Warnings: Abuse, Hair-Pulling, Threats
Wanted to write some more King for the Mirror-verse. He's such a fun villain to write.
This has been in my WIPs for a while. And, since I didn't like how Chapter 60 turned out, I decided to finish this and clean it up. This is pre-canon, so Host isn't Host yet.
Boots clicked over the hardwoods. Circled the desk near the edge of the room. A predator, and his prey.
The Author hunched lower into his chair. Tried in vain to hide his neck in his too-large hoodie and squeezed his hands together under his desk. He swallowed when the King hummed low.
"Where is he? Hm?"
Sharpened nails that might as well have been claws danced on the back of his neck to send a shiver down his spine. He hunched lower, but didn't dare to pull away.
The King's jewelry glinted in the bright office lights. His cape fell elegantly around him. Made him appear larger than he truly was. Made the Author feel all the more trapped when the King and his cape were all he could see.
"Where is he?"
A hand on his chin, guiding his head up. How could that touch be so gentle? Or that smile be so kind? They didn't match his eyes. The eyes behind sharp spectacles. The eyes that were nothing but ice. They clashed together to make the older Ego all the more terrifying. A calm facade, with his eyes showing just how close to snapping he truly was. The Author swallowed again. They were so close he could smell the King's breath. Mint. A scent so cold. Fitting.
Those fingers tightened on his jaw. Those claws pressed painfully into his skin. Threatened to draw blood if he didn't comply.
"Don't tell me you made him one of your…characters."
The Author flinched when the older Iplier bared his teeth. The King was smiling wide. Smiling cruelly. A smile that promised horrible things.
"Don't tell me you saved that pathetic man."
That hand withdrew, only to find his hair instead. To pet it, as if he were some housepet. The touch was enough to give him instant chills; for goosebumps to raise across his neck and arms. The King was stroking his hair. Running claws against his scalp. He really shouldn't have been surprised when that hand grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. He shouldn't have been surprised, yet he was. A yelp cracking from his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut; that hand yanking his head back. Don't meet the King's eyes. Don't—
"Look at me." It was growled. Demanded. The Author's eyes opened, ever slightly. Watched the King's mouth, but didn't dare meet the cold orbs behind those glasses. "This city is my kingdom. Do you understand that, Author? Mine. You do not intervene. Do we have an understanding?
"Yeah. Yes." Another harsh tug that made tears prick the Author's eyes. "…Yes, sir."