#demon!AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

girl8890 · 2 years

Text

JK | Virgin Sacrifice

⭐️ Currently #1 Post On My AC ⭐️

word count: 7.7k

Summary: Since the day you were born, your parents prepared you for your sacrifice. The whole village knew, and with that everyone stayed away from you. Thinking even just looking at you would make the demon in waiting mad. The demon that has been praying on you since birth, but not for what you expected.

Paring: Demon!Jungkook x Virgin!Reader.

Genre: demon!au, virgin sacrifice, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Warnings: neglectful parents, grooming, minor character death, jealousy, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, big dick!jk, marking, biting, rough sex, one-sided love, stalking, murder, blood

A/N: In the spirit of Halloween coming up, I’ve written this story. By that I mean the scenario has been in my head for months and I finally decided to write it out. It’s different than what I usually write, but I really like the scenario of demon JK being in love with the person he’s meant to eat. I know I’m weird, but I guess it’s better than being normal and boring. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic. Comment below if you want or message me through the request/ask button. I love to stay connected with you guys, and I’m sorry I haven’t been heavily active a lot lately. i’ve just been really busy with work, school, as well as an internship. I’m trying to be more active. Okay… I’ll stop talking now… Enjoy the fic! 😊

。・°°・°°・。。・°°・°°・。。・°°・°°・。

You always dreaded turning eighteen. You always dreaded turning the age that meant your death.

It was on the day of your birth that you were chosen. Chosen to be your village's sacrifice to the demon that stalked your town for decades before you were born. He came in a puff of smoke and chose you. Saying you were the next human he would take, so your village would stay unharmed for another hundred years. You never saw the demon, and even if you did at the time, you were only an hour old, so how would you remember it if you did? But the whole village saw him. Heard him cast you as the next sacrifice for their prosperity.

You've been told since day one what you need to do and how you could ready yourself for him. Not understanding half of the measures, but also never getting answers. Your parents always treated you neutrally in the family since they knew what would happen to you one day and not really caring what you did with your life because of it.

Well... they did care about one thing.

You had to stay a virgin.

This was a request from the demon himself, but it was never asked from him before. You were the first.

The sacrifices were always female and cast when the girl was born, but making sure you were a virgin was a first. And this first was also promised by the demon to be his last casting.

You will be the last sacrifice ever taken from your village if you stayed a virgin until the day of your reaping. And you did stay a virgin, although no one in your town gave you a choice on the matter.

Everyone knew who you were because of the demons declaring, so no one pursued you. You were close to defying the rule one day when some travelers came into the village. They didn't know who you were or who you were meant to be. One traveler took your first kiss. You would have let him take more because you were always angry at age sixteen. Always mad at knowing you will one day die, and you'll never be able to enjoy the act of lovemaking.

So, you were going to let him do whatever he wanted to you out of spite, but the second his touches became more intimate. Just when his hands caressed the sides of your breasts. His eyes, once as blue as the sky, turned as black as night, and he ripped himself away from you like you were on fire and left you there bewildered.

He died the next day. Suicide they say. Jumping off a cliff into the pile of jagged rocks, they say. Killed by getting stabbed by a sharp rock into the stomach at the bottom of a trench.

You didn't see the massacre, but you didn't need to. You could smell the blood from a mile, and that's how you knew his body was not just simply stabbed, and there was no way it was suicide. You saw it in his eyes that night. He was murdered.

Since then, you knew you were being watched. Not just by the people in the village, or your parents, but by the demon himself. You weren't sure why he cared so much that you stayed a virgin, or why he looked after you the way he did, but it angered you for a long time. It angered you until your seventeenth birthday. One year before your death.

You would think at least your parents would cry at the fact that you were dying soon, but just like yourself they groomed themselves to accept your fate. The fate that you will die by the hands of a demon in one years time.

And that years time... was today.

The exact date you were born, on the exact time you were born, they prepared you. Prepared you to look your best for your death. Garnishing you with flowers in your hair with braids, and making you wear white to signify your still standing purity. It was a simple white wrapping of fabric, but there was nothing underneath. Making everything easy for the demon to access for when he decides to eat every last bit of you.

You didn’t cry. You cried too much over the years to not have to on the actual day. Even while the priest prayed over you, rubbing holy water on your forehead, telling you to have safe travels to heaven after your death, you still didn't cry. Even when two men in all black strapped your arms and legs to a stone alter, making you all spread out and be in the position of an ‘X,’ not a single pass of tears crossed your eyes.

You were completely done with it all, and were opening your arms to death. At least your village would be safe for eternity now, you told yourself. At least another girl wouldn't need to go through this in the future, you told yourself. Anything to ensure that this will all end up okay... for everyone else but you.

It wasn't until a whole hour had passed that you knew the demon was in the same room as you. There was no one left in the alter room besides you, and the only light you had was from a few candles left on the floor surrounding the alter. You only knew he was there by the smell.

It was a smell you have never smelt before. You couldn't even describe it if you were asked, but it was almost other worldly. Like a smell that was only made in his dimension, and no mortal would ever be able to copy it. But, in a way, it was comforting. Everything reminded you of death in this room, so the one outlying thing gave you this comfort. You grasped onto that comfort, and continued to stare up at the ceiling. Not caring enough to look for the demon who's about to devour you whole.

Your suspicions of him being there were confirmed, when he spoke.

“What a lovely set up. You mortals really outdone yourselves this year.” The demon then chuckled at his own comment, and you felt your heart stutter. You’ve never heard such an enchanting voice in all your life, and it almost had you turning your head in search to find out who owned that enchanting voice, but you stayed still. Only twitching when the bindings around your arms began to itch.

“It’s all for you, mighty demon,” You said simply. You were couched early on how to act, and what was okay to say to the demon. Saying anything course to him would just invoke a painful death, so you followed the instructions from the town folk that you thought knew the most information about this ritual.

The demon laughed this time. You raised an eyebrow, confused on what you could have said that made him laugh, but finding your ears perk at the sound too. Everything about this demon so far was pulling at your senses, but your eyes stayed trained on the ceiling.

“All mighty demon, you say? Funny thing to call me especially since you believe I'm here to eat you up.”

His last three words made you shiver, and you tighten your arms on your retrains, holding onto the tattered rope. You can tell he’s getting closer to you by the distance of his voice echoing around the room, and you're not sure what to do with that information.

“But that is what you are, and what you will do. I-… I have accepted that, and I'm happy to be your sacrifice.”

All of sudden, a gust of wind was felt. Making your stray hairs not in the braids move, and your skin crawl with goosebumps.

“Lies,” The demon hisses close to your ear.

This time, you can’t help it. Your defense mechanisms kick in, and your bindings hurt as you pull at them, but once you turn to face the demon—you freeze.

Your not sure what you were expecting. Never seeing a demon before has rendered you speechless because out of all the things you expected him to look like, you weren’t expecting that. You weren’t expecting him to look like the most handsome man you’ve ever set your eyes on.

His once static expression turns into a smirk like he can read your thoughts, and knows that you’re thinking about him right now. You feel a soft hand caress your cheek, and twitch at the cold contact. Not expecting his skin to be soft either.

“My dear, you can’t still think after all this time that I’m here to eat you, do you?”

Your eyes go wide at this. Not understanding what else he could possibly want from you besides eating you. You’ve been prepared for it. You’ve finally accepted - although still not completely - that your death was going to be by this demon. What else could he possible want besides-

Your thoughts are cut short when you watch his eyes cast down your body. He bites his bottom lip and suddenly the cold hand on your cheek turns warm. It slowly moves down your cheek, across your jaw, and settling on your collarbone. Mapping out your features.

No… fricken… way.

“Yes, way.”

“What?” You blink up at him. Not only has all your worries been flipped upside down, making everything you’ve learned being completely unless, but he just read your-

“Yes, I can read your mind. How do you think I knew you didn’t accept this whole ordeal?” He waves his hand around like the prospect of eating or… making love to you, was such an easy one. “Did you really think I just wanted you to stay a virgin for the fun of it?”

You blink a few times, take a moment to process his words, then shout out, “Yes!”

The demon starts to cackle like a hyena. Like you thinking anything other then his cruelty was a joke. But he is cruel.

“Such a cruel devil,” You say without thinking, and instantly regret it. His laughter ceases altogether, and his smile completely falls. The eyes that once made you think the world was full of became black as night. His hand traveled up your trembling skin until it wrapped around your neck, applying slight pressure to your throat.

“First off, sweetheart. Names Jungkook. Not demon, not devil, Jung-fucking-kook.” His breathe fans your face as he talks. The demon now known as Jungkook is so close to you that he can probably see your hairs standing on end. “Secondly, your lucky I choose you instead of some other cunt with a death wish.”

Your once fearful state turns back into confusion. Jungkook backs away from your face, hand still wrapped around your throat, staring down at your defenseless form and making your squirm.

“W-what do you mean lucky?”

It’s a understandable question. In which way did any of this render you lucky? Your whole life you thought you were going to killed by a demon, and never able to enjoy any part of life including intimacy with others. Now, you were told you’re going to lose your virginity to a fucking demon that’s probably eaten girls like you for breakfast.

Yeah… no luck here.

Jungkook bites the corner of his lip, thinking over your question, but he decides to ignore it altogether. “Enough talking.”

Well, fuck me!

“I will soon,” Jungkook says, reading your mind, with a smirk. You gasp, surprised by his vulgar words.

His eyes linger running down your body again. Him licking his lips like your the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. He lifts his hand, going to touch you, and you struggle in your retrains.

“D-don’t touch me!” You say, but your words fall on deaf ears. All Jungkook does is squint at you, and continue to smirk. He slowly places his hand on your stomach over the white cloth you’ve been dressed in. The cloth you originally - and was planned - to be so he could eat you with no barer, but now there’s no barer for other things.

His hand slowly travels up your stomach to the valley of your breasts. You feel your face heat up when he brushes the sides of one of your breasts. He glances at your eyes one more time before gliding his singular finger around your breasts like he’s mapping out an infinity symbol. Teasing at what he’s going to do.

“P-please… don’t.” Even as you say those words, you don’t believe your own plead. This whole day has been about the complete opposite of what you want. The complete opposite of what you’ve wanted out of your life.

In all honestly, your done with trying for anything. He’s also a very beautiful being. Would it be the worse thing to just… let him? Maybe he’ll even let you live after. Even if, you would have let the traveler do anything he wanted to you. Why not let the person you’ve been preparing for to do the same?

His hand pauses on your sternum, his eye’s flash even darker than before, and his smirk becomes sharper. “Thinking about your last conquest, are you? How you almost let some vile man fuck you out of spite?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel his other hand travel up your leg. You start to struggle again, but not as much as before. Only moving because the feel of his hand on your knee surprised you.

Then it dawns on you that you were right. He knew about the man you gave your first kiss to. A guy that you barely even remember, but was significant enough in your life to remember what happened to him.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Jungkook doesn’t need clarification on what you mean. Of course, he was there. You knew he was, but you just wanted to hear the demon say it himself.

“If you only heard his thoughts about you that day, you would be thanking me instead of giving me that death look. You should actually be thanking me.”

In no way were you going to thank him. Instead, you set your jaw tight and once again yell, with more urgency this time, “Don’t touch me!” Not wanting to feel the hands of a murderer on your skin.

Instead of doing what you ask, his hand travels further up your leg until it reaches the inside of your thigh. Making your core clench when his hand touches a part of you that no one, but you had ever touched before. You swallow, hating your bodies reaction to the new feeling.

“Enough talking about him,” Jungkook hisses at you. “Enough talk altogether. I’ve waited far to long for you, and I’m not waiting any longer.”

Before you could figure out what that meant, you gasp when his fingers touch your mounds for the first time. You don’t even realize how wet you were until he does. Maybe it was something he did to you. He can read minds, after all, but you have to bite your lip super hard to stop yourself from moaning when his fingers start to work you over.

You keep wanting to tell him to stop touching you, to stay away from you, but all that comes out is whimpers. His, clearly experienced, fingers working your neglected pussy over without even entering you yet. Flicking at your clit, rubbing at your entrance, and applying pressure in all the right places.

You feel a tear fall down your face, and you look away from him. Shutting your eyes, and trying to think that you’re anywhere else but here. His hand that was placed on your sternum then suddenly lands on your face. Gripping your chin and turning your face back to him. Jungkook’s face is once again inches from yours, and the heat of his breathe makes your eyes go wide open.

“None of that,” He says. And then his fingers are entering you roughly. Making you see stars and arch your back up into him. Your chests hitting, and you don’t even register that his lips are on yours until a minute has passed.

Soft lips colliding with yours roughly and impatiently. Like he wants to consume your entire being with one kiss. You moan into his mouth when his once singular finger turns into two, and this reminds you of all the times you were too afraid to do just that. Now looking back at all the times you pleasured yourself at night, maybe your body knew this would come.

That you would need to stay clean even from your own touches for the demon above you. Stealing your breathe away with kisses, and plunging his fingers inside you on repeat. It’s all so overwhelming. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. It has you tipping over the edge faster than you ever thought possible, to the point you almost shout out his name as you orgasm. Luckily, you had some composure to hold yourself back from doing so. Not wanting to give him complete satisfaction that his name was what you wanted to scream in euphoria.

Jungkook could tell, though. That you held yourself back. Even though watching you come undone was quite literally the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, it’s clear by the way his eyes twitched that he wanted to hear you say his name. That he’s been waiting for you to scream out his name as you cum.

Suddenly, and with no warning, he rips the cloth covering your entire body right off of you. Making you completely bare, and your nipples perk up when a gust of cool air that came from his action hits your body. Your checks were flush before from your orgasm, but you’re completely red in the face now. No one has ever seen you this bare before, especially the way Jungkook is now.

Jungkook drinks up your naked body with his eyes, and wets his lips. He’s been waiting for the chance to see you bare up close, and have the ability to touch any part of you. Fingering you was his appetizer, but the rest of you is his dinner.

He climbs on top of you, straddling your stomach, and smooths his two hands up your arms. You watch in embarrassment as he continues to gawk at you to the point you whimper. His eyes shot back to yours when he hears that sound. Smirk returning.

“By the end of tonight, beautiful. I’ll make sure the only name you’ll ever be able to think about is my own.”

“Why wou-“

Before you could finish your question, Jungkook resumes kissing you. Not as rough as before, but it once again steals your breathe away. Any words you were going to say in return, were sucked right out of you. Dizzying you further when you feel his tongue attack your own.

A moan is heard echoed in the room, but it’s not from you. Your eyes shoot open at the sound from the demon above you, and you're surprised with yourself when you want to hear it again.

His lips then detach from yours and travel south. With each kiss to your skin you quiver, and moan at the contact. Surrendering yourself to him, and giving up the victim act. You can’t deny that you want this. It’s always been a tease on your life, and always been a want of yours to feel like this. Wanted and praised by a man.

Maybe that’s why he wanted you as a virgin. To tease you from the very start and make this experience a hundred times better, and you a hundred times wetter on top of that. He smiles against the top of your chest, and you revel at the feel of his teeth against your skin.

Jungkook licks a stripe from the top of your chest back to your neck, and you receive a singular kiss there. Your feeling ten times lighter then before, and you think it’s because his lips alone have cast a spell upon you. Making every movement from him above you feel like electric coursing through your bones.

One second your feeling amazing, the next second a earthshaking painful bite gets driven into your neck. You open your mouth to let out a silent scream, and you look to see Jungkook is biting into your neck. His eyes rolling back when blood starts to pool in his mouth.

For a millisecond you think he’s going to eat you. That all his words of not wanting to kill you were lies, but then he’s detaching his lips from your skin and licking at the bumpy surface.

“Mmm - I knew you would taste sooo good.” He blinks up at you, rubbing his nose across your own. “Your everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You force out your question before, not wanting to be distracted again when he suddenly moves south on your body again. “Why did it matter that I was a virgin?”

His movements south stop at your words. His face right above your breasts, but his eyes on you. Widening for a second before he can compose himself. He cocks his head to the side, and smiles the most innocent smile that shouldn’t be on such a devilish face.

“Because I’m the only one that can have you.”

You get about five seconds to process his answer until his lips attach themselves to your left nipple. The sucking along with his tongue has your back arching up into him. His other hand finds purchase on your other breast, and you roll your head back. How is it that his hands feel so much better than your own?

It’s then, before you can stop yourself, that you let out his name him in a whimper. Unable to control the full extent of ecstasy you're feeling from his mouth and hands, and you think you’ve somehow lost a battle. But then he’s moaning against your breasts, and rutting himself against you... then your suddenly realizing your position.

He’s very hard, and very big. And that very hard and very big thing is going to enter you soon. Your nervousness doubles, but you moan again at the thought of him being inside of you. You feel crazy by just enjoying that thought, but don’t bring yourself to care.

Especially when he lifts himself off of you and strips himself of his shirt. Leaving himself bare from the waist up, and you feel your face redden again by the sight. Of course, he’s got fucking muscles. Of course, he’s cut like a god instead of a demon. He’s already handsome in the face, so why wouldn’t the rest of him make you wetter then a fucking fountain?

You bite your lip, trying and failing to look away from him and drinking your fill of this beautiful man in front of you. He smirks, the devilish way he has been all night, and looks you straight in the eyes in silence for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, and wished you had his ability to read others thoughts. That way you could smile and smirk the way he's doing right now. As you think up all he ways he looks good. Boosting his ego by accident.

“If I knew all I needed to do was take my shirt off to make you want me, I would have did that from the very start.” You roll your eyes at him stroking his own ego, which makes Jungkook chuckle at the fact that you just rolled your eyes at a demon, and him taking it as it was - funny.

Jungkook bends forward, putting both of his hands on either side of your head, staring down at you. He slowly inches his face back down to you until both of your lips reattach into a gentle kiss. Each kiss has been so different.

Rough. Smooth. Gentle.

Almost like Jungkook can’t decide how to treat you. How to behave with you. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but then again you weren’t sure how to feel about all of this. Your head still spinning from it all.

More caresses are given, and each time you get into the kissing enough, you move your hands to touch him or bend your knee to get comfortable, and then remember what you are to him. Just a virgin sacrifice. A virgin sacrifice that is now getting frustrated at the lack of action. It feels like it’s been an hour since you orgasmed last. You still feel the coating of your cum dripping down your leg, but besides Jungkook’s hands roaming your entire body he hasn’t even went down there since.

It gets to the point where even the kissing is making you ache. Is this how teasing is done? Is this how it feels when someone prolongs the inevitable? You guess so, since you’ve never been in a situation even close to this one before.

“J-Jungkook,” you say his name and it feels like your tongue is fat in your mouth. Jungkook just got done ravishing your neck and breasts to the point they are purple and red all over. The bite mark on your neck being only one of many now littered down your body.

“Yes, sweetheart,” He says with a drip of dark lust coming across his words.

Your eyes feel heavy, and your chest is heaving with air. You try your best to say what you want without completely embarrassing yourself. “When are you going to - you know?”

Jungkook bites his lip, trying to contain his laughter. He sobers quickly and fakes innocence as he cocks his head at you. “Do I know? I think you need to be a little more clear.”

You blow hot air out of your mouth in frustration, and wiggle in your restrains. “Come on, stop teasing.”

Jungkook raises a pointed eyebrow at you. “Teasing? I would never.”

Now who’s the lier.

He smiles.

“Fuck you too then.” He laughs at that. When his laughter ceases all of a sudden the aura in the room has changed. Like what was once a room full of sex and heat has turned infertile and cold.

You stare up at the demon and see something pass through his eyes. An emotion you can’t quite understand. Jungkook leans down to be close to your face again, but doesn’t touch your nose or lips this time. He pushes your sweaty hair out of your face, and pets the top of your head. Staring at you now like it’s the first time, and he's using new eyes to see.

Your stomach swirls as he does this. Like he’s looking at a lover that he’s been missing for years, and not someone he just met and is using for his own needs. Nonetheless, you drink up the loving look he’s giving you. Never being able to have that look aimed at you before, especially by someone as enchanting as him.

“I finally have you,” Jungkook whispers in between the two of you. Placing another gentle kiss on your now swollen lips. You don’t know what he meant by “finally.” You know it was always planned for him to take you, but it almost seemed deeper for him. Like he’s been waiting decades instead of eighteen years. You’re not so sure what he’s feeling, and your mind goes blank on the matter when you feel him start to rut against your core. Drawing out a long moan by you that is being swallowed by him.

Everything moves fast after that. He removes his boots, then goes right back to kissing you. He removes his pants, and you gasp when you feel the appendage that’s had your nerves spiking since the first time it rubbed against you through his clothes touch your thigh. Without even looking, you know he’s huge. Bigger then what’s considered average, and the thought has your core clenching once again at knowing someone as experienced and lucky wants you. Has wanted and waiting for you for eighteen years.

He says, “Breathe,” against your lips. And you do. You breathe through the pain that accumulates through you when he starts to enter you. Your body stretching to new heights it’s never expected to stretch to. By the time he’s bottomed out, his eyes still looking down at you with the same look as before, lips inches from touching yours, you’re feeling so full. So elated. So womanly. A feeling you never expected to be allowed to have.

Your breathing is harsh, and it takes you a moment to get adjusted to him. By the time you have, you realize he’s waiting for you. That you didn’t expect at all. Although he’s given you more reasons to like him then hate him this past hour, you can’t help but admit you thought this was always going to be a painful experience, but it isn’t. It wasn’t. Nothing even close once you’re fully accustomed to him.

Without words, you tell him, I’m ready. His eyes widen ever so slightly when he reads your mind, and once that second passes he starts thrusting into you at a slow pace. Making sure your body doesn’t feel any pain from his movements. You’re greatful for it but still confused. Innocence are like a demons favorite snack. Yet he treats you like fragile glass in this moment.

By the time you’re feeling so good, him hitting a spot inside of you that you could never reach before, you’re saying his name like a prayer, and that’s all Jungkook needs to be allowed to do what he’s been waiting for. What you’ve been expecting from the very start.

He fucking ravishes you.

Holding the end of the alter in one hand and your hip in the other, to steady himself, he piston fucks you into oblivion. You didn’t even know hips could move that fast, but then again, you’re not fucking a human… you’re fucking a demon… and you’re loving every second of it.

You wail, scream, and moan out so many profanities as Jungkook’s cock fucks into you with earnest. Your mouth not closing as each thrust pounds the life out of you. All the while his face is in your neck and only some grunts can be heard.

“Fuck- Jungkook - Shit! God!”

Your last plead somehow has Jungkook smiling against your neck.

“Trust me, love. There’s no god here.”

Maybe it’s him calling you love, or the way he explains how there’s no god in this situation. Only you and a demon. But it has your second orgasm of the night rippling through you. Your restrains tearing at your wrists, you want to hold him so badly, especially when he’s not letting up on you whatsoever. Thrusting into you like your not currently close to blacking out from how good your first orgasm since losing your virginity feels.

Losing your virginity. You’re no longer a virgin. That thought alone has you moaning to the heavens. Or maybe even hell. Your not sure since the only thing right in this world to you right now is the being on top of you.

Jungkook moves his hands so there on top of your hands still in your restrains. He only slows down to adjust himself to the new angle, then he’s back to fucking into you - faster then before. Your screaming from the overstimulation, but there’s no pain coming from your screams. All pleasure. All want, and need, and lust, and fuck!

“Fuck your so sexy, Y/n.” Your realize then that he just said your name for the first time tonight, and that has your mind coming out of the fuzz for just a moment. If he said anything else before that, your mind wouldn’t have been able to register a single word, but just your name alone has you focusing on the man above you even more.

Every sharp line on his torso. How his hips flex when he thrusts into you. The way his arm muscles jut out as he holds himself above you. Everything about his body is so erotic, not to mention his face is like the word sex was reincarnated into a being.

Jungkook’s licks his teeth, chuckling as he looks down at you. “Am I better then him?” Your heart stops. “Am I better then you imagined him to be?” You wiggle in your spot, barely moving besides when his hips thrust into you so hard they move you upwards. “I wish I could kill him again. Knowing he touched you first. Knowing kissed you first. But he never got this.” Jungkook thrusts into you extra hard to make sure you know the extent of his words. “He never got to feel how good you feel.”

Suddenly, your wrists are free. You don’t get a chance to feel relived on the matter, though, because then Jungkook is picking you up into the air and thrusting up into you twice as deep as before. Your arms are wrapped around his neck tightly, and your screaming into his shoulder as each earth quacking thrust gets driven up into you. Even his name from your lips is coming out as jumble because of the way he’s fucking you.

You scratch at his back as your third orgasm rips through you. As good as it feels, going though the roller coaster of emotions this man - demon - is putting you though, you realize he hasn’t even cum once, but you’re to much of a sweaty mess to contemplate that until another moment of rough fucking has passed.

Jungkook’s hands are full of your ass cheeks and he’s squeezing onto them so tightly that only that little bit of pain makes you come out of your dizzying post orgasm state. You take your face out of his shoulder, look at the demon that’s been making you see stars, and see something you haven’t expected or seen before.

You thought just the small grunts we’re what he does when he feels good, but his face is an entirely different story when it comes to pleasure. He must have been hiding it before, but the way his eyes are screwed shut, and his jaw is slack you can tell Jungkook is feeling just as good as you have been.

That’s why, for the first time, you kiss him first. You kiss his open mouth and hold onto his face as best as you can while still moving with each of Jungkook’s thrusts. He moans into your mouth, and it’s music to your ears now. You feel him grown even bigger - which is somehow possible - inside of you. All of this indicating that your demon is close to spilling his seed inside of you. Officially claiming in all senses.

First the orgasm by just his fingers. Then the multiple bites. And now he will claim you by pouring his cum as deep as possible inside of you.

You whisper against his cheek, wanting to drive him as crazy as he has you the entire time, “Fill me up, Jungkook. Make me yours like I was born to be.”

Jungkook hears you, widening his eyes, and then he’s slamming you back onto the alter, arms wrapped around your middle and head so you don’t get hurt by the impact, and thrusts into you so deep it's like he’s trying to split you in two. Then you feel it. The overwhelming heat inside of you as he spills every last drop into you. You start to tear up, it feels so good. Overly stretching you as each spurt goes inside of you.

Jungkook is praying it sounds like near your ear. In a different language you have never heard before. The only thing you’re able to decipher is your name being prayed along with whatever else he’s saying. By the time he’s completely emptied himself inside of you, your eyes have dried out too. Both of you breathing into each other’s necks, and looking like a mess of limbs. Your arms still wrapped around his neck, as his only get tighter around your waist.

It takes both of you a moment to look at each other, but when Jungkook makes the first move to exit your neck and look down at you again, you could cry all over again. That same look of pure love is clear as water now on his face. A look you’ll gladly see every day.

A bunch of thoughts cross Jungkook eyes that he wants to say. So many things you think he should say. But out of all the things he’s planned to say in this moment, only three words seem right.

“You’re finally mine.”

Jungkook has looked over this small village since the beginning of human existence. Even before God was a known being to the mortals, Jungkook was always there. Feasting off of their prayers, until someone like God was born in their lives. That’s when Jungkook had to get creative when it came to getting praise from the mortals.

He cursed the village with his presence. Destroying it with fire until it was nearly gone, and eating up all the villagers that stood to fight against him. Each person tasting even more vile than the last. Eating humans was never a necessary thing, but it was entertaining to watch them beg for mercy before he bit a huge chunk out of their bodies. The ones that were meant to die young we're the only ones that tasted appetizing enough to have Jungkook’s gums itch for more.

That’s how the ritual started. Every hundred years, Jungkook would search for a soul that was meant to die young, and let them live up until their eighteenth birthday. Stopping them from drying young since their paths would be changed. Each time he came to claim a victim, it was scary for the living to the point they would make their sacrifice have a terrible life, ignoring their existence, but that’s not what Jungkook wanted. He wanted to save them for awhile, but still get his praise and delicious feeding out of it.

It wasn’t until you were born, that he even considered stopping. Every hundred years he would view every mortal women that gave birth, and wait for the one that’s soul was meant to die before they turned eighteen. You had the worst way of dying. Dying by losing your virginity to the man, in fact. Him fucking you then murdering you at the age of sixteen. Some sick fuck you gave your purity too, indeed.

But that’s not what changed his mind about the ritual, wanting to finally stop his torment on the village. Your soul was. He watched your entire life play out in a flash. Every time you laughed, cried, smiled, he watched it all.

By the time he blinked your world away, Jungkook was in love.

An emotion the demon never knew was possible for him, was suddenly fully opened up when he looked into your life. He wanted to hold you through every sorrow, laugh along with you to every joke, and hurt every person who hurt you. He wanted you to watch the world burn and then be reborn again with him. Things he never expected to want with another person, he wanted them all with you.

To wake up next to you at daybreak, and fall asleep next to you at night fall. To watch the wars go through the motions, and be there when a new religion was created. He wanted you as his partner, his lover, his everything.

That’s why, instead of his usual “she’s the sacrifice, see you in eighteen years” bullshit speech he’s always given, he added something new. That you were to stay a virgin until you were sacrificed to him on your eighteenth birthday, and that would be the last sacrifice the village would ever need to give.

You’re all he needed, after that. Although making sure you stayed a virgin has some selfish reasoning to it, since Jungkook didn’t want you to get any physical affections - especially like that - from anyone but him, but also, the fact that the person that was meant to kill you was also the person that would take that gift away from you.

He watched your entire life play out in front of him, and he watched every second of it in real time too. From your first steps, to your first successful grade, even your first skinned knee. Times he saw you cry were always the hardest for him. Even if you were a child, all he wanted to do was reveal himself and hold you close. Keep you safe, and promise you protection forever. To at least tell you everything was going to be okay. He did sometimes. Revel himself to you, but each time he sobered you he would have to make you forget him. That made Jungkook’s own heart hurt. Knowing as soon as he had you out of his arm, you would forget his face and that he existed.

You knew there was a demon coming for you one day, and the thought of him like that only served to radiate hate from you. Something he never wanted you to feel against him.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, was more painful to Jungkook than to watch you be with another man. The man that stool your first kiss was a traveler from another village. He had brown hair and tanned skin. He was handsome. So handsome that no one would expect him to secretly be a ripper of the night. He would have sex with desperate women, and then kill them right after with any object he could get his hands on.

Any other person, Jungkook wouldn’t even bat an eye at him for what he did, but because he set his eyes on you, Jungkook had no problem using his powers to kill the man in the most gruesome way possible. At first, Jungkook let you play out your little spiteful game with the man. Clenching his jaw so tight his teeth almost broke as he watched and heard you feel so good by someone else besides him.

Unlike all the times he watched you pleasure yourself, Jungkook was not smiling. He was not wishing for the day to join you. He was not happy to hear you moan or whimper as the man kissed you. And when the man went to touch your breasts, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He consumed the man’s mind with his darkness, and had the man peeled himself away from you. The look of shock soon fell from your face when you saw his eyes. It upset Jungkook a little that you were angry. That you knew it was he who stopped you from going further with this man, but you didn’t know what Jungkook knew. You didn’t know that this man would have killed you as soon as he was done with you.

Although you only knew the barest of details about this man’s death, Jungkook ripped him to shreds. Throwing his body away in a deep trench, and making it look like a suicide. It was clear by the mass of blood that it wasn’t a suicide, but your village wasn’t as advanced yet to think anything else but suicide.

Jungkook continued to watch you closely after that. Even closer then before. He was surprised you didn’t feel him somehow. Since his love for you was so strong. But you never knew he was there, at least not a hundred percent. You had your suspicions after the man you wanted to give your everything to died.

But you still didn’t know a hundred percent until your eighteenth birthday. It angered Jungkook that the village people continued to make your life feel so lonely like they did all the other sacrifices, but he also knew you weren’t going to die today. After today, you were going to be treated like a queen in his kingdom. Both of you descending back into hell together after he claimed you as his.

Claimed you as his.

That thought alone had Jungkook stretching your wait for him. Usually the second the other mortals left the room, the one you were currently in, he would devour the girl on the alter. Instead, knowing what was actually going to go down, what Jungkook actually had plan for you, had the demon feeling nervous.

Nervous that you wouldn’t let him do anything. He could force you, but as someone who was actually in love with you he could never. He would never. He would butter you up and make you see and feel his love. The challenge was… well, that. Jungkook has never needed to seduce someone before. Women would always just flock to him when he reveled himself. But you’re also not just any other women crossing his path. You’re the one who stole his heart, and locked it away as forever yours.

He knew you hated him right now. Hated, but somewhat accepted your fate with him. A fate that was never going to come. You were never going to die tonight. You were never going to feel lonely ever again.

That’s why, after pining and waiting all this time, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind when he enters the room you’re in.

“What a lovely set up. You mortals really outdone yourselves this year.”

Because what else would a nervous, madly in love, reputation of being god awful, demon say for the first time when seeing the love of his life? It wasn’t until you spoke to him next, that Jungkook really breathed in the situation.

“It’s all for you, mighty demon.”

And although you meant the room, Jungkook’s cock jumped in his jeans for what he took your words as.

You — being all for him.

And by the end of the night, you were exactly that.

The End.

#jungkook #jk #bts #bts jk #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x fem!reader #demon!jungkook #demon!au #demon!jungkook x reader #virgin sacrifice #pining jk #virgin!reader #demon!jungkook x virgin!reader #jungkook x virgin!reader #Halloween #this fic took me so long to write lol #jungkook smut

4K notes · View notes

mi-i-zori · 2 months

Text

Lies of Apathy

CoD - Demon!AU - Demon!Ghost x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS : She should have started running a long time ago. But they’re one and the same. No matter how far she goes, she always comes back to him. And the demon knows how to find her.

WARNINGS : Heavy angst with very small comfort, allusions to self-harm, mentions of smut (with consent), blood, description of panic attacks. There are a lot of religious metaphors that come from many, many religions, but none of them is directly mentioned.

Author’s Note : This is something I originally wrote in my native language a while ago, but ended up getting lost in my files because I had no idea what to do with it. So I used it as both a translation and writing practice. Hope you like it !

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Word Count : 12k+

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Beyond the turquoise shine of the firmament, a mayhem hides.

Waiting to awaken.

It longs for destruction, wishing to make our world and its peace a crude copy of the original Pandemonium. Lost in the soft, spectral feathers of a Fallen, a crimson suffering leaks, drops and runs, engraving its cruel wails into the bones of those who dare hear them. Those who only see it as an incarnation of love.

Oh, how tragic it can be, that imitation of kindness forging those who are supposed to guide the lost souls to the other side of the river ! In the blood of an Angel dance the names of countless minor deities bathing in their corrupted altruism - something the Ghost knows too well.

Sometimes, he remembers how he’s not supposed to be, for the memories of his origins have been erased by a never-ending hatred and despair.

In front of him, the young Hunter falls to her knees, facing the ruins of her own happiness. A peculiar fear tears a whimper from her knotted throat, and the idea of praying before this dilapidated shrine, created by a merciless Divine, leaves a rotten taste on what’s left of her tastebuds. A nameless exhaustion claws at her face, tries to drag her down the abyss of her subconscious. Her heart crumbles upon a way too familiar weight, and her breath gallops erratically in her lungs, her chest threatening to cave in under the ever-growing despair tainting her tears.

Knowing said despair is akin to drowning in its breast, to familiarise yourself with its screeching song and bury your bloodied eardrums among its decaying notes. In this very moment, a monster holds her with a renewed form of frenesy, and something inside of her cannot seem to wriggle out of the thorns covering its arms.

Around her, a baritone voice echoes from the darkness.

- Beautiful sight, it says. Small, vulnerable ya, prostrated in a field o’ ruins. ‘Ow many statues of ‘ope did ya build ‘ere, only for ‘em to instantly be destroyed ?

A familiar silhouette emerges from the nothingness facing her. She doesn’t answer to its usual sarcasm - instead, she allows her heart to bleed one more drop on the cracks littering the ground.

- Wot are ya prayin’ for, this time ? The entity asks as he stops next to her, crossing his arms on his chest. Maybe I can ‘elp.

His words awaken a wave of uncontrollable shivers in her guts. An violent earthquake, cold and cackling. Its growls bounce around her vocal cords as her nails dig into her palms.

- I’m not praying, she says from in-between her clenched teeth, her eyes falling upon the remnants of something she can’t bring herself to recognize. The Gods will never lift a finger when it comes to listening to a Fallen Soul.

The Ghost kneels before her crumpled form, the skull covering his face glinting in the darkness. A long time ago, seeing him like this, lowered at her own level, would have satisfied her ; showered her in a grandeur a part of her has always wished to know, laced with a taste of Paradise. Now, it’s nothing more than sickening. His smile, given away by the obvious crinkling of his eyes, brings a storm of Chaos in her already fractured mind, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to forget this feeling. Trembling hands rise to grip the short strands of blonde hair of the Fallen, dragging him down to properly face her snarl.

- You poor, pitiful bastard. Why do you keep laughing at me as if it’s all your life has been reduced to ?

She wants her voice to be sharp and cruel ; but it only sounds lifeless, washed away by her exhaustion. The rough edges of a laugh bark inside the abyss of her skull. Her muscles suddenly tense like bowstrings, tightening her grip on his hair.

- Ya think Beasts were once made to live the grandest o’ lives ?

Her jaw snaps shut. Before she even realises it, her arms fall abruptly to her side, their strength devoured by the demon’s words.

- Or do ya think your Destiny is only made o’ ruins ?

The smile dancing in his eyes is much softer now, and it’s as if he had lost the usual malice lingering in his heart. Her own heart skips a beat at the sight, so out of place among such devastating surroundings. It’s a terrifying thing to point out, she thinks, probably the most acrid of all.

Blood covered lips twist in uncertain disgust at the thought.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

A metallic flavour melts on her tongue, crude and molten, burning her senses through the gut-wrenching wish to fearlessly face his playful, mocking truths. She can barely feel her limbs ; but she feels the bruises blooming on her skin, born from the war and chaos she keeps tearing through on the daily. In the Ghost’s eyes, the mix of such somber colours, full of meaning and ache, holds a beauty he’s never been able to name.

Her clothes get heavier under the amount of blood pooling through their fibres ; but so do his, and neither of them could tell which crimson belongs to whom. The thought carves a smile behind his mask - doesn’it it make it all so much more interesting ?

- One day, she snarls, you’ll be judged.

An endless cacophony of whistles drills through her head. She knows nothing of the issue of their fight ; but it won’t stop her from clawing at both her freedom and her peace. She fishes her weapon out of the decaying puddles rippling around her knees, and holds it at his throat.

- And I’ll bury you a thousands times under the weight lining the Jackal’s scales.

The entity looks at the blade with mocking interest. A spark of danger dances in his lifeless eyes, only growing brighter as they lock onto hers. He notices the way her features are pulled tight by a bottomless rage. Disarming her is simple, done in the blink of an eye, and he wonders if she’s really going down the path that will lead her to surrender. If she’ll do it willingly, or if she’s still going to fight - if so, how long do they have left ? He knows this question has also crossed her mind, sees it in the tremble of her hands. Even like this, now laying under him like a mouse under a wolf, he finds the young woman to be more than a mesmerizing sight.

She could easily be mistaken for some kind of divinity, he thinks, and it almost makes him laugh. The sounds, unfamiliar and rough, mimics the memory of what used to be a beating heart in the depths of his chest.

How long ago was it ? The last time he ever felt alive ?

Did he ever ?

Now, he’s supposed to be close to death - or a vessel for it, even. A being of rage and torment, made for walking in a world of destruction and pain, for leaving a path of decay in his wake. He feels it all, yet he isn’t allowed to die. A part of him probably wishes he was ; but he forgot about it since the moment it was sent to lay dormant beyond his consciousness. He doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be able to find it again. If it still exists.

His attention zeroes back in on the desperate soul laying in front of him. The armor she keeps covering herself with is has once again been reduced to shreds by their never-ending fights. There isn’t an inch of her skin that hasn’t been covered in dirt. He takes in the sight before lowering his face next to hers, his rough whisper floating in her ear.

- Oh, lil’ Snowflake.

I can’t wait.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Tonight, her favourite restaurant is filled to the brim.

The happiness of her family’s voice gets lost in the cacophony floating through the room. Everything around her is blurred with exhaustion ; but his presence is crystal clear. Behind her, sitting in the shadows of a decorative curtain, the Ghost is patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. The more time passes, the more easily she can see him in her mind. It’s a stupid game - one they both keep playing, wondering who will break and speak first. Allow the other in.

Maybe the day will come when they finally become one - simultaneously taking a bite of the poisoned apple.

This cruel temptation may be the reason why she’s cursed, she thinks, an invisible wall slowly forming between her world and the one spreading in front of her, filled with the laughter of her loved ones. Her life is made of painful memories, witnesses of a will to live that never really was. The idea that her future could be the same, tainted with the kind of horrors nobody else can see, is terrifying - injects even more corruption in her veins, lungs and bones. A rusty sword dangles above her neck, ready to cut one half of her existence and leave the other to suffer through a ruthless agony, trapped under the weight of its metallic carcass.

She’s not yet ready to drown in her own damnation, but the somber waters never cease to rise. The black tide finds pleasure in torturing her, filling her trachea to the brim before throwing her back to the surface. It cackles madly as she drags her disjointed puppet of a body on the shore, proud of the violence it keeps subjecting her to.

When she thinks about it, the young woman often realises how far back in time this curse goes. It seems to plunge its roots in her very origins, as if vowing to forever haunt her dreams with visions of madness, horrifying and useless prophecies that could have made sense had she been born in humanity’s most ancient of times. But the old Oracles are no more. So she swallows the twisted sights piling in her soul, and fills her daily life with empty smiles. A normality that was never hers.

Her demons were born alongside her. And they will never meet their end unless she succumbs to her own fall.

She saw many strange things and fought an equal amount of nightmares ; she shouldn’t allow any of this to affect her so badly. But it’s in her nature to think and feel, way too much even, which makes her an easy prey to the eyes of Those Who Fell. One of them trails behind her, melts within her shadow. He wants to devour her life even more than any of the others will, and refuse to let her breathe. He knows which string to pinch in order to make her fall, which melody to play to stir up her rage. He forces her to run within his -her- darkness, to get lost in its endless expanse, to confuse herself until she doesn’t know which path she is following anymore ; abandon or redemption. Like an offspring of Eris, he finds pleasure in throwing the apple of discord between her and the world she desperately tries to belong to.

His very presence used to terrify her. But time decided to drop some hatred in the bottomless goblet of her fears, birthing a futile perseverance at the bottom of her guts.

A few seconds fly past her eyes before the vacant chair to her left silently creaks under the invisible weight of the entity. As always when he manifests himself in public, she barely spares him a glance. A part of her wonders if he would act the same, should the roles be reversed. She came to find a peculiar kind of comfort in his freezing presence and the familiar thoughts he brings.

In front of her, her uncle barks out a laugh at a waiter’s joke, tearing her away from her thoughts. Leaning forward to examine the enticing content of her newly-delivered plate, she feels the demon do the same against her back, reminding her of his presence through the cacophony of her thoughts. Usually, she would curse him without hesitation. But right now, this is not something she can afford to do ; not when she has to play pretend in front of her family’s peace.

An invisible hand settles on her wrist as her free hand rises a spoonful of rice to her mouth, allowing the Ghost to measure her tired heartbeat. It sometimes launches itself to a full gallop whenever she has to speak or a sudden crash emerges from the restaurant’s kitchen. Following the same rhythm as the drumming in her ears. The bloodied melody always takes its time to fall back to a steadier beat, and the thoughts that follows hold a suffering the Ghost likes to decipher.

A secret message. A call for help, written in the trickiest of codes.

What a beautiful song, he thinks, burning with chaos ; and the young woman barely restrains the twist of her features when his mockery echoes in her already overflowing mind, threatening to worsen the migraine lingering around her skull.

How good is it to fight anyway ? She sometimes murmurs to herself, shutting off the cackles echoing in the back of her mind. Is the darkness really that bad ?

Maybe her feelings are getting the best of her. Maybe the idea of surrendering to the enemy’s claws comes from the loneliness nesting behind her heart, the one pushing her to more or less willingly seek the Ghost’s company. Maybe she’s simply imagining the spark of sympathy that sometimes dances in his gaze. A part of her insists that there can’t be any light without darkness, and vice versa ; but maybe she’s just reading in-between lines that don’t even exist.

Maybe all these thoughts are the result of another manipulative ambush orchestrated by her demons.

To hell with all those beings made of impurity and fake divinity ! She exclaims silently while laughing at a story she didn’t really hear. Those monsters corrupting the innocents’ dreams, immolating them with waves upon waves of sinful flames, leaving a salty, rotten taste on the remnants of their tongues ! They find happiness in Their victims’ despair, cooing at the ruins of their broken hopes, recalling the misadventures of Icarus and the other mortals They disgraced with Their attention. Be careful to not burn yourself, they cackle and rasp. The phoenix went extinct eons ago ; it’s now impossible to come back from your ashes.

Lie, little dream, lie, the Divine laughs ceaselessly as she surrenders herself to a hopeless optimism. Why not hide yourself behind an illusion ?

Lie, little dream, lie. Why not become a nightmare ?

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Sometimes, she wonders if her throat isn’t laced with a red string - the kind that, one day, will inevitably be the end of her.

She often turns around to catch a glimpse of it, in an elusive reflection in the mirror, or in the corner of her vision. She read dozens of stories worshiping it as the proof that true love is far from being a myth, saying that seeing it means one’s soulmate is nearby. But only in dreams can such things really exist.

And, sometimes, even dreams can lie.

For the spectre of her destiny created the thread with a mix of love and hate, of strength and cowardice ; a foreign intimacy made to drown them as one. The kind of thing that, should she ever share it with the world, would only be the source of laughter and disdain. She would probably be punished for her lack of gratitude for the life she was given.

Each breath is constantly filled with a bloodcurdling fear of simply existing. Her body never ceases to quake, trapping air in the expanse of her lungs and struggling to let it out. A thousand bear-traps snap at her flesh as she tries to keep pursuing her future, this vision she never really manages to see clearly. She sometimes think about tightening the string around her throat, deepen its colour with the moisture of her own blood ; yet it seems content with just grazing her skin in a satire of love, constantly feeding the frustration nestled in her breast. She never knows if it will ever be merciful enough to slash her neck open.

The Ghost holding the other side of the crimson line is dangerous, murmurs a voice resembling her own. One wrong move would be enough for him to send her over the edge. A clumsy step to the side. A benevolent mistake.

She often notices the small knot clashing with the dull porcelain of his skin. He likes teasing her by wrapping the string around his palm, adding enough pressure to have it leave a rugged caress on her neck ; to remind her of its presence. She loathes the cruel smile that carves his face open when he catches her off-guard, causing her to lift her hand towards her own knot.

She despises them all : him, the world, her Destiny. And she hates her own inability to get rid of the miasma plaguing her mind ; the way her empathy whimpers whenever her eyes follow the never-ending scars mapping the body of the Ghost ; the whispers that make her realise how similar they are to one another.

They are nothing more than two sinners looking for a reason to live.

Looking for redemption.

- Ya know we’ll always be bound to each other, Snowflake, the entity says, cackling in her ear. Why do ya always try to ruin whot canno’ be destroyed ?

Her blood boils as she presses her frozen palms against his throat with a snarl, as if trying to force him into silence by imitating the thread caging her own pulse. She knows how futile it looks, knows the fruits born from this endeavour will hold the bitterness of her failure. Yet she refuses to crumble under the mocking weight of his words, for it would be surrendering to the way this rotten world keeps trying to send her into exile.

The gravel of his voice resonates against her palms.

- No’ tired of fightin’ a ghost ?

Her teeth sharpen into her mouth as he coils an arm around her waist, locking her body against his. She can’t stop a shiver from rolling down her spine ; and, unable to decide if she can really allow herself to savour the frozen warmth of his skin, her fingers tighten around his breath. His Adam’s apple makes a mould of its own shape in the crevices of her hands.

Yet he doesn’t even flinch.

- ‘Ow many times did you try to run away from me, darlin’ ? To make me fall, only to fail ?

- Shut up.

- Wouldn’t take much for us to bend this world to our will. Think abou’ it : we could face ‘em, ‘and in ‘and, laugh at ‘em until our voices break. Take the clay they used to create their dreams with and burn everythin’ with ours.

- Shut. The fuck. Up !

Yet no amount of resistance seems to tarnish his fantasies of despair. She barely has the time to blink before he slips behind her back, his breath burning incandescent holes against her ear. His hollow heart beats silently against her spine - and her arms fall limp against her sides, getting tangled with the crimson rope circling around them.

- We could make our own miracles, he whispers, never letting go of his decaying thoughts.

A broken cackle tears through her clenched teeth.

- So now you want to play like a God ?

One of his hands, torn open by countless cursed knots, comes to circle the neck of his prey. His smile drips into the passion lining his voice, and she can almost feel him against her cheek as his massive frame leans over her shoulders. Their spines could fuse with each other without her even realising it, she thinks, feeling her back crack under her demon’s weight. She wonder if they are now worthy of the crumbling statues haunting the temple of her mind.

- Why no’ ? He says, and her legs suddenly go numb.

The Ghost breaks her fall without any effort, taking advantage of her now lethargic state to hold her tight against his heart. He presses a kiss against her cheek, slowly savouring the taste of a frustrated tear.

- Why couldn’t we be our own Divine ?

Crimson now runs towards the very center of her soul, and she can’t do anything but dive into the motlen marble of the Ghost’s eyes.

Another fight is coming to an end.

Her human heart pumps with an overjoyed frenesy as its end nears once more, but the Hunter is far from glad as she realises said end is nothing more than an illusion coated in sulfur. The entity can see the suffering dancing in her eyes, now reddened by the tears she refuses to set free. The Fates could slice their mutual despair open with a laugh whenever they want ; but they have yet to do so, and he wonders if they enjoy watching the both of them struggle to stay afloat.

- Slowly now, he whispers, slightly loosening his grip to erase the dull ache throbbing in-between her ribs. Wouldn’t be wise to exhaust yourself withou’ me.

A part of him would probably qualify this role of his of Apathy, or Disinterest ; bury himself in a litany of lies to play the perfect villain, always finding a new excuse to justify the satisfaction he gets out of it all. Try to convince himself of how none of this, her, Them, deserve even a shred of his attention. But he knows that, somewhere in what’s left of his angelic heart, slumbers the reality of a longing, a thirst for love and touch he refuses to see. And she knows it too.

He silences the feeling again, covering it with words dripping with his own broken kind of sarcasm.

- This world doesn’t make any sense if you’re not ‘ere.

A sickening growl shakes her guts as she takes in what she refuses to hear. It dies before reaching her lips.

- What a liar, she grumbles, her voice and mind fading more and more with each syllable. You’re just a fucking liar.

The smile he offers her is nothing short of carnivorous, and through it, she could almost make out the virtuous remnants of what used to be his soul. He presses a searing kiss over the bloodied foundation covering her shoulder, incredibly soft despite the sharp, mesmerizing coldness haunting his each and every word.

- C’mon, lil’ Hunter. Give up.

And this time again, the taste of victory flows bitterly against his tongue.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

When she opens her eyes, her room is nothing but silence, and the chaos of her bed seems covered in a thin layer of ice.

Her entire body is being crushed by an invisible weight as countless shivering waves run along her skin. A choir of ghosts dance in the corner of her vision, their laughter echoing through the walls of her skull. A frozen, corrupted substance flows through her still slumbering veins.

Why is it so cold ?

Her breath quickens as she fights to keep a semblance of control over the ruins of her mind. A sea of urchins is tearing her trachea apart, and she would love to feel her hands smash their spikes through her throat - yet nothing seems to even think of taking pity on her. A river slowly starts running down her frozen cheeks, its flow carrying her thoughts away like a hurricane would a twig, as if trying to drown her in her own mind.

An earthquake suddenly takes over the marble of her hands, and she doesn’t know if it is caused by the ambiant cold or the thunder wreaking havoc inside her ribcage. The magma that was once slumbering in her chest is now trying to escape through her every pore ; and it burns, scorches her insides over and over again as the volcano bursts along with her tears, threatening to carve a new rift on the surface of her heart.

Crushed by her ribs, her lungs refuse to work properly. A pungent breath bites through her bones, as if trying to corrupt even the marrow hiding behind their calcified walls. Her own existence is hoping to tear the guts out of her humanity’s rotting corpse. The decline of a heart filled with despair is tragic enough to become the muse of countless poets and their sonnets ; yet there’s no glory in the mourning of what we once used to be, she thinks, especially when Life itself drinks our tears with a crooked smile painted on its mask of comedy.

Next to her, the mattress sinks. Her eyes, burned by the salt of her tears, can barely make out the dark silhouette leaning over her ; but she doesn’t need them to feel and know who it is. The Ghost lays a burning hand on her cheek, and something inside of her desperately tries to anchor itself to this touch she subconsciously learned to look for amidst the storm.

A somber look covers the entity’s features as his fingers meet the ice of her hands. She’s a warrior ; one he’s used to fight almost every single day. Seeing her in this state is almost disturbing, for he quickly realises there is nothing left of her usual hostility. The Flood swallowed it all.

For once, he’s not the source of her distress, and this train of thought leaves a strange feeling in its wake. Is it rage ? Jealousy ? A mix of both ? It doesn’t matter. The Divine is not allowed to toy with a prey that isn’t Its own.

She barely has the strength to utter a single sound as he takes hold of the fragility of her fingers to bring them to his own neck. The mocking spectres dancing around them suddenly cease all movement. They even seem to disappear the second she starts feeling the echo of a pulse under the scars littering his skin, the confusing proof of the decomposing existence of a life filled with darkness. Its rhythm is slow, silent, ghostly. It gently lulls her mind, offering a blessed shelter against the violent winds.

Her own demon tries to hold her head out of the water ; a situation that would have made her laugh had her throat not be so parched.

- What did it taste like, she finally croaks out as her hand ghosts over his skin, the despair that made you fall ?

Was it similar to the fear haunting the surface of my lips ? Will you end up smearing it on my tongue to break what might be left of my humanity ? Will you be seated on the Emperor’s throne on the highest part of the infernal Coliseum in the middle of which I will inevitably be forsaken ?

Or will I be the one to guide you towards the light ? Will I be able to let you taste the ambrosia of peace I keep looking for ? And if it indeed ends up touching your lips, will I even realise it ?

- Like my own blood, the Ghost says, and she notices the peculiar softness that has replaced the usual sarcasm tainting his voice. Wan’ to try it ?

The kiss he offers her is like a cruel salvation ; a source of comfort immediately shattered by waves of chaos blooming into her soul. It leaves a sour taste on her tongue, akin to a tragedy leaving a trail of weeping arteries and broken bones in its wake. Like the smoking remnants of a battlefield, she thinks, witnessing the horrors she went through ; the nightmares haunting her sleep. A series of erratic visions displayed on the dark screen of her eyelids.

It tastes like the beginning of the end, murmurs a voice lost in the torn expanse of her mind, and she finds herself submerged by the need for more.

The warmth of his skin slowly melts the ice imprisoning her. Yet the tension running between them still has the red thread tightening around their throats, and a part of her refuses to see how good it could be to let him drag her down into his own flames. Let them be hers.

She only now sees the strange pattern they created, made from both violence and peace, love and hatred, as well as a guilty freedom tightening around her guts.

The Ghost probably noticed it too. Even when they exchange words filled with mockery and blood, he always ends up savouring the harsh touch of her hands pulling his teeth back towards her neck. And slowly, surely, he unwinds the knots holding her spirit together, only to tie them up all over again as she wakes up from a familiar anesthesia. A predatory smile carves itself against her neck, sharp teeth threatening to break both her body and soul - progressively widening the rift in the facade she desperately tries to keep in place.

- Relax, luv, he whispers, his abyssal timbre sending shivers down her spine.

His hands clutch every single one of her curves with a desperation she has yet to understand. His fingers seem to reach for her very soul, claws moulding her body to his will. Their hearts dance with each other as he holds her to his chest, exploring the expanse of her back as if he was discovering it for the first time. His breath leaves a scorching ache on her shoulder, and she wonders how his touch keeps getting even more delicious each time.

She lets out a cry as his fingers find her core. Her teeth coax a vicious growl from his throat as they sink into his flesh, and the Ghost drinks up every trembling breath dripping past her lips. A rumble echoes deep within his chest as she loses herself against him, her nails leaving crimson rivers down his neck.

The cold haunting her is now long forgotten. The ice shatters under the Ghost’s fangs, and, for a second, he draws his eyes towards the darkness of the room. They mercilessly pierce the remnants of the now silent spectres that tried to steal his perfect prey. Their silhouettes finally vanish completely ; at the same time, a shuddering whimper shakes the body resting in the iron of his grasp.

- Let’s show ‘em who ya belong to.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

She feels more than she sees the way her palms turn white under the assault of her own nails. Her heart never slows its erratic rhythm, forcing the mud coating the surface of her lungs to pulse along its beat. A few centimeters away from hers, the Ghost’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands, he thinks ; she’d just need to strengthen her will. She could take over this infernal game and make it eternal, let the Divine Creations burn and burn, turn into a lake of sterile ashes. Ring the final bell and have its sepulcral cries echo in the bones of the Gods. Create her own version of a happy ending.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands ; for her determination is a synonym of destruction. And They know it. They are the ones who sent him to her, trying to make her fall. Did They even think he’d try to make her his instead ? To turn her against Their pathetic idea of glory ?

But he has yet to win. An infuriating reality. You should already be dead, he wants to scream, why do you refuse to yield ?

She only looks up at him through the darkness lining her eyes, ignoring the nauseating feeling of her life bleeding along her skin - leaving a series of darkening trails along the porcelain of her bones.

- What about you ? She says, and it’s like she’s reading his thoughts. It’s not like you’re doing much.

And it’s true. He torments her, brings her down over and over through countless excruciating fights. Strikes her weakest spots, both in her body and soul. Yet he knows it’s far from being enough. He wants to see how long she’ll last, what will end up being his coup de grâce ; but maybe a part of him wants her to live, achieve what his distant, decaying memory tells him he was never able to even touch.

His fangs scrape painfully against each other. Under the mask, his jaw is covered with the blood of the lives he took. Hers soaks through his clothes, skin, muscles and bones - but it has yet to taint his teeth, coat the walls of his stomach. He is the reason why his ideas haven’t been brought to light. He knows it well, perhaps he has even acknowledged it.

- You could reign over this world and you know it, she adds weakly, her voice breaking over the words she doesn’t even really need to articulate.

She doesn’t know if she’s glad to still be alive despite the fact that her body should already be lost six feet under, or if she wishes it would be the case.

- You have the power to bring your every desire to life. Make it a perfect reality.

Her muscles weaken with every second that runs through their fibres. Her lungs, filled with a dark, freezing darkness, beg to breathe in even the slightest amount of oxygen as her chest crumbles with exhaustion. Despite all of this, the Hunter refuses to sway, ignoring the waves of pain crashing against her bones. She tries to stand proud in front of the Ghost, feeling him watch intently as she fights against herself. But her legs crack and stumble ; and his reflexes are a perfect proof of his inhumanity when he launches himself forward to catch her, preventing her from shattering her already broken self on the rubble at their feet. He holds her tight against him, letting out a deep, mocking laugh - yet refusing to let her go.

They both know why.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

A flash of silver.

A familiar sting.

A salty tear.

Another wave of crimson crashes against the porcelain of her skin, violently, beautifully. The puddle swirling around her knees reflects the pathetic face of a broken doll. Her limbs are numb, unable to feel the rain hitting them as if it was trying to avoid her, only aiming for the floor. For a second, she wonders if a Divinity is crying for her Destiny, but the thought quickly falls quiet, silenced by a muted laugh. The Gods never pity their mortals.

Her soul falls into pieces once more on the marbled concrete at her feet, and the faraway echo guides her eyes up towards the sky. The adrenaline born from the usual fighting is slowly starting to fade. On the edges of her blurry vision, the Ghost draws his familiar silhouette out of the fog. The misshaped sarcasm she throws his way doesn’t make him flinch the slightest, making her wonder if this nightmarish entity didn’t place much more faith in her than she ever will.

What a stupid thought, they both whisper, the only thing breaking them apart being the usual snarky smile she forgot to wear to hide her ever-dampening cheeks.

- Ya know you’ll have trouble hidin’ those blood stains, right ? The demon says, kneeling to her side.

A soft sound escapes her lips, scorching hot compared to the rain.

- It’d be useless anyway.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

She wakes up with a start and a silent scream as sweat runs coldly down her chest. There’s a dry, violent pounding in her skull, enhanced by a laughing tide of cramps tearing her bones apart, its echo bouncing around her sleeping muscles. Despite the confusion lingering in her brain after what is probably her third nightmare of the night, she registers a warmth laying next to her, one she’s surprised to see at this hour. A part of her expected him to come and go as he pleases like he always does - never taking the time to stop, even for a moment. But in the end, him being here isn’t that surprising. Just like her, he’s never been able to leave her side for too long.

Maybe they’ve become each other’s haven among the mayhem of this world.

She shivers violently has she buries her face under the covers once more, ignoring the sweat lingering on her skin. Her hands whiten with the strength she uses to scratch at her scalp, hoping to lose her thoughts among the apocalyptic landscape of her bed. Find an anchor outside of the dreamworld.

- It’s impossible to fully heal, isn’t it ? She whispers more to herself than anything, even though she knows how light of a sleeper the Ghost is. No one can really forget.

Almost immediately, she feels him move against her shoulder, silently turning around to meet her form ; small and trembling under a nameless terror. Pathetic, he would usually laugh, but his own scars burn so viciously that he can only clench his teeth as he faces her pain. Is that empathy twisting his guts ?

What he would do to forget that thought.

- If ya want to forget tha’ badly, I might ‘ave a solution or two.

The Silence is loud as she nods slowly, tiredly. Seeking refuge in the sulfur of his touch.

- Please, she says, quaking as his hand smears layers upon layers of charcoal upon her hips, don’t you wish for the same ?

His lips fall upon the curve of her neck, barely restraining the fangs hiding behind them from piercing the already bruised skin ; reveal the raw pulse hiding underneath.

- Yes, he answers, barely daring to break the erratic rhythm of his breath - and, once more, feeling her melt through the peculiar love of his hold.

When traitorous Morpheus finally takes control over her mind, the sun has already broken through the night, painting the firmament in blinding hues of blue, devoid of any cloud. It claws mercilessly at the Ghost’s eyes, tears a low growl from his chest. On the other side of the window, the world rises to a mix of car engines, footsteps and voices, involuntarily celebrating the light that is constantly trying to burn him to ashes.

The sky has no reason to be blue, he thinks as his forehead meets the window pane, just like his Snowflake has no reason to sigh so serenely in his presence. The atmosphere is soft, warm ; dragging a wave of shivers down his back. A frustrated growl escapes his throat, the night of his eyes sparkling at the taste of a familiar rage. That celestial blue is silently looking down on him, mocking his darkness.

He loathes it.

He loathes her.

A second is enough for his knee to dig into the covers once more, giving him enough support to guide his fingers towards her face. They slowly dance along her skin as the weight of his very existence makes the mattress whimper, before roughly circling her neck. Her blood pumps peacefully under his touch, and his own voice screams in the back of his mind, distorted and rough.

Do it. Take her. Rid us of this nuisance.

His tongue soothes the cracks covering his lips, and a twisted smile eventually slices them open once more as the words settle in his thoughts.

But in her sleep, the Hunter moves - and his excitement dies as quickly as it came to live. She breathes in deeply, her head lolling against the pillows. Instead of braving for a fight like she usually does, she lets her subconscious raise a hand to his wrist, as if she was trying to offer him her silent support.

But that’s not what he wants. That’s not what he is.

What happened to this poor human that fought mercilessly against him, fueled by an endless determination ; the one who bared her broken teeth in his face through a bloody sneer, ready to turn his words against him and burn his entire being to ashes ?

He loathes the way his own mind whispers those words in his ears, exchanging it’s usual coldness for a dry melody made of anger and fear that makes his hold tremble around his Snowflake’s throat. The peculiar understanding they both came to. The doubts this small, vulnerable thing keeps planting in his soul. The fact that he can’t make any sense of the abyss bubbling in his head anymore

So he staightens up, ignoring the way his spine crackles as he makes his way out of this way too-familiar room. He almost expects a knife to dig through his back, to whistle in retaliation for engaging in an unfair fight. Give him a taste of his own medicine, in a way. A painful warning. So he waits.

But nothing comes.

A glance over his shoulder shows that the Hunter hasn’t moved a single inch. She still lays there, swallowed by a capharnaüm of blankets, her sleep-laden breath so slow it barely disturbs the quiet of the room. Her favourite plushie is curled on top of her head, like a guardian trying to keep its treasure from the merciless claws of a nightmare. A fitting description, he thinks, realising it’s probably been months since she slept so soundly.

His teeth strain under the sudden pressure of his jaws. This is the exact kind of peace he is starting to see in the eyes of his prey - as if she was in the process of surrendering, giving up her life to his now familiar hands. He doesn’t understand how she can bring herself to look at something like him and feel so serene. It makes him want to keep her for himself even more, taint the corrupted purity of her soul. He knows she can feel it ; so why does she treat him with so much tenderness ? Even more so after the hell he’s been dragging her through while laughing at her tears ?

A sour smile loses itself to the her sleepy silence as he turns back to sit on the edge of the bed. Perhaps the only reason why he wants her to be his is to understand her better. And once he does, he might finally be able to grasp how similar the chaos brewing in their hearts is. Forging their souls from the same steel.

Or perhaps the roles will change, and he will become nothing than a frail and vulnerable lamb. An easy prey caught in the destructive jaws of the Hunter.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Think.

Above her, a string of neons blink.

The young woman has no idea of what pushed her to once again get lost in the smelly bathroom of this nightclub - the one her friends keep dragging her to. Her eardrums haven’t stopped ringing violently ever since she stepped foot through its doors - perhaps because of the music that’s way too loud for her senses, the multicolored lights tearing at her retinas, or the uncontrollable amount of blurry faces swinging way too close for her comfort.

She doesn’t belong here.

Despite the nauseating swaying of her vision, she notices a more-than-familiar silhouette lingering in a corner of the room. He seems way too big for fit comfortably in the small space, engulfing it completely with his darkness. A stark contrast to the colorful graffiti littering the walls.

- ‘Ow many times do ya plan on makin’ tha’ back an’ forth between the dancefloor and this shithole ?

If the mockery in his tone only serves to irritate her more than she already is, the young woman doesn’t have the strength to meet the Ghost’s eyes. Instead, she stares at her own reflection among the suspicious dirt covering the mirror dangling on the wall, akin to a failed portrait made by a drunk painter. She thinks about taking a picture and submit it to the first museum of contemporary arts she stumbles upon, to top it off with a ridiculous title. Who knows - with a little bit of luck, she could maybe earn a little bit of money. Make it easier to reach the end of the month.

As that thought runs sarcastically through her mind, she ignores the dry chuckle rasping from the corner behind her.

Somewhere beyond the door, the DJ makes a poor transition to another music she barely recognizes. All that’s left in the tired void of her mind is the struggle of her own existence and the calm breathing of the entity, wafting against her neck despite the small distance between them. Her eyes meet once again the cracked lights in the mirror, and she can almost see it pulsating against the wall along the beat coming from the next room. The music keeps screaming in the rancid air, and her blood almost crystallizes in her veins when it’s joined by a chorus of screeches and whistles.

- I need to get away from here, she says, knowing the Ghost heard her despite the ambiant chaos.

She can feel him shift behind her as she reaches towards the dilapidated door with a trembling hand, desperately trying to shut off the pain lingering in her marrow.

- Let’s fuck off then, he answers almost immediately, and she wonders if he, too, hopes to get rid of a loud ringing in his ears.

She barely has the time to step out of the bathroom that she’s assaulted by the sounds, the smells, the touches. The singing voices and bodies burnt by an impossible amount of toxic liquids and smokes, a violent choir telling her to get away, away, away - GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE ; and she has no idea of which is stronger between the screams of the nightclub or the cries of her heart. Almost instinctively, she reaches behind her, seeking a destructive yet familiar contact in the hand of the entity following her. But her pride is a powerful force, and her arm stays stuck to her side.

Yet the Ghost knows her well. He feels what she does as if he was the one living inside her head ; and he kind of is, in a way. Perhaps he is the one feeling all of this, and not her ? He quickly silences the thought, enveloping her hand with the charcoal covering his own, squeezing so tight it’s almost painful.

It soothes an ache in his own non-existent heart. He wonder if she knows, feels, everything about him too.

Another nightmare comes running down his back ; a memory, the laughing spectre of what used to be a majestic pair of wings, which he used to fight in the Divine’s name until It abandoned him to his own abyss, tore his feathers apart to burn them to ashes in the flames of Its arrogance.

He almost feels the need to throw his eyes into another mirror shining below the erratic lights, as if the crevices running along its surface could give him what he lost ; a new kind of feathers, way too sharp for the immaculate hands of the Gods. But the Hunter keeps walking, dragging him along.

And the Ghost follows. For she’s his only shelter in this bubble of suffering they both unvoluntarily insist on sharing.

Run. Dodge. Fight. Think.

How do you mourn a devastating loss when you’ve never had anything to lose ?

Tell an Angel a tale of love, and they will carry it in their dreams. Listen to the beating of their heart, akin to a bird’s song celebrating the rising sun. Watch the molten gold reflecting off the ink of their blood drop from the wounds their longing for such a feeling caused. Realise how beautiful the depths of their darkness is, abyssal and mesmerizing ; how empty it all is, devoid of any sense.

The Ghost isn’t too different, he who lives thanks to those who unknowingly need him, who convinced himself that he was made to serve their torment. His very existence is proof that, if he can’t find a soul to pull him forward, he is nothing ; which is why he looks for his redemption through countless paths made from wounds that aren’t his. He dips his feet in puddles tainted by the blood of mortals, the crimson life -and death- of those whose hatred and suffering only serve to fuel his own.

A long time ago, he forgot what it’s like to love.

Maybe he remembers the meaning of caring for someone. But does that mean his feelings were once given back to him ? The thought is both ridiculous and horrifying ; a description that fits him well, too. It has become impossible for him to get rid of the impression that, if he one day decides to let go of the his Snowflake, these shreds of memories would also slip through his fingers.

So he holds on, so strongly that his knuckles whiten and crack under the corrupted ink of his skin. He doesn’t know whether or not he could speak of love - if he should. Behind the deformed skull covering his face, the entity hides a terrified snarl.

Sometimes, alone in his own darkness, all of this makes him laugh. How lucky he is to have something to fear, something to drive him forward ! And how undeserving he is of it, Fallen that he is, he who fell so long ago in a bottomless well of which he will never get out !

During his most vulnerable moments, laying down next to the Hunter among the chaos of her bed, he lets his doubts break through his voice.

- You’re mine, aren’t ya ? He asks, and she murmurs something he can’t catch before clearing her throat.

- Yeah, she answers sleepily, I’m yours.

Her hands get lost in the gaping scars littering his back, and he allows himself to be lulled by such a light touch, devoid of the usually anxious trembling interrupting her days. Among his sighs, now peaceful thanks to this intimacy they barely think to share, his muscles tense periodically. She feels more than she sees the earthquake hidden behind the baritone notes of his voice ; and she knows his fears too well, these nightmares that keep trying to shatter the pieces of her heart. She can almost see his eyes look for an answer she might not really dare to give him, for she almost knows him better than she knows herself ; and vice versa. Or maybe not, whispers and echo that sounds eerily close to a mix of their voices, but she refuses to torment the already too twisted soul of the Ghost.

What made you like this ? She sometimes yearns to ask. Who made you into those ruins of a man, constantly trying to drown you in a bottomless abyss ?

But she knows she will never be brave enough to loudly articulate those questions, even if he might already know about them. So she settles for snuggling against his peculiar warmth, covering the tangle of their bodies with a toasty piece of her covers, not really knowing which one of them she is trying to bring comfort to. A yawn escapes her lips as she holds him against her chest like a damaged, oversized plushie - not unlike the one sleeping peacefully next to her head.

- And you’re mine.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

The era she lives in is made of corruption and greed, she thinks, its horrors rivalling with the ones found in the deepest pits of Hell itself. Or perhaps it’s a form of Paradise ? Maybe she’s nothing more than a demon hidden in a masquerade filled with pure, ancestral beings, her flaking skin gripping the velvet of her costume, threatening to tear it apart like the Gods did her soul. Maybe she’s one of the few who see the Truth hidden behind this never-ending show, this cacophony in the middle of which she’s forced to survive despite the fact she’s not meant to be there in the first place.

In a world covered in scorching waves and deadly shores, where is she supposed to find herself a halo ?

Sometimes, she wonders if the Angels of today pray when the sun rises, kneeling in front of the loud cries of their coffee machine. If the remnants of what were once sacred melodies dance in the ashes if their memory, disappearing behind the echo of the last drop falling into a cup they will never empty completely.

She wonders if their now blunt teeth break cigarette after cigarette, their ends piling up on the cold and dirty tiles of public restrooms, the walls around them covered in holy quotes they have long since forgotten. If their tongues happen to trip on the syllabes of a language they can no longer understand.

She wonders if their mouths are still filled with ambrosia, tainting every other food with a flavour they now know as forbidden. If they still remember lazing around in the middle of starry clouds, once upon a time when their glasses were never empty and their laughter ran along the skyline.

And she wonders if they would still be able to recognise their brothers and sisters behind the corrupted aura surrounding them, the foam born form the Lethe that lingers in their eyes. If they meet each other under the noses of the mortals species they now belong to, their sanded claws tearing the silky skin covering their bones, as if trying to find an illusion of peace in the ocean of confusion they are doomed to roam.

Are there even such beings, nowadays ? She murmurs. Remnants of sacred ruins destined to sway forever between their forgotten paradise and the hellish grounds they always feared ?

- You’re overthinkin’ again, a voice echoes at her side, and she can almost see two dots of dried blood light up at the edge of her field of vision.

She doesn’t even think about turning her head towards the sound, her own eyes focusing on the darkness of her ceiling.

- Would you be able to answer any of my questions ?

Her mattress suddenly caves in under a weight she now knows too well. The Ghost leans over her, a foreign expression carving his face behind the skull of his mask.

His silence is as somber as it is eloquent.

- Your fall, she insists, did it hurt ?

- ‘Course it did.

Of course it did, echoes a smiliar voice floating in the darkness. I felt my wings decompose as I tried to slow my fall down, the stars burning my fingertips over and over. My hands have been torn open by the lightning crawling around the atmosphere, and the clouds cried waves upon waves of salty tears upon my wounds. My scapulars tore the muscles of my shoulders apart, and my feathers burned among a sea of flames I once came to admire.

This nightmarish moment still haunts my entire being. I can still hear my own screams bounce around my skull, refusing to quiet down despite the passing of time and the crevices that line its walls.

Of course it hurt.

- Of course, she repeats once more with a pale voice, as if the memories twirling in her mind had always been hers.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

Angels are sacred beings, spells a voice lost in the young woman’s mind, whose wings have been carved in a block of purity, and whose feathers sway along the rhythm of a virtuous wind. It’s easy for them to lose it all. Remember this, for the next time you catch the eyes of a Fallen.

Inside the Ghost’s ribcage, a somber void sits where a heart once was. The cracks of the Genesis hide a bottomless abyss, cruel and bathed in despair. She never knows how to resist to its alluring call, the loving whispers twisting her soul and turning it into a palette of rotten watercolours.

She’s been standing in her bathroom for a long time now, watching her reflection in her foggy mirror. Her hair clings to her face, still wet from the heat of a way-too-long shower, yet she does nothing to move it. Truth be told, the reflective glass only shows her a vague, colorful shape ; but she knows herself well, so much that it has become impossible to ignore the marks lingering on her body. She’s the reason behind many of them, guided by the honeyed words of her nightmares, always so cold against the invisible flames licking at her skin.

She should run. She knows that too well. She should have started running eons ago, even, but something inside of her refuses to get rid of her chains. She could escape to the other side of the world - yet nothing could stop her from coming back to the entity that, despite their constant fighting, somehow keeps her head out of the water.

Migh’ be our Destiny, is what he always says, persuading her to stay by his side. And it could be true, for the Fates are vicious and cruel, always looking for a way to laugh at their pathetic efforts to stay afloat.

He used to be an Angel. Everyone is to meet at least one during their life, and another one after their death ; no matter its nature. The Divine no longer cares about the purity of the entities It sends to the mortal world, and might even find some pleasure in seeing the consequences of Its own failures, convincing Itself that none of them is Its fault. The Gods will always see Themselves as better than anything else, and the Ghost hopes she never forgets it.

- And there she is, he says as he steps closer to her exhausted form. Back again.

The echo of his footsteps sends shivers down her spine. A bitter taste haunts the dried walls of her throat, soon taken over by a nauseating sweetness - the kind that makes her want to hold even more of it between her teeth.

Run, the voice whispers once more. You poor little thing, it might not be too late to escape him. But she knows this regret will soon go silent, making it even more easier to stay. So she stays, unmoving as he gets closer and closer, until there’s barely an inch left between their chests.

- Tha’ was quick. Missed me tha’ much ?

His smile is impossible to describe. Her reflection is clear in the bloody lake of his eyes ; showing her the peculiar fascination that paints her features, sometimes broken by rays of doubt and desire. Their lips barely graze each other as he leans in, yet the touch is so vivid compared to everything else that the Hunter wonders if it wasn’t just her imagination.

- Your ego knows no bound, she mumbles, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

The Ghost smiles, knowing too well how captivating his inhumainty is. She constantly tries to get rid of this malicious attraction that chains the both of them, dipping her finger in the spectral thoughts whispering how much better she is than all of this, than this Fallen who knows nothing about the depths of love. It’s all an illusion, a dream created by an infernal fever. A trap. She’s aware if this - so why does it all seem so real, sometimes ? Could it be that all these silent, vulnerable moments are nothing more than the sparks of futile hope she thought was real ?

She should run. But she wants to know if there isn’t even the smallest of truthful lights hidden behind this never-ending nightmare.

- You always say that Destiny’s the reason why we’re constantly brought together, she murmurs weakly, dropping her head against the Ghost’s torso as he holds her there, hands coated in a silent tenderness. But how could that be, since I always do my best to avoid you ? How do you keep finding me ?

For a moment, the entity feels his eyes widen with surprise. He quickly hides it behind a sly smile, cruel and warm. This time, he dives even deeper to really meet her lips, and she can taste the rust that seems to haunt his every touch.

She should run. But she doesn’t. She never will.

- I jus’ follow those who are waitin’ for me, Snowflake.

She sometimes wonder if she’ll ever be able to forgive their mutual sins ; and the voice in her head cackles. You’re bound to a being that lives for this, it says, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ? The laughter refuses to stop as she realises again and again that she’s far from being Holy - something that the Ghost knows too.

- You always save me from my demons because you want to kill me yourself, don’t you ? She asks, her words bouncing strangely around her dried throat. You’re the only Death you’ll allow me to have.

He sucks in a breath, the darkness of his features twisting under his mask. Those questions -or statements ?- rouse an unknown feeling from the void ; new, complex, indecipherable. She can almost feel his usual arrogance quiver in her own heart, abruptly hidden by the melancholic sigh crossing his lips.

After a moment of silence, the entity places a kiss on her shoulder, light as a buttefly. Something loud echoes from his thoughts, a conflict lost eons ago to the abyss, while his own silence offers no denial or confirmation. So she keeps herself quiet, holding her certainty in a corner of her blurry mind.

And in her dreams, when Morpheus laughs as he asks her if she’s found herself to be seduced by his newfound vulnerability, the exhausted Hunter simply offers him a bitter smile, drinking her own tears from a golden cup.

She no longer has an answer.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Hunter never knew a single end ; only strings of never ending realities and gargantuan burdens holding the cruel thoughts that keep laughing at her misery. Destiny has never been on her side. Which makes her laugh ; maybe she stopped believing in it too long ago to care.

She couldn’t say when exactly she lost the taste of happiness that came with the old memories of her youth. Instead, her tastebuds tremble whenever a tired and distressed breath invades her mouth in the hopes of being set free, twist under its sour flavour as she tries to swallow it. Some times are not made for sighing.

The Gods decided that she was made to wither in Chaos, but she’d rather see things differently. She doesn’t like the idea of the cruel, broken concepts They make, those that never hesitate to unleash waves of suffering on thousands and thousands of innocent souls. She tries to focus on the positive things they sometimes leave in their wake, no matter how difficult it is to find them, how easily they can crumble in her hands.

For now, she’s stopped fighting. But the cascades of her own blood are now weaved in her soul, constantly retelling tales of the wars she’s been through. She can do nothing more than to wait for the next storm. Which she does.

Among the uiverse in which she lives, comfort comes and goes however it pleases. More often than not, it goes down a path drastically different than hers, so far away that she loses sight of it. Those periods of time stretch out for so long that when this peace comes back, meeting its almost unknown silhouette triggers her reflex to fight - her soul screaming at the potential enemy standing in front of her.

Fight ! It pleads. Fight ! Fight ! Fight !

Survive !

Yet she silences it for now.

Outside of her window, the city still hides behind a thick veil of fog. As always, it should be too early for her to be awake ; but her eyes refuse to stay closed, and her mind focuses on the heavy feeling crushing her waist. The Ghost lays beside her, still fast asleep with an arm slung over her frame, his body easily engulfing hers. It’s a good opportunity for her to observe how his short, blond hair fades into the porcelain of his skin, shattered by countless scars of all colours. She dares run a hand through the blond calamity of his hair. How strange it can be, she thinks as he sighs against her breast, to sometimes boil with hatred and disdain for the other, yet still share those quiet moments of intimacy whenever the fight ends.

She used to wish for him to disappear. And yet now, she finds peace in his presence.

What happened ?

In her eyes, the entity did nothing to deserve even an ounce of kindness. He dragged her down over and over again, enjoyed building her back together only to break her again, drew tears and blood from her very soul to savour the taste. But so did she.

The Divine keeps laughing at their pain by offering them fake opportunities of redemption. But they both know they can only find their salvation in the other’s soul, walk side by side towards a new world of their own creation. If the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, she still sees how attractive it can be to slowly burn out in the heart of the Ghost while cradling him in hers - free both of their souls of the miasma haunting them.

This is a fantasy based on nothing, cackles a distorted voice in her head. And it’s true. No matter how much they try to redeem themselves, how many times they tear their own knees apart while praying, and how many rebellions they go through in order to cut their own strings, the skies will never allow them to leave Their grasp. But they stopped caring a long time ago.

Raising a trembling arm to her eyes, the Hunter smiles. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her lips as she silently follows the too-many marks littering her skin - a familiar sight, with an ever-growing number. She realises how similar her scars are to the Ghost’s. The canvas of their bodies is covered in white lines, rugged burns and deep, purple bruises that never stop appearing, and her vision sways before she can finish counting.

Yet she can’t stop her eyes from following the crevices lining the entity’s back. They rise and hide among a valley of broad muscles, holding the memories he refuses to share. The visions he can’t forget. Her own back is probably the same. They are covered in the painful remnants of what used to be their wings, the spectres of their freedom weighing heavy against their bones.

- I know you’re awake, Ghost. Stop pretending.

She immediately feels him smile against her skin, his fangs threatening to catch on the red lines crossing her chest.

- No’ pretendin’, he answers with a low and cheeky voice. Admirin’ my work.

- Oh, fuck off.

That drives a cackle out of his throat. He could have followed up with one of his usual snarky comments, but he chooses to nuzzle the crook of her neck instead as she slowly rakes her nails along his scalp. The gesture is soft, tender - so different from the times she claws at him instead, either during their fights, or their rougher moments of intimacy. An empty glance to her face, one she tries to avoid, tells him that she probably had the same thought.

The atmosphere is strange during this morning, bathed in a shy light, but the Ghost doesn’t pay it any mind. The room is perfectly silent, and it would be a shame to ignore this opportunity to get a glimpse of her beautifully complex mind.

How many times did he see his Snowflake’s eyes hold the darker hues of a violent rage, an abyssal despair, or any other feelings she couldn’t decipher ? He reads her like an open book, so satisfyingly transparent. How beautiful it is to watch how her story writes itself to the rhythm of her thoughts, of the days they weave together ! For now, all he sees is a slow melancholy digging in-between the lines, akin to a storm brewing on the horizon. An infinite tiredness that has him silencing the teasing he was tempted to articulate.

- You miss it, don’t you ? She finally says, interrupting his observations.

She hesitates slightly, pausing in her train of thoughts. How could she summarize the entirety of their mutual struggle in one sentence ? Her own saliva becomes painful to swallow, dragging against the dry walls of her throat. It’s like a marble of lead is blocking her oesophagus, leaking the poison of doubt in her system.

- The Chaos, she continues, her voice sounding incredibly raw. You keep chasing it, but it’s getting away.

The Ghost rolls onto his back, grunting as the rust of his bones hinders his movement. She isn’t wrong. Just like Violence has tried to break her soul, his is tainted by a visceral need to ruin all order. All is boring when Peace settles in ; silent, clean. Unsufferable.

But when he looks at the Hunter and her milky scars highlighted by the rising sun, the entity thinks this moment of rest -which will obviously be too short for her tastes- isn’t that bad. He appreciates the calm floating in the air, and her presence too, even if their relationship might be far from ideal. To stay here, bathing in the misty morning glow without holding a blade to the other’s throat, is something he finds himself to enjoy quite well.

He slowly sits up, allowing his head to stretch lightly to the side. The smile he gives her is full of harmless malice.

- Ya’d miss me, eh ? If I left to pursue tha’ Chaos.

- Oh no ! Not at all !

- Always so shy, he sighs as if her reaction offended him. Neva’ sharin’ whot ya really think.

He leans above her, voice lowering, and his arm twisting in a way that can barely support his weight. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall into his previous position.

- Bu’ maybe we could create our own Chaos ?

- We already do that quite a lot, she quips back while rolling over to turn her back to him. It’s enough for me.

She feels more than she sees the way his smile now leaves his fangs on full display, showing how much he enjoys troubling the morning peace with his dark and honeyed words. He softly takes hold of her wrist, where his lips come to follow a path he now knows more than well.

- Bu’ didn’t I hold your hand ta guide ya towards peace, multiple times ?

Face halfway buried into the pillows, the Hunger grimaces. These words reflect a twisted truth, ensnare her throat like the red thread that runs along her skin.

- You hate Peace, she breathes.

- And ya know nothin’ o’ it.

Sometimes, she thinks, « dangerous » isn’t powerful enough to define the Ghost - especially when his thoughts get so close to hers. When she finally decides to meet his gaze, she finds the usual spark of arrogance dancing behind his pupils. Yet there’s also a hint of laziness and sincerity, one she seems to see more and more as time passes. Body still heavy with sleep, she raises herself towards him, and languishly runs her thumb across the traitorous curve of his lips.

- You know your offer is tempting.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Gods like to play like cowards, binding them together as one tormented soul. They both despise Them for giving them so many feelings they will never control. On one side of the coin, it’s freeing to be carried by the dangers they hold ; but on the other side, constantly standing in the eye of the storm is exhausting. Like fighting with bare hands against a raging fire.

- And I know you’re gonna refuse, Snowflake.

She simply cackles.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

She doesn’t remember much about the happy times of her childhood. The earliest memories she holds are already painful, filled with an almost visceral need to survive against the infernal obstacles that Life keeps throwing in her path. They keep repeating that it’s like this for everyone, forcing her to reduce her own armor in pieces and tear out the heart beating behind it, showing this corrupted world the gaping wounds it has to beat with ; the searing edges she had to cauterize herself in order to not bleed out on her own ; the cries she swallowed into silence to avoid being treated like a stranger to her own existence.

Maybe they’ll come to see how difficult it is for her to keep going, she thinks, to hold her head high when everything tried to drag her down.

Her eyes, circled by her tired pain, get lost in the phosphorescent stars haunting her ceiling. Their pale, green light has always been a guide, a sturdy anchor protecting her against the merciless currents of her thoughts whenever she feels like giving up. Being a Celestial must be tiring, she sometimes whispers while imagining said creatures flying among clouds and comets. She can’t imagine what it takes to bear the weight of the hopes and dreams of others when one’s has already left this world to wander in another.

She always thought she never believed in Fate ; yet when she lets herself be carried away by the abyssal timbre of her Ghost, that demon she now knows more than herself, she remembers that it’s impossible to escape its languid clutches. Sometimes, a part of her wonders if she wasn’t wrong to listen so much to her doubts.

Her body is covered in scars she is ashamed to wear. But her fight is still far from whatever ending it might follow, and something in her mind murmurs that they can’t be that bad, those white marks she shares with the Fallen she’s come to love.

Her bones crack as she turns her pillow over to meet the cool fabric of its unused side ; but it’s the touch of the entity laying on top of her that keeps making her shiver, and a light laugh escapes her when his charcoal-covered claws brush against her ribs. It’s a rare melody, and it convinces him that, somewhere, the firmament must be torn by the miraculous and silent dance of a shooting star.

His thoughts only quiet down when she slides a hand along his scalp to feel the softness of his hair, the clarity of her voice echoing through the silence.

- Don’t you want to see it from up close ? She asks, causing him to raise a curious brow.

- See whot.

- The shooting star.

The Ghost smiles, littering her skin with butterfly kisses filled with reverence. To see the one he gave his love to so eager to do the same is a beautiful feeling, and he realises how lucky they both are to have met each other while looking for a new kind of ataraxia.

- No need, he whispers, nuzzling in the crook of her neck.

I already have one.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Live.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod au #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader #fem!reader #demon!au #cod angst #angst #angst with a happy ending

57 notes · View notes

faeriekit · 6 months

Text

Lunch Break

a two-prompt phic phight fill for @fuyuthefoxwriter; demon!au and fangs

Notes: 1. This IS a continuation of my prev. demon!au (Visitation) 2. based on the laws of Phic Phight you CANNOT read the previous iterations, as it is nsfw and therefore cannot be linked 3. but for the already present fans…it’s a continuation from that. Also, it’s gray ghost.

Valerie likes her boyfriend.

He’s cute, with a button nose and blue eyes. He’s sweet. He’s kind, and he’s gentle, and if she leaves him alone he takes the toaster oven apart just to see how it works. It’s kind of like living with a small dog who takes apart pillows if you don’t give them enough attention.

Valerie loves her boyfriend.

…But the goddamn teeth.

She pushes his face away, cutting off their kiss with no warning. Danny squawks.

“Danny,” Valerie implores, again, because they are in public and not in the comfort of their own apartment, “If you cannot keep human teeth while we are making out, we are not going to make out anymore.”

Her stupid, human-shaped boyfriend pouts. Valerie should be pouting. Valerie has to avoid shredding her tongue like she’s kissing a cheese grater.

Danny, who is the cause of all this, should not be pouting as if he’s been denied the opportunity to stick his tongue in her mouth for no reason, instead of his habit of turning his extremely normal and flat human teeth into something extremely hazardous to tongues and lips everywhere.

Danny makes the world’s saddest eyes she’s ever seen. It’s very rude of him. Valerie deserves better. “But Val! I brought you lunch!”

For one, it’s six in the evening. A more apt word might be ‘dinner’. Secondly…

“I work at a burger restaurant,” Valerie points out, arms crossing over the Nasty Burger logo on her shirt for extra emphasis. “I already have dinner. I also have to be back on shift in half an hour, so if you’re not going to put your teeth away, I’m going to finally finish Don Quixote or nap trying.”

“Yeah, but you hate eating work food for lunch,” Danny points out, because he does do some very sweet things by 1) recognizing her likes and dislikes and 2) applying them liberally throughout their relationship. He holds up a weirdly large tupperware in his hands. It’s clear. It’s green.

It’s Fenton salad.

“...So my Mom packed you leftovers after I picked up stuff at the Ops Center, since she knows you like the dill vinaigrette she makes after the ectology conference every year, and she added the shredded carrot and the crumbly cheese you like since no one else in the house eats it, plus some of those little orange slices and the croutons…”

Valerie’s lips purse. Fenton salad. Her favorite.

…She takes the container from Danny’s outstretched hands, determined to ignore his smug look. Valerie prefers to be right, but higher in priority comes accepting free food from her boyfriend’s mother.

“You’re welcome,” Danny offers, smugly sweet.

“If I kiss you, will you get me with your teeth again?” Valerie asks. She’s deeply suspicious of both his motives and the timing.

“...Maybe?”

Valerie looks at him. “Change your answer.”

“...No?”

“Close enough.” Valerie draws him in, and Danny lets himself be drawn in; the kiss is sweet, and short, and tastes kind of like mandarin oranges.

He definitely had some of her salad before sharing. Whatever. It’s a good thing she likes him.

The kiss is lovely, and not very long; separating is a little harder, though, when Valerie realizes that Phantom’s tail is still wrapped around her waist.

“...Danny.”

“Mmhm?”

“I have a shift to get to.”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees, entirely ignorant to his least controlled limb holding her back.

“So,” Valerie continues, and then scratches at the fur in his tail until he flinches with recognition. “Unwrap me, please.”

“Do I…have to?”

Valerie’s look flattens. Danny makes entirely unacceptable goo-goo eyes at her.

“I have a shift in ten, and your mom’s salad to devour. Move it or lose it.”

Danny’s tail unwraps. Danny sighs, leaning in for one last peck—

Valerie feels the tips of fangs bite explicitly into her lips.

Her growl is hardly intimidated by Phantom’s rush of guilty laughter, her demon-shaped boyfriend slipping out of her fingers. Great. Now she can taste blood— the thing she was trying to avoid.

Seeing him in all of his claws and fangs and teeth and horns in daylight was always a little strange; he was never quite opaque in sunlight. He was always a touch translucent, only just shifted outside of reality.

And the stupid cow ears.

No, they're not endearing. Shut up.

It certainly didn’t help that if someone saw him turn into a demon, his whole ‘hiding his identity as a half-demon’ thing would be over! He needs to pick better spots for his random acts of infernal dramatics!

“I’m sorrrryyyy,” Phantom shouted from a healthy fifty feet away, floating in the air. It made him hard to reach, but an excellent target. “I looooovvee yoooouuu!”

No. Valerie will resist reaching into her armor for a weapon to shoot her boyfriend out of the sky with. It is rude. It is unkind. More importantly, Valerie’s not interested in having a public identity reveal behind the Nasty Burger any more than Danny is.

It’s fine. There’s other options.

“Put a shirt on!” Valerie hollers back, hands over her mouth.

Phantom’s mouth drops in the distance, little fangs glinting in the evening sunlight. His clawed hands go over his chest, looking for some perceived gap in his coverage. “I’ve got fur! I don’t need one!”

“Exhibitionist!” Valerie heckles back. “Nudist!”

Phantom squawks in offense. “Come on! I’m covered!”

“Get some pants!” Valerie shouts back, finally attracting the attention of one of her employees. At the sound of the Nasty Burger’s nasty back door creaking open, Phantom bolts off.

Good. That’s what he gets.

Temerity peeks through the back door. Her name tag is upside down, again. “Boss…?”

Valerie brushes herself off, grabs a plastic fork from where it was sitting on her ebook reader, and reclines back onto the plastic lawn chair that counts as their ‘break room’. “It was nothing, Temmie. A demon got into the dumpster again.”

“Oh.” Temerity’s countenance warms. She’d always had an interest in the local occult scene. “Did it leave anything behind?”

“Nah,” Valerie replies, popping open her tupperware. Just her lunch, apparently. “You need any help…?”

“Nope! We’ll be fine until you get back in.”

That for sure means something’s wrong. Whatever; Valerie is totally satisfied to finish off the last fifteen minutes of her shift with some literature, a bucket’s worth of satisfaction, and her boyfriend’s dismayed texts pinging in bursts onto her phone.

#phic phight #phic phight 2024 #faer fic #demon!au #gray ghost #valerie gray #danny fenton #VERY quickly uploading this on break #yes they're stupid yes they're in love yes they're antagonistic #spent all the weekend with two supermarket managers. the inspiration is so real

96 notes · View notes

majimasleftasscheek · 11 months

Text

kazumaji week 2023 day 6: alternate universe (of which I have many kdsfjlkljdfkl)

#throw these bimbos into anything and I will find a way #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kazuma #majima goro #kazumaji #monster!au #ghost!au #neighbor!au #demon!au #y0y6

334 notes · View notes

manicpixiedreamedwins · 4 months

Text

Weird au idea : almost everything is the same but Edwin is a lesser demon who escaped from hell. He is charmed by Charles and imprints on him instantly. He does that thing where demons look incredibly alluring, and in Charles’ final moments Edwin looks like everything he ever wanted— someone safe, gentle, and unconditionally loving. Everything his friends and family weren’t.

Even if Edwin does attempt to come clean at the end and tells Charles he is from hell and Charles should go to the light, Charles misunderstands. He assumes Edwin is a soul who escaped hell. He decides to stay with him because he made him feel safe in the attic while he was dying, and that is heaven enough.

They proceed to solve cases together. Edwin doesn’t know how to approach the misunderstanding because Charles is the most wonderful thing he has ever known and he doesn’t actually want to hurt him (oh no, he’s clearly gone soft).

#this au provided by: a weird snippet of a very mid show I was watching lol #Payneland #chedwin #weird au of the night #Demon!au

27 notes · View notes

phantomphangphucker · 5 months

Text

Phic Phight - How Not To Resurrect A Half Demon Lord

@lexiepiper @Ghostfox_fuyu

Being both an adventurer AND technically a monster wasn’t exactly the best mix to avoid fights, so it’s a good thing Danny actually LIKED fighting even if he couldn’t exactly ‘go hard’ against humans to avoid, you know, KILLING THEM. Other adventurers though? Yeah they didn’t exactly enjoy fighting what they thought was a weirdly powerful dungeon spawn.

Danny runs, skidding across the ground on his claws, the scrapping sound is loud but nowhere near the volume of the explosion happening right behind him. His tail nearly gets nicked! He’s not happy, not one bit. “WOULD YOU STOP THAT!”.

The mage with a frankly obscenely large hat damn near growls at him, which hey, growling was Danny’s thing. “Silence! Foul demon!”.

For fucks sake! Like yes, he gets that he looks like a demon. He gets that. But could people please just stop assuming that he belonged to whatever dungeon he and they happened to be in? This place was a goddamn lava dungeon, he was an ice demon with a black and white theme! Use your brain! Why would a fucking ice demon be in a lava dungeon!

Which, to be fair, him going into a lava dungeon wasn’t exactly smart or using his own brain; but Sam and Tuck thought this one would get them some sick ass gear so off they went. Of course they wound up getting separated, and of course Danny wound up running into other adventurers with the same idea as his party, and of course they mistook him for a dungeon beast. That’s his classic luck right there, everybody!

Ramming one set of claws into the wall and climbing up the hot rock as fast as he can, channeling some ice to his palms to avoid burning himself, it also was making some super cool-looking mist sizzle off of the rock so that was a neat bonus.

The adventurers trying to annihilate him seem to agree, the dude in black armour muttering to another mage with super orange hair, “hey if I equip ice gauntlets you think I could do that, it looks cool as Hell”. The mage whacks him over the head, ha!

Danny snorts to himself, jumping on to a ceiling stalactite of solid hot magma, ow ow ow ow ow, stupid ice core, stupid Tuck and Sam dragging him into a lava dungeon, stupid him for jumping onto solid magma, stupid stupid stupid. Ugh. But Danny does what Danny typically does when presented with pain, quips, shouting down, “why don’t you give up if you keep misting me!”. Ha! Good one, self. Ow.

The armoured guy chuckles, “I love it when monsters have a sense of humour, makes it so much more fun”, and hurls a goddamn spear at him. Nice, Danny can do spears and show off a little.

Danny launches himself down, grabbing the spear in between his teeth, fangs making it easy to keep the spear in there, and uses the spear head stabbing into the ground below to allow him to basically land going face down before gripping the shaft with his hands and spinning himself into an upright position. Him yanking it out of the ground and spinning it dramatically, grinning meanly, “oh I love free gifts, how’d you know it was my birthday?”, it’s totally not, he’s just being an asshole.

Big hat mage scowling at armoured guy quickly, “nice going, Salient”, then glaring back at Danny. Okay so armoured guy is named Salient, weird but okay. She shoots a fire last at Danny, Danny bats it away with the spear head snickering all the while. Then the other mage hits him with a holy-blast, because of course she does, and sends him into a wall.

He absolutely dropped the spear. Damn. He wanted to add that to his collection, which sure was definitely something he wasn’t doing before the whole resurrection gone wrong crap happened and he some how wound up getting his human souls wires crossed with Hell itself. A fuck up of hellish proportions.

Him shaking off the burn and sizzle from the holy power, at least still being kinda human and alive would stop that shit from outright smiting him, just burned and hurt like a motherfucker. The biggest annoyance his holy sensitivity usually caused him was not being able to use holy based healing potions… which were the cheapest kind aka the kind his party usually used to buy. Demonic based healing potions were the shit for him though, especially since he never had to worry about them debuffing or cursing him.

Orange hair mage huffs, “damn it, that didn’t do it”, scowling, “this place has some seriously strong demons, we might have use a hearth stone if it keeps up like this”.

Danny sticks his hands out to the side, tail twitching, “or maybe! Think a little and realise I’m not from this freaking dungeon!”.

“As if we’d believe a snake tongued demon!”.

Okay that’s just rude! It took him a very long time to learn how to talk with a forked tongue and he had to put up with a lot of mocking from Tuck! He sticks his tongue out at the group before having to climb up a wall again to avoid some thunder bolts from big hat mage and an arch of fire from Salient’s sword. At least he’d learned not to throw solid objects that Danny could grab, progress; progress for them and not him specifically. A very unfortunate specific.

Danny sending out a bit of icy flames that glowed black with his demonic energy to destroy another flame arch from Salient while moving sideways across the wall, he hates this dungeon it’s too fucking hot, goddamn. Zipping up to the ceiling and smacking his claws and palms on it, sending out a powerful wave of pure cold to force the ceiling to start snowing, which of course turns into very hot burning rain by the time it gets down to ground level. The party starts screaming and ducking for cover, that was surprisingly more effective than he expected and he absolutely had not intended to basically rain down boiling demonic water on them. Oops. He figured the snow would melt but not to the point of becoming boiling hot! How much energy was his core expending just to keep him fucking cool in this goddamn hellscape?!?

Danny skittering his way across the ceiling and in-between a gap between a stalactite and the dungeon ceiling, shouting a quick, “not trying to boil ya! Sorry!”. As he goes. Maybe they’ll be too busy hiding to realise where he’s tucked himself away. That would be nice, real nice.

“What kind of demon says sorry!”.

Don’t quip back, don’t quip back, don’t quip back. He’s trying to hide and quiping will fuck that up… “MY SORRY DEMONIC ASS!”, ah goddamn it, why does he do this to himself? Unsurprisingly the stalactite his hiding above gets fucking shot at by a holy bullet. That’s… that’s not great. Those sucked to get hit by and he’d one hundred percent need to be resurrected again if that shit hits his core enough times. But hey! Maybe that would un-demon him! Stupid plan, but hey! At least it is a plan! Plus that did not work when he accidentally fell into a pit of pure holy water. That had been the worst.

The stalactite gets shot at again, this time piercing through it and skimming his shoulder; him making his lip bleed by biting down to avoid yelping. Still hissing out a, “bloody hell”, though, because he could never just shut the fuck up could he? Also, he is officially panting, because it is too fucking hot here and his breath is making a bunch of mist aka giving away his spot more than his stupid quip did. Fuck him entirely.

He’s got three options:

One: start killing adventures like a proper full demon.

Two: overheat and pass out, possibly falling into hard ground or a pool of lava only to be descended upon by adventurers who would definitely hit unconscious him with a holy attack.

Three: leave his hiding spot and start looking for cooler areas while avoiding getting hit or doing any major hitting.

Four: use a hearth stone to teleport out of the dungeon, seems like the obvious choice right? Except when Danny’s half demon ass did that he wound up in Hell every time and Sam and Tuck would have to go through the hassle of getting him back out of there. That crap always resulted in them having to track down yet another ice dungeon and use forbidden demon summoning magic. Meanwhile he’d go throwing hands with demons for however long it took his friends to get him. Not ideal.

Then it turns out that there’s actually a fifth option, a wall blowing up and sending his bullet hole riddled stalactite crashing down towards the ground and exploding in hot semi solid magma. OW! Danny sputtering and shaking himself off aggressively, “oh fuck! Bloody hell! Me damn fuck it! Stupid fucking lava dungeon! Stupid fucking adventurers! Where’s my teammates when I me damn need them!”.

“Shit since when do goddamn demons team up! We need to hurry this up!”.

Then there’s a very loud thump, Danny squinting his fucking burning eyes up at the noise, fuck yeah! It’s Tuck! Nice! The guy’s landed directly on top of the orange haired mage, pointing his fricken lightning cross bow right in her face. The Salient guy getting hurled into a wall by vines seconds later, and a few more seconds and said vines are on fire and brunt to a crisp.

The big hat mage jumping back from the newbies assaulting her group, “great, how many different kinds of demonic vermin does this dungeon have!”, her creating an explosion with electricity to make something of a smoke screen for her to grab Salient out of the hole in the wall the guy made.

But! BUT! That puts their backs to Danny, and Danny might object to killing people but he did not object to bruising them up some. Meaning he launches himself at them, grabbing the back of both of their necks, and slams them into the ground; using his tail to tie their ankles all together. He also grabs the hat mages hat with his teeth and eats the fucking thing as a probably insane looking show of superiority.

Tuck, not looking at Danny and still staring violently down at orange hair mage, “you good, Danny-man?”.

Danny growling, “I’m annoyed, burnt, and vaguely considered making y'all haul me outta hell again for dragging me to this shit ass place”.

Sam walking calmly through the destroyed wall and into where they all are, “honestly I hate this place too. My plant magic is completely useless and I wrecked my helm”.

Danny snorting, “ha! Serves you right!”, he gets elbowed in the chin by Salient for being distracted. But well, an elbow, even armoured, isn’t gonna do much to Danny, so he just growls down at the man while said elbow is being pressed up into his chin.

Tuck snorts at the scene, “I’d stop that, Danny’s an obsidian rank combat warrior”. The mage beneath him scowling, “that is a demon spawn or are you fucking blind?”.

Danny takes offence to that, demon wise he was on par with a demon lord! Not a freaking basic hell spawn! “Excuse you!”. But Tuck laughs at Danny’s expense, “that’s what you get for never fighting back, moron”. Danny sticks his tongue out at the guy.

Sam shaking her head as she walks over to Danny, “seriously, if they attacked you first who cares if you hurt them”, grabbing the unconscious ex-hat mage out from Danny’s grasp, shit he hadn’t actually realized he’d knocked her out. Whoops. Sam pointing a finger at Salient, whose elbow is still pressed into Danny’s chin, “you wouldn’t be holding your own for shit if Danny took you seriously”.

“Pfft, I could take him”.

The orange hair mage snapping, “are you serious right now?! You are literally being pinned down you idiot!”.

Danny nodding, “glad we’re on the same page on that”; rolling his shoulders as he can feel some of the burning healing itself, he’d be healing a hell of a lot faster if he wasn’t in this damn hot lava dungeon though.

Tuck rolling his eyes before staring down at the orange hair mage, “look. Danny’s an adventure, he literally has a license on him right now. The only reason he’s in this dungeon is ‘cause we heard there was some bomb ass equipment in here, same as you guys probably”.

Sam laughing a bit meanly as she gives the ex-gay mage a healing potion since Danny probably gave her a concussion, “Danny’s not a ‘hell spawn’ he’s a fucked up resurrection spell gone wrong”.

Salient snorting, “prove it! And how the Hell did that happen?”. Danny snickers, “hell happened”; Tuck moving his crossbow out of orange hair mages face specifically to shoot Danny with it.

“Ow! You jerk!”.

Unfortunately orange hair takes that opportunity to blast Tuck nearly point blank in the stomach with a holy blast, sending him smashing up into the ceiling. Oh Hell fucking no, attacking Danny was one thing, he was a demon-looking mother fucker and could take hits like a champ; attacking his friends was a whole ass nother matter. At least Sam catches Tuck with some vines as he starts falling down from the ceiling and Tuck wasn’t knocked out by the attack.

Still though. Danny is none too impressed. And he refuses to tolerate a repeat of that, so just as the orange haired friend hurting asshat gets herself up off of the ground Danny lets himself loose more than a little bit. Limbs extending, spines pulling up out of his upper back and shoulders, second set of kudu horns extending out, ribs cracking and expanding through and over his torso skin to settle into a bigger form, that stupid gharial crocodile skull boiling and forming out of and off of his head; him all but shoving orange hair back into the ground and pinning her there with a single hand. Slamming the other hand down near her face, using a foot to keep the Salient guy pinned. Danny snarling, snout opening right over the mages face, “shoot at me all you want but you don’t get to hurt what’s mine”.

Tuck’s shaking off all that holy power, grumbling about stupid trigger happy adventurers as if he wasn’t one himself and stomps over to fucking shoot orange hair in the face with some sand; her unable to do anything about it because of Danny.

Salient muttering, “holy fucking shit, goddamn”. While Sam stops over to him, Sam smacking Danny’s ankle, “give over your license, you demonic horror”. Danny huffing out an icy breath in orange hairs face, moving his tail to use the many little quill hair spines on it to grab out his license from his torso inside his ribs, slipping it into her hands, “thank you”, she shoves the license in the probable warriors face, “see? Adventurer. You really think Clementine would approve him without goddamn checking him and his bullshit out?”.

He grunts from under Danny’s foot, “fair ‘nough. You tryin’ to crush me here?”.

Danny huffing another icy breath, “maybe”. Sam smacks his ankle again so Danny, with a shrug, lifts up his foot and lets the guy up. Danny thinks some mild crushing is totally deserved in this case, even if that was maybe influenced by these guys hurting his friends and making him feel all possessive and shit. Demon crap could be so annoying; being in this hot ass place only making it more annoying.

Salient rolls over and sits up, rolling his shoulders, “ow yeah, definitely not a spawn, damn”, eyeing himself over, “aw man, you cracked my shoulder pad. License doesn’t look fake though so”, looking up at Danny, “bad ass ability though”.

Danny tilts his skull head at the guy before looking back down to orange hair, “you gonna keep trying to annihilate me?”.

“You’re a demon”.

“And?”, lifting the hand that isn’t pinning her and waving it around dismissively, “it’s only a by half thing anyway”.

Tuck chuckling down at her, “need I point out that Danny could absolutely just crush you right now? Yeah, okay, so he’s sorta a demon, and sorta dead and not dead, but he’s not confined to a dungeon or Hell and he’s an adventurer. adventurers run into weird shit all the time, it’s not his fault he is the weird shit”. The girl glares but sighs, clearly giving up, so Danny basically forces himself to compact, puffing icy steam everywhere. Tuck grinning, “so dramatic”.

Danny pointing a normal standard human length clawed finger in the guys face, “hey, if there’s one thing I do well, besides confusing people and myself, it is dramatics”; if he was gonna be stuck as some weird dead but not dead, from the afterlife Hell but not from Hell, then he can be an overdramatic asshole about it.

Orange hair gets up immediately and moves over to the still unconscious ex-hat mage, muttering, “good, they didn’t poison her or anything. Damn demon worshipers”. Oh for fucks sake, was it really that hard to understand that he was a good guy and just a weird but typical adventurer? Ugh. Plus! He’s definitely a higher rank than her, so rude.

Salient standing up and shaking himself off, shouting at his teammate, “Lily good?”; nice, Danny’s got another name.

Orange hair sighs, “yeah. They didn’t do anything to her besides knock her out”. Oh everyone’s a critic.

Danny rolling his eyes and huffing, “you say that like you guys weren’t trying to fucking destroy me. Again, you gonna keep doing that shit? ‘Cause I’m positive all three of us outrank you guys, we just don’t exactly want to start having to fucking kill people just because people keep thinking I’m a me damned dungeon monster”.

Sam shaking her head and moving to be over by Tuck and Danny, “at least they didn’t think you were the dungeon boss this time”.

“Oh Hell that had been such a pain”.

Salient chuckles and looks at him, “you make a lot of ‘Hell’ comments and shit”.

Danny shrugging with a smirk, “hey if I’ve gotta be slightly, vaguely, hell bound then I might as well take the piss outta it”.

Orange hair glaring at Salient, “seriously? You’re making friendly with it now?”.

Danny pouts, “hey, rude much”. While Sam and Tuck laugh at him meanly.

Salient shoves her, “chill, aren’t adventurers supposed to at least try to get along. At least he’s not another psycho paladin who's just using his god as an excuse to commit way too much murder”.

Danny’s entire little party nodding, “yeah fuck paladins”. Earning them a scowl from orange hair, “we all know why you demon-lovers wouldn’t like paladins”.

Then Lily groans a little, sitting up and holding her head, “well at least I’m alive”.

Danny snorting, “yeah I have a thing against committing murder”.

“That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard a demon say”.

Danny pouts at her. He gets that demons have a terrible rap, an earned terrible rap, but cut a guy some slack will ya? It would be so nice if he could shapeshift to look fully human, he bets that in some other universe he definitely could and he is jealous of that version of him. Stupid fucker probably got all the super sneaky useful abilities. Like being able to turn invisible or something, that would have been so useful today. Ugh.

Lily looking to her party members, “so care to explain what’s going on here?”.

“Demon dude is a legit adventurer, licensed and everything”.

Orange hair just grumbles incomprehensibly.

Sam crossing her arms at the three, “I’m Sam, platinum rank herbalist and green mage. The one with the crossbow is Tucker, silver rank earth mage and gear smith. And the half demon, that you are to stop attacking, is Danny, obsidian rank combat warrior as already mentioned; he’s also a weapons smith and death magic apprentice. Yes he’s a resurrection spell gone wrong, he did it to himself somehow, but people screw up spells all the time so whatever”.

Danny shrugging, “I mean, typically they don’t screw up so impressively they fuck up half their genetic species but yeah”; Sam swats him one, expertly avoiding the horns.

Salient snorts, “you’re a death magic apprentice and you made your self half dead? WOW you suck”.

“Hey!”, Danny puts a hand to his chest, “technically it’s useful, this way I can actually go to one of the death planes now without slowly dying”.

Lily shakes her head disbelievingly, “ridiculous and inane”, gesturing at herself, “Lily, steel rank lightning high mage”, gesturing at Salient, “Salient, silver rank knight”, gesturing at orange hair, “Gemine, iron rank white mage and apprentice priestess”. Tilting her head, “why is an obsidian with a platinum and a silver? He’s three and four ranks above you two respectively?”.

Danny waves her off immediately, “eh, I was gold before the demon shit fucked my shit up. And I am the leader so it’s not that odd”. Sam nodding, “if anything it’s weirder that an iron is travelling with a silver”.

Gemine scowling, muttering to herself, “of course the demon is the leader, disgusting”. Lily cuffs her over the head, making the girl pout. Lily nodding, “demons are more powerful than the living so I suppose that is logical, and a lower rank priestess will best any higher rank warrior”, glancing around, “where’s my hat?”.

Sam and Tuck stare at Danny judgingly, him rubbing his neck, “I ate it?”; it was a heat of the moment thing okay! He makes really dumb decision when he’s put on the spot!

Salient nodding with a smirk, “yeah, it was pretty weird”.

Danny pouting, “I’m not paying you back for it”, twitching, “and can we get the fuck out of this hot ass place already?”, looking at Sam and Tuck, “if you found nothing good I’m gonna be so annoyed”. Sam rolling her eyes and digging in her bag, pulling out a little unassigned demon core. Yum! Him brightening up immediately, “oh nice! This was so worth getting shot by holy bullets!”.

“Danny!”.

“Dude what!”.

Danny grabbing the core and biting into it, much to the disgust of his unwitting onlookers, “eh it was just a shoulder nick and I am literally covered in lava and holy light burns so that’s kinda not what I’m focused on”. Basically dumping the demonic energy down his gullet with a happy purr.

Salient pulling a face, “wow that is disgusting, awesome”. Lily sighs tiredly before gesturing at Danny’s party, “so are we good to just go our separate ways?”. Danny’s down for that, his burns were healing much better now even if he was still hot as hell.

Sam crossing her arms, “depends on if you’re going to keep harassing Danny”; Danny’s just content to lick his chops in demonic satisfaction. Gemine pouting, “I won’t be able to vanquish him so fine, I won’t”.

Danny giving her a thumbs up, “that’s the spirit, now let’s get the hell outta this furnace before my core decides I deserve to over heat”. Sam and Tuck roll their eyes at him and laugh, Tuck patting his shoulder as they all turn to wander off to the exit. The other party of adventurers awkwardly heading deeper into the dungeon.

Danny stretching a little, going all demon always made him feel like his bones were all fucked up and needed a stretching, “so find anything else?”.

“Lightning bolt in a bottle”.

“Bone dagger. Lots of bone daggers”.

“Oh and a whole ass dragon hide, it’s in the dimensional pocket”.

“We did put all the random gem stones in there too right”.

“Uh…”.

“Damn it, Tucker”.

Danny laughs to himself, shaking his head. This day was some bullshit but at least they didn’t leave empty handed, and wasn’t finding treasure and getting to throw fist-a-cuffs the whole point of being an adventurer? Even if he’d rather be beating up dungeon monsters than constantly having to duke it out with other adventurers.

---

Of course they don’t even make it a full day before running into the very same party. At least this time they’re at the adventurers guild so there’s no way he’s gonna get attacked again.

Gemine blinking at Danny, “so you actually can leave the dungeon”.

Danny rolling his eyes, “yeah it’s almost like I was telling the truth or something”. Hell, he seldom lied about shit, people just thought it was all too ridiculous to be true.

Lily looks to the desk lady, quirking an eyebrow then gesturing at the demon in the room. Juhe blinking and smiling, understanding quickly, “yes the demon is welcome here, yes he’s an adventurer, no you’re not allowed to vanquish him, and no he’s not mind controlling anyone”.

Salient chuckles, putting a hand on his hip, “wow it sounds like this happens a lot”. Tuck shaking his head, “you have no idea”; before Sam goes up to make their report to the guild master. Technically Danny’s supposed to do that, being the leader and all, but head office had a barrier around it and they refused to take it down just for Danny’s sorry ass, meaning compromises were made.

Danny nodding at the guy, “anytime we go into a dungeon and run into a party that hasn’t met me before, it turns into a fight”, rubbing his neck, “which has earned me the title of adventurers bane since I keep basically having to beat down adventurers until they give up”.

Juhe nodding, “and he helps out the enforcers sometimes, since he can be quite the intimidating presence”.

“Boo, having a demonic aura isn’t my fault, and if just a simple demonic aura is enough to scare someone they probably shouldn’t be an adventurer”.

“You forget most adventurers do gathering quests and less dangerous dungeons”.

“Pah!”.

“You also forget that your demonic aura is that of a demon lord not a simple spawn or lesser demon”.

Danny’s only response to that is a pout.

Lily had been about to go up and make her own report, one foot stopping in midair, “that one is… a demon lord?”, and looks very concerned at Danny. While Salient grins to himself, “sweet, I got to fight a demon lord. Man that’s cool”.

Danny blinks, shrugging, “I was a wee bit miffed about suddenly being very literally in hell one time, not the time I fucked my resurrection up, and went demon killing happy. Two might have been demon lords and one was definitely a death god”.

All three look at him in shock, horror, or looking just plan impressed in Salient’s case. Lily shaking her head, “alright, you very well could have annihilated us”.

Johe glancing at some paperwork, “you three are silver, steel, and iron? Yes, you would not have stood a chance if taken seriously by him. He’s officially listed as obsidian, but he’s closer to iridium, which still stands as our highest class”.

Danny blushing, “aw shucks”.

“Don’t you ‘aw shucks’ me, if you’re that flattered then stop leaving your tail quills in the lobby wall”.

“Hey! It has a mind of its own”.

“It’s still attached to you, ain’t it?”.

Danny pouts at her, tail twitching near the ground, he’s half tempted to stab the wall with it just to be petty. He did petty very very well after all.

Lily shakes herself before finally going up to give her report; Danny absolutely hearing Sam whisper a threat at her, “Danny’s a lot nicer than the rest of us, don’t pull that shit with him again or else I won’t hesitate using a mind vine to make you break your party members”, as they pass in the stairway. He makes a point to roll his eyes disappointedly at her when she makes it down fully.

His friends were great but so over protective and possessive of him, it was nice but also a pain. She rolls her eyes right back at him as the three of them head out, waving bye to Salient and Gamine as more of a form of pleasantries than genuine fond fair-wells or whatever. They ain’t friends and weren’t gonna suddenly become them, something Danny was frankly fully uninterested in. He had his Sam and Tuck and was definitely not interested in sharing them.

End.

Prompts: Fantasy/rpg setting. Danny died, but the resurrection spell went wrong, and now he’s trapped as something not quite dead but not fully alive either. Not that he’d ever let that stop him from becoming an adventurer, even if he does get mistaken as a resident dungeon monster by other adventuring parties every now and then… Demon!au

#danny phantom #phandom #phic phight #danny fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #my writing #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #phicphight24 #phic phight 24 #gothmoth #demon!au #rpg!au #fantasy!au #op danny #bamf danny

42 notes · View notes