. It's a death sentence. Hunter quiets at the threat. But can't help but tentatively request a trade: he will become Belos' partner and do anything asked so long as Belos ensures his squadron is provided with the necessary tools and supplies to survive.
"Please…" Hunter tries when Belos merely falls silent instead of answering the request. "Please I… I don't have much to offer I know that but they're all I have. Please… please allow me this one thing. Please don't let my squadron die because of me. Please…"
"You want to help them so bad?" The man pivots slightly, peering at him over a shoulder. When he perks, the man's lips curl. "Prove it."
"Wh-what?" Hunter blinks stupidly up at the man. "H-how? How can I… prove it?"
"Oh, I don't know…" The Emperor curves around him and strides for the armchair, sitting and sinking his weight deep into the cushions. His legs spread and he tilts a hooded gaze Hunter's way. "I'm sure you can think of something pleasurable for me to find worthy enough to consider your request."
Hunter shakes from where he stands alone near the window. Staring at the man's obviously displayed crotch and biting his lip, he wonders where the fuck he went wrong with his life. What had he done to deserve this? The intention was obvious but the degradation… He could only hope this would be worth it.
"Y-yes, sir…"
He approached carefully slow like a wounded animal unsure of its safety. Tentatively shuffled into the spot between the man's legs, always checking for any sign of sudden rejection, before carefully bracing a palm atop a thigh and swallowing nerves as he sank to his knees between the broad, muscular thighs.
Belos wove fingers through his hair and drew him closer to the clothed groin. The man's other hand fiddled with a belt for a moment before gesturing for Hunter to finish the rest. He swallowed once more, nervous beyond belief, and fumbled with the elaborate leather and soft albeit thick layers of fabric.
He managed to find and tug the half-hard cock free of its confines only for it to sway uncomfortably close to his face. He looked up once more, desperate and afraid and hoping for some sign that this had gone far enough, but the Emperor only smiled and pressed a thumb against the corner of Hunter's lips.
"Open wide." The thumb pressed past them and hooked around his lower teeth. Pushed down and forced his jaw to spread.
Hunter tried not to whimper, already overwhelmed with it all, but the man held him still by the hair and parted his mouth by the jaw and a cock shoved its way past his lips and into this throat. Hunter gagged, instinctive and frightened but the man only clicked his tongue.
"Behave, my little pet. If you want to have what you've asked of me then you better do a good job."
The whimper escaped. Hunter wriggled in place, woefully unprepared and inexperienced in this aspect of relationships and desperately trying to figure out how to breathe. Because he couldn't. Between the panic and the ever tightening of his throat and with the cock soon thrust down his throat and in turn forcing his nose into a thick patch of unruly hair, Hunter couldn't find enough air through his nose.
Muffled protests leaked around the cock buried to the hilt. Drool pooled down his chin and onto his shirt. He tried to pull back, tried to explain or plead with his eyes, but the man merely smiled and kept him pinned. Face deep between legs and shoved into a man's groin, Hunter couldn't help but wonder if this was what his future was doomed to look like: on his knees and sucking the Emperor's cock. His heart rate spiked. Would the man expect him to bend over and offer his ass–?
The man yanked him by the hair and the dick popped free of his mouth. He gasped for wet and shuddering inhales. Tried to plead for mercy but was barely allowed reprieve. He was forced back onto the dick and he tried to suck in earnest. Maybe if he managed to make Belos cum he'd be free to go? Maybe he'd get the supplies for his team? Maybe maybe maybe–?
Maybe if he just behaved then it'd turn out fine?
BLAH BLAH BLAH
Plot twist: Belos recited that "Fuck me or Die" script to each of the potential suitors he bedded. Hunter assumes they're gonna be wed but Belos straight-up lied.
They're not wed.
(At least not yet. Hunter has to 'EARN' the position of Empress. Prove he's worthy of the title, heheh. But he don't know that yet)
Hunter spends the night with Belos. Prolly wakes up alone and tries to find Belos only to have the news that he's NOT actually chosen as the Empress smack him upside the head via knights/guards.
Or maybe Hunter lurks around the palace for a week trying to adapt to his supposed New Role as Empress after waking up? Tries to learn everything he can. Devour knowledge for his upcoming role. But then. PSYCHE! Another gala for a suitor is still hosted and Hunter confused as fuq.
"But I'm the Empress!" He protests to the first guard he can find. For some reason he'd been banned from the gala, maybe?
The guard laughs in his face. "Yeah, that's what all the new concubines/recruits say."
"Don't get too big for your britches, biatch"
Hunter's shoved into the Royal Harem/Concubine Wing?
Cue Hunter trying to find Belos to confront him over this lie and to double-check if Belos at least kept his word on sending supplies to Hunter's crew.
Nope. Belos didn't send stuff to Hunter's crew. Didn't think it worth his time? Or not a politically public move that's worth it yet? If he marries Hunter then yes he will but no if he doesn't. If marries Hunter then publicly announcing his generosity towards the war-torn crew will earn him public favor?
Hunter appalled by Belos' nerve. How dare! How dare that lying scoundrel—
Cue Hunter deciding to get the fuq out and leave the palace? Seeing he's not valued there or even watched close enough to warrant staying, Hunter nope-s the fuq outta there. Firmly decides to return to his crew in the mountains.
After 1 week of eating rich/nutrient dense or healthy food? (And 1 week of terrible digestion from said rich food because stomach not accustomed to all the frills and super different diet?) he plans his escape.
Decides to leave during one of the tutoring sessions when he's been left alone for Solo Study Hour or Independent Study Time or whatever. He hikes the heavy skirt he's wearing up and fastens all the fabric among itself around his waist. Or maybe he rips a good chunk of the fabric off to lighten the load. Not sure. Prolly tries to keep some shredded pieces wrapped around his wrists as makeshift emergency bandages. Gotta cling to any available resources when he's so used to going without!
Either way he clambers out the window and scales down the castle walls. Swims across a traditional water moat. Or climbs down deep into the canon version of a moat, that spiked pit. So he pushes off the castle wall to grab one curved spike and jumps around down there. Leap from one spike to another before climbing out the pit.
Then scurries unseen past castle patrols and dives into the surrounding forest. There's prolly not many patrols around his wing of the castle anyway because it's hard to enter/exit.
After all, why would anyone want to leave such a lavish life in the castle? Hunter would huff with disdain as he dives deeper amongst the trees. If they think that's a cozy life, then no thanks. I'll take the camp's stone flooring over the Emperor's mattress any day.
He takes a moment once he's outta earshot to breathe. Then either climbs up to the tree tops to avoid pitfalls and traps (castle-made or natural-made by the forest itself) or dives into the foliage. Wanders through the forest or finds the nearest beaten road and follows it from within the safety of shrubbery.
So he's not completely lost while navigating the forest. Follows the path into a town to then find a map to find a way back to his crew.
Dumb boy forgets that his job was government-official and if Belos (the highest government member) cares enough about his pseudo-treasonous leave of the castle then he'll be found easily. Poor boy. Dumb fool.
He'll be caught easily if Belos wants to find him. He prolly banks on the thought he wasn't worth finding. (His own inner half-a-witch prejudice)
Hunter escaping the castle backfires. It DEFINITELY snags Belos' interest and curiosity. Now Belos wants to fuck Hunter AND make him Empress.
BLAH BLAH BLAH The rest of this has ideas brainstormed with Telly's help while in their Discord Server.
Belos learns of Hunter's escape and finds such an act intriguing. The idea of a chase makes the lil runaway seem extra hot. Of course he calls for Hunter's retrieval and, upon the young witch's reluctant return, bumps the dumb boy up in the Concubine ranks.
The other members in the harem are not pleased. This ungrateful witch doesn't even want to be there but he's slowly becoming Belos's favorite. How could this happen? They tried their best to earn their ruler's favor. They had been chosen to be Empress only to be cast aside come the next gala. They had earned their spot beside the royal, had their time to shine, but promises weren't kept and are now rarely called to the Emperor's chambers. They weren't allowed to leave either but this worthless witch was not only allowed to act out and misbehave, going so far as to attempt escape from the Emperor's own castle! But there were no consequences for the guy. Instead it seemed to gain him even more favor. It wasn't fair!
The other concubines are jealous of Hunter. Especially the ones who DO want to be there. Hunter's seeming disrespect and rejection of their ruler makes Belos want him more. He's is a game to Belos. A challenge. And Belos loves the thrill of a chase.
Of course Hunter has no idea his behavior comes across as insulting to his fellow concubines. He's confused as to why they don't like him. Surely they should work together to survive this nightmare, right? Why is it wrong for him to speak up against the mistreatment and dehumanization?
Everything he does and says seems to agitate everyone and he can't figure out why. He's from a completely social sphere and no one is bothering to educate him on why his specific existence pisses people off. He default assumes the antagonism is due to his half-a-witch status because that's what's normal and why would that change?
Bonus points if because Hunter a soldier then he has a soldier-toned-body. Nothing but muscle and durability from consistent physical training. Meaning he can take a HIT. Gets manhandled and doesn't immediately die. Prolly can be thrown around and doesn't collapse immediately.
He's a sturdy young adult and Belos LOVES to breaks his toys in slow. Good thing this one won't snap under pressure like so many of those delicate concubine-ranked dolls.
Cue Hunter being isolated on multiple fronts. He's alienated by fellow concubines, shunned by passing elites, scorned by etiquette tutors, ignored by patrolling guards, and favored by an abusive lover. He's judged for who he is all over again but this time there's no Squadron who'll at least TALK to him. No one listens to him anymore because he's not a default-leader in the wild.
Poor guy prolly feels SO lonely...
At least the palace library is massive, right?
The library is the only thing he enjoys during his palace-imprisonment. The books are nice. The food is prolly painfully rich for his mountain-adjusted stomach, though. Seasoning and spices are killer. Always send him to the toilet afterwards and he hates everything. Learns to eat bread and only bread.
Naturally, Belos notices. He can't have his favorite pet starving so he hires a dietician. Has someone curate meals special made for him. Someone to personally ensure his doll's health improves. Demands a diet that will soften some of those muscled edges to give him something satisfying to grab and squeeze during their nights together.
This, of course, is viewed as favoritism by the other concubines. Makes them hate Hunter even more. What made him so special? Why was HE the lucky one? How dare he have it easy? At this rate he'd rise up to take their place and secure the coveted status of Empress!
In reality it's because Belos can't fuck Hunter if Hunter's too busy dying from terrible digestion and nasty toilet time (or upchucking his guts depending on how long it takes for his body to reject the rich food)
Meanwhile, because Hunter gets special food that's prolly still jam packed with nutrients either way, his complexion starts to gain a healthy glow. Suddenly he's not just muscle-and-bones sort of strong but toned. A proper weight that highlights his figure in the prettiest of ways. Along with the change to his diet, Hunter's ordered to spend a designated time in the sun to warm his unnaturally pale complexion. Give him some color that the mountain environment hadn't offered. He gains a soft tan.
Belos is thrilled. The close supervision and changes allow Hunter to look drool-worthy paired with figure-flattering outfits. He's healthy, pretty, and an absolute delight to behold.
Makes for wonderful eye candy when he's striding through the halls with those lithe legs and pouting profile. A beautiful decoration to wear on an arm when Belos catches the unsuspecting witch by the elbow, forcing momentum to pivot and shift with a sharp intake of air as he tugs the pretty thing into his side. He revels in the soft thump of impact, ready to devour the startled expression that tilts up from where the witch had been pressed into the fabric. Magenta gems for eyes blink up at him with open vulnerability before shifting into a guarded sort of wariness and Belos can't help but desire.
Belos adjusted his hold to hook a gauntlet covered hand into the slight dip of a contoured waist. The little thing dared to start a protest, attempting to resist with silk decorated palms reaching up to push against his chest, but all he had to do was dig a thumb into the soft fabric of the young man's bodice and the struggles simmered down.
"Good boy," he leaned down to reward such good behavior with a kiss to the short witches forehead. He truly was small for a grown witch. Such was the consequence of a malnourished life, Belos supposed. "You're learning."
The silly thing jerked and tried to crane away from him again but it didn't take much to bring him to heel. Even so, Hunter dared to turn a cheek from his eager lips. "What do you want?"
"Am I not allowed to enjoy the company of such a lovely witch?" Belos demurred with a soft nip to a notched ear. His breath fanned over rose blooming cheeks.
Below him, Hunter swallowed. "You–you had me last night. I'm supposed to have–"
"Did I say I wanted you for that right now?" He adjusted his grip on the younger man. Palm tight on a slender waist, forearm braced across the lower back, and upper arm completing the snare along the concubine's spine as Belos leaned into a stride and forced him to follow.
Hunter squirmed in the grasp but the makeshift barricade held firm. He slumped and skimmed the tapestries they passed with a miserable frown. Their pace was too brisk for him to properly study the details but he didn't care for them anyway. He just didn't want to be dragged around, especially not by such a greedy witch.
When the royal didn't explain himself, Hunter resigned himself to another round of mind games and prompted. "Then what do you want… right now?"
Belos hummed a pleased note. "I am to attend a meeting with Coven Officials from the Abomination Division. Nothing elaborate, merely a check-in on a current on-going project. You are to accompany me."
"But," Hunter fumbled with disbelief. That didn't sound like anything that required his presence! "But I was heading for the training center! I've missed too many sessions and my muscles are already losing density. I need to–"
"You do not need to do anything." The Emperor's voice dipped with an undercurrent of warning. "I provide everything for you. You have a dietician for a reason. Understand?"
Hunter's ears pinned back and down as he winced, skin prickling with unease. The ruler of the entire Boiling Isles loomed pointedly into his space. Hunter's gaze darted across the cursed flesh scarring the other's face. His ears flicked again and the tall witch tracked the movements with predatory precision, pupils illuminating with a piercing sort of blue, and Hunter found he had to look away.
Sullenly, he muttered to the floor. "…understood."
"Good. Some fat is good on you."
The man straightened and Hunter's chest opened with air. The tip of armored fingers pinched the the fabric near his hip bone and he jumped. They gave a playful yank on the skirt and his ears burned as Belos purred. "Regardless, how would you train with all these layers? Ruffles aren't for combat, pet."
Hunter readied offense. He had never asked to be stuffed into a dress! But the Emperor halted them in front of set of doors and the scout on duty hurriedly snagged the knob and stepped aside, pulling the door open with the movement. The royal passed through without any sort of acknowledgement but Hunter tried to offer a strained smile. The older witch jerked him roughly across the threshold in response.
Jealous, greedy witch. Hunter grumbled inwardly. Was he not allowed to greet others anymore either?
So. Since Hunter's not allowed to exercise as often as he wants he ends up softer than he'd like. There's still plenty of muscle. But he finds it strange that his hips gain a layer of fat covering them that makes them slightly squishy instead of solid like steel. He's especially unhappy once he learns Belos had deliberately tried to fatten him up for sexual reasons. The man loved to grope and fondle and squeeze. Hunter's absurdly pleased that despite the dietician's best efforts, Hunter's thighs remain pure muscle. Almost no squish to them and he's incredibly smug to see Belos' disappointment.
Overall, it takes Belos awhile before deciding to crown Hunter as empress. Slow burn vibes. Also to give Hunter the false sense of hope that the more time passes the greater the chance Belos will lose interest in the shiny toy and move on, thus allowing Hunter to escape and get both his freedom and his steel booty back.
Maybe it would give time for Hunter to slowly rise in the harem ranks. Despite the gradual promotions, he keeps clinging to the hope that Belos won't choose him. Belos keeps hosting galas and collecting more flights of fancies 'cause he a greedy man. Wants to fill his palace with pretty faces, pretty bodies, pretty dolls to decorate his bed for when he's worn his favorite ragged.
Maybe the delay or lack of "gonna be Empress, guaranteed" is what gives Hunter hope to keep fighting back and escape? Maybe Belos realizes that by keeping up the illusion of 'still searching for an official candidate via gala' is what keeps Hunter hopeful and in turn a fun challenge. The galas allow Belos more time to wear down the cute lil spitfire. Whittle away at those sky high defenses until Belos carves himself a masterpiece: the picture perfect surrender from his greatest challenge yet.
Other than that, who knows what would happen after Hunter's appointed Empress. Obviously is forced to consume magic potions to change his body. Cue unwanted pregnancy and that psychological horror show.
MAYBE there's a rebellion or a warring faction that managed to cross Empire borders. Successfully invade and conquer some of Belosian Empire Territory. MAYBE the warring factions entered through the mountain pass where Hunter's old squadron are stationed. (This is why you should've honored your word, Belos. Hunter would snarl. Should've given them supplies like I asked and argued for, stupid!)
MAYBE MAYBE MAYBE pregnant Hunter gets kidnapped by Enemies: neighboring border rivals if the war route. So kidnapped by invading enemies.
OR he's kidnapped by Rebels: people already inside Belosian Empire who don't like his rule. Maybe some of these kidnappers are only considered rebels because they want to rescue their family members who were forced to enter the Royal Harem. Hunter probably wasn't the only unwilling royal concubine.
Maybe people play keep away with poor Hunter. Belos has to go fetch him. Personally. Maybe? Dunno.
Either way Hunter has a terrible, no good, very bad day as a military man turned royal sex toy.
Notes: Pop quiz! What would be common surnames given to orphaned babies in the Belosian Empire? Similar to how the surnames "Smith" or "Johnson" or "Williams" are everywhere in USA. Or the first names "James" or "John" and "Mary" or "Sarah"
Be interesting if they follow a naming convention. Orphans are common in wartimes and it'd be a way to differentiate all them babies with unknown parentage, ya kno? Maybe names could be based on the month and location they were found at? Like a baby named May dumped at a hospital located on the Toes. She gets a name like May Toes. (Woe to any child named Scabuary Pubicbones. The teasing...)
Or maybe default surnames are ones that mean Glory to the Empire? Or surnames that reference Belos' name himself because he's Egotistical Like That. (Hence why the name of his empire is Belos-ian hrNK aren't I oh-so-clever with my Formula 4 Names in this AU?)
Or maybe the formula could be random? Some warden of Mr. Moonfalls Orphanage for the Lost and Found wakes up one night to the doorbell ringing. Finds a demon baby swaddled in a basket on the doorstep. Fuzzy wolf ears flop under the light of a full moon and a tiny snout yawns. The baby is then named after the owner of the orphanage, Mr. Moonfall, as well as the night they were found. Their name is Moon Moon.
(Hehehe! Virtual cookie to anyone who can cite what that silly name references)