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dragonnarrative-writes · 9 months ago

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Part 8 - Romance Isn't Dead

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Bones, flashback, high anxiety/panic, violence and gore, brandon being brandon (assholery), crying, manic pixie dream ghost (assholery), MREs, descriptions of knives/multi-tools (not in use)

You can’t fucking breathe. It’s like your diaphragm is frozen and you can’t pull air into your lungs. Your vision is tunneled onto the skull in the box, the bright blue scrap of painters tape with Simon’s messy scrawl. Behind and under you, you know he’s saying something. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears.

The last expression you’d ever seen on Brandon’s face flashes before your eyes.

A big hand closes over your mouth and nose.

You flail. Before you even know you’re doing it, your elbow comes up to slam against the man behind you. The hand disappears. Using the momentum of your swing, you pitch yourself sideways. But a huge arm wraps around your waist. You’re trapped. You’re trapped. The killer is at your back and you’re trapped.

Simon’s voice cuts through the panic. “Stop squirmin’ before you hurt yourself, precious. Or I’ll make you.”

Every muscle in your body locks up. You burst into tears.

It’s awful, the way he coos at you. But when he gathers you in this arms and cradles you, you can’t help the way you cling. You’re torn between burying your face in his neck and being too terrified to close your eyes.

Images from that night at the ski lodge flash behind your eyes. Finding Stacy bleeding out from her shoulder, already too weak to stand. Your manager, propped against a wall with his guts spilled in his lap. Amber, her throat slit long before you and Brandon stumbled across her. Brandon, who’d followed you downstairs as you looked for matches and candles. The same Brandon who had been trying to convince you to share a bed with him when the power went out.

“To conserve warmth,” he’d said, with that that stupid smirk on his face as he followed you into the kitchen area.

“No, Brandon,” you’d finally hissed at him, whirling on him with a long, unlit white candle in your hand. You poked him with it as you whisper-shouted, sick of his shit. “No. No. Fucking no. What do I need to say to get you to get it? I don’t sleep with my co-workers. And even if I did, I wouldn’t sleep with you because you’re an asshole who can’t take a hint. Go find Amber if you’re so hard up. She’s actually interested in you.”

“Amber’s a slag,” Brandon said, not bothering to whisper. “What, you’re not actually fucking Riley, are you? Won’t fuck a co-worker, but you’re fine shagging a neighbor.”

“I’m not fucking Riley,” you’d snapped, still at a whisper because you weren’t about to be goaded into shouting.

“Then what’s the problem?” Brandon’d snapped right back. “Stop being so stuck up. I bought you drinks, I walked you home more than once-”

“I told you not to!”

“-I’ve brought you flowers and chocolates. I got you coffee from your favorite spot, and a pastry-”

“You think I’m interested in dating you because you picked up a danish on your way to work?” You’d wanted to pull your hair out. Wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and shake. “Brandon, I fucking hate cherries and you-! No, that’s not even the point. I’m not interested. I’ve never been interested. Leave me alone.”

His fingers closing around your upper arm, tight, had made you push him away. Not as hard as you could, just enough to startle and put some distance between you. But he’d slipped in something on the tile and fallen to his knees.

“Shit,” he’d yelped. “What the fuck? Ugh, the floor is wet. You’re lucky I didn’t break something.”

You had snorted, turned your back and picked up the matches that were laying on the counter. Lighting one, and then your candle, you’d turned back as you heard him getting up. You’d opened your mouth to say something scathing, but… “Brandon, what… is that?”

There’d been something dark and wet on his hands, his sleeve. Whatever it was, he’d slipped on more than a trickle of it, coming from under the table. And when you rounded the table, there she was. Amber, in a pink pajama set and a pool of her own blood.

Yours was the first scream of the night. Brandon’s had been the last.

And now the man that had killed both of them is petting your hair and shushing you. You gasp as you pull yourself from the flashback, teeth chattering with remembered cold. A wave of goosebumps sweeps over you. You’re very aware of the gloved hand that rubs up and down your calf.

“A couple of deep breaths now,” Simon murmurs. You can feel his lips on your forehead through the cloth of his balaclava. “Deep breath in, there you are, precious. Let it out. Slow yourself down. That’s it. There’s a good girl.”

Another memory flashes through your body. Simon’s hands holding your hips steady as you rode him, just last night. His voice smoky and soft, “Easy, easy. There’s a good girl. Let me do all the work, yeah?”

You’re wracked by another wave of sobbing.

Eventually, you tire yourself out. Your limbs are suddenly just so much dead weight. Your eyes are so sore it hurts to blink. Every hitched breath shakes your whole body. You don’t fight it when Simon makes you tip your face up so he can see how puffy and red your face is. Only let out a shaky breath when he lifts the bottom of his mask just enough to let him taste the tears on your face.

“That was the worst night of my life,” you rasp.

Simon hums at that. “Worse than the hospital?”

“I thought I could trust you,” you say. You sniffle, then continue. “I knew you weren’t safe. But I thought I could trust you.”

“Can’t you?”

You think about that for a long moment. Have to concede, “Don’t think you’ve ever actually lied to me. Well… you lied about your name. Fae rules.”

He chuckles at that. “Callin’ me a fairy?”

“Equal opportunity serial killer,” you murmur. If you weren’t so tired, it might have been funny. Right now, it feels like the words are all that carry you from one moment to the next.

“Cute.”

He lets you sit in his lap for a little while longer. It reminds you of being locked in his apartment that first week after the lodge. You’d sobbed yourself empty so many times. Felt hollowed out just like this. You’re going to need water, soon.

Finally, you put your feet on the ground, so you’re perched on Simon’s knee. He lifts a water bottle to your mouth, tips a mouthful at a time for you until you feel ready to hold it yourself. When you look at him, the skull is less menacing than in your memories. But his eyes are just as cold and dead.

“You’re fucked up,” you say to him. “You know that?”

The way his eyes crinkle at the edges means he’s genuinely grinning. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“That’s good, clever girl. Can you tell what I’m thinking?”

You shrug. “Any time I try, I get it wrong. So tell me.”

“I’m thinking,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheekbone. “That you have eleven minutes left.”

Everything in your body freezes. “What?”

“Haven’t found the key,” he says, kissing your cheek again before pulling his mask back down. “Clock’s still ticking until you’re out of the cuffs.”

The urge to burst into tears again wars with the urge to scream. You take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out slow. “Why are you like this?”

“Probably all the trauma,” he drawls. His hands lift you to stand and he pats your ass. “G’won then. Key’s in the box. You have plenty of time.”

Looking back at Brandon’s skull makes you feel ill. “Can I have the key you have?”

“Too late for that, precious. Don’t have enough time left to trade.”

“You fucking fucker,” you mutter around a hitching breath. A few deep breaths and you make yourself look at the skull again. Try to look at it as an object, a pile of shapes, not the remains of a person.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to step closer to the box. But you do. And you realize that the skull is on top of something. Cloth is folded up under it. On the left side of the box is a small, black hard case. You step over to that side, crouch down to pick the box up. Avoid the profile of the skull as much as possible. It has simple clasps. You take a deep breath and hold it before you open it.

Inside, surrounded by foam lining, are what look like three folding knives.

“It’s not in there,” Simon tells you. “Once the timer stops, you’ll have plenty of time for those.”

You don’t bother to answer, just put the case down next to you on the ground. The only other option for looking for the key is to move the cloth and, by extension, the skull. You clench your hand into a nervous fist, take a deep breath, and let it out. The cloth, when you touch it, is stiff. A gentle tug wiggles the skull a in place, just a bit.

You put your hands on the edge of the box and close your eyes for another few deep breaths. Fight the urge to vomit. Try to think.

Simon put it there to get a reaction out of you. Labeled it so you’d panic and cry. He knows you, so he probably knew you’d have to interact with the skull with a time limit. The key is in the box, somewhere, under all of that cloth and the skull.

The key… is under the skull.

Before you can let the nausea set in, you open you eyes and reach out to poke the skull hard with one finger. It tips, the bulk of it falling away from the jaw. And there’s the key, taped to the palate. A tiny metal cylinder, just like the one around Simon’s neck.

Even though you know the answer, you ask, “Do I have to touch it?”

Simon, of course, doesn’t say anything. You tug the cloth closer to yourself so you don’t have to reach too far and lay your fingers on the cheekbone. It’s cold, solid, and dry. You’re not sure why you expected different. You use your thumb to pick at the tape, focusing on that and nothing else. It comes away remarkably easily. The key falls from its spot with a soft clack against a tooth and lands on the cloth.

Unlocking your cuffs feels anticlimactic after all of that.

“Three minutes to spare,” Simon says. He sounds impressed.

You sniffle a bit as you rub your wrists. “New personal record.”

“You did yourself proud, Precious.”

The truth bubbles out of you before you can think better of it. “I can’t think of a reason not to hate you right now.”

“That’s because you’ve got some sense in your head,” Simon says. He stands, turns his back to you to go to the table. He picks up two of the MREs, reads off, “Chili with Beans or Mexican Rice and Bean Bowl?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Gotta eat more than crackers,” he says. “Might as well have some while I tell you about the rest of our little adventure together. Come sit at the table.”

You stand, look at his back where he’s picking grapes from the bag. “What’s outside the door?”

“The not-so-safe zone,” Simon says, without turning. “You go out that door, the next part of the game starts.”

Hunting trip three-point-oh. You sigh and walk across the mattress to the chair at the table. “Mexican rice, please.”

He passes it over. “Good choice.”

He’s quiet while you reacquaint yourself with the heating element and examine the rest of the package. He opens his own MRE and cracks open a bottle of water, offers it to you first. You use it to start the heating process, watch him do the same.

“So,” you huff, crossing your arms. There are a few minutes until the food will be hot. “What’s the next part of the game?”

“We’re gonna play a bit of capture the flag,” he says. “You ever been paintballing?”

You stare at him, jaw dropped. A headache starts to form under your left temple. “Have you lost your mind?”

It’s not often that Simon looks affronted. “Paintball is fun.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laughter. “Then why didn’t you take me to paintball?”

“Gotta train you on gun safety first,” he points out. “And most places make you play on teams.”

“And the guns aren’t real,” you counter. “That’s the real reason, right?”

He shrugs, “I prefer knives. But yeah, I’d want you to have something real.”

That reminds you. “What are the knives for?”

Simon goes to retrieve the little carrying case, snags his chair on the way back. He places the box on the table, turns it toward you and opens it. He picks up the leftmost blade and flicks it open with a quick motion. He hands it to you, black handle first as he takes a seat.

The handle is thick and the whole thing is a bit heavy. You turn it in your hand and realize that it’s a multi-tool.

“This is a Leatherman Free K4,” he says. “Decent multi-tool, lots of uses. How does it feel in your hand?”

How are you supposed to know? “Fine? It’s a knife.”

“Show me you can close the blade?”

You find the mechanism pretty easily, close the knife without incident. Simon nods, presents his hand, so you give him the knife back. He fiddles with it for a moment, and out pop a pair of scissors. And he hands it back.

“This one,” Simon calls your attention to the second item. It has a black handle as well, but the frame is open so you can actually see the tools. “is a Leatherman Skeletool CX.”

It’s impossible for you not to poke around. There are 8 little tools attached the the knife, including the scissors. A few you don’t really understand, but there are three separate screwdrivers and a bottle opener. You can think of a few times in the last couple of years a multi-tool like this could have come in handy.

You snort. “Skeletool?”

“Hush,” he chides you, smile audible in his voice as he hands it over. “This one has pliers, and a few other tools the other one doesn’t. Shorter blade, a bit lighter.”

“I can kind of feel the difference?” you offer.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Open and close it.”

You do. Pliers first, because you can. Then the blade. “Cool.”

He hands you the last one, a tiny thing that’s all silver, as he takes the second from your hand. “This one is the Skeletool KBX.”

You flick it open and closed without him asking. “Itty bitty.”

“That one’s very straightforward. Just the blade and a bottle opener on the handle.”

You pick up the little package of pretzel nuggets that came with your meal and cut into it. The plastic splits like butter. “Dangerous.”

“I dunno,” you admit. “I haven’t used them yet. You gonna tell me what they’re for?”

Simon hums, a noise you secretly have categorized as one of his “happy tiger” noises. You look up to see he’s got those eye wrinkles that mean he’s pleased. He’s looking at the little blade in your hand.

“Do you like them?”

“They’re gifts,” he says. “One for your usual purse, one for your backpack. The little one for the next time you want to go out dancing. After lunch, I’ll show you how to hold them.”

Staring at him, you think that you’d call the way his shoulders come up toward his ears bashful if he was anyone else. “Did you get me romance knives?”

“Skull’s got me in the doghouse,” he mutters, picking up his now-hot food. “Gotta give you something nice to balance it out.”

“Drugging and kidnapping me got you in the doghouse,” you correct him. “The skull has you under it.”

“I’ve got experience digging myself out,” Simon says with a shrug. “Eat.”

You grab your food and start extracting it from the heat pack. “You want to get back into my good graces? Tell me what the fuck happened in 2007. What the fuck does Roba mean?”

Simon chuckles. “That’s not a story you want to hear while you’re eating, sweet thing.”

“You made me touch Brandon’s skull,” you point out as you tear the packaging open. The smell of hot food makes you suddenly aware of how hungry you are. “So you had better start talking.”

“Promise I’ll tell you more when we’re home, Precious.”

“Swear it.”

“Cross my heart,” he says, flat blue eyes staring into yours. “Hope to die.”

“The whole story.”

“Promise you a summary that won’t make you vomit more than once,” he offers. “And I’ll rub your feet.”

You scoop a spoonful of rice and pop it in your mouth. “You’re going to rub my feet regardless.”

Simon gives a dry little laugh as he pushes his mask up over his mouth. “Yes, ma’am. Now eat. I’ll tell you the rules of capture the flag.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #simon riley x you smut #manic pixie dream ghost #fun fact - in the charmed slasher ghost series by charliemwrites ghost doesn't lie to the reader. only brandon

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valeskawhore · 1 year ago

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IMAGINE:

APOCALYPSE AU?? PROXIES X READER (IDEA!)

A/N: This is an idea that I’ve been seeing all around tumblr from my mutuals and honestly, why the hell not? I love the idea of apocalyptic survival. Let me know if this should be a series !!

An eerie creak sounds out behind me as I opened the window, and Dust flooded the dimly lit room as I made my way inside. Exploring abandoned houses wasn't always a typical interest of mine, but staying warm and having a dry place to sleep at night was.

Rain clashed gently down on the roof from outside, crickets could be heard and soon the silence rested back into place when I pulled the cracked window shut from the other side.

This place definitely was not the best, but at least it was dry.

First thing I did was open my backpack, setting up candles and hanging an old sheet that I found laying in the corner, over the window to block out the light.

Repeatedly, I told myself that this was just temporary.

I didn't have enough food to last more than a few nights anyways. Walkers roamed more and more with every passing day, tho winter was coming and it was coming fast.

Hopefully, that would do something to slow the walkers, even if it was just by a few steps, I prayed.

With a sigh, I slowly sat down on the make-shift mattress that I made for myself, hearing my ankles pop in the process because man, I really needed to stretch more often, I'm not getting any younger.

I took off my baseball cap and pulled down my mask to breathe just a little bit clearer, running my fingers through my hair, I noticed how greasy it was. The thought made me disgusted since.. Well, I couldn't even imagine how I smelled and i didnt want to either.

Popping open a bottle of water, I drank my thirst away. Listening to the rain pour, the thunder crack and the sounds of the undead trudging along outside.

As I clenched my eyes shut for a second..

I blocked out the screams, the cries and pleads for help.. The cocking of guns and the growls of the unthinkable tearing and ripping the flesh of the people being eaten alive. My fingernails began to itch, my knuckles on fire, tears welding in my eyes.

“Y/N!!” She screamed, “HELP ME!!” she cried..

I sat my bottled water down, and lit up a cigarette.

“It’ll be ok..” I told myself, “Survive one more day, just one more,” everynight.

“I’ll find you baby.. one day..”

I closed my eyes.. Relaxed my body, breathed out deeply.

“Goodnight y/n” I told myself.

The front door clashed open.

*~*~*~~*~*~*~

“GET INSIDE! GET THE FUCK INSIDE!” A voice screamed. The sounds of the undead gurgled up the last of their life and slammed their heads against the door, screaming. I heard multiple people slamming themselves against the front door, refraining it from opening. “ROGERS, FIND SOMETHING, NOW. WE NEED TO BARD THE DOOR!”

“I-I-M OHN–ON IT!!” Someone stuttered.

I jumped up from my mattress, reaching for my gun and loading in the magazine. I threw the sleeping bag off of me, and unlocked the door. I heard the others rummaging down stairs for something to board the door. I peaked my head out,

Something suddenly rammed against my head, the door was torn open, slamming into my head. I fell back on my ass, and reached around lazily for my gun.

I heard a gasp fall above me, my vision was spinning, but I found my gun and raised it above me at the silhouette. There were two of them, then three, then two, until both shadow figures meshed into one guy. His face was something more,

Two dark brown eyes, greasy chestnut hair, he nose was already bleeding and there was a bandage covering up the right side of his lips stretching to his cheek bones.

He was definitely a young man, 23-24 maybe. Wearing yellow rusted-rimmed goggles, a blue hoodie with a tanned, older jacket overtop, there was a black and gray-ish mask wrapped around his neck and pulled up over his face. The (now) snickering man wore stained blue jeans and some bloodied converse.

His laugh rang out through my skull, pounding against my ear lobes. His eyes became impossibly wide now, canines glimmering in the moonlight as thunder cracked in the background.

With one final sadistic smile,

He picked up his double hand axes and raised them high, His laughter almost screams now, The screams of a hyena, a skinwalker luring its prey.

The young man brought the axes down quickly,

I rolled over with a small scream, doing my best to avoid the hard steel.

I fumbled around on the ground, reaching for my gun.

When I had it in my hand, the man jumped on me and slammed my back into the hardwood floor. The house was so old that dust jumped into the air, and swam around. I clenched my eyes shut and coughed until I could breathe again. I felt his boney hands wrap around my throat, his skin uncomfortably cold and white. I kicked my feet behind him and threw my head back,

The man let up his grip but didn't scream out in pain, his laughter only grew.

I grabbed the boy's hair and threw him off of me, his body collided against the wall,

Because,

His body actually went through it, clashing into the room next to us.

Dust flooded the room once more, and as the psychopath took longer than expected to rise back to his feet, I grabbed my sleeping bag and ran downstairs, contents loosley in hand.

I struggled to throw my jacket on as i ran down the steps,

A shorter figure stepped in front of me, and stuck his leg out, successfully tripping me in the process. I felt my world being flipped upside down as my rib cage cracked against the staircase. I coughed up blood, my heartbeat in my ears as I laid there motionless.

With my vision dark, i could only here throat-ripping screeching from the outside world,

Three figures stepped in my view of the door, I pulled my arms in front of me and did my best to drag my body away. I moaned out in a breath-less cry as I felt the rusted nails sticking out of the wood flooring scraped against my cracked ribs.

Something stopped me, whoever or.. Whatever it was, grabbed my achilles heel and dragged me back in the living room with one strong pull.

They flipped me on my back, blood dripped down the corner of my mouth as I did my best to control my breath. Hesitantly, I reached my hand up and folded my fist into a weak, shaky middle finger, my ‘fuck you’ to the world.

I heard one of them snicker before the tallest one leaned down carefully, dark red painted eyes peered into mine before he pulled off my mask. I had a surge of anger come over me, as I reached to kick him in the balls but he caught my leg, almost expecting it even. His grip tightened menacingly on my thigh, before he gave my cracked rib cage an almost impossibly fast sucker punch.

I coughed out blood on instinct, my body spasming. I held my chest and my body folded forwards, my knees to my chest. “F-fuck you..” I coughed, tears streaming down my face.

His hand, still on my thigh, tightened once more. Leaning close to my face, the stranger whispered..

“What.. do we have here?”

#funny story #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #masky marble hornets #masky #masky headcanon #masky x reader #hoodie #hoodie x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta incorrect quotes #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #yandere ticci toby #funny content

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overtaken-stream · 9 months ago

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Where On3 Will St4nd

King The Wildfire x F!Lunarian!Reader

100+ Followers Special!! I APPRECIATE YOU GUYS SO MUCH! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE SUPPORT!! <3 (This was posted so late oml) This bad boy has been cooking in my drafts for close to a year and a half it feels like, it is very much burnt to a crisp. Thank you anon who asked me about King meeting another of his race! This would not be here without you <3

Also, sorry for the grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

word count: 8.9k

Warnings: incorrect cultural description(?)/practices(?), Self-harm(Burns), Imprisonment, Timeline is a mess don't come at me.

( The Land of a Demon )

Onigashima is an intimidating island; the smell of ash penetrates every corner of the scene where a battlefield will unfold. There are no flowers to add color to the brown mud and grey rocks, no snowflakes to grace the island or land on the red mist. The only thriving presence is the skull, where the fire emanates—the lair of a wrongdoer rotting and resting in this sinful place.

The skull, or rather, the rock resembling a creature much like the one on Thriller Bark—Oars, to be exact—was its name. But even he, the Junior, paled in comparison to the Skull Dome. No human could have sculpted it; giants, maybe, but even then, there are doubts.

It was formidable for you to step into the den of a beast earlier than expected, where you would be alone and defenseless. The dreadful aura the place is emitting is fitting for an Emperor of the sea. The deeper you went, the lighter you felt, the fearsome and overwhelming feeling was replaced by the intimidating, and may I say, strict walls you can find in the Wano Kuni, or the Flower Capital to be more exact, the only thing Onigashima lacks is the malnourishment that comes with Shoguns' rule, the exhausted faces of workers, the food prices and the dirtied outskirts. The separation of morals between the Wano Kuni and Onigashima shows clearly in the environment, it's like stepping into a completely different world, detached by the innocent victims who got birthed in this tangle of knotted rope, a mess, a sculptor done masterfully by manipulators of different social hierarchies. It's an art piece that took lives. A work in progress.

Their happiness depends on us. The ones who took it in the first place. The pirates.

We are the only people who bleed flames and light up the shadowed space that is Wano.

Soon.

...Soon.

After the worrying incident of the crew splitting apart yet again to get Sanji back and despite your worries for the polite cook- you were among the majority who continued traveling toward Wano. The plan was for you to become a Geisha working alongside Robin to get selected by the Shogun, but at last, the paths split and here you were in the den of beasts.

There was little chance of concealing your true identity in Wano; the absence of hair dyes posed a challenge. However, with strategic tying, the Obi belt effectively concealed the main factors that could give you away. The uncomfortable sensation is so familiar that you've learned to master not showing the everlasting pain on your face. The lightened makeup applied by the elderly further masks your skin, with red lips complementing your Obi and velvety gloves. The black hue of your flower kimono, snug tightly to your legs, hinders your pace, restraining you from keeping up with other women who, despite being more nervous, are less experienced in the field of treachery. Tonight, it will be challenging to differentiate professionals from novices, and you vow to take advantage.

The occasionally beautiful scenery inside the castle fails to comfort you amidst the fast-beating hearts; it is unsettling. The empty halls, guided by one of Kaido's puppets, make everyone dizzy with the maze-like walls—plain, hard to remember its turns.

In what way did the he turn last time?

The candles dwindle in plain sight as the floor creaks, accommodating the heavy steps of someone on the other side of the hallway. The sound becomes more vivid as it picks up pace, running past your group from the other side of the wall, capturing the attention of a soldier who turns and continues guiding with an anxious face.

It's only when the others, approximately ten pairs of feet, follow suit that you realize the commotion beside the separation. Judging by the soldier's expression, it seems to be a normal occurrence. However, you do not halt your steps; you continue to motionlessly follow, much like a sheep. It turns out the other women have the same idea.

There's an Oni free of its cage.

Debris falls from the shaking ceiling onto your shoulders. You wipe the black fabric clean, huffing as you quicken your pace, gently pushing the ladies to make way. The man, with spiky brown hair, takes another turn to the right this time.

``Sir, how far are you going to make us walk? Do you want us to be gasping for breath when we entertain our customers?`` You ask in a monotone voice, the impatience underlines your words, while your facial expression is the same as the one you entered with.

The soldier angles his neck to look up at you before his expression turns sour.

Lazy sons of bitches are too tired to answer a simple question. Tsk.

Your eye twitches as you await his answer. Not minding the spooked expressions of the ladies.

``Just above this floor.``

You only take your eyes off of him when the dark wood stairs come into view. It's been twenty years since the Beast Pirates invaded Wano Kuni and the history of Onigashima, they left a mark that will be impossible to remove. The residue of red that has maintained its place on the stairs is proof of that, who knows how many more illicit and barbaric things this place... This Country has witnessed. Who knows how many more will be lost.

Yet, people ignore it for their safety, geisha act no differently, even if they feel the warmth of a body no longer on the bottom of their okobo, they don't look down. For their security. Though you seem to be unable to look up, whoever the unfortunate victim was, you wish them a peaceful afterlife.

You hold in what anger you have, clenching your fists onto the sides of your kimono. There will come a time for you to spill it.

Soon.

...Soon.

A dreadful feeling emanates within the group, snapping you out of your daydreams. You didn't mean to get lost in your head, but the moment you let the fabric loose, the double door opens, and the women hurry their way to spots alongside every wall, unhappiness settling in their guts. They put their knees onto the soft purple cushions. Your eyes travel over the shamisen lying beside the cushion you were supposed to rest on. The three-stringed instrument you pick up seems to be brand new—unused and unprepared. However, even as you fix the strings, you feel relieved. Kyo Mai is a slow dance with complicated steps, and your confined wings always disturb your enactment. You were supposed to play the instrument and stay hidden among the performers, even with your snow-white hair and height.

The door opens right after everybody picks up their fans, you hid away in the background with the shamisen now in the proper hold.

(Away from the intimidating aura the girls seem to be spooked of. They don't break under the pressure. They repeat what was practiced.)

Here they come.

The All-Stars.

( Eyes That Follow )

From the three goliaths that were sitting and having an exchange, you've decided that Queen was the worst out of all of them. His immense and twisted pride shows even during his interactions with the women currently swarming his sides, the sadism that chokes the air out of every woman doesn't reach the beasts.

He calls it... “Flirting” it's not obvious to the naked eye but the girls feel uncomfortable, even when they smile, you can tell. It's for survival they smile. It's for survival they nod their heads as Queen throws compliments at a woman who isn't here. Komurasaki.

You feel sorry for the girl, to have Queen captivated was horrifying. You hold hope that Komurasaki will never meet him in person, even as your eyes continue to wander over Queen, for he, even if the filthiest of the All-Stars, was the most social one. A star scientist. It's when Queen starts practicing his singing talent that one of them calls.

``Oi.``

You straighten up. From on top Jack, The Drought looks down at you.

``Could you start the music already?`` His unreacting eyes only leave your face when you answer with an apology. It was obvious he was trying to silence Queen.

As you pull the shamisen closer to your body, you can hear the blond's offended complaints soon be replaced by the excitement when he realizes the Geishas' standings.

``Well, aren't you a beauty with white hair of yours, musician? Though no one will beat my Komurasaki! That bastard Shogun! Such a shame.``

You aren't sure what he pulls out of his pocket—a paper of some kind? A picture. You thought maybe some information would leak out of their mouths, yet the only conversations you hear are Queen's complaints and praises towards the women. Lost in your own mind, studies continue to mix. Is Kaido awarding his men before the festival? It seems unlikely, but unfortunately, that might be the case.

As you begin the melody of "Crane Wedding," there isn't another noise except Queen's malicious giggles interrupting you. That is until the sounds of squeaking leather picks up in the trapped room. You fix your eyes on the instrument while somebody else's eyes drill into your face, past your cosmetics and the flawless kimono. They don't move from your face; in fact, you might even think they are staring past your soul. You can feel their eyes travel to your neck, covered by the geisha's makeup. They stare, and you don't dare to look up meet meet them.

The pleasant music of yours doesn't halt as a geisha brings in the food, throwing a quick and nervous glance your way, but soon she too turns towards one of the three men who called her, leaving you alone with that crushing stare. The time stretches along with the performance; the short melody now feels like a loop of endless tactics put together. Lovely notes turn into a disgusting mess of mud inside your mind, plugging your ears and forcing you to hear the way your heart speeds up, noticing his eyes cling onto the darker color not peeking from under the makeup. You're nervous, as are the dancing geisha, whose only audience is Queen at this point. It's soon when the second, heavy pair of eyes turn towards you, but this one is much quicker to leave you be.

That must have been Jack.

King. He's the one that continues to stare.

The corner of your lips twitches after the realization. You try to keep away from falling and dissecting below his gaze. It lasts even after the dance was finished, his red eyes hold you hostage for the most part, even when you get up and do what your teacher, a sweet old lady has taught you.

It's fear, not of him, but rather afraid of him finding out what no outsider should know.

It's doubt, he is doubting you. Suspecting you, yet he asks no question. He only stares you down like a predator when you finally meet his crimson eyes. Your (E/C) eyes reflect his fully leathered top half.

You aren't afraid of him, no you can't be, you've faced many opponents in your 25 years of living, and you've gone through the suffering even the strongest men cannot withstand.

You are a Straw hat.

You are part of a future Pirate Kings crew. You cannot be intimidated by a mere second in command. You hold your head up high.

It turns out to be the right action that causes him to back down slowly, surely you are let go from the muddy waters.

( Eye to Eye )

The sunrise began as Jack got up, and soon Queen followed him. After his callouts to King, who threw an audible shut-up in his way but did not move from the spot he was standing, Queen wasn't convinced until Jack bulldozed through the door opening and intentionally dragged Queen out of the way.

The poker face you've kept up so far slips when King calls every woman out of the room except you. You can feel Haki building its way through your veins, but you don't jump to conclusions, even as he gets closer to you with a towering height difference, his latex and bands stay unmelted when the fire on his back explodes, little sparks jumping towards you, who is by now trapped between the wall and the giant. You can feel the hot sparks on your clothing land and extinguish themselves, The conclusion is slow beneath his red eyes that are staring at you so angrily, any other emotion so hard to read beneath the mask that thoroughly covers every part of his body, the folded black wings are no exception.

Besides blocking your means of escape, he has yet to do anything physically, the temperature in the room rises with how fast the heat is produced on his back. The fire is so familiar you might even get lost in it, in the old times, when fewer shit stains were roaming the planet. It makes you sweat underneath all the tight clothes you're wearing, especially on your back where the wings have started to ruffle, trying to let some air into its layers to no avail.

You wish you had talent in observation haki to determine what he was going to do next.

You flinch when his right arm raises from where it slept beside his thighs, it slowly gets closer to your frozen form, even if you try to lean away, there is no point, you realize. You are tall, but as both of you stand beside each other, He towers over you, but his intention isn't to intimidate you. The instinct is your strong suit and your weakest point.

You can feel the leather wipe away at your excessive makeup, from your cheek to your platysma his hand travels with a heavy heart on its sleeve.

If King was anyone other than King, you would have slapped it away.

If only he didn't share traits you are so familiar with.

If only you didn't share traits he is so familiar with.

You can feel the cosmetics dragging and staining his gloves, wiping away half of your disguise easily, thanks to the heat, he keeps a note of your half-disguised face with calculating... Wide eyes. The other half of your face, one that stayed untouched, must be melting.

It's the shaky puffs of air released from his mask that gives him away, the sudden rise in temperature in an already hot room, it must almost be 40°C, yet he does not budge.

Is he relieved...? Enthusiastic much...?

Not a word is said when he takes his arm away, now covered in white. You can see the way the pupils shake, you are sure he can see yours too, the furrowed brows and slightly parted lips of yours must be a giveaway.

The wings.

The eternal inferno.

A laugh escapes in the room-turned-oven, a nervous laugh of a feminine voice. You must be in shock to have fallen so low. Not even trying are you?

In a world that ought to hunt your kind down, to exterminate the past, the world that succeeded in destroying your kind, you don't feel alone. Or... You will no longer.

In the fervor, the mask comes off, leaving his sweat-covered face uncovered for you to see.

(``What tells that you are the only survivor?`` King used to ask himself back in his younger years before he made it clear how erroneous that question was, not to mention unlikely. It a proof of his childish innocence and the improvement. If more of his kind existed, they would be in the hands of the Government, doing god knows what to them. It always made the locked space of memories in his subconscious bubble up and boil over in quiet rages and liquor-companied nights. As he looks at your somewhat clean face, he is comforted by the pitiless thought that, by some luck, someone else managed to survive the hell he also went through. He wishes he could feel at ease, but he has to be sure. He has to eliminate every doubt in his mind.)

It's not out of intimacy and lust that he asks an inappropriate question to your calmed self about stripping. The surprised look in your eyes indicates a misunderstanding of his intentions. It's only mutual trust that guides him to do what he does next. Slowly but surely, he tries to pull his mask off, letting the tight piece tug at his scalp as he sets his hair free. Only when the temperature doesn't change, even when his skin feels the air, does he let the fire return to its original size.

King The Wildfire, only looks down at your complicated emotions. Even if he does not remember the company of his people, he would truly be a fool not to recognize his own biology. Though he doesn't hold onto hope, suspicion still lingers in his red eyes. It differs from your beaming laugh full of shallow happiness, representing more of a nervous tick than anything. It's been so long since he has heard a laugh not accompanied by sadistic undertones—exploiter gifters who dared to approach him—and the liquor Kaido keeps so close during his episodes.

``... I apologize for the heat."

You smile with somewhat shocked eyes looking up at him. ``...You know, it's been a while since I've felt the excitement of my kind.`` a nervous sigh you let out lead the conversation.

`` you don't have to apologize.``

``Yes... I-`` He has forgotten many unique reflexes with time. For this instance, it doesn't pains him. Every day he forgets what distinguishes the instincts of Lunarians, for he feels less of his kind.

He counts it as a sin, a shameful part of adulting, a side effect of having to live among the likes of Kaido's men, therefore his choice.

You acknowledge his position with his back turned to the door, sitting down cross-legged as he mentions for you to do the same. You obey, his wings hovering over you and hiding your figure from the outside world.

He asks once more to turn your back to him. You try to find any joke to fit in the thick air of nervous glances, but you find none. The unconscious mutual loyalty the both of you have towards one another is born by the shared traits, of family. Of shared pain.

You take the Obi belt in your hands and off of your waist.

He has many questions he cannot get out of his mouth, but for now, he keeps quiet. He is sure you have no intention of reliving the hell on earth that is the past.

You turn your back to a beast with the pattern of a face on its back.

As you take the black fabric of your kimono off, layer by layer the cold bites at your wet body, and the salty smell lets out into the heated air, though none of you care for the odor. You drop the kimono just below your belly button and let the relief that comes with letting your wings flex and take hold.

With a fast-beating heart, King watches.

It's in a haze that he reaches out to your back, his fingers connecting to the shoulders where the wings come from, sending a shiver down your sweat-covered spine, they're smaller he thinks, more fragile than him, though there is no difference in the power of flame and healing when it comes to genders. She could make them bigger when required. They aren't fragile, they are as powerful as his, but the size difference makes it easy to tickle his instincts, long forgotten and left in the past, starving for attention. His hands run over your coracoid, trying to find the place where the feathers meet the skin, attempting to find the evidence that you are real.

He barely hears your name, caught in the view of the wings turning from black to dark blue at different angles. Though he doesn't answer, he has already shown you enough of himself, it is no longer essential. King will do just fine.

The wings are erogenous, however, even if you shiver under the sensitive touches, no lust taints the special moment between the survivors.

``(Y/N).`` you spell out your name.

By instinct, his fire becomes ablaze when his hand sneaks up your humerus, lingering touches ruffling your feathers as the fire licks at your ungroomed wing. It lights the reflective white strands of hair that escaped from Geiko Shimada. The warmth on your back is comforting to the point where you lean your wings into it. Finally, you light the eternal flame, his hand engulfed in your flames goes undamaged. It extracts and attracts the fire from his hand into the center of your spine, causing the fire to grow and spread onto your wing feathers.

Looking back you're met with what you would call, a confused face of King whose features have been caught in the yellow glow of a fire that you are able to control.

King only stares at your almost nude form with a wrinkle of thought between his eyebrows.

( Guard )

In the way King shelters you, with him beside you and you hidden in the massive wing as he walks into his chambers, you would be wrong if you said you aren't anxious. Happy but skeptical. You doubt he'll hurt you, but the mask locking away his facial structures works as an intimidation factor.

The click of a lock on his door is the only sound that disturbs the silence. Now you are in his territory, his nest.

``King?`` you turn around to look at him.

``Where did you come from.`` It's scary how quickly and unnoticeably he changes his mood. But it is probably because the enthusiasm has passed and questions have started to surface, what you thought to be a nice welcome, turns into icy bars locking you out of your getaway, just like earlier. His red eyes leave a permanent mark on your (E/C) ones.

Where did you come from. that's not a question. Questions don't make you feel as if the warmth has left your body and sent shivers down your spine. They don't drag you down the lone caves and lock up your respiratory system.

Questions aren't meant to stop time. But the way both of you aren't moving, they might as well.

You have to be careful with every word and syllable you mutter. ``I've come fro-``

``How are you alive.``

``I-``

You barely have time to finish your answers before he's asking another one, slowly he steps toward you. In the dark, his leather shines, but as you take another step back you cannot help but glance at his wings. How the moonlight seems to bend with each curve of his feathers, sinking into the crevices and lightening them up in a blue hue, similar to you, but unlike the yellow glow, King's replaced by the white. You can't help but be deprived.

There is only one sentence that is louder than the rumble coming from within him. The declaration you acknowledge within all the noise clogging your ears.

You don't feel the suffocation of this situation, nor do you hear King's voice anymore. The pressure (Despite the windows being open) comes from the claustrophobic chamber. Your wings stay close to your back. The masked face looks down on your kimono, his pupils have seemed to freeze on your form, and the angry aura that he emits is all but a facade of defense. His jaw is moving but all you can hear is a rumble that pours out deep from his chest, it's incredibly loud yet deaf to the ears of normal humans, the volume that should shake walls only quiver your brain.

The moonlight seems to cage you in, showing your footsteps to a starved predator, it's the devil's eye that replaces the moon, with red pupils that stare you down. He overshadows your form, sending warnings throughout your system-

The possessiveness only sends shivers down your spine.

(Fight or flight?)

From somewhere far away, a boy with a straw hat on his face lifts his head from where it's laying in a hammock, letting the yellow straws that are incapable of being split slowly drop onto his bandaged chest. The rough feel of the same material wraps around his forehead trapping a few black strands of hair with it.

He grumbles, the ache in his limbs starting to become much more obvious, with half-lidded eyes Luffy looks up from the opening of the hammock, letting his head peek over at the sleeping skeleton currently knocked out in the same way Luffy was supposed to be.

Something's happening.

He is sure of it, but with grogginess biting away his consciousness, he has no energy left to chase after that feeling, he turns his stiff body the other way, peeking from the left he comes face to face with the man who is a family member in all but blood, who he got back just a few hours ago.

He smiles and lies back down, from the position he is in, a window the size of his head stays open, it shows the moon and the stars twinkling their way into existence.

He wonders what others must be up to, are they watching the moon with him? Basking in its glow like a tiger?

He hates that he has to keep them waiting, but it was necessary.

Soon.

...Soon he'll be there.

Wait for him... A little more!-

( Domain )

There's something cataclysmic lurking in the walls of his chambers, causing your ears to bleed. The shackles rattle loudly next to your helix as you scratch at your ear, only making the headache worse. The heavy pull of sea stone brings down your mood. Rough exterior already leaving its mark on your hands

The mirror rests across the bed, compelling the disheveled mess of yourself to face the view. Hair strands fall on the sides of your face, greasy with gel, and your face—oh God, your face—appears smudged, as if the color is melting away. The swollen eyes that signal a newly awakened person squint to see your reflection.

The clothes are still on your body despite being passed out on the enormous bed of a murderer, a killer, and a tyrant's sidekick last night. Another ridiculous error to add to the imaginary board.

Back when King unleashed the color of the Supreme King on your cornered self you didn't dare fight back, and the shackles were here in the form of consequence to your conclusion.

The room was dark, with the only source of light being the window next to the mirror. The bars on the outside really make you feel at home. The decor set a scene suggesting no man had ever lived there. Occasional scratches marked the floor, and the specially modified bed, along with what you could only guess was a closet, were all tailored to fit his taste. Gothic undertones and a taste reminiscent of some old king's private quarters defined his preferences. You could barely discern the detailing on the bed and the strangely designed closet colored in black and gold. The dominating dark blue swallowed any light that entered the room, and there was a door to your left, likely leading to the bathroom.

The quiet morning was disturbed by the entrance of King, he stands in front of the same door you remember entering last night.

You feel quite disgusted.

``I didn't expect you to be awake.`` For a moment before you passed out, you didn't either.

The uneasy eyes meet kings' as time stills. Dragging out the undesirable connection. It only serves to tug your heart down to your gut. The happy moment, the relief and sorrow for the past nothing but a distant memory in the dark shadows of a realm not your own.

He moves closer to your bed, hands dropping what seems to be extra clothes near your feet. The man doesn't flinch as you push your legs closer to your torso and away from him. The rejection is disregarded.

``You should change.`` Carefully you nod your head.

``The bathroom is over there.``His stern voice shakes the weak walls of your mind as he turns his back on you before walking over to the entrance.

You can't help but let out a shaky breath as the door is locked and you're left alone with thoughts you can not connect no matter how hard you try, it only serves to make tremors run up your spine and into your fingertips, it's a dread invading a carefully maintained flesh you tried to protect with the hands of a child once. The deep noise your restraints produce was nothing but a ghost of your past just a couple of days ago. The weight on your wrists burns. The crackle is deafening and bone-shaking. There's no one else to hear you.

``... I need...`` Time to think, to process. Your lips shiver.

The soft white walls are nothing but an illusion. You wonder if the blue-colored room of a beast is a delusion.

The eyes and the goggles flash before you, white coats accompanied by bloodlust run over your thoughts.

Breathe.

You push your knees off of the bed, sweat traveling down your face, the cold is in no way a comfort.

The warm water is what tempts you to tread the wooden floor.

( Lone Wolf )

The water is hot against your skin as the shower head lets the boiling droplets escape freely from the metal, and steam coats the world in the lightest tints. King brings the ache you've long forgotten existed ever since the smile of a boy with the straw hat lit your life full of shadow. You wish you could be happy in the burning downpour, you deserve it, however, the inferno on your back heals the drawbacks, leaving no trace of your accomplishments which took more than a couple of burns to earn.

And you wonder what have you done to earn this.

The happiness of no longer carrying the guilt was relieving, even if it lasted for a couple of minutes.

As a little lady you would wish for a knight to come and take you away to the land of dreams, make the walls just a bit more colorful and alive in the world that burns dreams. The warm hands would he have, the soft look and the shine in his eyes, the wings on his back, and the fire that would put the sun to shame with its flames. The honey on his lips and the daisies in your hair.

The desires were harmless, they gave you hope, something a human would have.

(You can still taste the metal. You can feel the debris fall and you hear their landing making the ground of pure white shake.

Your instincts would only let you run. Would only make you avoid the black broken bricks covered in glitter. Shining green from the light and smoke.

You have no idea what exploded. You won't want to know.

That night, the girl left that place and its guards to be doomed into oblivion.

That night, a knight was left without his princess.)

The sizzling sound you feel is draining you of the energy you might need, it's a waste yet the fire on your back regenerates the lost skin again, again and again. Until you give in and stop the shower, only for the shackles to be felt around your hands. Your wings are open, fully on display.

Sensing the burns in your bones, you wonder what would have happened if you were more close to the explosion of the past, wonder if it would have been better as the water droplets fall from your wet face.

It's fairer than facing the reality that complicates the fragile string of truths once again.

Hands clenched into fists and fire growing ever hotter on your back, you wonder if you are patient enough for this, no longer does a little girl await for saving. She doesn't need to anymore. Someone else might.

It brings up a question. Can you be the light needed for one's darkest times?

You walk out of the shower with a hot back and bloody palms, the fire burns brightly above the feathers. You can only hope to fuel it forever. You keep the wings close, your captor closer.

No longer will you be truly alone.

( Purity )

If there's one thing you've learned as a child, it's that they aim for the stars, with no plan in mind and ambition in their belly, only a brave few truly make it into the sky and those who could not are left with clipped wings and broken dreams. Fragile to the point they crash onto the soil and shatter, never to be put together again.

It makes you proud that your captain never crashed down, that his wings were never clipped, you're sure that the thoughtlessness was enough to boost him to reach beyond the stars.

Before, you wondered if you were able to grab onto the lights that looked down on you during the night. Now you live to see it come true.

However, where you succeeded some failed.

And so King came crashing down with the one who put his wings back together, feather by feather, vigorous and more dreadful than ever.

He split the skies until it cried.

You refuse to allow him to recite Kaidou's doing to you. Day after day in the dark and cold chamber, your fire brightens the dark and continuously burns on your back, never once diminishing.

Nobody is allowed that pleasure.

( Prison )

Getting used to a closed environment comes naturally, as much as you hate to admit it. The dim walls are a new addition to your view, which is no longer full of white coats and a bright enclosure. The heavy shackles are much harder to familiarize with.

In a cold chamber time moves fast.

Your only interaction with the outside world is King, dark and broody, full of confidence and gentleness, he treats you as if you're fragility itself. You won't beg for a way out, you never did, humiliation over naught is an intense feeling to swallow. He's careful with his words, careful in the way he acts and reconnects with his instincts right by your side.

Day after day his visits keep a consistent schedule, with two plates of food and loneliness in his belly he strives to spend breakfast, lunch, and dinner together with you, speaking only a few words of insight. There's fire on your back yet, it does nothing to protect you from the coldness he brings. Wings stay close to your back, never truly opening in the cage. The words he says don't carry the weight of a man born for death.

One wants to lower your walls while shackling you with his, to the point that the invisible distance strains you, he is full of drought and he craves to end the famine.

Time passes and the longer you ignore the elephant in the room, the heavier its weight on your shoulders grows. You destruct yourself for a question you're not ready to hear the answer to. The pressure leads to an opening to form.

It's said in an outlandish way, heart swelling with numbness and hate tingling your fingers. Your eyes stare onward, beyond the figure meeting them.

``What are you achieving?`` Why have you caged me? Weren't you in my position once upon a time?

It stops him dead in the tracks. His eyes don't widen yet his mouth does in a way that seems robotic. The air stills, only the noise of crackling fire could be heard, heavy and rich with the enigma the man was created to be.

Why did you choose kaidou?

You want to ask.

``...Nothing. I achieve nothing.`` you ignore the strict undertone and drink the tea he brought not too long ago. It conceals the wary gulp.

``I would never have taken you for a liar.`` An intense sound is created as he slices the distance between you two with his flight, black wings ajar. a sharp feather rests near your throat. You have to be attentive. Careful to not snap the thick rope that holds his pieces together.

Blood seeps out of the cut.

``Why do you wish for death?``

``You could have murdered me the night we met.`` It's too late for your soul to perish. His reasoning for keeping you alive is clear to you.

His hand, clenching the root of a dangerously pointed feather shakes with the conflicted emotion.

Your back lights and the cut is healed.

He cannot do it, not to his kind. With a quiet grunt, King backs off to leave the chamber, his feather crumbled and abandoned on the cold wood.

Every night is spent alone on a bed made for your kind, it's just that this night feels full of plain dismay and sorrow.

The past does not visit tonight.

( The Other Side )

Your words penetrate him, though he doesn't indicate. The conversation is buried in the depths of ash, fire blooms inside of him, it rages and burns, and wherever he steps the smoke trails after him.

``Haven't you walked the same path?``

His subordinates are seated around a large table, smiles and crevices on their face.

``Do you not know darkness?``

He does. He is intimate with it.

``The hopelessness of being someones plaything?``

He can feel the heat of the past catching up to him, engulfing him in the ball of flame and strapping him on a table. He knows how it feels to be burned to oblivion, the only peace he has known. Words of madness leave his lips, everyone, including himself knows that it's empty threats, for he stands on the other side of the glass. Nothing but a guinea pig

``I know that you know it too. We walked the same path.``

He would have grabbed anyone's hand if only they reached out. It just so happened that he grabbed someone who could change the world, for the better or for worse.

He looks at the barren wasteland of Onigashima.

Was it truly a choice when your options were between freedom and its absence?

He finds that time flies swiftly when sailing. It halts when on the land.

(He has never belonged to either.)

``Why do you recite history?``

He comes to a conclusion, one of selfishness and fear. Clenched fist heats up, he does not pay attention to the rising temperature.

He craves his kind. The hopelessness is the reason he captured you.

His teeth grind against one another. He isn't on the level of humans, his superior biology won't let him stoop that low, but he finds that mentally, he and them are cut from the same cloth. Other's consequences directed him to repeat what he feared.

The thought has long since passed.

King finds it hard to care about them.

But you are entirely foreign. He can taste the smoke of Punk Hazard.

You try again and again. Lightly scratching at the metaphorical walls of him until your hands grab his heart softly, ripping the veins and staining your hands with his blood.

Your mouth only forages for the food King fetches. He wonders about you and the possibilities of it all until the voice he has gotten used to brings him back to earth, you do nothing to cushion his fall, only stalling his drop with words he feels entirely uncomfortable to understand. For the reason that he had no one to share it with.

``There's a saying about them`` You say, looking oblivious with the plate resting on your knees, mouth cooling down the food.

``A man is wolf to man.`` He gets it, King is sure he will hear your voice saying it whenever the existence of The Celestials get brought up.

``I'm glad you aren't one.``

For a moment King thinks about the blood he spilled, the curses his shoulders withstand and the beginning of it all, the things he has seen himself do, and replies.

``I could say the same.``

You can see his face, swatted with shadows even without the mask, crack, and the hidden comfort dawns on his face.

The soup in your hands is warm like the sunlight, the mask he gripped whenever entering the room rests on the bed, no longer present in his claws.

A path reveals itself to the two of you.

(There's a flower that blooms only in cold surroundings, It feeds from the ground and awaits the warmth of the sun, from the grey clouds and falling snow, the light peeks through.)

( No Regrets )

Through the window, you can smell the madness in the air, it's evident in the way King comes in while the walls around you shake with the rhythms of Queen's performance.

Your heart follows along with the melody without your consent. After all, there is not much to do with the man that you have come to accept. The walls are nothing against the booming voice of a man too loud and apathetic. But within the confines of the castle, the tense atmosphere can be felt with the help of King. Every step he takes and grunt that follows brings forth his thoughts and instincts, there's something in the air. Teetering on the edges of your mind.

The Lunarian gets closer to you, finally reaching down to your level. For minutes he stares at you, taking in your features as if you'd disappear. The leather flexes as his left-hand holds your wrist.

The red eyes don't move away. Neither do yours.

The metal spikes on his mask gleam. His eyes tell a story as his head drops down, gloved fingers sliding over the rough material of your cuffs.

Time is ticking, and you are waiting for him to succumb to temptation and finally make a move for both's sake.

King's face tilts up with a heavy sigh in tow to look at you, only for a soft smile to greet him. The cuffs are warm around your skin and cold to the room.

After all, the sun speaks of your captain's arrival.

It doesn't take many days for King to return with the key in between his fingers and no fire on his back. Your smile greets his eyes, and the knowing grin settles on your dark skin, yet the maliciousness is nowhere to be found between your lips.

Ever since his release, King has never felt at peace, perhaps he can only close the distance.

(A glimpse of sunlight was all the flower needed to rise from the frozen land.)

The heavy cuffs harshly meet the floor.

( Reunion )

The smoke is filling your lungs, the familiarity making your heart clench and bring forth a cough. The walls are stained with blood, but you don't dwell on it. Instead, you let the sounds of battle lead your wings; feeling the air make way for you is a sensation missed. The chunks of limbs and lifeless bodies are nothing but a blur in your vision. The battle has long begun, and your release from the King's chamber is far too late.

A cunning smile flashes in your mind, long black hair, and rosy cheeks decorate the memory.

``Better late than never.`` Her composed voice would say, accompanied by her icy and all-knowing stare.

Suddenly, a blue light shines through the castle wall ahead, accompanied by the noise of a gigantic object impacting from the other side. With a single flap of your wings, you pick up speed, aiming to breach the barrier. Your tough feathers shield your body as you slam into and shatter the wall's material. Unscathed, your eyes adjust to the bright figure standing on your left, emanating a stunning light that brings life to its surroundings, leaving your eyes wide. You notice a trail of smoke to your right.

You get a better look at him as the surroundings clear up.

``S-Sanji?!`` You feel quite happy to know that his issue has been resolved, judging from the way his face brightens and stands on the ground of Wano's borders. Although he always lights up near the opposite sex.

``(Y/N)-Chan?!`` His matted blond hair is a detail you only notice with the advanced eyesight your kind seems to possess. The bloody lip and his bruised forehead made him quite a sight. Although the swelling is nowhere to be seen.

You can try to make the words of delight resurface in your mouth, it's always nice to let others know of your feelings, though sometimes it sure gets hard to pull them out from the bottom of your heart.

``I'm glad to see you here!`` it lets the burden on your shoulders lighten.

Sanji responds the way you except him to.

``(Y/N)-Chwaaan!!~♡ It's been so long since I last saw you!`` No longer able to contain the love in his body, the hearts burst from his very soul. Happiness fuels his wiggly movements. ``Oh, how I missed you!~``

A large smile stretches your lips, dry as a desert. ``It's nice to have you back!-``

You could have said more, but the time has already run out.

There's water leaking from the floor above, a loud shriek is heard and your back is met with a cold, menacing look from who seems to be Sanji's opponent.

The reflexes kick in, sinking into your veins, moving you out of the threat of a mechanism falling on top of you.

You'r gaze falls on the Beast. His eyes meet yours.

There's a glimmer of familiarity in his eye.

``Out of the way!`` Sanji's yell warns before the foe swings his oversized arms once more.

The amount of force needed for your wings to fly backward is more than necessary, though the opponent's swings seem to be getting swift at every dodge, the heat produced on your back strengthens your arms and then fists, and you look for an opening to get one hit in, but for a second you can see the furious blue eyes tell you his whole story, the desperation of a man becoming more clear to recognize...

You decide that this is not your battle... The heat is diminished.

( A Change )

The short encounter with the cook was not for naught, his instructions led you directed to a stadium full of warriors ready to risk their lives for a nation that has only its history to live for.

Within enemies, there are familiar faces mixed in, who are also fighting alongside you. With Kaido fighting Luffy and Sanji taking on Queen, it's only logical to assume that the first mate would go for the top of the food chain.

There's so much to do, yet the responsibility does not intimidate your kind.

You're left to protect the survivors of a war already won.

The aftermath was nothing more than a reunion for your crew.

( Hello )

The victory comes and brings midnight with it, cheers and smiles bloom on the warriors' faces as you breathe heavily, and everyone starts to tend to their wounds, burns and deep slashes are nothing compared to what they've achieved. Pirate crews are no exception, they rest and gain the energy they'll need for the morning, until then it seems that you're the only one with stamina left.

The fire on your back grows small until it vanishes completely.

Of course, after Kiado's defeat, warriors took advantage of the weakened Beast Pirates and imprisoned those who could still stand, albeit their dreams were and still are drowning in pieces far too small to see or collect. It's evident that they hold no hope for the future.

But there's a link connecting you to one of them.

You walk near the exit door, watching as men talk among each other and discuss their next step, whatever that may be. Your semblance to that man does not get mentioned by anyone after all, they have not seen his face, but the single glance from Zoro as he stayed awake for 5 seconds is enough for you to tense up, you wonder when it will be brought up. Zoro might have fallen asleep but your heart stayed heavy next to him.

It's a dangerous idea you have, suspicious even, though they must understand, Luffy's intelligence, Nami's smile, Robins's knowledge, Usopp's understanding nature, Chopper's innocent outlook, Franky's family ties, Brook's dedication, Sanji's acceptance, and Zoro's strict attitude. If a word got out, you'd have to face your friends, have to rip a bandaid off of an old wound and hold in a cry. You just have to wonder when?

Yet you still head towards the Udon Prison, consequences last in your mind, the night sky looks down upon you, the stars begging you to go back, however the dark clouds hide them away.

The night air feels nice on your skin, even as you stand above the walls keeping in the Beasts. You can tell that no one is awake, exhaustion haunts the air as you leap down on the dry ground. Mad Scientist Queen is lying face down, covered in bandages that soil the dirt underneath him red, you're glad that his snores are loud enough to hide your wings' shuffling.

The sudden chill runs up your spine and alerts your senses, face tilting sideways, you look at a disheveled man standing over you from behind.

``Hello again, King.`` He thinks of your eyes and how beautiful they look under the moonlight. Your beauty would put Luna to shame.

Your greeting is dismissed.

``Why are you here?`` His dry mouth can barely open to question you.

``To see you of course.`` This time he keeps his mouth shut. Yet his eyes observe your appearance, the dirt, and blood that soaks your Kimono.

To see him after a loss, in a state such as this is a crime that would be punished by death. You're the only exception to the rule that didn't exist yesterday.

``Let's take a seat.`` He hasn't even noticed you move into the center of the prison, too busy trying to keep all the blood inside his body to not flat-line. The bandages are not doing much, and the fire he used in his battle has extinguished itself. All his strength was used up and you wish to see him in this state? There are no words left for him to speak, so he takes the seat next to you. His knee touches yours, the intimacy is foreign.

``This calls for a celebration, don't you think? I grabbed us some booze.``

The liquor bottle nudges him and he takes it with no complaints. The reasoning for others' celebration is obvious, dethroning an emperor is a big feat for anybody.

``After all, a God has awakened.`` King knows.

His eyelids are closed yet he can see the vague silhouette of JoyBoy, the godly form only brings bitterness to his tongue, so he tries to drown it with the smoky taste of beer, which accomplishes little.

``I was mistaken.`` with Kaidou. Regret fills him.

He isn't angry at his loss as much as he is irritated.

``You were.`` The moonlight shines down on both of you. The silence is deafening, nothing but your heartbeats are heard.

``I was saved by that man.`` His head looks up at you, and each of his limbs freezes at the implication. The misery and hopelessness engulf the surroundings. He thinks about nothing except the straw hat with a red ribbon.

``I see... So you're apart of his family?``

``I am.`` the soft look in your eyes makes him envy you.

``...Are you happy?`` He doesn't know what he will do if you respond negatively. King already imprisoned you, took your independence, and chained you to him, yet you didn't burn out, How will he treat you?

``I am, were you not?`` with Kaidou? He doesn't have a straight answer, so he only responds with silence. This was a question he thinks you know the answer to.

It isn't until your hand grabs his cheeks that he opens his eyes in surprise, also realizing he closed them.

``What is that look?`` The strict tone in your voice is nostalgic. He tries to direct the conversation elsewhere, however his mind is flooded with the feeling of your warm hand on his face.

``The marines will come.``

``They'll come for you too, you know.`` You respond with the warning, the Navy isn't known for mercy after all, they'll go after the cause too.

``I don't want that... I don't... I don't want to be alone.`` You add, sheepish of your request, is it too much to ask? You have friends who you consider as family, but King is... Different.

King also does not want to be the sole survivor of his race, he has carried that burden for long enough and now that he had a taste of his people, he wishes to not go back.

``You won't be.`` It's the only promise he'll keep, for your sake and his.

For this, he will have to leave the prison.

``Stay alive for me.`` You beg and he complies.

It all starts with your wing enveloping his form, the soft heat from your contact, and the gentle touch of your fingers over his cheek.

( See You Later )

It ends with a promise and an escape into the night.

With you in the company of your friends on the Thousand Sunny.

And with him on top of a waterfall, watching with curious and intrigued eyes as he holds the leftover newspaper, the ship descends down the mountain and leaps into the ocean next to the koi fish.

He finds your smile now meters away, he gazes with a newfound meaning to his life.

#one piece #anime #king one piece #king the wildfire #king the conflagration #king the wildfire x reader #one piece x reader #one piece spoilers #wano arc #wano spoilers #wano kuni #one piece wano #beast pirates #.my writing.

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woncon · 21 days ago

Text

➳ deal with the devil

➶ enhypen hyung line x demon!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ "See? Who's the victim and who's the hunter is a matter of opinion. You've got the throwing star, but your neck bleeds because of my teeth. Who's who now?"

The whole university went out to haunt people on Halloween night, but you're in detention. So you're playing a game of hunter and prey. They're the hunters, you're the prey.

Only for a while.

➴ genre: suggestive, demon au, warlock au, supernatural college au, pre-poly / friends in a big situationship

: ̗̀➛ warnings: very slight knife play, jakehoon (not actually, you'll get it), seduction as manipulation (it works!), predator/prey with a twist, biting, making out, actually not as dark as it seems

⌨ :: 4.2K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ i'm a little late, but it's done. happy halloween, engenes! 🎃

⁀➷ thanks to @wonsheep for beta-ing this <3 i'll give you a pack of jelly beans later.

➳ mlist

The cursed piano plays his favorite classic in the Music Room. Melancholic, dark melodies float towards you as the heel of your shoe beats up the silence of the abandoned corridor. You twirl the sweets in your pocket. Jungwon gave them to you before he left to go and scare people. He probably did it out of pity, since you couldn't go with him to the usual Halloween campus program. The piano in the distance starts a new song, and you take off to push the arched door of the Hall of the Immortals, decorated with vines and skulls. The wood wails to let you enter the hall, where the rituals of demons and witches usually take place. Right now there are no reddish pentagrams painted on the floor or heavy, sinister books and bones on the table. Only a few candles flicker and surround a table with four mugs on it. There's a fifth, held in the warlock’s palm, and he's about to plunge a dollop of thick, brownish liquid from the pot with great care into it.

You wait for the door to slam behind you, shutting out the piano's dismal song, but instead somebody catches the heavy door, and you are perhaps a little startled by the sudden presence behind you.

“Mugs? Really?” Heeseung looks on with disbelief as he sidesteps you. “The school has so many goblets, there's one for every rite. And you put the curse into a mug?”

“Don't be such a snob,” says Jay, placing the filled cup next to the others. He neatly arranges them in a circle.

“I'm not a snob,” replies Heeseung darkly.

“Imagine that it's just pumpkin flavored hot chocolate. Four really is just that, so maybe you don't even have to imagine.”

Although, the way Jay is looking at Heeseung right now, he might want the elder to choose the one with the curse. To somehow relieve the tension you sense, you walk over to the table and eye the similarly plain brown china, from which a fragrant, spicy steam rises.

“They're cute,” you note.

Heeseung snorts and leans against one of the tables against the wall. The light from the candles doesn't reach there, and his tall figure is completely lost in the darkness, in the shadow. Remembering how lonely and desolate the university's castle is this evening, you wish he would drink the curse, that he'd be the one to be hunted down tonight. He's so good at blending in, that you probably wouldn't catch him.

“Where did you get them?” You stroke one of the mugs’ handles and stare hard, in hope that you recognise the cursed one.

“From the kitchen. Someone in the divination department has already got the mugs in advance, so that we can paint on them at Christmas.”

It was the same last year, you painted on mugs before the break. Everyone had a chance to get creative and take the results home. But for now, you're going to play. Christmas is still a distant, frost-white dream. At the hour of death, when the bodies crawl out of the grave and the children dress up as monsters while the monsters themselves walk among them, you are going to play a game in which someone nearly dies.

One of you.

The door opens with another slam. An impatient demon rushes to the table.

“Are you ready? Is the curse in there?” asks Jake, leaning so far against the table that the drinks are shaken and the tip of his horn almost grazes Jay's skin. “Can we start?”

His excitement spreads to the candles. They flare up, burning orange and giving off enough light for you to see the tip of Heeseung's boot.

“Sunghoon is not here yet.”

“Did he chicken out?” Heeseung asks mockingly.

“Haha, no,” replies Sunghoon, who also emerges from the shadows, but not through the door. He came through the secret witch's passage from the hall, which the demons don't know about, so you can only guess which way the entrance might be. “I've just spiced up the curse to make sure it's effective. With snake venom.”

And the flames burn faster, even more brightly. The white wax drips in hot drops down the melting stump, as if to symbolize Jake's anticipation. You, on the other hand, who has no effect on the lights with your emotions, are merely blown away because the contents of the vial Sunghoon brought you mix so easily with the hot chocolate that after Jay spins the tray on which the mugs are standing, you have no idea which one contains the poison-turbocharged curse.

You're about to find out.

You're all gathered around the table, and it's not just Jake and the candles that are radiating excitement anymore. You can hardly breathe.

“Everybody take one. On three," Jay says in a serious tone. “One, two, three.”

You reach for one of the cups that looks sympathetic. With a trembling hand you lift it to your mouth.

"Ouch, it's hot!" exclaims Jake.

"Obviously. Because it's hot chocolate," Heeseung rolls his eyes. Sunghoon scowls at him.

“Do you feel strange?” Jay asks Jake, who is fanning his tongue.

“It just hurts like hell.”

Finally, after the interlude, you pluck up the courage and drink your own. You are careful, only taking a tiny sip, so you don't burn yourself like others, but it immediately starts burning your mouth and then your throat. You grip your skin, fingers curling into claws, hoping to scrape the tantalizing taste out of you. This is not what a pumpkin flavored hot chocolate is like, not at all.

You fall to your knees, gasping for air. A supporting hand brushes your shoulder. When you feel better, you stand up.

You feel immortal, and yet very, very vulnerable. Weak. Like a victim.

///

Your friends are lurking to kill you.

Three important events have led to this moment, as far as you can tell. First, the day you were learning in demonology class about the various torture methods that demons have developed together with witches. One of these was the curse of immortality, where a person is immortal and can therefore be tortured beyond the extreme. Then came the time when you summoned a spirit with Sunghoon's ouija board. The spirit lady possessed Sunghoon and flirted with Jake through him. Jake was so embarrassed that the armchair underneath him immediately caught on fire, and half the lounge was burnt down before they could put the flames out. It didn't end well for the community space, nor for you. That's when you were banned from going out into the human world on Halloween to haunt. So that led to the third event, when you were wondering what to do to distract yourselves when Halloween came. What could you do to have fun? Jake suggested horror movies. Heeseung said those are boring because what's the point of watching killers hunt when you could be the ones hunting. And the picture came together.

That's how your friends happened to be hunting you down today. With crossbows, knives, swords, anything and everything they can find. If they catch you before dawn and make you give up, they win. If you hold out and survive, you win.

The scariest part is you don't know what they're up to. How they're going to get you, and with what.

You fear Heeseung the most. His family is a traditional one of demons who sacrifice goats on full moons and blood moons. With such experience and your horns twisted into the shape that goats’ ones are, it's easy to imagine you as the animal and take your blood until you beg for them to stop. It's just a sick fantasy, you reassure yourself. Heeseung can't see you as a goat if he recalls you kissing in his bed a few days ago. He probably doesn't do that to sacrificial goats. There is some level of tender emotion here.

You turn in after one of the rows of lockers. You don't know exactly where you are. You don't usually have classes in this corner of campus, and it doesn't help that there's no lighting. Yesterday, colorful decorations hung everywhere and talking, red-eyed skeletons strutted at the doors of classrooms to greet students arriving for class. Real bats fluttered around the ceiling, occasionally getting into the hair of passers-by. Pumpkins were placed here and there and their scent was everywhere. But the memory is not worth much now. The university is haunted. A murderers' den. The den of your murderers.

And as much as you're a successful demon, proud of your professors, at this moment you're nothing but a frightened victim, not sure if you're capable of being a ‘final girl’. But you're trying as hard as you can.

In your pocket, you're fiddling with your sweets. Your palms are sweating, your sweets may be melting soon. When the candy papers make noise, you quickly reach out and look around. It is deathly quiet. Everything is still. You've long since left the piano's surroundings behind you. Have they banded together to hunt you down as a team, or are they looking for you individually? Where are the witches' passages? Do Jake and Heeseung use the demons' ones?

You can't hide your fear. Your breathing gets heavier with each passing minute.

It's just a game. Just a game, you remind yourself. Or at least it is now. In the Middle Ages, it wasn't considered a game by the poor people who were tortured to madness.

Something snaps. Must be the knightly armor worn by the fanged pig statues in the corridors. It's been knocked off, then it fell softly to the carpet. What did they knock it down with? That's an easy question to answer when you hear the heavy weapon being dragged across the carpet. A big poleaxe, a very big poleaxe is coming, and it's coming for you.

Your footsteps become frantic, but you try to remain silent and get as far away from your pursuer as possible. The corridor ends in a staircase somewhere, you can make it that far and then decide which way to go. Except that somewhere nearby a door opens. Right in the direction you're going. You're forced to hide in the nearest room before you're trapped halfway down. As quietly as you can, you push down on the handle, squeeze through the gap and throw your back against the door. You close your eyes in the darkness and try to slow your breathing. In, out, in, out.

But you're not alone here either. Something squeaks in the dark, then croaks. Hisses and scratches. It makes a throat sound, rises, then finally lands on your shoulder. It's the three-headed bird, the university mascot. You don't have to see it to know it's rubbing its raven head against your hair. That's the head on the far left. Then comes the owl, and finally the hawk.

He's waiting for a treat. You give him something every time you see him. If you don't, he starts throwing a fit, which means it starts squawking loudly with all three heads as if were an alarm.

“Hi, Casper,” you greet him quietly. “Look what I brought you.”

You reach into your pocket and take out the first piece of candy. Carefully, you peel it out of the wrapper and drop it in the crow's mouth. It happily closes up. Then the owl's opens. You pop the next candy into it, and so far you're very proud of your thriftiness. The hawk is also waiting for its turn, but there's only empty paper in your pocket when you're rummaging around. You remember that you ate the third piece you had, because the poison still tasted awful, even after you'd swallowed the disgusting sip. You sucked on the candy during the rules discussion, and it tasted so good. At this moment, you miss it very much.

The hawk closes his mouth, opens it again, makes a soft noise, then nips the back of your hand.

“I'm sorry, but that's it. That's all, okay? I'll bring you more next time if you don't open your beak, hmm?” You bargain pleadingly.

Your physical wellness depends on a sugar-addicted monster bird. As it turns out, Capser is not on your side. He flies off your shoulder, his wings rustling loudly in the dark. Then his voice rings out. All three of his mouths start to wag at once, wanting more than two grains of sugar.

“Fuck.”.

You need to get out. Quickly.

You start feeling around the furniture. You're in the library, you know the feel of the old armchairs. Since most of the lounge burned down, you've been coming here under strict supervision. As you've been here many times, you know there's a secret demon passage in the wall. If you can get there, maybe you'll get lucky and your blood won't stain the furniture. And if you're lucky, you won't run into anybody in there who wants to stab you either.

You start walking carefully and almost fall on your face, tripping in one of the coffee tables. The door creaks open and the bard clatters on the floor of the room. Scrambling on your aching foot, you reach the secret door and throw yourself behind it. And then, with your ankle throbbing, you dash.

You run and run, as if it was the hot, angry hell at your heels.

Somehow you get to your own room. A pentagram lies reassuringly on the floor. You fall to your knees in it, breathing thunderously. You could do with a fiery cup of coffee or an energy drink to give you strength. But at least this hand-drawn pentagram radiates security. It's like you've found sanctuary.

You need a plan.

But when a masked figure emerges from under Jungwon's blanket, you can't think of plans. You leap up to dart for the door, but a sword stands in your way. If you keep going, it will cut you in two. Instead, you jump back into the pentagram and look up at your captor. His mask is a weeping drama face. He's wrapped himself in a cloak that covers his entire face. You cannot tell if the horns you see belong to him or to the mask. He waves his gloved hand at you.

“What's it going to be? Are you going to skewer me?”

The masked man shakes his head. He gets up from the bed, now towering over you. He draws a question mark in the air with the tip of his sword, then points at himself.

“You?” you ask. “What about you?”

He shrugs.

Maybe this guessing game is worse than if he'd thrown you up on the edge of his sword in the first minute. Him playing games with you makes you nervous. You're surprised to find your fear is fading. This could have something to do with the beneficial effects of the pentagram. In any case, you're able to forge a plan.

“Oh, come on, now. Take the mask off.”

He shakes his head.

You think about the chains under your bed.

You are not allowed to use weapons. Their wounds will not heal as yours will thanks to the curse. But no one said you couldn't use your charm. If your starting point is that you've been in all of their mouths, you have a chance to play this card. What do you have to lose by trying? If they all want to play, that's fine. If they underestimate you, you can take advantage. They have the weapons, but you're smart. If you push fear and panic to the back of your mind, you can succeed. You can succeed because you're tired of running around with them just waiting here and there, chasing you.

Let this be a game for you, too.

“Should I guess who's under there?”

This time he nods.

“Then you let me go?”

He pauses, thinking. Then he nods enthusiastically.

He should know better than to make a deal with the devil.

“Hmm. Give me a minute.”

You get up and dust off your knees. It feels good to be back to yourself. You're not looking at a killer anymore, you're looking at one of your friends dressed as a killer. But which one? Heeseung hates wearing masks at ceremonies, not to mention he's not the playful type. If he has to stab you to win, he'll stab you. He's out. You're taking a good look at the masked man. He's got sneakers peeking out from under his robe. Jay's wearing brown boots. That leaves Sunghoon and Jake.

How exciting.

You reach for the top button of your shirt and undo it. And then the next one. “Wow. I'm so hot from running around.”

When you reach the third button, and most of your chest is perfectly visible, the candle on the desk comes to life and burns orange. You smile in satisfaction and put your hands on your hips.

“So will you take the mask off, Jake?”

He tilts his head towards the table, then sighs in disappointment. He takes the mask off.

“You took advantage of my embarrassment!”

“That's it. Now come here. Your hair is all messed up.”

Jake drops the sword, takes off the cloak, and obeys. You take the mask from him and arrange his locks.

“Good,” you nod. You step out of the pentagram. “Claude eam,” you murmur, and the pentagram glows red.

“What? Did you really just lock me up?” the boy asks, stunned. “But I let you go!”

“Sorry, but I haven't forgiven you for threatening me with a sword yet," you blow a kiss in the air, then reach for the robe resting on Jungwon's bed. “And I need to borrow this.”

“What are you up to?”

You just wink, then put on his mask. It's interesting to wear the enemy's face. When you put on the cloak too, you transform completely. You go from prey to full-fledged hunter.

“Oh. You look hot like this.”

“Thanks.”

///

It's not difficult to find Sunghoon, you just have to follow the sound of the poleaxe scraping on the carpet. You tap his hunched back. He looks up.

“Jakey! Did you find them?”

You nod. Sunghoon straightens up completely.

“Where?”

You take him by the arm and lead him to the nearest room. Luckily, there are windows and enough moonlight to keep you from tripping. You're in the dining room. A fitting location for what you plan to do with Sunghoon. You point to a long table with a tablecloth that reaches to the floor. Sunghoon approaches. He slowly kneels beside it, then peers under the tablecloth.

You take advantage of this and push him to the ground, straddling his hips.

"Jake!" he exclaims in surprise. "What are you doing?”

You put your finger over his mouth. You run it down his chin, down his neck, over his Adam's apple, down and down and down his chest. When your palm strokes his stomach under his shirt, Sunghoon's mouth opens, his head dropping to the carpet. With your free hand, you pull the scarf from your pocket. You stole it from one of the ghost decorations and put it to good use when you blindfold the boy. He looks irresistible like this under you. You take off the mask and kiss his chin.

“We have to find-” You grab his hips. He immediately falls silent.

As you push his shirt up his stomach, he thrusts his hips up. You clasp his wrists, lift them above his head, and pull a magic cuff from your other pocket. You stole this from the torture chamber exhibit. It doesn't open with a key, only with a spell. Sunghoon can entertain himself with it.

You cuff both his hands to the leg of the table. You lean to his ear.

“What were you planning to do with that axe?” you whisper.

Sunghoon stiffens under you, but soon relaxes again.

“I didn't mean to hurt you, just to scare you.”

“You succeeded. I don't want to get you laid either, just to get you horny. Did I succeed as well?” You sit on his groin. Sunghoon moans. “Yeah, it seems so.”

“Please…”

“Don't worry. I'll be back soon. There are only two of you left.”

You climb down and out from under the table. The successful hunt gives you endorphins. You can't wait for the next victim to walk into your trap.

///

You don't have to search for long. As soon as a throwing star whizzes past you, all you have to do is turn around and there's Jay. In his hand, he's twirling the next throwing star. “Give up.”

“No, thank you.”

He throws the next one, which rips your shirt, but doesn't hurt you. You back up to the nearest wall and let him use you as a target. Jay misses again and again. He doesn't want to hurt you, and that's comforting..

“Give up,” he steps in front of you. “Please. We never should have agreed to play this game in the first place.”

You put your arm around his waist and pull him closer to you. “I'm fine.”

“As of now. But you haven't met Heeseung, have you? You didn't see that fire in his eyes.”

“When we meet, I'll defeat him.”

“How?”

"With my mouth," you tell him. You stroke his jugular with the tip of your nose. "I'll beat you with my mouth too."

You lick his skin, then sink your teeth into it, the movement soft and light like a knife in butter. Jay's forehead falls to your shoulder, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't resist. You lean away and smile up at him. His eyes are misty.

"See? Who's the victim and who's the hunter is a matter of opinion. You've got the throwing star, but your neck bleeds because of my teeth. Who's who now?"

“I'm... dizzy.”

“I know.”

You help him slide down the wall and stretch out on the ground. By the time he lands, he's asleep.

You smeared your teeth with a sleeping potion called vampire kisses. You bought it as a joke, you’ve never used it before. You had to go back to the room to get it, but at least you could see that Jake was okay. He summoned himself a console, and he's playing on it in the middle of the pentagram.

You wrap the stolen cloak around Jay's body, then head to finish your hunt for the day.

You plan the finale to be truly spectacular and grandiose.

///

The cursed piano doesn't play alone. Ten fingers rest on its keys and duet with it. The music is somber and dark, deep but inviting. You hope Heeseung, your last killer, your last prey, will come to hear your serenade. You’re playing for him.

You aren't disappointed. He doesn't even try to hide his footsteps, as if he was just waiting to see when you'll reveal yourself to him.

"It's a painful song," he says when you finish. You turn towards him on the bench.

With the light of the candles you have lit for the occasion, his face is half lost in the shadows, but you easily recognise the pocket knife held loosely in his hand.

“Painful, but beautiful. Just like you.”

Heeseung chuckles. “How can I stab you when you’re flirting with me?”

You shrug. “Be creative.”

“Yeah?”

He steps closer. He lifts your chin with the tip of the knife. There's indeed a wildness in his eyes, but Jay misread that. He's not like this because he wants to kill, but because he can give chase. You know it because your gaze would be the same if you looked in the mirror. The happiness of a successful hunt turns Heeseung's face red and makes his eyes sparkle, but he doesn't actually want to hurt you.

One by one, he cuts off your buttons and looks you in the eye. They all fall to the ground and scatter.

“I met Sunghoon on the way here.”

“Did you like the view?”

Heeseung's tongue strokes his fang. – “You're evil. Wicked.”

“I wouldn't say that. I'm rather consistent. They were the ones who made a deal with the devil. These are the consequences.”

“And what do I deserve?”

“I'm thinking about it.” Even though you say that, you already know what you want to do with him. You want him to remember that you defeated him for a long time.

“That means you're not giving up, right?” Heeseung helps you out of your shirt.

“If I remember the rules correctly, the game is over when I beg.”

“Understood.” He sits down next to you on the piano bench and kisses you. You part your lips and brush your tongue against his. Heeseung shudders. Your palm slides to his thigh, and he drops the knife.

Of the four, he is the most hungry for touch. He doesn't like to admit it, hiding behind his smug, cold and mocking mask, but when you’re making out, it's obvious. You lean in close, let him touch you where he wants, and when he can't think of anything but you, you ask him.

“Did I win?”

“You won.”

It's as sweet to hear that from his lips as it is to kiss them. It's as sweet as Jay's blood, the fire from Jake's embarrassment, or even as sweet as Sunghoon's commitment to drag a bard across campus just to scare you. Sweet enough to make your victory complete.

#enhypen x gender neutral reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon x reader #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #enha hyung line #enhypen hyung line x reader #happy halloween #gender neutral y/n #enha hyung line x reader #enhypen x gn reader

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hypothermic-dream · 5 months ago

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She deceived us all. We once called her the Angelic Mother, with her shorn head gleaming like a beacon in our barren world. The drought stretched on endlessly, blurring the lines between years— Centuries, perhaps millennia, bled into one another. The once vibrant ochre paint that adorned our faces had faded, replaced by the dull patina of despair. We, the remnants of the Green People, were mere whispers of who we once were. Time, a concept as withered as our crops, held no meaning in this arid wasteland. Hunger gnawed at our bellies, a relentless beast whispering promises of oblivion in our ears.

Conversations, if any, were guttural groans, the symphony of a dying language. We were marionettes on the strings of starvation, our movements jerky, our eyes hollow caverns. The elders, their skin stretched taut over brittle bones, mumbled incoherently of a time when the sky wept with life-giving rain, a paradise mocking us from the dusty recesses of memory.

The once vibrant colors of our communal life had bled away, replaced by a chilling sense of isolation. The drought had stripped bare not just the land, but the very soul of our tribe. Gone were the days of shared meals and joyous songs. Now, every man, woman, and child was an island, a fortress of gnawing hunger. Trust became a luxury we couldn't afford. Sharing a morsel of dried lizard meat was akin to inviting a viper into your tent.

The nights were worse. Under the cold gaze of a million indifferent stars, our minds played cruel tricks. The shimmering mirages of shimmering oases danced just beyond reach, driving us to the brink of madness. Some swore they saw plump, ripe melons growing in the cracks of the parched earth, only to collapse in despair as the cruel mirage dissolved into dust. Others saw their deceased loved ones, their spectral forms beckoning with ghostly feasts, only to vanish with a heart-wrenching sigh as we reached for them.

Hunger, the great leveler, stripped away all pretense of civility. The bonds of family, once sacrosanct, frayed and snapped. The cries of children, once a source of joy, became a maddening symphony of need, a constant reminder of our dwindling resources. Desperate whispers of a forgotten prophecy surfaced – whispers of a red moon and a sacrifice to appease "the Thing." We, who once scoffed at the superstitions of neighboring tribes, now clung to this sliver of hope like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

Enter the Angelic Mother. She arrived like a wraith, shrouded in black leather that seemed to drink in the ever-present sunlight. Her shaved head, once a beacon of fertility, now gleamed like a skull polished by the desert winds. Her eyes, cold and calculating, held no warmth, no empathy. Her smile, a chilling crescent moon, sent shivers down our spines. Despite the gnawing suspicion that curdled in our bellies, her pronouncements held a strange power.

The queen, a woman with eyes as hollow as our bellies, became a mere pawn in the Mother's game. We were desperate, so desperate that reason itself became a luxury we couldn't afford. The Mother's demands – the desecration of our most sacred traditions, the sacrifice of our ancestors – were met with a mute acquiescence. Hope, a flickering candle in the wind, fueled our compliance.

As the crimson moon, a bleeding wound in the inky sky, painted the parched earth red, a flicker of something akin to hope stirred within us. Gathered on the shore, the once vibrant pulse of the ocean stilled, replaced by a slick, crimson calm that mirrored the blood sacrifice staining the Mother's hands. Her chant, a guttural invocation in a language older than time, echoed across the desolate landscape. It wasn't a prayer. It was a pact, a bargain struck with a power as ancient as the stars.

The ocean churned, waves of blood crashing against the shore. From the depths emerged a monstrosity that defied comprehension. Six spindly legs, each thicker than the mightiest baobab tree of our forgotten past, propelled a gelatinous mass that pulsed with an unholy luminescence. Its eyeless head, a grotesque parody of a starfish, writhed with impossible angles, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that gnashed at the air. An inhuman stench, a cloying amalgam of decay and sulfur, assaulted our senses, threatening to melt our very flesh.

The Mother, her laughter a chorus of rasping echoes that seemed to emanate from every crevice of the world, threw herself willingly into the creature's maw. Panic, primal and raw, seized us. We scattered like frightened insects, but escape was futile. The entity devoured everything in its path, leaving behind only the chilling emptiness of a world devoid of hope.

I never believed in gods. Even now, staring into the abyss that swallowed my tribe, I don't. This… thing… was no deity. Perhaps a devil, a manifestation of our collective despair given form. A single tear, a glistening ember in this wasteland, rolls down my cheek. Does it even matter if I believe anymore? The Green People are gone, their vibrant colors replaced by the crimson stain of a hungry god, or perhaps, a reflection of our own corrupted souls.

The vast, indifferent sky stretches above, a canvas of countless, mocking stars. In this cosmic dance of oblivion, where meaning crumbles to dust and civilizations rise and fall like fleeting breaths, what is the purpose of a single life, a single tribe? Lost and alone, I stand on the precipice of oblivion, a solitary echo in the face of an uncaring universe.

But a chilling memory surfaces, a testament to the true horror of our demise. In the throes of starvation, driven to the brink by the Angelic Mother's maddening pronouncements, the whispers of cannibalism began. At first, it was the weak, the elderly, those who succumbed to hunger's cruel embrace. But the hunger, once awakened, became a ravenous beast with an insatiable appetite. Suspicion turned into accusations, accusations into violence. Families fractured, bonds severed. Brother turned on brother, sister on sister, all for a single, meager scrap of flesh. The stench of roasting human flesh, a macabre incense to a pitiless sky, became a constant companion.

The nights were the worst. The gnawing hunger, fueled by the taste of forbidden flesh, twisted our dreams into grotesque parodies. We feasted on spectral versions of our loved ones, only to awaken to the emptiness of our bellies and the chilling reality. The line between sanity and madness blurred, leaving a chilling emptiness in its wake.

The Angelic Mother, that harbinger of doom, watched with a detached amusement. Her eyes, devoid of any human emotion, gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. Was she a prophet, or a puppet master, a willing servant of the entity that rose from the crimson sea? The answer, like the meaning of our suffering, remains shrouded in the dust of this desolate world.

Now, I am the last. A lone survivor in a graveyard of forgotten dreams. The entity, satiated for now, has retreated to the depths, leaving behind a chilling silence. Do I yearn for death? Perhaps. But a flicker of defiance, a vestige of the Green People's spirit, still burns within me. I will not surrender to despair. I will live, if only to bear witness to the desolation, a living testament to our folly and the cruel indifference of the universe. There may be no redemption, no solace in the afterlife. But I will cling to this life, this solitary existence, a final act of rebellion against the oblivion that awaits.

Painting : “sacrifices” by scott flament

#dark academia #literature #poetry

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im-just-a-boy-guys · 3 months ago

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PRIEST X DEMON SHAPESHIFTING OF DEATH (GAY / MASC CHARACTERS) AMAB MASC READER! PART 1!

HAPPY 1K EVERYONE! TYSM😊 3,300 words

(Sacrilege / Tongue / creature / drugs / violence / blood / gore/ sodomy ) Purple text is info or side notes

green is where the fun starts

and red is still more or less important back story or context but feel free to skip down to the fun!

(Most of the pictures are just what I find inspiration from. :3)

You stand at an altar, blood on your hands as you stare out into a chapel full of gloom and despair. Your people are suffering.

Various people are caring for the sick and wounded, while others are clinging to the corpses or clothing of their deceased loved ones.

Groans and wails of sobbing bounce off the walls, and the sound seeps into your head as you try to find a reasonable solution.

You turn and decide to consult your library. It was your last hope. Your cassock blew behind you as you walked through the vast hallways and corridors.

You could hear screaming outside and the ripping of flesh from bone through the high windows as you passed them, but tried to pay no mind.

You spent hours examining and scanning through books, each one seeming to get deeper and deeper into acult magic. You found a page that depicted a ritual, It was in a language you couldn't quite make out.

Thankfully there were very well-illustrated pictures. The title of the ritual looked like something close to either " Savior demon" or "savage demon" but you weren't quite sure and ready to take the risk. The pictures depicted a few black candles, a dear skull, a heart of some kind, and a hand holding a blade to its wrist/arm area. By the shape of the organ, you could guess that it was a lamb's heart.

You sent one of the hunters out to look for a lamb and to bring it back or if it could not be salvaged, it's heart.

You gathered the rest of the things, and within about 3 hours, your hunger had returned with a dead lamb over his shoulder. You took it gently, thanked the man, and hung the lamb upside down to drain its blood as you carved its heart out.

You gently placed the heart on a platter to the side and once there was a decent amount of blood in the bucket, you dipped your hand in.

It was a very unpleasant sensation, the blood was cold, and the thickness was enough to make you queasy.

You checked the book page and carefully painted the large symbol onto the brick of the back room you'd snuck off to and began laying out the items in accordance with where they should be.

You washed your hands and prepped your arm for the cut you'd have to make. Trying your best to replicate the length of the cut, you allowed the blood to drip down your arm onto the lamb's heart and then the symbol you'd drawn.

You read from the bottom portion of the page, trying to decipher what you could and pronounce it correctly, it took a few tries but after a while, you were finally able to recite the text exactly.

As you spoke you could feel the words start to pour out naturally as if the letters were pulling themselves from your very throat, the power sourced through your veins as you chanted and the flames candles you had set up blew out in a sweeping motion around the symbol you'd drawn.

You held a cloth you'd carried with you to your bleeding arm and did your best to tie it tightly. Though the cut wasn't deep, it was long and painful and had an extremely annoying sting.

You heard ghostly whispers erupt from the darkness around you. Black smoke spun across every inch of the bricks, collecting in a mass directly in front of you.

You felt paralyzed and clutched the cross around your neck, praying for the best. Your heart sounded in your chest as your breath caught in your throat.

As the figure materialized, a dark closed skeletal figure with large fangs stood, staring down at you with empty sockets. It must've towered over you by almost two feet.

It stared at you curiously before speaking, it sounded like another language that you couldn't gauge.

You spoke softly, "I apologize but I can't understand you-"

It reached forward and pressed its skeletal palm to your forehead. The sharp cold of the bone causes you to recoil slightly. You heard a booming voice, now in your language.

"Hello. Is this better?"

The voice seemed just as cold as the bones that had come into contact with your skin. It was low but about a medium pitch. There was a slight grain to the back of the voice as if to be a scratchy noise in the non-existent throat.

You tried to steal your resolve, barely avoiding stuttering, "Yes. I can understand you now."

"Why have you summoned me? What deal do you intend to make?" The entity leaned forward and down toward you as if to make the size difference clear; to remind you of your place.

"I need help."

"That's why most summon me. Please be more specific-",

You could almost feel an eyebrow raise in the voice it used as if this creature was challenging your intelligence.

"Yes, my people are dying. There are these creatures raining corruption upon my village. I fear that everyone in this church is still in danger. I'm not sure what you can offer. Therefore, I'm not entirely sure what to ask for.",

You looked at the being with pleading eyes.

You looked over the creature, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed a thin layer of skin holding the bones together and a tiny shimmer of light in its eyes.

The being studied you. "Do you want safety for your people, defense from the creatures, or safety for yourself? The list goes on."

"I would like all of those things, I suppose, if that's possible. I assume that the defense from the creatures would be helpful, but the stipulations don't guarantee our safety. I would like safety for everyone who's alive and human in my village, me included and possible defense from the creatures."

The entity circled you slowly, floating with its arms behind its back.

" I believe it is within my capabilities. But, what do you have to give?"

"I do not have much. If you have anything to ask of me, I could answer you with a yes or a no."

You felt panicked. You'd assumed this was a deal, but you didn't think you had anything to give that was worthy of all that you'd asked.

"I know you do not intend to fool me. For, I am no fool. I know of your intentions, and they are not of malice, this can change things. I would like your power."

"My power?"

"Yes, dear priest. Your power. You have a say in what the people do. You are the leader and almost the king of this small village. I want your power."

"How-"

"Leave that to me. I will grant you your small wish. By the end of tonight, every living human will be here, safe. Those creatures outside, reaking havock will be dealt with. Tomorrow at sunrise, you will meet me in the graveyard, and we will discuss the terms of our deal properly. Until then, tend to your wounded."

"I'm not sure we have the supplies- but we'll definitely try."

You smiled at the entity,

"What do I call you?"

"Abatu is fitting."

(Ah-bah-tu with a slight 'silent behind T)

"I am Jareth."

Abatu nodded once and disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

As you came to your senses, the candles relit themselves, and you stood. You turned around and there, behind you. There was a pile of medical supplies, not an obnoxious amount, but it was helpful.

Over the passing night, the sounds of the creatures outside subsided and the nuns were able to help bandage and medicate the wounded. Your nurse also helped clean and wrap your arm tightly.

"Thank you, Maridith." You smiled at her gently and bowed your head lightly.

Her cheeks flushed red as you smiled at her, and she looked down at your arm to distract herself.

The night came and went, and you found yourself unable to sleep. You kept thinking about the creature you'd met. It wasn't as scary as you thought it would be.

Abatu was very intriguing, and you wondered about -his?- origins? Abatu sounded masculine, at least.

You found yourself unable to sleep and crept carefully into the sanctuary, deciding to go to the cemetery early.

You weaved between the tired and wounded who lie on pallets on the floor, making your way to the door.

You slipped out into the cold night and looked around, making sure no more creatures were wandering around.

Alas there were none to be seen so you made your way along the bloodied mud path, trying not to dwell on the death that surrounded you. There were no boddies like there were when you had left.

This made you nervous, but your feet carried you absentmindedly to the cemetery as you melted into your own mind.

Once you made it to the dark gated and slipped in, you found a concrete bench and sat to drown in your thoughts, expectations to have to wait a while until sunrise.

A dark figure materialized in front of you as a thick fog rolled across the hallowed ground.

"You are early, Jereth."

You nodded softly. "I couldn't sleep."

"We shall discuss early then. I'm going to need permission to change my features and mannerisms to be exactly like yours. This will help me accomplish something I have planned in the future. However, I will not do anything that will sully or ruin your name."

You thought about this for a moment, with abatu laying out the rules for himself against ruining your reputation; it would make sense to allow this. Especially with what he'd done for you.

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Yes. I'll also need permission to study your anatomy and mannerisms. This will help avoid any slightly off-putting differences that cause people to believe I am not you and cause any uproar."

"Study my anatomy? Meaning-?"

"I'll need to see all of your body to be able to correctly replicate it. Studying your mannerisms, I believe, speaks for itself."

"How would you go about studying my mannerisms? You'd have to follow me around, and people could see you."

"Only you can see me if I wish, dear priest."

You took a breath and pondered. Your cheeks flushed red as you realized he would have to see you naked, but you figured with his tone and the way he failed it out with little to no malicious sounding intent that it wouldn't matter much, but you hadn't been undressed infront of anyone for a long time.

"I suppose I agree to this. Anything else?"

"No, that will be all for now. If I need anything else I shall inform you. I will be taking my leave until tomorrow. Do try to get some rest, Jareth"

You nodded, and Abatu vanished into the darkness. The sun started rising, and a soft blue appeared over the horizon.

You walked absentmindedly to the church, entering the sanctuary and entering your sleeping quarters. you flopped on the bed and undressed down to your undershirt, folding your clothes on the chair.

You climbed into the bed and snuggled under your heavy covers, the day running through your head.

___

You had fallen asleep without really noticing and woke to a slightly uneasy feeling. You pealed your eyes open and looked around the room, finding Abatu at the foot of your bed.

"Good morning, dear priest."

You sat up straight and fumbled for the covers to cover you below the waist. "Hello- I didn't realize you would be here when I awoke. Could you let me get dressed?" "Today is the day I study your body, Jareth. So there is no need to cover yourself for now." Your cheeks burned red hot, and you hesitantly slipped out of bed. Your soft cock hung beneath your undershirt, and the creature studied you curiously. He walked over to you and gently held the fabric of your undershirt. "This too, if you please." You nodded. You slightly regretted agreeing to this, but you couldn't help but fantasize about Abatu now that he was standing so close to you. You felt a pain tugging at your chest. You would be sure to pray after this interaction, for you could feel the lust building. You slipped out of the thin shirt and tossed it to the side. Abatu walked around you slowly. He seemed to be carefully taking in every single ounce of your appearance. You felt his downy fingers slipping across your skin as he traced your muscular outlines and along your spine and shoulder blades. This sent shivers through your body that drew a sharp-toothed smile from the entity. "Your skin is very sensitive, Jareth." "Your hands are cold-" you muttered shakily."Hold your arms out." You did as you were told, your face still burning. His touch was such an odd and new sensation that you could feel the blood running to your once soft cock, now growing in length. You felt increasingly embarrassed, doing your best to avoid covering your face. The creature traced along your lower back with both hands on both sides, then up your sides to your arms, feeling along the muscles in your arms. He felt your hands, lingering along and between your fingers. You couldn't help but grow harder, your length fully erect, your dip aching softly as Abatu gently made his way back around to your front, sliding his cold hands back to your chest and down your midriff. His eyes lingered on your election. "Hm. That has changed since I last looked." You nodded and didn't allow him any explanation. "Why?" "It's just a bodily reaction-" you stammered. "What is it a reaction to?" He seemed genuinely curious. However, you couldn't help but feel that he was teasing you. As you tried to distract your mind you felt your cock twitch, the red on your face stretching to your ears. Abatu took your length into his hand, and it took everything in you not to groan in desperation. Although, you couldn't silence the soft gasp that left your lips. "This part of you is even more sensitive than the rest. Is there a reason?" "It's how humans procreate and reproduce.im not sure if that answers your question." "Possibly, it feels strange." The entity traced his fingers along the veins that ran up and down your length, then up to your tip, and rubbed it softly. You almost collapsed, gasping again and letting out a soft moan. Your tip leaked precum that gently coated Abatu's bony fingers. The mixture of his skin's cold and his touch's softness drove you crazy. "There's something wet coming out. What is it?" "It's- nh~ meant to be- lubrication."

As he touched you, you couldn't help but pause in between every few words, your brain softly churning itself into mush. "Hm. Interesting."

His body gently began to change, first his skin color to match yours. Then, he carefully worked on matching the features of your face. His body worked itself from head to toe to transform itself into you. You looked him over and were astounded. You reached forward to touch him, very gently. You needed to make sure it was real. The creature looked confused but didn't stop you as your hands connected with his skin, and strangled enough, it was still cold. You supposed it wouldn't be easy to change his body heat to match yours but regardless of this, you were in awe. He was still covered in his black closet, which he took off and sat to the side to analyze himself compared to you. You noticed that his or rather, how he saw your cock was hard on him as well. You quietly corrected. "Usually, it looks as you saw before, but this happens when it is touched-" you remembered that it had hardened by itself due to your sinful thoughts and repeated. "Usually." He thought hard and focused, transforming that part of himself to match you when soft. He turned around in a small circle in front of your full body-length mirror in your room. "I think I have managed to match you perfectly." You nodded in agreement. It was so strange to see yourself standing in front of you.

"Alright, Now that I have your form, I'm going to go to my realm and practice the fast-changing process You are free to do as you wish. Once I master your form, I will return to learn of your mannerisms. thank you, and I shall see you another time." With that, Abatu vanished into a cloud of smoke as usual and you let out a sigh of relief, collapsing onto your bed, your cock still throbbing desperately. You were unable to refuse the urge to wrap your hand around your length, spreading the precum along yourself. Groaning lewdly and running a hand through your hair.

you Imagined the creature's hand wrapped around your cock once more, stroking you with purpose as he teased you.

'Why are you so sensitive, My Priest?'

'you're so warm..'

anything you could use to fuel the raging lust erupting from you. you couldn't understand why you felt so attracted to Abatu, his dark mysteriousness, something about him. He was forbidden to you, this was sodomy. you wanted him inside of you, though you hadn't figured out how that would work.

from there your mind worked itself into imagining his shapeshifting abilities. shapeshifting into other horrible demonic creatures, just allowing himself as is to grow something close to a cock with enough length to absolutely destroy you from the inside out.

Abatu watched you from the end of your bed, invisible to your eyes,. He watched you quietly, trying to figure out what exactly you were doing, you had begun to moan, then eventually moaned out his name. You grasped desperately at your neck, squeezing it tightly.

"Abatu!- fuck- Please destroy me- I am yours to use and control!-", everything you called out incoherent to yourself, spewing out of you uncontrollably.

"God forgive me! i Cannot stop! forgive me-", You muttered softly as you felt the orgasm building.

Abatu cocked his head to the side and carefully crept closer to you as he watched your body jerk slightly, now increasingly more curious as to what was about to occur.

"God! I beg- Forgive me! I cannot contain my lust any longer-", your tip ached as your cock throbbed and spewed your warm cum over your chest and stomach, your brain drowning in euphoria for what felt like many minutes at least. your breath caught in your throat as you laid on your bed, trying to grasp for some sense of reality.

The entity's eyes widened slightly as he saw your cum erupt from you, finding himself deeply intrigued. By the dazed smile on your face, it seemed to be something you enjoyed, and you were calling out his name as if to summon him. This must have been something you wanted from him and were too careful to ask for. Abatu had decided that he would try to indulge this for you the next time he was able. He disappeared fully now, back to his realm.

You stood and faltered slightly, almost unable to keep yourself upright. Wobbling into the bathroom area, you gently braced yourself on many objects to hold yourself up. You cleaned yourself off and got dressed, laying your cross over your neck. Making your way into the Sanctuary, you greeted many people, hearing that they were getting better by the day. you shook many hands and gave many blessings before heading over to your bench behind the podium and whispering an apologetic prayer. 'Forgive me father, for I have sinned. Sodomy has overtaken my mind, my thoughts, and even my dreams. Please allow me to redeam myself and send me the strength to repair my faultering loyalty. I have pledged myself unto you and will continue to do your work. In your name, thank you god, and Amen.'

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hawkogurl · 2 months ago

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I barely get to talk about Corpse Harry on places that aren't discord (if you want more him in real time join the discord come talk to me about him) but recently we had a very good discussion of the fact I need to lean into FTDverse Harry effectively being the antichrist more because its so fucking funny

-He cannot enter churches or any similar religious sites. It's not even like, video game out of bounds invisible walls. It's like minecraft slime blocks. He tries to go to MJ's wedding and gets flung halfway across the street

-Similarly, he's repulsed by religious symbols. Peter lets him hold his star of david and it burns into his palm.

-When near anything religious in connotation, his nose will bleed

-He is the first white man with a reason he thinks salt is spicy. He can still eat it, it's just spicy. Confusingly, this means he has a higher normal spice tolerance.

Harry: It's sort of weird, salt is spicier than most habaneros or ghost peppers or whatever Harry: You know how it is Harry: Being white

-Holy water physically burns him

-He can't eat foods traditionally religious in connotation. He tries to eat matzo and the back of his throat just fucking detonates.

-He has Wolfe Glick Milk Curse

-Absolutely has had an Evan Kelmp "A pig's head in a butcher shop told me that god and the devil killed each other" moment. Dead animals regularly tell him things. He has learned to humor them.

-Has no shadow

-Prior to dying his eyes didn't glow, but they were reflective sort of like a cats

-"Man, I wish I could visit my mom's grave more but whenever I try dead people's hands always shoot out of the grave and grab my ankles. Totally normal grave experience that happens to everyone."

-While they're 'dating' MJ drags him into an oddities shot with various animal skulls and taxidermy animals and their heads and the skulls kept turning to face him and all the candles near by immediately went out and the owner freaked out at him and kicked them out

-"Hey dad, someone in a yellow mask on the subway today just handed me their wallet. What do I do?" Followed by Norman thousand yard stare in his direction as he's reminded that he's being spoken to by the physical manifestation of his worst decisions

-Every full moon Norman gets reminded of his faustian stupidity as he walks into his son's bedroom covered in uncomfortably familiar symbols drawn in blood he cannot determine the origin of.

-Harry is absolutely terrible at all science, but he can easily identify most animal skulls and name most pre 18th century alchemical symbols on pure instinct. Peter manages to get him to pass high school chemistry by using alchemy symbols to teach it to him. He doesn't think it's weird, he just thinks Harry is autistic too.

-Harry is frustratingly oblivious to the fact none of this is normal

#harryposting #harry osborn #raimiverse #raimi trilogy #spider man #spiderman #peter parker #parksborn #corpse harry au #norman osborn

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justbelievinginmagic · 7 months ago

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ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 4: the oubliette.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: Stuck alone in the deepest darkest part of the Labyrinth, you are filled with hope as you strike a deal with a familiar face. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, some mild injuries, strong language, faerie lore!!, fear. let me know if there needs to be more tags! word count: 6.3k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

It was dark and dusty far below the Labyrinth.

The Runner couldn’t help but cough out as the dust settled around her like fallen snow. Hands rose to wipe at the grime on her face. Her legs ached from the impact of the fall, and she felt violated from the so-called Helping Hands. Echoes of their prodding and pulling and touching tickled up and down her skin like beetles crawling over her skin. Adjusting her shirt and pants, only did so much to make her feel less like a doll they had been playing with. A shudder racked through her violently.

“It’s not that cold in here,” a familiar voice laughed, low and deep in the darkness.

A gasp escaped Y/N – luckily, not a scream – as she flinched backwards away from the sound.

Instead, the voice let out a yelp of his own, high pitched and mocking.

“So gaspy!” he ridiculed. “It’s just me.”

With a flick of his wrist, he ignited a match to light his face. Dark curls, round face, and familiar big-boba jeweled eyes. It was the fae from outside the Labyrinth! He doesn’t look at her as he shifted to light an old candle in a cracked rock, illuminating the room in its glow.

The candle’s wax has dripped down the rock in rivulets, piling up and up until the rock itself looked like a wax stalactite ; it looks like it’s been there for thousands of years. The room was a small cavern, sparkling with rainbow constellations in the candlelight. The magic remnant she had seen throughout the Labyrinth was here as well, coating the walls with a shimmer and thrumming with power through cracks.

The fae turned to look at her with an unimpressed look. How could this woman fall for such a trick? Ending up all the way down here was disappointing. His brow was furrow in disapproval before it softened as he took in her appearance.

The Labyrinth Runner looked at him with such. . . fondness. Not disgust or anger or other such things he was used to of lately. It was discombobulating to him. His lips pouted into a gentle ‘o’ at the sight.

“You came back for me?” she said softly from her spot on the ground.

No.

No. No. No. Softness isn’t a good thing in this place. It only led to people getting hurt. Him and her.

His eyes hardened once more, the soft jeweled blue and purples of his irises becoming a heavier color in his skull. A necklace on her throat sparkled in the candlelight, catching his attention.

“I came back for that pretty necklace.” He pointed. “Treasure is valued here you know. And it caught my eye when we met before so...”

She couldn’t help the bittersweet smile climb to her lips. Sweeter as she realized he was lying. His voice jumped an octave and his feet shifted. He may argue and complain against it but she could see the falsities in his words.

“You came back for me,” Y/N grinned, rising from her spot on the ground.

“Do you even know where you are?” he countered, hands going to his lean waist.

“The Labyrinth.” She retorted smartly as she dusted off her knees. They were faintly bleeding from the fall, but it was just a few scratches. She flexed her legs and shook the pain away.

His brows crinkled in annoyance. “Not wrong, but you ended up in an oubliette, little lady,” he scoffed. “Why would anyone want to be in an oubliette?”

He looked around the place in disdain. He hadn’t been here in many, many years. He shuddered a bit at the memories before moving closer towards her.

“Oubliette --- oub-li-ette,” she repeated.

Her eyes glanced upwards as she tried to remember what that meant. She sounded it out once more. Surely, she had read that word before—She repeated it again.

“A dungeon!” Jisung snapped, the fine vein in his neck pulsating in annoyance.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so you’re not on any good path, lady,” he shook his head as he made a ‘tutting’ noise deep in his throat. “You’re lucky; I’m here – I can take you to a shortcut.”

“A shortcut?” Y/N queried, intrigued, walking with the curly-haired fae who had turned and began guiding her towards a rock wall, a hand gentle on her mid-back.

“Yes, a shortcut out of the Labyrinth, where you are safe.” He hummed, patting her back once before his hand fell away from her back.

He went about finding the hidden doorway. His fingers pushed at a series of rock inlets before with a heavy scrapping sound, a rock shifted out of the way to reveal the way out.

“Out of the Labyrinth? No, no! I’m doing okay – I’ve made progress.” She argued, taking a step away from the man.

“Sure,” he deadpanned before reaching into his pants’ pocket, “you made it past some challenges but it gets worse from here on out,” he commented, wiping his now-dirtied hands on a handkerchief.

It was a mimicry of class – after all, his clothing was not a thing of extreme beauty. They were old and torn despite the collection of jewels on his belt or the jewelry on his neck and fingers.

It was odd. He was odd.

“The safest thing to do is just… get out of this Labyrinth.” He huffed, glancing around.

“Why do you even care?” she was frustrated with his attitude.

“What?” he retorted, taking a step away.

“You came all this way to help me – were you following me?” she asked.

His eyes widened at the accusation, hands raising in defense.

“Woah, I did not! Just c’mon, let’s get out of here,” he urged, as he took a step into the passageway with his hand outstretched down it.

Taking the few steps to be beside him, she tugged on his arm so he’d face her. “Why are you concerned about me?” she pushed.

“I’m not.” He steadied, jewel-like eyes meeting hers with slash.

He paused, swallowing.

“I mean. . . You’re a nice girl, okay? Scary dungeon. Nice girl. I’m not cruel.”

He seemed genuine. His tone soft and gentle in comparison to the way his eyes were so sharp.

“Nice girl who if she doesn’t complete this Labyrinth will be under the will of the King,” she countered.

“There are worser fates, trust me,” he replied, turning his back to her as he walked through the passageway. “You made the deal; this is the consequences.”

God, it was like he always had a smart response. He was such a brat. He wasn’t helpful; he just wanted his way! Even after coming all this way to help her.

Her head tilted back in exasperation. He leaned against the passage-way’s entryway, crossing his arms and watching her as she hemmed and hawed. One of his hands went to fiddle with the jewels on his waist, big thumb smoothing over a red ruby almost compulsively as if it were a lovey. Like it soothed him.

Her head rolled forward to look at him steadily. He was fiddling with the jewels and eying his own rings on his fingers. He was surprisingly dripping in jewelry she noted.

“You like jewelry? You said you liked my necklace. If you help me solve the Labyrinth, I’ll give you this,” she raised her wrist up to show the charm bracelet she wore.

It was of cheap store-bought ‘gold’ wire and pretty-plastic jewels that glimmered in the candle light. It wasn’t something priceless. None of the jewelry she owned was priceless; most of it was costume jewelry like the slim ring that bore an emerald on her other hand or the necklace around her neck that had a small pearl on it.

“You will…” he hummed, eyes zeroing in on the treasure like a cat on a prey.

“But you have to help me get through the Labyrinth.” She reminded, shaking her wrist lightly as if to get his attention again.

“I—”

“As far as you can get me?” she continued to edit the terms, desperate for some guidance. Each time she made a step forward she felt like she fell twenty feet backwards.

His jewel-like eyes flashed to her with annoyance. Before finally his brows furrowed and his plump bottom lip was bitten between fanged teeth. Almost painfully so.

“Dammit,” he cursed out as he let go of the jewels he was fiddling with to grasp her wrist and look at the bracelet even closer as if he was debating its worth.

The fae looked at it with such intrigue; he had never seen something like it before. The plastic beads looked shimmery and fine and bright unlike some of his unpolished gems. The hanging charms of ‘gold’ metal were interesting too; little cutouts of crowns, four leaf clovers, and her initial? (The craft store in her town only had so many different charms to pick from.)

“I’ll even give it to you now, in good faith – just please, you seem to know the ins and outs of this Labyrinth.” She admitted softly.

His eyes looked like a big cat’s dilating in and out as his gaze slowly rose to look the Runner in the eye.

“What is this?” He fingered the metal charms carefully.

“Uh, I made it – it’s plastic beads and some charms I bought,” she replied.

His teeth bared a bit as he looked back at it, snarling softly, but it wasn’t vicious. It was almost… curious-like. He chomped back down on his plump lower lip.

“You made this. . . “ his voice is almost reverent; his eyes nearly black with how far his pupils had dilated.

“Yeah, if you help me out, I could make you another one – maybe with reds? You like that ruby,” she commented.

His fingers – roughened by the sand of the desert sea – brushed over a plastic bead with intrigue, and something must’ve agreed with him because he beamed.

“Okay!” he exclaimed.

Her own face lit up. “Okay!” she repeated.

The Runner shimmied the bracelet off her wrist and slid it onto the other’s wrist. It strained a bit against his hand, but it fit snugly around his wrist. The fae man let out a purr of sorts deep in his chest as he stared at it. His fingers brushed over the four-leaf clover charm curiously.

“So, the way out?” she encouraged after a moment.

“Oh yeah,” he blinked as he seemingly was brought back into the moment. His cheeks flushed a purple color, matching his jeweled eyes.

“I’ll take you as far as I can, alright?” he promised before his face grew stoney once more. “That’s it. Got it?”

“Got it!”

His hand outstretched to the side, down a darkened hallway.

“Shall we, Y/N?”

The dungeons seemed to be a labyrinth of their own. They had been twisting and turning through corridors for ages. They’d pause every so often as the fae man examined their path before turning towards something obsolete like a wall or a rock or a hanging torch, only to be able to push it open or press the rock inwards or pull the torch to reveal a different pathway.

It was like he had been down here before. Why? He was so interesting this stranger.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked out after a few quiet moments.

“Huh?” he muttered, head turning to look at her. Almost startled.

“Your name? You know mine – I don’t know yours, I think,” she commented. “We’re a team now; its only right I know what to call you.”

His lips pursed as he blinked a few times. Perhaps all that time in the desert sea had really messed with his head. Why were his eyes burning from a simple question?

“You can call me Han; everyone does,” he replied, cooly, his voice aching.

He cleared it as he pointed towards the next hallway they’d take.

“Han, it’s nice to meet you,” Y/N greeted as they walked along.

He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and gooseflesh on his arms. He scratched the back of his ear, fingers itching at sharp scales that rested there before pushing his wild curls away from his face and behind his ears. He hadn’t heard someone say his chosen name in so long.

Rounding a corner, his hands rose preemptively to cover his ears as a loud --

“GO BACK!” A crowing voice boomed out.

Y/N shuddered, hands raising to her ears. Too late. She stumbled into Han’s back as he stopped in his tracks.

“Shut it!” Han rolled his eyes as he called back, hands lowering.

“Oh, do I have to? I haven’t said it in so long,” the crow-like voice chattered, his tone sad at the immediate rejection.

“We’re just passing through,” Han replied. “No need for the theatrics.”

“I love the theatrics,” a female voice cooed out, as if soothing the crow-like voice.

“It’s my only job, Han, please,” the booming voice called out, pleadingly.

Han rolled his eyes before pausing and tugging the Runner over with rough hands. She was no longer following behind him but in front of him. She yelped out at the rough treatment before Han raised his hands to cover the Runner’s ears this time.

“Alright, do as you please, Jasper,” he allowed, his shoulders raising to his ears in preparation.

Despite Han’s hands covering her ears, the loud booming voices were still audible, just muffled.

“Oh, thank you Han!” the voice crowed loudly before there were a shuddering.

The floor shook and dust scattered about them as a large statue seemed to wiggle around and face the pair. The statue was large, cylindrical, and tall as a house with a large ancient face on its front. Despite being able to move, its face was stagnant, permanently fixed into a scary looking scowl.

“GO BACK! BEWARE!” the voice – Jasper – started once more, loud and proud as he monologued with the dramatics of a teenager in a theatre class (weird emphasis of words, awkward pauses, and all). “This is not the way. Nothing but doooOoOom awaits you! This is your only warning, travelers! If you go forward, there will be dire consequences. Soon, it’ll be too late.”

“Good job, honey,” that female voice pealed in proudly.

That’s when Y/N could see another rock in the darkness, almost as tall but with a feminine face to the rockwork. It too was grimacing.

“Thanks, Opal.”

“Thank you, Jasper and Opal” Han said monotonously, as he moved along, tugging the Runner along like a child. “Very convincing, but I know the way.”

“Yes, yes, still, it’s good practice! Oh, do you think I’ll get a promotion?” Jasper chattered on, making the floor tremble with his voice.

“You’ll have to with your dedication!” Opal’s voice loudly chimed as the non-rock pair escaped that chamber.

Han removed his hands for Y/N’s ears and sighed out. His sigh was annoyed, but at the same time fond. A wide grin on his face as he glanced back at the previous corridor. Y/N couldn’t help but raise a brow at it.

“What? They’ve been stuck down here at rock bottom for years; great couple! Wonderful singers!” he commented as they continued past them. “Jasper was given alarm duty a few years back, and he’s very passionate. Little does he know he’s calling out false alarms, not real alarms.” Han snickered.

“Are they rocks?” the Runner finally asked.

“Are they rocks?” he retorted offendedly. “No, rocks can’t talk, Runner. They’re trolls.” It was spoken like she was stupid.

“Trolls look like that?” Y/N retorted with wide eyes. She thought they’d be more… mobile. More troll-like. Humanistic at the very least from the stories of them claiming bridges and all.

“Not all of them; those two were caught in the sunlight long ago. Poor fools are cursed.” That barely answered her question, but Han was leading the way once more and Y/N had to jog to catch up.

“Don’t listen to their spiel; I know the way in and out of here. That’s all smoke and mirrors,” he continued with an offhanded wave. “We’ll be half-way to the Castle in no time.”

That made her smile.

“Thank you again.” She praised.

“Don’t be thanking me yet,” he scolded. “There are some challenges ahead, trust you me.”

He began to fiddle with the jewels on his waist once more, before slowly switching to the newly acquired bracelet. His thumb rolled the plastic beads gently.

Suddenly, a round glass bauble hit her foot. Not enough to hurt, almost like a nudge as she glanced down. It didn’t stop rolling after nudging her foot, in fact, as if it had a mind of its own, it rolled backwards before rolling beside her. Keeping her pace as if following her.

Squinting down at the thing, it paused as she paused in her step.

“Huh?” she murmured watching as it crept along as she took a step forward. Like it was playing with her.

Taking a step backwards, the orb rolled backwards, too. It made her brows crinkle in curiosity.

“What are you up to?” she asked softly, before the bauble jumped up and down. “Oh!”

The bauble began to roll ahead of her, urging her to follow. Intrigued, she followed it, brushing past Han as she followed the glowing bauble.

“Woah,” Han stumbled before his eyes widened at the sight before him. “Y/N, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he tried to warn as he chased after her.

A hand reaching out to grasp the edge of her white billowy blouse but missing it as they stumbled into a different part of the dungeons. They had already come to the bauble’s end. It had hopped magically into a hat placed on the ground – a few spare coins of odd shapes and symbols resting beside the magical bubble. A wrinkled hand reached out to grasp it and pocket it.

“What do we have here?” a scratchy old voice croaked.

The beggar was sat in the tunnels. Despite the large worn tri-cornered hat on their head shadowing them, Y/N could tell it was someone who hadn’t left these dark tunnels in a long time. Their layered upon layered drapery and cloaks were heady with dust and the odd smell of honeyed-flowers.

Y/N was about to crouch down to reply when Han grabbed her hand and tugged her back.

“Nothing,” he chimed out.

“Nothing?” The old beggar retorted; the voice scratchy as if it had gone decades with no use.

“Nothing, hmmm.” It repeated, swirling with a different tone – some deeper and masculine.

Before in a whirl of magic and lingering sparkling dust, the beggar stood to reveal. . . the Goblin King. With stormy dark eyes, blonde waves, a dark leathered long-jacket. Y/N knew him from anywhere. His lips pulled back into a scowl, more annoyed than angry.

“Nothing?” he chuckled his voice deep and disapproving as he rose to his full height. “Doesn’t seem like nothing to me, Han.”

“Jinn--Your Majesty,” Han swallowed out. “What a nice surprise.”

“It has been quite a while, Han,” Hyunjin smiled, dark eyes cold.

Y/N noticed how Han trembled as he cowarded into the wall, hands pressed against the dirtied, dusty cobblestone.

“Now, Jisung,” the King’s tone was condescending with every breath as he took in Han’s posture. Trembling. Oh, how he adored it. “Can it be that you’re helping this girl?”

“H-Helping?!” he stuttered out, his face morphing into disbelief. Scrunching up as he shook his head. “In what sense?”

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened like a roiling thunderstorm. His face steadied into a statuesque mimicry of a Greek god, hateful eyes on a pretty face.

“In the sense,” he sneered out, “that you’re leading her towards the castle.”

Han’s – or Jisung’s - palms pressed further into the cobblestone wall, stomach dropping as the King stalked towards him. Hyunjin had always been taller than Jisung was, and once upon a time it hadn’t been a source of intimidation.

“No, no,” Jisung babbled. “I was taking her back to the beginning, your Majesty!”

“What?!” Y/N scoffed, eyes falling into slits.

Jisung didn’t even look at her and instead smiled at a not-so-easily-swayed Hyunjin.

“I told her I was going to help her solve the Labyrinth,” he explained to the King, crooked smile charming as he curled his hands into fists against the cobblestone. “A little trickery on my part,” he added, glancing away from Hyunjin with a raise of his brow.

“You are quite good with trickery,” Hyunjin commented, words painted in salaciousness.

Jisung’s hand shot up to rub at his neck, scratching at the sharp scale-shards jutting out of his skin. Hyunjin grasped his wrist with a suddenness. Jisung yelped, the sound high-pitched and frightened.

“Now, now,” Hyunjin tutted, bringing the goblin-man’s wrist into view of them both. Y/N watched on, sucking on her teeth. They were looking at the bracelet she had given Jisung. The plastic charms clinked.

“What. Is. This?” the words were said, drawn out.

Jisung’s ears were purple-blushed as he swallowed.

“O-o-oh, this?” he exclaimed. “Oh hells – where did this come from?”

His other hand plucked at the charms, judgingly this time around rather than reverently.

“Jisung,” the King drawled, neck rolling a bit in annoyance. “If I thought for one moment you were betraying me – again -- I’d be forced to plunge you headfirst into the Bog of Eternal Stench. I can be lenient but once.”

Jisung’s face paled.

“Hyunjin—your-your Majesty, surely, you don’t mean tha—anything but that, please!”

His knees trembled as he grasped onto Hyunjin’s arm. With a flick of his arm, Hyunjin let go of the other’s wrist - as if disgusted. Jisung was thrown against the cobblestone wall pathetically.

“Oh yes, my dear Jisung,” the King hissed out before he turned his gaze onto the human of the Labyrinth. “And you –“ he took a step towards her, smiling with sharpened fangs.

“How are you liking my labyrinth?” Hyunjin queried, leaning in closer, almost cornering her to a wall.

The Labyrinth-Runner was magnetic. Perhaps it was her iron-blood that drew him in closer. Temptation to him, challenging him. This was exciting compared to the life he has led the past few hundred years. His fingers tingled; he wished to feel her rosy cheeks beneath his fingertips. His victory would taste as sweet as he thought the apples of her cheeks would taste.

The Goblin King stared with his storm-dark eyes as she stumbled to find her words.

“It’s a piece of cake,” she lied, head held high.

He had been watching her, and it had been anything but that for her.

Oh, dear one. If only he wasn’t cruel.

But he was.

“Cake?” Hyunjin repeated, brows pursing into a beautiful pout of mock-confusion. He was so beautiful. “Really, my darling?”

There was a groan from Jisung as he dragged his hands through his curly hair and down his face. He knew Hyunjin. He knew what he was going to do.

“Bad cake!” Jisung tried to counter. “Poisoned cake!”

“How about we up the stakes then?” Hyunjin whispered to her, ignoring the pleas behind him.

From nowhere, a grand clock – the grand clock of the Underground - was there, golden and tick-tick-ticking. Until Hyunjin’s finger twirled and it whirled into action. An hour passed. . . then two.

Her thirteen hours – she had used only 4 hours of her time. Now, she was 6 hours in.

“That’s not fair,” she exclaimed, eyes wide in anger.

Hyunjin tutted, eyes rolling before resting on her with a stony look.

“You say that so often,” he hummed.

Leaning closer, he pushed her hair behind her shoulder, enjoying the feel across his skin. His eyes gleamed with a coldness before his hand went to cup her chin with gentility. His skin against hers burned and he grinned with fangs.

“I wonder what your basis for comparison is, hm.” Hyunjin whispered, cold and stern.

The Runner shook her head to free herself from his grasp which he easily allowed as he walked past her. Edging into the darkness of the tunnels.

His foot-steps echoed in the darkness as he walked away from them. Jisung was looking around frantically while the Runner kept the King in her eyesight. The King sighed out, a solemn sigh as if disappointed.

“So, my Labyrinth’s a piece of cake, is it? Let’s see how you like this little slice, Runner.”

With a twirl of his hands, another one of his bubbles appeared delicately in his hands before with vigor he threw it into the darkness. His smile looked radioactive, too bright in the darkness before he faded away with a cold rush of air towards Jisung and Y/N. There were the chimes of bells at his disappearance again.

A pregnant silence filled the hallway. A silence that felt heavy over their heads as Jisung swallowed audibly. Then there was a loud clanking sound, something whirling to life. Mechanical and creaking. It grew louder and louder until it was deafening. That’s when she saw it in the dim firelight of the hallway. It was a large mechanical corkscrew, spinning faster and faster as it approached. Sharpened with dangerous blades.

“We got to go.” Jisung yelled over the sound, and that was enough to take her out of her horror.

His hand grasped at hers as he tugged her along. They ran and ran, dodging forgotten skeletons and broken cobblestones.

��Watch out!” He screeched as he hoped over a large twisting tree root in the middle of the path.

Looking back, she saw the machine only getting closer and closer with no escape in sight in front of them.

“It’s getting closer,” Y/N cried out as she too hopped over the tree root.

“This way, this way, this way,” Jisung chanted as he finally stopped running to face a wall with a grand cobweb decorated in magic dust. He shoved at it with both palms. It didn’t move.

“Han! We have to keep going!”

“Help me!” he yelled out over the mechanical noises as he continued to shove and shove with all his might.

Seeing the machine creep closer and closer she had no choice but to help (she wouldn’t leave him to die!), so she helped in pushing against the wall. The wall was strong despite the give it did finally did breath upon them. It bent and bent with every push before finally – boom!

It caved in and the pair fell through the false wall onto the floor. Quickly, Jisung pulled himself into the room, curling his feet under him. Y/N squirmed as she too tried to get away from the main path. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer, her feet finally coming into the safety of the new room they found. They huddled together as their potential near-death experience pass with a chugging steam-powered hiss. The mech bolted past. Its corkscrew mechanism covered in debris of cobwebs and grit as it passed by noisily.

It was a moment before either of them let out the breath they were holding. Her fingers unwound from his vest, head dropping a bit as she took a deep breath in. His hands fell from her waist as he shifted away.

“What was that?” she panted.

“That was the dungeons’ cleaner,” he breathed out, dragging a hand through his curls only to feel the clinging spiderwebs to his skin and shudder.

“Ew.”

Cleaners. . . what the fuck? Her head rested on her knees for a moment as she waited for her heart to calm down. Wiping dust from her face, she couldn’t believe she was almost skewered that easily.

The King was a cheat. Her brain processed what had just happened and with a curl of her lips she turned to look at the fae man she thought was helping her.

“I thought fae couldn’t lie,” she yelled, spitting some dust out of her mouth unlady-like. “Mr ‘I was taking her back to the beginning’.”

Jisung snorted, the sound muffling in his nose like soot in a chimney.

“Not a high fae, so technically not under the power of truth,” he shrugged. “I just live under their rules.”

His hand rose to pick at the spiderwebs and dust clinging to his curls. An annoyed pout came to his lips as he continued to primp and polish at his appearance.

What a peculiar man – dresses like a peasant yet talks and acts like a spoiled prince. His attitude made her want to shake sense into him. He huffed as his eyes finally flicker over to the Runner, sitting on the ground. Dust and cobwebs clung to her hair and clothes, making her look ghastly.

“You’re a liar,” Y/N proclaimed staring at him. “You cheat and play games.”

“I’ve got no pride,” he sighed as if it was something stolen from him. “Life’s not fair, Runner; the Labyrinth certainly won’t be.”

“When people are cruel, life is, too,” she retorted back, her back pressing against uneven cobblestone of this new room “How can I trust you, Han?”

Her eyes settled on him, the flickering flamelight of the pathway they had escaped from lighting up his features. He looked hopeless as he shut his jewel like eyes.

“What choice do you got?” he huffed out.

“I don’t know – it’d be nice to know something for certain in this goddamned Labyrinth,” the Runner huffed, hands going to swipe at her spiderwebbed, dirt covered arms at the same time before plopping her head back against the wall. Frustrated all over again.

Han glanced over at her again, finally clear of any cobwebs or dust in his hair. She looked… sad. Hurt. He had done that. He knew he did. Why did it hurt to see? Swallowing, he shifted to face her, crouching back onto his heels.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Want to know something for certain, Y/N?”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a nod.

“I am a coward.” He said simply. “And Hyunjin scares me. I’d say anything to avoid his wrath and especially the Bog of Eternal Stench.” He shuddered.

“What – does it just smell bad?” Y/N wondered.

He snorted, shaking his head as he rose from his squat. “That’s just the beginning. That place is where the truly Banished go. They are cursed to be away from all others – and the Bog helps with that. It smells like rotten fish guts and creature dung, and, if you get one drop on you, you smell forever. There’s little to hunt, little to see, and little to do except rot.”

“Okay, that’s pretty bad,” she murmured.

“Yep,” he replied. “That’s why we are going to have to be even more careful. No more running off, got it?”

Her brows crinkled. “You’re helping me still?”

“Hey, we have a deal, right? As far as I can, I’m helping you,” he retorted, a hand reaching out to help her up.

She took it and was hoisted up to standing. Looking around the blocked out extra room, there was little hidden away. Some old creatures’ skeletons. A lot of dust. A pile of coins in the corner of the room. And, conveniently, a rickety old ladder leading far, far above them. Han smiled at it, moving to wobble it with a hand. It shook and trembled but didn’t crack… yet.

“And luckily for you, here is a way out of the dungeons. Not the one I’d like but it’ll do,” Han shrugged before hoisting himself up onto it. “C’mon, Runner, let’s get climbing.”

With gritted teeth, she reached out to grab the ladder and follow behind Han, getting dust sprites showering over her with every step up. Some pinched her nose.

Y/N couldn’t help but realize a few things. That Han, or Jisung, had lied about his name, or at the very least, given her a nickname. That he lied to the King in fear. That he isn’t a fae, at least, not like the King. And that she had a name for the King now – Hyunjin. A pretty name for a cruel king.

Hyunjin really had just tried to kill her and Han. If they hadn’t found a way out of that passageway, what would’ve happened?

If she died, he still had claim over her according to their deal. Was that an attempt in cheating? Maybe she was making good progress if he was scared.

(He hadn’t looked scared. No, quite the opposite. He looked comfortable around her while annoyed and angered around Han.)

They continued to climb upwards into the darkness until it grew lighter and lighter. There was a pause in their climb as Han pushed the door covering their exit out of the way, letting light pour into the small space.

“Hells,” she heard him mutter out as he pulled himself out of the dungeons and onto the edge of the exit. He towered high above her, as he looked out.

No hand was extended for as she popped her head out of the exit. The air felt less dusty up here, and looking up she noticed they were indeed somewhere far away from where they had been before.

“Well, it looks like we are at least somewhere else,” she sighed, glancing around.

No longer were the pathways lined by cobblestone walls and partitions. Now, the maze surrounding them was made of healthy green hedges. She could see some odd creature topiaries lining the hedges, peering down at the path below as if they were ants. There were flowers blooming here and there in bright technicolor hues. Some paths were pooling with stagnant water; and others dry with sand dusting the paths.

The sky above them was no longer a cavern ceiling. No, it was falsely lit with a painted sky dome and false sunshine shining from two large mirrors. It made the air hot as if they were outside on a nice summer’s day and her skin warm immediately. Her eyes burned white from how bright it was. It hadn’t been this bright down here yet.

“We’re in the Gardens,” Han huffed as he jumped down from their exit point, a large plant pot she realized.

Hoisting herself up and out of the plant pot was some trouble but as soon as she was away for it, the lid plopped shut. The lid being a soil patch with grand flowers curling up and out of it. They looked a bit like tulips, if tulips had sharp thorns around their petals.

This world was really something different.

“Alright!” she heard Han call out.

Her head swung around to find him, walking off. “this is as far as I can go,” Han claimed, attempting to walk away.

WHAT?

“Hey!” The Runner reached out to grab the back of his vest and he let out a cry, almost a roar of a cry.

He wriggled in her grasp like a worm on a hook.

“Let me go, hey,” he whined as he managed to pull himself from her awkward grasp.

“Where are you going?” she cried out.

“I told you! As far as I can go!” Jisung complained.

“This can’t be as far as you can go,” she exclaimed.

He crossed his arms. “Not my fault, you didn’t put better diameters. It’s up to me how far I want to go,” he argued.

With a grimace of her lips, she crossed her own arms, a mirror of him.

“That’s not fair.”

“We’ve had this argument before, Y/N.” He sneered.

He rolled his eyes, and before he could react, her gaze flickered to the fine jewels dangling on his waist and the Runner rushed forward and stole his treasures. The jewels clinked and clacked as they were swung through the air. His eyes widened.

“Hey!” Han exclaimed reaching out for the shiny objects as she danced away from him.

“Uh, uh, uh!” she tutted now, chin raised defiantly. The runner held the jewels far from the grumbling Han. “I’ll give them back – after we make some progress.”

“That’s not fair, Y/N! You know that it isn’t!” he pouted, reaching for the treasures once more.

She blocked him, her hand pushing at his face as he reached and grabbed like a toddler for their toys.

“We’ve had this argument before, Hannie.” She mimicked, blocking him.

Raising one jewel – that looked like a giant diamond polished smooth and tangling from a rope – she peered through it like a telescope. The world zoomed in dramatically. She could see the paint strokes making up the fake sky above them. There were large columns far off and through them she could see the dunes of the Labyrinth in the distance, the rolling endless corridors of the Labyrinth, the gaping maws in the cavern sky of the Underground. Turning around, she could see the endless false sky, candlelight glowing from within it in a mimicry of sunshine, and then, finally, the castle far in the distance.

It looked further than ever.

She didn’t even question how she hadn’t seen this portion of the Labyrinth from the outside; nothing seemed to matter here. No rhyme or reason. It was simply the Labyrinth’s will.

“There it is – the castle.” She hummed contentedly. “Lead the way, Han!”

Y/N lowered the jewel, dodging Jisung’s newest attempt to grab it once more. He stumbled into a nearby column with a groan.

“This isn’t fair,” he grounded out in a grumble.

Y/N smirked triumphantly. “No, it isn’t!” A pause as she felt her smile fade away. “But that’s the way it is,” she added.

Life wasn’t fair. This situation wasn’t fair. Yet. . . that wouldn’t change anything. Fair, unfair, life, death. It wasn’t something that was swayable. Jisung’s grumbles pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Fine.” He huffed, hands going to adjust his clothes once more. Looking around, he sighed before gesturing towards a path.

“Onwards we go, Runner.”

#skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung x reader #hyunjin imagines #jisung imagines #skz fantasy au #written by haley

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