Finally completed my goal to draw every relevant houseki no kuni character and their notable alternative forms
Been chipping away at this since spring
If I'm ever bored enough i might continue this with either the minor gems that were captured before the start of the series, or the lunarian forms or hibernation outfits. But it's not in the plans in the near future
He wasn’t supposed to exist. But neither were you. And now, in the sky above Onigashima, your flames have found each other.
Warnings: slow burn romance, canon-typical violence, implied torture (punk hazard trauma, King's backstory), ptsd, flashbacks to genocide/cultural erasure, survivor's guilt, grief and loneliness, found family elements, hurt-comfort, angst, lunarian headcanons, oda please let me write the lunarians
Word Count: 9000~
Pairing: King (Alber) x Female Lunarian!Reader
crossposted on AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Chapter 1: The Spark of a Rumor
The tavern is dim, all flickering lamps and low murmurs drowned beneath the heavy coastal rain. The scent of sea salt clings to the air, blending with ale and wet wood. You sit in the farthest, darkest corner—hunched low, hood drawn deep. Still, you can feel the eyes.
You’re nearly six meters tall. You try not to stand out, wrapping your black-feathered wings tightly under your thick coat, letting the hunch of your shoulders fake the illusion of deformity. But even slouched and shadowed, you take up space. You always have. And people notice.
So you keep still. You listen.
At a table not far from you, a group of pirates is deep in drink and louder than they should be. One of them slams his mug on the table, golden liquid spilling across the wood.
“I swear on my life,” he says, swaying with every word, “Kaido’s got a monster in his crew. Wings—black wings like a damned bird. Bronze skin. Fire on his back. Saw it with my own eyes out by Wano.”
You don’t move, but something in you stills.
His companion laughs, scoffing through crooked teeth. “You were high on Sea Prism fumes, idiot.”
“I wasn’t!” the first snaps. “I know what I saw. That thing looked like a god. No, a demon. One of them Lunarians.”
Your fingers clench beneath the table. Your wings itch under the coat, reacting instinctively—wanting to flare, to stretch, to rise. But you don’t let them. You’ve trained your body to shrink, even if it never truly can. You’ve learned to fold yourself small despite your size. Even now, pressed into this corner, you know you’re too big for it.
“I thought they were extinct,” the second mutters, voice lowering. “Didn’t the World Government wipe 'em out? You know they’re still offering a hundred million Berries for any intel on one?”
You grit your teeth.
Yes. You know.
You know what it means to live hunted. To keep running, island after island, hiding your wings, your skin, your truth. You know what it means to wake up in cold sweat remembering flames, screams, the fall of your people. You’ve lived with the belief that you were the last. Alone in a world that wants you dead or dissected.
But now... this.
A rumor.
Another.
Your heart slams against your ribs like it wants out. You rise, quiet and smooth, towering over the rest of the tavern as you move toward the door. You hear the pause in conversation as your shadow passes—feel the tension—but no one dares speak.
Outside, the rain soaks through your hood in seconds. The sea roars against the cliffs. You don’t care. You vanish into the storm, your wings shifting restlessly beneath your coat.
If this rumor is true—if one of your kind still breathes beneath Kaido’s flag—then you must find him. You will find them.
Even if it means walking straight into the empire of a Yonko.
Even if it means risking everything.
Because you are not the last.
And neither are they.
~~~
Chapter 2: Ashes and Sky
You move before dawn.
The sea still groans in its sleep, the clouds low and heavy like they remember the storms of yesterday. You pack little. You’ve learned to live light—just enough food and coin to get you to the next island. You’ve never had the luxury of more.
Your wings ache beneath the coat, pressing tightly against your back. They want to stretch. To remember the sky.
But not here. Not yet.
The docks are quiet as you board a modest cargo ship heading toward a cluster of islands near Wano. You pay double to be ignored. The sailors ask no questions—they can tell from your size alone that you’re not to be messed with. Good. You don’t want words. You need the silence. Because in that silence, the past always comes back.
You were only a child when the fire stopped meaning safety.
You remember the screams first. Not the words—just the sound of them. Your people didn’t cry often, but that day, the sound was endless. Like the wind caught fire and turned into voices. The walls of the citadel burned, but no one inside did. You didn’t know yet that that made you different.
What you remember most is running—tiny legs, barely able to lift off the ground. Your wings weren't strong enough yet. You flapped, you tried, but the sky wouldn't hold you. You stumbled through ash and flame, your silver hair catching cinders, your skin blistering not from heat but from grief.
And when you looked back, no one followed.
They died. Or scattered.
You’ve been running ever since.
The ship rocks beneath your feet. You sit beneath the deck, hunched as always, eyes fixed on the grain of the wood. Sleep won’t come. It never does when your thoughts spiral.
What if the rumor is true?
What if it's real?
But deeper down: what if it isn’t?
What if they lied? Or if the creature you find under Kaido’s flag is nothing like you? What if they doesn’t care? Or worse—what if they forgotten what you are? What you are?
You don’t even know what you’d say to them.
"Hello, I thought I was alone."
"Do you remember what it felt like to fall?"
You imagine their face and can't picture anything. Just fire. Wings. A towering shadow that might mirror your own. You wonder if they ever dreamed of others like you. Or if Kaido has beaten that out of them. Controlled him. Branded him.
You know this: if Kaido has them, then they are not free.
And maybe neither are you.
The days pass slowly. You change ships twice. Each time, more eyes linger. More risk. You keep to yourself, never letting your wings breathe. Not yet. Not until you're closer.
You pass the nights tracing the lines of your arms, your shoulders. No scars mark your skin—your body never held onto wounds. But memory did. Your hands remember every fall, every hunger, every night you faced the dark alone. You are strong, but not untouched. And every silent breath you take whispers the same thing:
You survived.
By the time the final island appears on the horizon—one step from Wano—your heart feels like it’s carrying your whole bloodline.
You stand at the edge of the ship, the wind catching in your hood. The skies feel heavier here. Charged. Like Wano is alive and watching.
You're almost there.
They are out there.
And no matter what you find…
You have to see them.
~~~
Chapter 3: Wings Unbound
No ship would take you to Wano.
Not for any price.
The moment you asked—carefully, discreetly—eyes would sharpen, conversations would end. You knew what it meant: Wano wasn’t just dangerous, it was closed. Sealed off like a tomb. The country rejected the world with swords drawn. Outsiders were hunted, cut down before they touched its soil. No port, no passage. No welcome.
So you wait.
For the moon to rise. For the sky to blacken into a sea of stars. And then—when the coast is clear—you shed the weight you’ve carried for days.
You shrug off the coat. Your wings unfurl with a slow, aching stretch, each feather shaking from disuse. The span of them gleams in the dark like storm-drenched obsidian. And for the first time in weeks, you inhale like the air belongs to you.
You leap. And the wind catches you.
The sky embraces you like it remembers. You rise silently, skimming through clouds, the cold air sharp against your cheeks. Your white hair is tucked under a dark scarf, your flame dimmed to near nothing, hidden carefully between your shoulder blades. You are just a shadow in the night, passing over the sea.
The journey is longer than you thought.
But finally—through breaks in the mist—you see it. A chain of sharp islands, black cliffs rising from the water like jagged teeth. You slow your flight. Study the terrain. Then you see it: a separate island—ominous, carved with a massive oni face in its stone. It stares out over the sea with empty eyes and curled tusks, as if daring anyone to land.
You furrow your brow. That must be it. The base. The stronghold. The place they keep monsters.
Your wings fold slightly as you descend, circling silently toward a rocky landing spot near the edge of the cliff. And that’s when you see it— a flicker of orange light—
Instinct screams through you, and you twist in midair just in time to dodge the fireball. It explodes past you with a roar, searing heat licking at your side. You spin upward, feathers scorched at the tips, adrenaline flooding your limbs.
Where—?
You scan the darkness frantically— Then you see it. A massive form cutting through the sky, wings stretched wide—leather, not feathered—flames trailing from its back. A beast. A predator. A man. A pteranodon.
Your heart stutters. He’s enormous, even at a distance, but he’s closing in fast. The flare of his wings glows with fury. You can see the glint of metal, leather armor—his eyes locked onto you.
You panic. You’ve never fought something like this in the air. You don’t want to fight at all. You try to flee—push higher, faster— But he follows.
No choice.
You let your flame ignite.
The heat floods down your spine. The fire erupts between your wings, not like a torch—but like a warning. Your body surges with power as the flame shields you, reinforcing your back and bones, your core strengthening to withstand what’s coming.
Let him try.
You twist through the sky, heart pounding. The wind howls around you as you dodge another strike, your wings banking sharply left, cutting through the darkness.
You're no longer hiding.
But you’re still alone.
And you're not sure what this winged attacker is yet— Only that he's not the one you came for.
~~~
Chapter 4: The Sky Burns Twice
The guards on the night watch were shouting.
King heard the alarm just as he stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the sea cliffs. Onigashima’s towering fortress loomed behind him, its walls lit by a dull, ever-burning flame. The wind pulled at his coat, cold and salty. He narrowed his eyes toward the horizon, his sharp gaze catching a flicker of movement above the dark water.
Something was in the sky.
“Large shadow, moving fast!” one of the guards called. “Too big to be a bird—!”
King didn’t wait to hear more.
With a flare of heat and a rush of air, his body shifted mid-step—mass expanding, limbs elongating into wings and talons. Flames erupted from his back as he launched into the air, his form fully shifted into the massive pteranodon granted by his Devil Fruit.
If something dares fly near Onigashima, he would be the one to tear it down.
The night wind howled as he soared, black wings cutting through the clouds. He spotted it quickly—a shadow just ahead, matching his altitude, trying to move silently against the stars. Not a bird. Not a bat. Something… humanoid?
Without hesitation, he dove in for a strike, fire trailing in his wake as he launched a fireball toward the target. It spun—graceful, deliberate—and dodged.
His eyes narrowed.
That kind of speed in midair wasn’t human. But it wasn’t another Beast Pirate either. He circled again, drawing closer, preparing to strike once more—
Then he saw it.
In the dark sky, the figure turned just enough for the moonlight to catch them.
Feathered wings. Not leathery like his pteranodon form. But vast—long, black, glossy feathers catching the wind. And then the unmistakable flare of a flame between their shoulder blades.
He halted mid-flight, wings beating once to steady himself as shock struck him like a blade to the chest.
No…
It wasn’t possible.
He was the last.
He had to be the last.
Yet before him, midair and burning like a phantom, was someone else. Someone with wings, with flame, with the ancient markers of the gods they used to be. Her body was massive—nearly his own height, easily towering over any ordinary human. A brief flash of white hair escaped her scarf, and brown skin caught the glint of firelight.
A woman.
He could tell from the form, from the frame. Powerful, but not like his own. Different.
His instincts screamed—questions burned through his skull—but his body refused to move. For the first time in decades, he faltered in the sky. Was this an illusion? A trap? A trick of his memory? But no hallucination would burn with that kind of flame.
His mouth went dry beneath the leather mask.
She’s Lunarian.
And that changed everything.
~~~
Chapter 5: Flame Meeting Flame
The sky was silent for a long heartbeat.
You hovered midair, your wings outstretched and burning with effort. The flame at your back flickered brightly, no longer hidden. Your lungs ached from the sharp dodge, your body taut with adrenaline. You could feel him watching you—that monstrous presence that had nearly taken your head off. He was massive, all claw and fury and fire. And yet…
He wasn’t moving.
The pteranodon hovered, tail whipping in the wind, fire curling from his back just like yours. You saw hesitation in the tilt of his wings, in the way his body stopped short of another attack. The moonlight reflected against his leather uniform and mask.
You didn’t speak first.
You couldn’t. You didn’t even know how.
Then, slowly—deliberately—he began to descend.
He shifted as he landed on a jagged outcrop of Onigashima’s outer cliffs, the transformation folding in on itself until the beast was gone and the man stood tall again. Almost as tall as you. Just as dark. His black wings flexed wide, like yours. His flame still burned behind him. The heat from it swept across the sky like a warning.
He raised his head, that mask unmoving.
“…Who are you?”
His voice was low. Guttural. Suspicious. And underneath it, something else. Shaken.
You hovered above him still, not daring to get closer. Not yet.
“…You’re like me,” you managed, your voice hoarse with disbelief.
His flame pulsed slightly.
“Impossible.” He took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. “There are no others.”
You slowly descended, boots landing with a crunch against the stone. You stayed on the edge—ready to launch yourself away if he made another move. Your wings twitched, tense.
“I thought I was the last,” you said, eyes locked with the slits of his mask. “But then I heard a rumor… about someone in leather, with wings and fire on their back, who fights for Kaido. And I couldn’t ignore it.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. You could feel the heat rolling off of him like a furnace. You didn’t know what he’d do. You had no idea how he’d react.
“I needed to see if it was true,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “I needed to know I wasn’t… alone anymore.”
His wings curled slowly in, not in hostility—but something else. Containment. Restraint. The silence stretched again. Finally, his voice came low, but steady.
“…You were a child. During the purge?”
You nodded, a thick knot forming in your throat.
He tilted his head, unreadable. “And you survived.”
“Barely,” you said. “You?”
“I was taken,” he replied stiffly. “Experimented on. Used.” A pause. He was still watching you like a hawk, but something inside him had shifted. That rigid tension… cracked. Even just slightly.
“You have a name?” he asked, voice softer. Almost reluctant.
You gave it. Quietly.
He stared for a long second.
“…I’m King,” he said.
Your lips parted. You hadn’t expected him to give it. But something about the way he said it—the slight pause, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours—told you that it wasn’t his real name.
You didn’t press it.
And you both stood there, strangers bound by fire and memory, at the edge of the Beast Pirates’ fortress. Two Lunarians. Both thought lost. Now staring at one another, uncertain what to do next.
But no longer alone.
~~~
Chapter 6: Smoke Without Sound
The night clung to the cliffs like a second skin. Wind swept across the jagged stone, whispering between the peaks of Onigashima, carrying the scent of smoke, sea, and something ancient.
You walked in silence behind him.
He said nothing. Just moved with purpose, wings tucked, stride long and sure. The only sound was the quiet scuff of your boots against the stone path and the occasional rattle of armor where his gauntlet brushed against his side. His flame dimmed slightly, though never vanished. Yours did the same in quiet response.
He led you through narrow ridges, behind a hidden outcrop high above the main encampments. A place shielded by the natural terrain. No patrols. No sentries. Just a quiet overlook lit only by moonlight and flickering embers.
“This spot isn’t watched,” he said simply, glancing behind him to make sure you followed. “No one comes here.”
You nodded once, black cloak rustling as you stepped further in. The hood had fallen back during flight and remained off, your white hair catching pale light like frost in firelight.
You sat near the cliff’s edge, stretching your wings just slightly before folding them in. It felt like exhaling after holding your breath for hours. He stood for a long moment before slowly settling across from you, not too close—but not far either.
Silence.
His eyes hadn’t left you. Behind the black mask, he stared. Still. Unblinking. As if he expected you to vanish if he turned away.
You didn’t look away either. He was slightly taller and his frame was built for battle. Broad shoulders, long limbs, all wrapped in hardened leather and flame. His wings were larger than yours too, stronger. You watched the fire behind him burn quietly. Familiar. Sacred. And yet…
You furrowed your brows, frustrated. That mask.
You didn’t want to be ungrateful. You didn’t want to question him, not after everything. But something in you twisted. You needed to see. To be sure. That he was real. That you weren’t just losing your mind after years of loneliness and grief. That the one other Lunarian in the world wasn’t just fire and wings, but him. Face and all.
Still, you said nothing.
Not yet.
He finally broke the silence.
“…You don’t hide your face,” he murmured, low and observant.
You tilted your head slightly. “Do you always hide yours?”
His jaw shifted slightly beneath the mask. “It’s easier this way.”
You didn’t press. But your gaze stayed on him. You hoped—maybe—that he’d take it off on his own.
He didn’t. But his wings twitched. Like he was… thinking about it.
And for a moment, the two of you just watched each other.
No threats. No questions. Just the quiet tension of recognition. Two people who had no words yet for what they were feeling. Two Lunarians in exile, staring across a forgotten cliffside as the night wrapped around them.
And for the first time in years, you weren’t alone.
~~~
Chapter 7: A Flicker Before Flame
The quiet stretched.
You sat on opposite sides of the small outcrop, stone beneath you, wind curling between. He hadn’t spoken since you landed. Neither had you. The weight of what you’d both seen—the truth of each other—still pressed like heat between your lungs.
Another Lunarian.
Another one.
Your eyes never strayed far from him. Even as the stars turned overhead. Even as the fire between your shoulder blades softened to a calm, rhythmic pulse. He sat still as stone, save for the subtle shift of his wings adjusting to the wind. His flame flickered low but steady behind him.
You studied the curve of his shoulders. The way he sat—alert, but not aggressive. Quiet, but not disinterested. You couldn’t see his face behind the black mask, but somehow, you felt his eyes on you too. And for a while, that was enough.
There were too many things to say. Too much to ask. Too much you were afraid to voice, in case doing so might break whatever fragile thing had just formed in the space between your hearts.
Time passed. Minutes. Maybe longer.
Eventually, he looked away—toward the sky, wings folding behind him as if in thought.
“I have to return,” he said, voice low, like it pained him to say the words out loud. “They’ll start asking questions.”
You didn’t move. You didn’t ask who they were. You didn’t want to. He stood, the motion precise. Silent. His eyes lingered on you a moment longer, fire flickering faintly in the dark.
“Stay here.”
It wasn’t a command. It was something else. A request. A promise buried in a single line of certainty. You didn’t understand why, but you nodded. Something in you trusted him. Trusted the flame you saw in him—one that echoed your own.
You said nothing as he turned. His wings spread, fire flaring, lifting him into the air. You watched him until he vanished into the sky.
You didn’t sleep that night. You waited.
~~~
Alber had returned to Onigashima saying little.
“The object was neutralized,” he told when asked. “No threat.”
It was a lie. And yet, it was the only truth he could speak without giving anything away.
He told himself it was nothing. That it had to be a mistake. A ghost. A hallucination born from hope long dead. Another Lunarian couldn’t just exist. Not after what the world had done to their kind.
But still—he didn’t sleep either.
He couldn’t.
And when the moon climbed the sky again, he was already in the air. A wrapped satchel clutched in his hand, filled with fruit he’d taken from the storehouse. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t planned to bring anything. He didn’t even know if you were real.
But his fire stirred the closer he flew to the cliffs. And when he landed—there it was again. Your flame. Your wings. Your brown skin and white-silver hair catching the night wind just like before.
You turned the moment his boots touched stone.
And he just… stared. No words.
He stepped forward and placed the satchel of fruit down between you, the leather soft against the rock. Then, without explanation, he sat across from you. Saying nothing.
You blinked once, your expression caught between surprise and something gentler. Slowly, almost cautiously, you reached forward and took one of the fruits—a ripe persimmon—and bit into it.
The juice touched your lips. Sweet. Real. You ate slowly, your gaze never leaving his. And he watched you, flame low, silent.
And this time… he stayed.
~~~
Chapter 8: The Weight of Names
The silence between you stretched long. Not cold—just heavy. Weighted with recognition. You sat across from each other beneath the outcrop’s shelter, the hush of the sea distant beneath the cliffs, the night wind curling around you in soft, measured breaths.
You didn’t speak for a while. Maybe minutes. Maybe more. Just… watched him. Watched the way his flame flickered low at his back, how it pulsed steady and quiet—like your own. You didn’t know what to say. Or if you even should.
He didn’t seem like the type to speak freely. His presence was vast and silent, like some stone carved by fire that had chosen not to crumble. But still, your gaze returned to him again and again. As if to remind yourself he was real. And then—too fast, too sudden—you spoke.
“…Why are you with him?”
The words were out before you could stop them. You blinked, lips parting like you might take them back. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
His eyes didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t answer.
Your stomach twisted. You stared at the shadows, your own voice echoing in your ears, sharper than you intended. You tried to speak again—to soften it—but nothing came. Just the quiet hum of your flame.
A minute passed. Maybe more.
You thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then, finally—soft and low, his voice cut through the hush.
“Because he saved me.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“I was held at Punk Hazard. A test subject. Since I was a child.” His tone was flat, factual. But something twisted beneath it—like rusted steel beginning to bend under pressure. “They tried to burn me. Over and over. In some kind of kiln. Testing how much heat a Lunarian body could take.”
His gaze dropped for a moment, jaw tight. “Kaido broke in. Looking for power. He saw what they were doing. Destroyed the machine himself.”
There was a pause. The air around him seemed to grow heavier. “He knew what I was. Knew I was Lunarian. Asked me if I wanted to come with him. Said he wanted to change the world.”
You stayed quiet, watching him.
“I said yes,” he said simply. “So we fled. He gave me a place. Gave me a name.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “King?”
“Yes. So I could live free under his wing. So the world government wouldn’t find me.” A soft, almost bitter sound escaped him—too sharp to be a laugh, too quiet to be anger. “I don’t know why I’m telling you that,” he muttered. “I never tell anyone.”
You didn’t smile—but inside, something softened. Because you had known. You had guessed it the moment he said it.
King. It didn’t fit—not for a Lunarian. Not for your kind.
The names of your people had once been softer. Melodic. A contradiction to the harshness of their endurance. The cruelty they’d survived. Names passed down like lullabies—warm even in fire. His was a title, not a name. Something placed upon him. Something that erased what came before. But also something that protected him all these years.
“I knew it wasn’t yours,” you said gently, watching his masked face. “It doesn’t sound like… us.”
He didn’t deny it.
You let your eyes drift to the distant sky, the wind curling around the cliff.
“…I’m glad,” you whispered after a moment. “That you weren’t alone all this time.”
He turned slightly toward you, but didn’t speak.
You hugged your cloak a little closer. “I was. After the purge. I ran. Hid. Moved between islands. Never stayed long. No one… no one knew what I was. Or cared.” Your voice caught slightly, but you pushed forward. “I thought maybe… I was some punishment. Or mistake.”
His wings shifted.
“I envied the ones who died quickly,” you added, quieter now. “They didn’t have to carry the ache. But I knew I had to survive. For their sake.”
Still no reply—but his posture changed. A flicker of tension in his shoulders. Like your words had struck something deep.
“And then,” you said, “I heard the rumor. Someone with black wings. Fire. Untouchable. I thought it had to be a lie. But if it wasn’t…” You looked at him again. “If there was even a chance…”
His voice was low. “…You came all this way.”
You nodded once. “Because I had to know.”
King leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His flame flared once and then stilled.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but there was no heat in it. “They’ll kill you if they find out.”
You met his gaze, unwavering. “Then they won’t find out.”
The wind swept between you again, stirring the edges of your cloak, the ends of his long coat. The fire behind both of you burned quietly. Not hidden anymore. Not pretending to be human.
For a long moment, you both just sat there—two survivors of a vanished race, finally face to face.
And for the first time since your wings had grown strong enough to fly—you felt seen.
~~~
Chapter 9: Emberlight
The silence wasn’t unwelcome.
It lingered between you, warm despite the wind, like a breath neither of you wanted to disturb. Strange, yes. But not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that lives between people who carry the same scars.
You sat across from him, knees drawn up beneath your cloak. The distance was small—just enough for the firelight to flicker in the space between—but it felt more like a thread than a gap. The hood of your cloak had fallen back, exposing your face to the wind, and still, you didn’t reach for it. You noticed again how he kept glancing at you—quick, subtle. Still disbelieving.
You didn’t blame him.
You looked at him too, really looked. He was a little taller than you. Broad-shouldered, long-limbed, built like something forged to survive. His black wings stretched, settling behind him with a quiet rustle. That mask still covered his face, hiding the truth beneath. But the fire behind him… that wasn’t hidden. Not from you.
You exhaled slowly, then spoke—tentative. “I remember a garden.”
King looked at you, but said nothing.
You let your mind drift. “There was this old woman… She taught the children. All of us. Even when we were too wild to listen. She had this voice—calm, like the sea after a storm. And she always smelled like herbs and ash.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I haven’t thought about her in years.”
King’s head tilted. “…Dari.”
You blinked.
“That was her name,” he said. “She had a crooked finger. Always used it to scold me.” There was a roughness in his voice—something lighter, flickering. “She made me memorize the stars. Said I’d need them when I flew far.”
Your breath caught softly. “She made me plant seeds,” you murmured. “Even when I was angry. Said it was good for the spirit to wait for something to grow.”
“She gave me a carved stone. Said it was for strength. I lost it.”
You met his eyes—or what you could see of them through the mask.
“She never raised her voice,” you said.
“She didn’t need to,” he answered.
The quiet returned—but this time, it was filled with something golden. Memory. Recognition. A shared thread of light from before the fire took everything. You hugged your knees to your chest, the warmth of his presence still so new, so unexpected. The ache of loneliness in your bones had dulled, just slightly.
But it didn’t last. King shifted suddenly, wings flexing.
“I have to go,” he said. The warmth in his voice had cooled again, cautious. “They’ll notice if I’m gone too long.”
You nodded, understanding. “I won’t be seen.”
He rose to his full height, standing above you now. “Stay here. For now.”
You looked up at him. “Will you come back?” This time you dared to ask.
A pause.
“Yes.”
That was all he said before launching into the sky. His wings beat strong against the wind, flame trailing behind him like a comet. Within moments, he vanished into the shadows above Onigashima’s jagged ridges.
You watched until the last flicker of fire disappeared. Then, slowly, you pulled your cloak back over your head. The warmth of the moment dimmed as the cold returned. You stood and walked to the wind-still side of the outcrop, where the cliff cradled the air like a quiet cave. There, you lowered yourself to the ground, using your travel bag as a pillow. The stars above were dim behind drifting clouds.
You stared at them anyway.
Exhaustion settled into your bones—but your thoughts moved in slow, circling patterns. Restless wings.
King.
The conversation. His voice. The way he never took off the mask. You understood why. He couldn’t afford vulnerability—not as Kaido’s right hand. Not in this world. And still…
You didn’t know his name. Not the name from the scientists. Not the one Kaido gave him. But his name. The one given in fire and love, before the world turned cruel.
You wanted to know it. But you wouldn’t ask. Not yet.
You closed your eyes. And for the first time in years, you dreamed of a garden blooming under flame-kissed skies.
~~~
Chapter 10: Ashes That Remember
He didn’t usually think this much.
Not unless it involved tactics, terrain, or the fault lines in enemy ranks. Kaido didn’t keep him for softness. He kept him because King executed. Without hesitation. Without question. But now, thoughts weighed down his chest like stones. And they all circled the same center.
You.
Even with Onigashima’s walls humming with noise—rowdy crews, clinking cups, the thunder of Kaido’s voice down the hall—his mind wandered. Drifted. Pulled back to the cliffs outside the fortress, where fire still lingered in the stone. Where you waited.
You, with wings like his. With the voice that knew the songs of his people. With the scent of ash and home.
He’d told you to stay hidden. Not knowing why he expected obedience. But you had. You listened. You trusted him. That trust unsettled him in ways no battlefield ever had.
His hand hovered over the untouched meal in front of him—roasted fish, bread, slices of citrus. He’d sat through dinner without a word, Kaido’s presence at the head of the long table like a stormcloud. He felt the older man watching him, but Kaido never spoke. Only grunted once or twice, assessing.
Now, alone in his quarters, King wrapped the food in cloth, his movements precise. Silent.
His wings stretched wide before he leapt from the balcony. His fire left a soft trail across the sky as he cut through the clouds, leaving Onigashima behind. The outcrop was hidden well, a carved overlook against the jagged cliffs. And when he landed, you were still there—perched near the edge like a sentinel, your white-silver hair catching the moonlight. Your cloak tugged by the wind.
You turned before he made a sound.
“You came back,” you said quietly.
He held out the bundle of food. Said nothing.
You blinked, surprise flickering through your features. “Is that… for me?”
He gave a slow nod.
You stepped closer and took it, fingers brushing against his gloved palm. Your warmth lingered longer than it should have. He felt it like a brand. You didn’t open it yet. You only looked at him—long, steady—and then settled down on the cold stone again. A wordless invitation. He joined you.
The silence stretched. But it wasn’t cold. Not anymore.
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear someone say her name again,” you said softly, your gaze fixed on the sea.
“Neither did I,” he murmured.
And so you talked. In low voices, slow and steady—like embers reigniting. You spoke of the old ones, of fire rites and cliff rituals, of stories passed down in firelight. You spoke of a childhood neither of you had truly left behind, only buried beneath survival.
He didn’t laugh—he rarely ever did—but something loosened in his chest when you imitated an old elder who always accused the children of stealing his walking stick. You laughed, though. And the sound made something deep in him ache.
He watched you more than he listened. Noticed everything.
The tilt of your head when you were deep in thought. The twitch in your wings when you remembered something painful and tried to hide it. The way you didn’t flinch when silence fell—you simply let it breathe. You didn’t ask about his name. Or his mask. Or the things that weighed down his past. You didn’t ask anything from him. That alone shook something loose in his chest.
Then—
Purururu—Purururu.
The Den Den Mushi at his side chirped, shrill in the stillness. He didn’t curse aloud, but something in his jaw flexed. He answered it with steady hands.
Kaido’s voice, deep and gravel-thick, rumbled through. “Where are you, King? Come.”
“Scouting perimeter,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.”
A pause. Then Kaido grunted. “Something’s moving near the northern line. Be quick.” The line cut out.
He stood but didn’t leave.
“You should go,” you said gently.
“I know.” Still, he hesitated.
He owed Kaido everything. A name. A purpose. Freedom. No one had ever given him that before. But this—what he found here with you—this wasn’t a rebellion. This wasn’t disloyalty. It was instinct.
And Kaido hadn’t seen what he’d seen. Yet.
King looked at you once more. Then stepped toward the ledge.
“Be careful… King,” you said, softer now.
He paused.
Then flew into the darkness, the fire trailing from his back dimmer than usual—because part of his flame stayed behind.
~~~
Chapter 11: The Space Between Fire
The fortress was noise and movement. Steel boots, laughter, cannon blasts echoing from practice drills, and Kaido’s voice roaring through stone walls when someone disappointed him. It was normal. Familiar.
But ever since you appeared, it all felt distant. Off-kilter.
Like he was floating between two flames—one scorching and loud, the other warm and quiet.
He moved through the fortress as he always had, his towering figure unreadable behind the leather mask, his presence enough to part the lesser members of the crew. No one dared question him. Not out loud. But they were looking. He felt it.
His silences had grown longer. His patrols stretched minutes into hours, and he’d started returning with dirt on his boots, wind in his feathers. And more than once… food missing from the stores.
He didn’t know why he kept doing it. The extra food. The cloth he tucked into his leather armor and later left behind for you to use as a blanket. The small trinket—an old wind chime he’d found half-buried in the ruins near the mountain path. He hadn’t even known if you’d like it, but when you’d turned it over in your hands with a strange softness in your eyes, something in him had settled.
Still, he didn’t speak about you. Not to anyone.
Kaido hadn’t asked. Not yet.
And if that day came…
He didn’t know what he’d say.
~~~
The cave he’d found was nestled into the side of the cliffs, away from the patrol lines and air paths. No one from the Beasts Pirates ever came this far unless under orders—and he made damn sure no such orders were ever given.
He didn’t know why he’d brought you there the first night.
Maybe because it was the only place he knew that had room for silence.
And space to breathe.
~~~
When he landed this time, it was just past twilight. The sky bleeding gold and ink.
You were already there—curled at the edge of the overlook, your black cloak pooling around you like shadowed wings, your eyes cast toward the sea. The moment you turned to see him, his chest tightened. Every time, it happened. Every time, your face struck something in him—something soft and bone-deep.
You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.
He handed you the wrapped food. Your fingers brushed his gloves, and his flame flared once—faint and fleeting.
You smiled like it meant something. And it did. Neither of you talked about what was happening. You didn’t define it. You didn’t dare. It was shy, but not awkward. Silent, but not hollow. Just sacred.
Some days, you asked questions. About the old ways. About the elder you’d both remembered. About the songs sung over fire in a tongue the world had long forgotten. You spoke of things that felt older than memory, yet etched into your bones.
Names were spoken with care. Not often. But when they were, they carried weight. Not for definition. But for remembrance.
One night, you asked if he ever missed them—the others. He didn’t answer at first. Just looked out into the dark. Thought of ashes.
Then he’d said, low and quiet, “Every time I fly.”
You hadn’t asked anything else. But your hand had moved close to his. Not touching. Just near enough to feel.
He hadn’t moved it away.
~~~
Back in the fortress, whispers had begun.
One of the grunts muttered that “King’s been off lately.” Another mentioned he hadn’t yelled once during drills. Hadn’t lit anything on fire in over a week.
He caught Kaido looking at him once during a strategy meeting. Just once. King held that stare. Neutral. Blank.
Kaido said nothing. He didn’t ask where King disappeared to when the sky turned black and the world quieted, because he trusted him. And King was grateful. Because you were still there, waiting. Always cloaked. Always careful. Never flying near the fortress, never testing the borderlines. You moved like wind over still water—quiet and cautious.
For his sake.
It made his chest ache. You trusted him without asking for anything in return. And that was becoming a problem. Because he wanted things. To see your face in the full light. To know your past, not because it mattered, but because it was yours. To hear your laugh again. To protect you from the world that hunted them both.
He didn’t understand the depth of it yet, only that he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Even in battle. Even in silence. Even now, sitting beside you as the sea moved endlessly below, and you leaned your head against the cave wall—not touching him, but close enough that he could feel the heat of your presence.
He realized something terrifying.
You weren’t his secret.
You were his sanctuary.
~~~
Chapter 12: A Flame That Waits
The days blurred when he was gone. Not from boredom. Not from despair. But from the strange, soft ache that filled the quiet between one heartbeat and the next.
You never knew how long he would be away. Sometimes it was a full day. Sometimes longer. The sun would dip below the cliffs and rise again, the wind shifting over the rocks like fingers threading through old memories. And still, you waited.
Not because you were trapped. But because you wanted to be here when he came back.
This place—this wind-bitten cave on the cliffs, shaped by time and silence—was not a prison. It was the first place you ever felt seen.
He never told you much, but he brought things.
Food wrapped in cloth, still warm. A smooth piece of volcanic glass shaped like a wing. A coil of soft rope, useful for climbing. A single carved piece of driftwood with a swirl etched into it—your people’s symbol for “home.”
And once, an old wind chime made of bone and scorched metal, rusted by the salt air but still able to catch the breeze. It didn’t sing like it once did. But it made a sound—low, hollow, gentle—that reminded you of the skies your ancestors once ruled.
You hung it near the cave mouth, and when the wind blew just right, it whispered. Every morning, you ran your fingers over the carved driftwood. And every night, when the wind rose, you listened to the chime and remembered that someone—he—had thought of you enough to bring it.
He didn’t have to say anything.
You understood.
~~~
You weren’t sure when it started, but the humming crept in slowly.
Like warmth returning to fingers left too long in the cold.
At first it was just a sound in your throat—something your body remembered even if your mind had buried it. Then it became a lullaby, the old kind, with no true lyrics—just syllables and fragments of feeling passed from voice to voice across generations now gone. Maybe your people were dead, but this song still remembered them. And you.
You didn’t even realize you were singing until you felt the echo in your bones. Your voice was low. Barely more than breath. But it felt… right.
So you sang.
Eyes closed, your back against the stone wall. One wing extended slightly, the other curled tighter against your back like it always did. You weren’t sure when that had become a habit—tucking one wing in close, making yourself smaller, quieter, easier to overlook.
You had learned young: wings drew eyes. And eyes brought questions. So you hid them. Over and over, until the motion carved itself into muscle memory. Until it no longer felt like hiding. Just surviving.
You didn’t hear him land. But you felt him. You always did.
The shift in the air. The fire in your blood answering his like a quiet drumbeat. You opened your eyes and saw him, standing just inside the cave mouth, his figure framed by shadow and flame. His leather mask hid his face, as always—but you could feel his gaze like a hand pressed over your heart.
Heat bloomed across your cheeks as you realized he had heard you.
“I didn’t know you were back,” you said quickly, voice smaller than you wanted it to be.
He stepped forward and placed the food down on the rock near you. Quiet. Careful.
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
You looked away, the blush still warming your skin. But something about his silence tonight felt different. Quieter. Softer. And when you glanced back, he was still looking at you. Not moving. Not speaking. Just seeing you. And something in your chest squeezed tight at the thought that maybe—just maybe—you were seen the same way you saw him.
His voice broke the silence.
“You always press your wings in,” he said, low. “Like you’re hiding them.”
You blinked. A breath caught in your throat.
“I’ve had to,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “All my life, I’ve had to hide everything. Wings catch eyes. Eyes invite questions.”
He was silent for a beat. Then: “They were made to soar.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt thick with unsaid things. You looked away, but not before you saw the way he said it—softly, without judgment. Then, he surprised you again.
“I want to show you something.”
You looked up.
“There’s a route in the cliffs,” he said, glancing to the side of the cave. “A hidden path I use to train. No one else knows it.”
Your heart stuttered. He’d never spoken like this before. And certainly never mentioned a place that was his. A sanctuary.
He turned toward the exit, then paused and looked back.
“I want you to teach me something,” he added. “A maneuver. One I saw when you glided near the ridge a few nights ago.”
You blinked, surprised.
“That was just—” you hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Something from when I was younger. It’s nothing special.”
He didn’t reply. Just waited.
And suddenly, your wings twitched—almost eager. And for once, you didn’t press them in tight.
You let them stretch.
Just a little.
~~~
Chapter 13: Spiral
The path was narrow.
Too narrow for any normal being to cross. Jagged, steep, and curling along a cliffside that plunged straight into the roaring sea. Wind lashed at the rocks, the salt stung your eyes—but your heart… your heart was beating with something else.
He was ahead of you. Silent, always silent, but his presence said enough. The path ended at a precipice, jutting out like the edge of the world. There was nothing beyond it but open sky.
And it was open. Endless. Untouched. You felt your breath catch in your throat. This was no ordinary overlook. No human could come here.
Only you.
Only him.
Your eyes found him. He nodded once.
It is safe.
You took a single step forward, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you did not hold yourself back. Your wings unfurled with a low, powerful sweep—dark, massive, long-restrained limbs that shuddered as they stretched to their full span. Wind curled beneath them as if the sky itself sighed in recognition.
Then you leapt.
The wind caught you instantly. It didn't resist. It welcomed you. You soared, heart breaking open like light through a cracked sky, flying fast, high, sharp—cutting across the open air like you'd been born for this. Because you had.
You laughed. Truly laughed, the sound ripped from your chest like fire being freed. Behind you, you felt him.
King launched off the cliff with a deep, thunderous push of his wings, rising to join you. His figure was powerful in the sky, steady, controlled—until you dipped low beside him, brushing close, the ends of your feathers just barely touching his. His fire rippled in response.
You showed him the maneuver—a sharp twist, a tight arc. He followed on instinct. Fumbled once, then mastered it with stunning speed.
You grinned, circling him, teasing.
Catch me.
And something in him shifted. You could feel it. His energy warmed, subtly, fiercely. And though his face was hidden, you knew—he was smiling. Your giddy laughter echoed in the open sky as you flew faster, higher, dancing in the thermals with him.
And then—instinct moved.
You didn’t think. Neither did he.
You reached.
Your right arm stretched out across the wind—and so did his. Your forearms locked midair, fingers grasping tight. And together—you fell.
The wind screamed around you as your wings folded just slightly, enough to spiral. Not panic. Not fear. Just—Surrender.
You were falling, but not alone. Not anymore. The air roared, your fires igniting from your shoulders and heels, streaming like twin comets hurtling toward the sea. Flames licked the sky behind you, red and gold and white.
A cyclone of feathers and fire. Of freedom. Of trust.
You clung to each other, spinning downward, faster, tighter—no fear, just gravity and instinct and something deeper that neither of you dared name yet.
And for a moment, the world stopped.
You weren’t sure if you would pull out. Maybe it would end here. Maybe you’d crash into the sea, burned by beauty and longing. But then—
Snap.
Your wings flared. So did his.
The air caught you both with a thunderclap, lifting you just before the water kissed your heels. You rose again—high, high, wind and sea swirling below like applause. Together, you landed back on the cliff.
Panting.
Alive.
Scorched—not by fire, but by trust.
You stood close. Closer than you’d ever dared before. So close that the heat from his skin, even through leather and armor, was all you could feel. Your chest rose and fell. So did his.
You looked into his eyes—what little of them you could see through the black and flame. Something unspoken passed between you. You both knew what had happened.
It wasn’t just a stunt. It wasn’t just instinct.
That spiral—
It was ancient.
It was a ritual.
A courtship display once performed by Lunarian couples to show absolute trust. To fall together, not knowing if the other would save them. And choosing to believe anyway.
You had both chosen.
You lowered your gaze for just a breath, suddenly aware of what you’d done.
But when you looked back at him, he hadn’t moved.
He was still there.
Still looking at you like you were sky itself.
~~~
Chapter 14: Alber
You didn’t move at first. The wind still whispered around you, sweeping the last of the sea spray off your wings, but the sky felt utterly still—held in the space between your breaths.
His eyes hadn’t left yours. Neither had yours his.
Your chest was still heaving, slower now, but enough to feel every breath pull you gently toward him. Closer. As if your bodies knew something your minds were still too stunned to say.
You stepped forward. Just one step. And your chest brushed his. The contact was subtle—but not small. Not in the weight of it. Not in what it stirred in your belly and in your heart. The warmth of him, through leather and heat and fire, met yours, and neither of you flinched. Neither of you drew back.
You looked up at him, hands trembling slightly as you reached—slow, reverent.
To his face. To the mask.
He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. He only looked at you with those crimson eyes, steady and unguarded, as you carefully slipped your fingers beneath the edge of his leather mask, just above the curve of his jaw.
The metal buckles gave a soft creak as you pulled. And the mask came down.
Silver-white hair—thick, long, and wavy—fell loose in a single slow cascade, tousled by wind and flight. A braid ran down one side, tight and worn with ritual care. The sides of his head were shaved, the cut sharp and purposeful, and the fire behind his shoulders pulsed in rhythm with your own.
Your breath caught in your throat.
His face… Sharp, beautiful, severe.
A straight, elegant nose, a square chin shadowed in stubble, strong cheekbones. His lips full and still slightly parted from exertion. And those narrow red eyes—piercing, ancient, the kind you could fall into and never stop.
Your eyes traced the black tattoo arcing over half of his left eye, curling like a wreath—a symbol of his people. Your people.
Without thinking, your fingers rose and gently touched the mark. He didn’t flinch. Your thumb swept along the line of it, memorizing its shape, its warmth. He watched you in silence, gaze softening at the edges like heat fading into ember. Your eyes shimmered, awe swimming in their depths.
You smiled.
Not a grin. Not something playful. Something quieter. Full of wonder. Full of recognition. You saw him. And he knew it. And then he leaned down. So slowly. Until your mouths met.
The kiss was soft.
No urgency. No hunger. Just… truth.
His lips pressed to yours, warm, firm, and full of all the things he’d never said. All the moments he stood beside you without touching. All the times he watched you and didn’t speak. All the silent rituals building up to this breath.
Your fires ignited. Not in violence. In reverence. Flames poured from your backs in arcs of light—stronger, brighter—intertwined in the air like red and gold silk streaming into the sky. You felt it down to your bones.
His hands hovered at your waist but didn’t pull you closer. They didn’t need to. You were already his. And he… he had already become yours.
The kiss broke slowly. Lips parted, breath mingled, and you rested your foreheads together. His hand came up then, cradling the side of your face. You closed your eyes, the warmth of him grounding you.
He whispered it then. A name. Not a title. Not a weapon. But his name.
“Alber.”
Your eyes opened. His were waiting.
The name settled in your chest like a spark finding dry kindling. Not explosive—but transformative. It was the name he was given in love, in trust, in the language of your people. And now—he had given it to you.
✶ DEFiNiTiON ꒱・❥・ attraction to female-aligned and/or feminine non-binary individuals, but not to binary women . . .
pt: definition, attraction to female-aligned and/or feminine non-binary individuals, but not to binary women. end pt.
As a symbol, I chose the Moonflower. It is the most famous "lunar" flower. These large, snow-white, trumpet-shaped blooms open strictly at dusk and close with the first rays of the sun. In the dark, they literally glow, reflecting moonlight, and exude a strong, sweet fragrance.
0.1 : english isn't my first language, so I'm using a translator. Sorry for any errors!
0.2 : if this has been coined previously, please consider this as an alt.
0.3 : you can place my terms/flags on other sites or anywhere else, just don't forget to mention me as the author/creator!
Asking people to use different labels is not the same as asking them to detransition or control the way they transition.
We should be telling people TME that they can't identify as transfem, an identity loaded with experiences that are inherently TMA. Take that from me, somebody who's TME, transgender, and feminine.
That's also why a trans woman can technically identify as transmasculine, although this can sometimes be a form of self harm as noted by several TMA transfeminists.
And before some TMRA comes at me for "gatekeeping" and "tearing apart the community", I do have to ask: wouldn't you say it's racist for a white person to identify as two-spirit, an identity inherently loaded with experiences that are inherently Native American?
What the hell is under King’s helmet? You're determined to find out. King’s patience? Running thin. Your schemes? Ridiculous. His reactions? Surprisingly flustered.
King X gn! reader | ONE SHOT
tags: fluff, sfw, ooc king, slight v!olence
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe
word count: 1k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
The day you joined the Beasts Pirates, you swore you’d never fall for anyone on the crew. They were all either terrifying, annoying, or both.
Then you saw King.
And more importantly—you saw his helmet.
It wasn’t love at first sight. No, it was curiosity. Burning, rabid, downright obsessive curiosity.
“Why do you always wear that helmet?” you had asked on day three of being around him.
King didn’t even look at you. “None of your business.”
So obviously, that meant game on.
Phase One: Casual Questions (Totally Not Interrogation)
You began with subtlety.
“Hey, King, don’t you get hot in that thing?” you asked, leaning on a crate next to him.
“I don’t feel it,” he replied flatly.
“Must be sweaty in there though.”
“No.”
“What if you get an itch?”
“I don’t.”
“…What if a bird poops on it?”
He turned his head slightly. “Why would a bird—?”
“Just saying. You’d never know. Could be walking around with mystery poop on your face all day.”
King walked away.
You followed.
Phase Two: Bribery
You slid a pristine box of limited-edition dango on the table.
“I’ll give you all of these if you just lift it. Half an inch. One second.”
“No.”
“I won’t even look!”
“You’ll look.”
“…You’re right, I would.”
King didn’t budge.
So you tried again with spicy sake, rare fruits, a handmade lava-resistant scarf, and even a knitted plush version of him that you personally stitched.
He didn’t even glance at them.
Though you did catch him later discreetly carrying the plush to his room.
Phase Three: Stealth Mission (Failed)
In the dead of night, you tiptoed through the dim corridors of Onigashima’s fortress. You had intel. King always removed his armor to sleep. You just needed a peek.
You pressed your ear against the sliding door of his room. Silent.
Then you slowly slid the door open and—
“Nice try,” King’s voice cut through the dark. You screamed.
He was still wearing the damn helmet in bed.
“I—okay, first off, do you SLEEP with that on?!”
“Yes.”
“…Do you shower with it?”
“Yes.”
You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
King smirked under the helmet.
Or at least you imagined he did.
He always had that smug aura like he was eternally amused by your suffering.
You sulked for a week.
Phase Four: Drastic Measures
You made a PowerPoint presentation.
No, really.
You dragged King into the briefing room and stood in front of a projected slide that read “TOP 10 REASONS TO SHOW ME YOUR FACE (PLEASE).”
“I made charts,” you announced.
King just stood there, arms crossed, flames dancing on his back.
“Okay, Reason Two: I’ve literally never told anyone your height, weight, wingspan, or bedtime even though I definitely know all of those things and could sell that info to fangirls.”
King tilted his head. “Do you have fangirls?”
You blinked. “We’re not talking about me.”
By Reason Six (“For Science!”) and Reason Nine (“Because I said pretty please”), King stood and left the room.
You considered it a soft win.
Phase Five: The Disguise Plan
You put on a replica of his armor.
“Guess what?” you said, stomping around dramatically. “I’m you now.”
King didn’t even look up from polishing his sword.
You strutted in front of him, wings flapping. “Look at me, I’m so cool. I’m scary. Ooooh, no one knows my face. I’ve got MYSTERIES.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“Thank you.”
He sighed. “You have work to do.”
“Oh? So does King! He needs to show me his face before I LOSE my mind.”
Still nothing.
But Sasaki did walk by and immediately drop his drink at the sight of you.
“Why are there two of them now?!”
King groaned.
You cackled.
Phase Six: Reverse Psychology (and Screaming)
“Y’know what?” you said over dinner one night, loud enough for the whole table to hear. “I don’t even care what King looks like. Probably has a dumb face.”
The whole table froze.
King looked up, one brow probably raised under the helmet.
“Maybe he’s got, like, two noses,” you continued, chomping down on a rice ball. “Or maybe it’s just all teeth. Like a shark. Disgusting.”
“Why are you so obsessed with him then?” Jack muttered.
“I’M NOT.”
You totally were.
“Maybe you’re just in love with him,” Queen teased.
You choked on your drink.
King stood up without a word and left the room.
You internally screamed.
Phase Seven: The Fluffy Flop
After months of trying, you finally gave up. You sat on a cliffside just beyond the fortress, legs dangling, wind whipping through your hair.
“I give up,” you sighed to no one. “Maybe he does have teeth for a face.”
“Doubt it.”
You yelped.
King landed next to you, wings folding.
You scooted a little.
“…Sorry if I annoyed you.”
“You do.”
You sighed.
But he stayed.
You sat in silence, watching the moonlight reflect off the water.
“…It’s not about hiding,” King said suddenly. “It’s about surviving.”
You turned your head, surprised.
“I don’t care what people think. But I care about what they do. Especially if they knew what I am.”
You stared at him.
And then, for once, you said nothing snarky. Just nodded. “Okay.”
The Day the Helmet Came Off
It was during a battle.
You got hit—hard—and thrown across the battlefield, crashing into debris.
Everything spun.
Then—flames.
You blinked up to see King standing over you, face uncovered, the pieces of his helmet cracked and steaming beside him.
“…Whoa,” you whispered.
He was beautiful.
Strong jaw, red markings, piercing golden eyes. Sharp, fierce. Yet soft. Not what you imagined.
“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside you.
You blinked. “You—your face—”
“Don’t say anything.”
You nodded dumbly.
He helped you up, hand lingering on your waist longer than necessary.
You whispered, “Definitely not all teeth.”
King groaned.
.
.
.
He wore the helmet again the next day.
You didn’t push.
But when no one else was around, he lifted it just enough to let you see his eyes.
