Enjin's soul is attached to a rather interesting looking umbrella that seems to show up every few decades in search of entertainment. This time, in the quiet hours of the night after closing time, his umbrella appears in a thrift and antiques store, waiting to find his next unsuspecting victim.
pairings - Oni!Enjin x Human(ish)!Reader
note: There I was, spacing out, minding my own business, when BAM. The Enjin demons (literally) possessed me again and this was the result. This is just a fun little headcanon, but if enough people are interested in it I'll flesh it out into a full fic. In the meantime, enjoy spooky season Enjin!
You should’ve known something like this would happen. You’d had an ominous start to your day: sleeping through your alarm, out of coffee at home, and you’d missed your bus to work. Now, on your way home after a grueling day of dealing with one disaster after another, the sky decides to open up and dump buckets despite it having just been a clear starry night not even five minutes ago. So of course this would be the one day you forget your umbrella.
Frustrated and ready to go home, you get a notification from the transit app.
The 9:12pm bus has been delayed indefinitely due to mechanical issues. There is no backup bus available at this time. We apologize for the delay.
Well if you were going to be miserable, you’d at least be miserable inside somewhere warm. Looking around, you spot a cute little thrift and antiques shop – Thrift Through Time – across the street. You'd never noticed it before but it looked warm and inviting — and most importantly, it was one of the few stores that was still open. Making a quick decision, you dart across the street and duck into the store, not wanting to get drenched.
The heat that enveloped you upon entering pulled a relieved sigh from your lips.
Shaking off the rain from your mad dash across the street, you look around, taking in the tiny shop. It was…interesting. A weird blend of modern — with the clothes and decor that had been donated — and vintage with all the knick knacks that made it feel like a walk through time.
Clothing from seemingly every decade in history, porcelain dolls and figurines that were clearly previously owned by someone’s grandma, framed paintings that looked like they were plucked from an artist of a time long since past, delicate glassware blown and shaped by the hands of a master craftsman, and things that were so old it was a miracle they’d survived to see the 21st century. You browse through the quaint little store, leisurely perusing the aisles — losing track of time as you get lost in the wonder of each new, interesting thing you find.
A quick buzz buzz vibrates from your jacket pocket.
Attention transit passengers. Bus 2411 is out of service for the evening. We apologize for the delay. Bus 2208 will be taking over the route. Go to the app or website for updated schedule times. Thank you for your patience.
Opening the app, you see that the new bus is scheduled to arrive at your stop in the next 10 minutes. Not a terrible wait, all things considered, but still too long considering you don’t have an umbrella and it was still raining like a faucet turned on to full power.
Staying in the store wasn’t an option. You'd noticed the young cashier — a bored looking high school aged girl too busy texting and sending snaps to her friends to even greet you — starting her closing duties a few minutes earlier. No doubt she was eager to close up and go hang out with her friends.
“Excuse me, but would you happen to have any umbrellas for sale?” you ask. “I left mine at home and I'm not too keen on getting drenched.”
The girl doesn’t even look up from her phone as she’s locking the glass display cases that double as a counter for the lone ancient looking register. “Nope,” she answers. “At least, not one for sale. There is that one by the door in the vase. Not sure where it came from, but it’s not ours. You're welcome to take it.”
Looking towards the door, you see that there is, in fact, a rather tall floor vase sitting just to the right of the door frame — a lone, weathered looking umbrella occupying the otherwise empty piece of porcelain.
You hadn’t noticed it when you first came in. Then again, you’d been more concerned about not getting waterboarded by the torrential downpour outside.
Approaching the vase, you pull out the umbrella, giving it a once over. It definitely looked like it had seen better days. It was a shade of gray rivaled only by the dust bunnies behind your refrigerator that you’d been procrastinating sweeping up, the curved wooden handle was wrapped in dingy white masking tape, and the stretchers and the ferrule at the top were sharper than what you would normally see on an umbrella. Opening it slightly, you see that somehow it looks worse. The canopy is torn in several spots — patched together haphazardly in a way that Frankenstein would be proud of, worn stickers somehow managed to still be stuck to the fabric, and there was red writing in a language that looked like it predated dinosaurs wrapped around the canopy.
“Doesn't look like much, but it’s all I got for ya.”
You nearly jumped out of your skin, not having heard the girl come up behind you.
You had serious doubts about whether or not the umbrella could hold up in a light breeze, let alone the veritable tsunami pouring from the sky. Alas, beggars can’t be choosers and with only a couple minutes before your bus arrived, you weren’t really in a position to be picky.
“No worries. I'll only be out there for a couple of minutes anyway. Thanks! I really appreciate it!”
“Uh huh, no problem.” The girl was not so subtly guiding (read: pushing) you out the door. “Have a good night.” The click of the lock resounding loudly over the beating drum of the pouring rain.
Sighing deeply, you step from underneath the shop awning and open the umbrella fully.
Huh. Despite its ragged appearance, the umbrella actually seemed to be holding up well against the rain. “Thank god,” you sigh in relief as you start to make your way across the street. Halfway across the crosswalk, a sudden chill runs down your spine, the feeling of being watched settling heavily behind you. You stop, looking over your shoulder, expecting to see the cashier watching you from the shop window or maybe some creepy homeless guy trying to decide if you’d make an easy target.
Instead, you were greeted with an almost oppressive darkness, the thrift store lights completely shut off, and an almost heavy silence. The sudden heavy silence – despite the rain still pounding down from the sky – and the somewhat unnatural darkness creeping had your heart rate increasing, shallow breaths puffing shakily into the cold air.
The horn and headlights of an approaching car shook you out of your stupor – the honking forcing a sharp intake of breath, a mostly silent involuntary noise of fear escaping you. Weird, you thought as you hurriedly finished crossing the street. Get it together, girl. You don’t scare easily like this. You’re just tense and tired. The bus arrived not even a minute later, the driver looking tired and annoyed.
Same, dude. Fucking same.
Sinking gratefully into the hard seat, you sigh, leaning your head against the window. God, you can’t wait to get home and burrito roll yourself in your blankets. But as the bus starts to pull off, you unconsciously tighten your grip on the handle of the worn umbrella — unable to shake that heavy feeling of being watched.
Sitting behind you, all the way in the very back of the bus, was a man. A big, tall man dressed from head to toe in black, blonde hair styled in that effortlessly messy wind blown look, red and black tattooed arms on display in his fitted shirt, silver and gunmetal jewelry adorning his fingers and ears. His eyes were so bright — staring at you with the glint of a predator — they almost looked like citrine reflecting in the harsh fluorescent light of the bus. A lazy, mischievous smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, painted nails pinching his lit cigarette as he pulls it from his mouth.
“Well, well, well. Who do we have this time?”
A cloud of wispy white smoke curls cloyingly into the air in front of him as he stares at what little he could see of your profile and your reflection in the bus window.
Tired and not yet able to see, you hadn’t noticed Enjin when you boarded the bus – nor had you noticed him when he’d stood behind you on the street, the tendrils of the darkness that wrapped around him reaching out to caress you. You can’t see him yet, but your other senses are already attuned to him, your instincts warning you off his presence on the street and on the bus.
Enjin saw the way your hand tightened around the handle of the umbrella. His umbrella.
Enjin’s smirk pulled wider as he took another drag of his cigarette. Even tired and fighting sleep, you cling to the umbrella – subconsciously seeking comfort and protection from the very thing that had your instincts standing on end.
Enjin shifts, sitting up straighter to better see you, and in doing so, he notices the bus driver shifting his gaze in the mirror above him towards the man – the creature – sitting at the back of the bus, fear and caution warring with each other in his eyes.
You may not be able to see him yet, but the bus driver clearly could. He’d noticed the creature appearing from a cloud of shadows at the back of his bus mere seconds before you’d climbed the short few steps to board the vehicle. Enjin huffed a chuckle at the way the man’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his lips moving to mutter a prayer under his breath. For the entirety of the ride, the driver alternates between focusing on the road and keeping track of Enjin in the back, reciting the ancient prayer the entire way.
A futile effort, if there ever was one.
It happened sometimes – humans who were more in tune with the supernatural being able to perceive him. The number of humans who could do so had dwindled drastically over the years, their belief in things greater and more powerful than them slowly being replaced with science and disbelief. Encountering someone who could see him always provided Enjin with a bit of entertainment – their incessant prayers for safety and protection from or against him never accomplishing more than a slight skittering against his skin. This bus driver was no different, his prayers doing little to offer you or him protection from Enjin.
Lucky for him, Enjin isn’t concerned with the driver. The guy was likely going to be looking over his shoulders and jumping at every shadow for the foreseeable future, but he’ll get to live to go home and see his family.
But you? Unfortunately, there was no protecting you from Enjin. From the moment you’d taken his umbrella, you’d peeked his interest and sealed your fate.
You spend the entirety of the bus ride floating in a weird in between of half sleep half wakefulness. Your body is exhausted, wanting nothing more than to shut down for some long overdue sleep, but for some reason your mind stays alert – too alert to nap on the bus. Something was bothering you. You can’t seem to shake that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. As illogical as it seems, you get the feeling that you’re not alone on this bus.
The bus is devoid of any other passengers and has been for the entire ride. Something that would’ve been unusual on any other day, but considering how delayed the bus had been, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that other passengers had found alternative means to get home. So being alone on the bus wouldn’t be so odd if you actually felt like you were alone. But you didn’t. You feel like there’s another presence there besides you and the bus driver, but no matter how subtly you try to look around, you see nothing.
“The lack of sleep must really be fucking with my head,” you mumble to yourself. You swear you hear a low chuckle in response.
Blessedly, the bus finally arrives at your stop. As you stand and move to the front of the bus, your brows furrow – your footsteps sound louder and heavier than normal. Yeah you really need some sleep because now your ears are playing tricks on you. Holding onto the pole opposite of the driver, you wait for the bus to come to a complete stop.
“Hey,” the driver calls out to you as you descend the steps. You turn to see him looking at you, a pensive look in his eyes. “Be safe out there, young lady. All types of…unsavory people out and about at this time of night.” The warning seems harmless enough, a sweet gesture of concern from one stranger to another – but the rigid stiffness of his spine, his white knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and the way his eyes shift to the darkness of the night behind you as he speaks leaves you feeling unsettled. More so than you already are.
“Uh…yeah…thanks. You too. Good night.”
The driver gives you a quick nod and wastes no time closing the doors. You watch as the LED sign on the side of the bus switches to ‘Out of Service’, the man speeding off into the night.
Weird guy, you think as you open the umbrella again – protecting yourself from the rain that’s still coming down, though it has lightened up a bit.
But even as the thought crosses your mind, you can’t help but notice that the darkness feels strange again. Heavy and oppressive like it had been in front of the thrift and antiques shop. You clutch the umbrella tighter as you start the two block trek back to your house, walking at a faster clip than you normally would. Once again, your footsteps sound louder, heavier. You pick up the pace even more.
God, you really need to get home and get some sleep. Determined to shake off whatever weird feeling this is, you ignore the bus driver’s ominous warning, the strange darkness, and the odd sounds, focusing solely on the sidewalk as you make your way home.
You can’t help but notice the cloying scent of cigarettes following you the whole way home.
tags: @blkkizzat @littlemochabunni
hey so don't steal, plagiarize, or translate my work! pls and thank you!!! also...reblogs, comments, and asks are much appreciated!
