Me: next update will be Prison part 2

Also me: hEy YoU kNoW wHaT wOuLd Be A pReTtY gOoD oNeShOt IdEa-?

Whoops sorry

The transition from the dark and bleak cell to the brightly lit backstage was harsh. The lights made his eye itch and flinch, but he didn't give them the satisfaction of cowering back.

Snarling as rough hands grasped his arms and forced him to his knees, he felt his chin grabbed tightly and an ugly, hairy face stared down at him and turned his skull carelessly in his hands, inspecting him.

Their sparky brown eyes narrowed slightly with a hum as they forced their calloused thumb into his mouth and wrenched his jaw back to get a good look at his teeth. God what would he give to clamp them down, to feel the man scream and recoil as his fat thumb was ripped from him in a spray of blood. But he didn't do that, only staring back at him with such a hatred that the man soon got uncomfortable.

He pulled back with a cough and wiped his hand away on a handkerchief that was plucked from his pocket like an apple from a tree, an irritatingly smug grin stretching across his face. "We're gonna be rich tonight, boys."

The faceless people around him laughed together, the sound reminding him of those sickly hyena cackles you'd hear stories about. The ones that either made you sick to the bone with fear, or resentment. In this instance, it was the latter.

"How much do you think boss?" One called out, prodding him harshly in the back and earning growl from him.

"Oh, easily 500,000." He looked down at him with the look a hungry cat gives a fish in a tank, his eyes darting all over his body. "Easily."

The group whispered lowly to each other, constant giggles and coughs spilling from their filthy mouths as they pointed and jeered. It only stopped when a loud cheer erupted from the left of where they were gathered, the noise of a loudspeaker yelling and people going ballistic over something. He could only make out the word "SOLD!" before a pathetic dribbling girl was thrown out of a doorway and dragged kicking and screaming away by a pair of tall guards.

She had blond hair that was matted in clumps by her own blood. Her face was dirty and scratched, one angry red mark dragging down her cheek that pulled her mouth into a resenting scowl. Her clothes were matted and and ripped as well, mud and dust clinging to the bottom of it. Tears streamed down her face and for a moment, her watery blue eyes locked with his. But that only lasted for about a second before she was yanked carelessly by the elbow and dragged off down the dark corridor where he'd first came from.

A few derogatory comments surfaced from the dark men around him, but they soon died out as the muffled sound of an announcer speaking through some sort or microphone echoed through the walls. They suddenly all stood up straighter and straightened their jackets and smoothed down the very visibly creased white button up shirts with faded food stains.

"You hear that? It's your time to shine~" The leader purred, a grin forming that showed off their blackened and filled teeth with the appearance of an extra gold one as well.

He was pulled up to his feet with no consideration in the slightest, both arms gripped onto with iron grasps that had nearly the right pressure to crack bone.

"You're gonna earn us big money, boy~!" They all cheered in sync and pulled him forwards towards the door the bedraggled girl had been thrown out from.

He'd like to think he resisted a bit. There was struggling, but not to a pathetic point. He knew there was no point in trying to escape; there was nowhere to go. But he didn't want to seem like he'd given in and gone weak, still having the pride to show he wasn't as low as them. He was proud of the rippling scratch he managed to drag across one of their necks, his fingers having reached out blindly, dug in, and pulled.

Strangled yells rang out and he was slammed harshly across the back of the head with something hard, his vision exploding with stars and spirals as he was shoved through the now open doorway. A hard pressure hit him in the back and he stumbled, collapsing to the floor.

His skull hit wood and his train of thought was completely lost, a spinning rollercoaster that dipped and turned more than a girl's mood on her period. All around him shouts and yells were heard, along with the jeering tone of the assumed announcer that by the sound of it, was stood rather close to him. Or maybe they weren't. Everything bounced around in meaningless jumbles, his pupil barely able to focus on the fuzzy outline of his shackled hands.

A broken pressure on his shoulder became apparent and he grunted as he was yanked to his feet, the non-existent blood plummeting from his skull and down to his feet. Everything was fuzzy, like he was looking at the world through the steamed glass of a shower. You know, the type where you have to wipe it with your finger to see anything on the other side.

Blinking groggily he raised his hands to cover his face a bit, the bright white lights glaring down at him not helping with his aching vision at all. It didn't help much with the pounding headache or ringing in his ears, but slowly his vision returned from a smudgy finger painting to actually distinguishable objects.

He was on a stage; that much was apparent. The floor beneath his bare feet was worn wood, splinters and stray nails sticking up haphazardly everywhere. Blackened stains of blood decorated it nicely along with torn pieces of fabric from clothes and garments. To the left of the stage stood a tall wooden podium. Stood at it smugly, a rather large podgy man was stood with a microphone in one hand, the other gesturing to the dazed victim.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" They called, ushering the crowd to quiet down. "This one here is a real treat for you all!"

Blinking rapidly and staring ahead of him, he finally started to make out to crowd he'd missed before. Other than the blinding stage lights, the rest of the room was black. Only the dark silhouettes of the people could be made out, almost all of them having hoods drawn over their faces or some sort of masquerade masks adorning their faces to hide their identity. Their chatter dulled and all eyes were on him sharply, staring, analysing, judging.

"Now, unlike our last lovely little doll," The announcer grinned at the small wave of laughter he received, "this one isn't really for your typical cooking and cleaning jobs."

Whoever was holding him gripped onto his jaw unexpectedly and forced it open to show his teeth, a sharp object pressing sharply against his back. He snarled in aggravation, but didn't move, the pressure on his spine a good enough warning. He wouldn't be able to do anything if he was crippled.

A resounding "oooh" echoed from the cards and he glared at them in disgust, fingers twitching as they fell from his skull. What the hell was this sick shit?

The announcer gave an impressed nod and cast a sly look at the several people there - easily twenty - and glanced down at a piece of paper on his stand. "Yes, this one would be more your typical fighting type, one to use against rivals in the arenas. Starting bid, 200,00."

An auction. He was at a damn auction. And he was the bidding prize.

The first person raised a hand, and then it all kicked off.

He wasn't able to do anything other than stare as the unknown people bid higher and higher on him - like he was some sort of ancient lost antique of 500 years. The money only hit higher and higher until it was left between two separate bidders, both going ten grand higher than the other each time until the price had just broken one million.

This was stupid. He wasn't worth that much, and he certainly wasn't for sale. Where was the consent in all this? He gave both strangers equally hateful stares, hoping to at least look intimidating while shackled and being displayed like the lost key to the Kraken's treasure.

The money for closer and closer until one of the strangers added a whole 100,000 to their bid, successfully killing off the other contender and leaving them silent with their gaze cast to the floor.

"No more bids? No last urges? I mean, look at him folks, he may not look like much now, but he'll be bread into a pure killing machine with proper procedure and instructions."

Instructions? What was he now? A misbehaving robot? This whole thing had to be a joke.

"Going once." The atmosphere was thick.

"Going twice-" He twitched, fingers curling into his palm and balling into tight fists. This was it, the shady hunched over figure at the back was buying him in some shady, probably illegal, black market auction.

"And SOLD! To number 17." He slammed the hammer down on the little plinth and grinned widely, listening to all the cheers he got in response. You'd think he'd just accepted the Nobel Prize from the King with the way he was acting.

A label was punched on his arm and he barely even had time to look down at it before he was dragged back and through the doorway he'd come through. He came face to face with the same group that had brought him here in the first place, all their faces slight with sickening childish glee, practically jumping.

"We're rich! We're rich! What did I tell you boys? This guy was an absolute gold mine!"

Disgust was the only visible feature on his face as he watched the five men clap and fist bump each other, bushy eyebrows raised up high in surprise. They'd just started delving into the topic of how they'd split the money, already getting into quite the argument over it when a cough rang out behind them and they paused.

Stood in a different doorway, a hooded figure stood with their arms crossed loosely across their chest. It was them, the person that had bought him.

"I'll take him now." They spoke, a hand reaching into a pocket in their jacket and pulling out a thick stack of notes, the money enough to make the gang's eyes light up.

How he had that much cash, he didn't know. But it was sensible enough to know they'd only pay with the real stuff and not with loans or debts. That stuff could be traced. Cold cash couldn't be. But who has a spare million and a half in their pocket?

The gang didn't only nodded, their fingers scrabbling with the air as the money was tossed carelessly at them like it was simply pennies.

"You." They stared at him, their eyes locking through the shadow of their hood. "Follow me."

They were male. That much was clear. Their stance and voice both clearly belonged to those of a man. He wasn't small per say, but he found himself easily taller than them. That satisfied him at least a bit. Small people often back down around tallers - in his experience anyway.

The hooded man turned and walked out the door with him reluctantly following behind, his narrowed gaze boring into his back like daggers. Who the hell was this guy?

They walked in silence into a back room, the faded noice of the next kidnapped victim being bid on coherent through the brick walls. The hooded man had progressively been walking slower until coming to a halt, their pupils glancing over slyly at their new slave.

"You're coming back to my kingdom with me."

Barking a laugh, he bared his teeth. "To become your little fighting slave? I don't think so, you can't make me do shit."

He sighed softly in almost disappointment, his hands in his pockets and curling around something long and smooth. "What a shame, I had a feeling you'd be like this."

Within the span of a second he felt a searing hot pain in his neck, his eye widening and choking before he fell to his knees for the umpteenth time that day. He wheezed and dug his fingers into something clamped around his neck, tearing uselessly at it. It was the collar. The magic suppressant collar.

He'd had it installed on him when he first turned up here after near killing two men. They'd kept it on for ages, but up till this point, he'd actually forgotten about it.

Magic suppressant collars were an item only found on the black market usually used for monsters, dangerous creatures and difficult slaves. Only the cunning and rich able to afford them. They were were designed to completely cut off the wearers magic, and could induce agonising shock waves as well at an action that the owner of the control deemed punishable. They were made illegal years ago because of how unethical they were and the constant relations to death. Only truly strong creatures can survive magic suppressants after a certain amount of time.

He fought back the urge to retch, the feeling of his non-existent stomach twisting in knots making him feel sick to the soul. He was faintly aware of the man resting a hand on his shoulder lightly, but before he could growl for him to get off, the scenery around him changed suddenly with a horribly warping transition.

Hitting plush carpet, his fingers found themselves sliding through wool instead of dragging across a cold flagstone floor. Gasping and panting, he looked around in a panic to see he was somewhere completely new. A large, dramatic living room that stretched out to the floor entire area of the auction house. Plush sofas were positioned perfectly around the centre, several coffee tables and desks scattered around with half melted candles stood proudly with the wax frozen in time, drips sliding desperately towards the dish only to be stopped.

Grand windows flooded the room with light, long and dramatic draped curtains flowing down from railings and brushing against the floor loosely. The ceiling was patterned and painted, two large white crystal chandeliers hanging and adding to the extensive light the room provided. Several book shelves and paintings decorated the walls, the actual colour of the paper being deep grey.

Shuffling to his right caused him to lurch to his feet drunkly, his vision actually feeling clear for the first time that day as he stared at his new master.

He'd just hung their coat up on a tall stand, revealing a surprisingly simplistic outfit beneath that consisted of only the colours black, white and grey. He sighed softly before turning to race him, their eyes locking.

His pupils were Heterochromic, one deep red while the other was pure white. His skull bore no blemishes apart from a deep scar on his cheek, it's colour red and shaped like a zigzag. He stared at him with an impressive confidence, his arms crossed over his chest.

Offering not an ounce of relaxation, he hissed lowly at him and tugged at the chains keeping his hands together.

The prince- king - or whatever he was - slowly let his gaze fall to the chains before shaking his head. "You're my possession now. I choose when you get to be free from those or not."

Riling up in a burst of anger he lunged forwards, his hands gripping onto the front of his jacket and his to his height. The skeleton was lifted off of the floor by a good inch, a surprised gasp escaping their lips. Much to his satisfaction, the smug and bold look was lost quickly and replaced with a mixture of fear and anger.

"Listen here, boy." He snarled, his one blue cyan eye locking with his mismatched ones and sharp white teeth on show once more.

"I'm no one's damn possession."

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Now let's be real, how many of you thought Cross would be the slave?

uwu so basically I've been kind of loving the concepts of like the classic ship stuff but like swapped around-
So example is instead of teacher Nightmare x student Cross, it's student Nightmare x Teacher Cross. But Nightmare's still top and whatnot.

So Nuggetmare is the slave uwu
Andcmonaslavedommingakingiskindahot-

But yea, I wanted to role play this but no one wanted to lmaooosixhsjwjsysy so as a pity for myself party I wrote thissss

uwu

Enjoy

I can't promise the next update will be prison, but stay hopeful :0

-Jess-