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savage-rhi · 1 year

Note

Ardyn x reader? But with some dialogue prompts

"Close your Eyes for me Love"

And

"Listen to me . . .take deep breaths, yes follow my breathing just like that. There's no need to panic, I'm right here now, aren't I? You're safe"

You can honestly use these for any scenario you see fit. But these ones spoke to me as someone that is an anxious person.

@sillylittlevulpine OKAY. I got WAY too carried away with this prompt, but I hope you like the outcome!

Niflheim's celebration of it's imperial founding was well underway at the main palace. Though Aldercapt dedicated much of his life to Zegnatus Keep as his main base of operations, he dare not soil tradition when it came to the birthday of the empire. The grand hall was filled to the brim with people. Most hailing from the richer provinces within Niflheim, though on this day, commoners were allowed to mingle within reason.

The night was alive. Chandeliers glimmered and bounced off an array of light, illuminating everyone’s elegant clothes. Music from magnificent orchestras thrummed through bodies and pulsed against eardrums. Deep conversations came and went. The grand hall was filled with rich scents and smoke from candles that made Y/N feel like they were underwater; in another world where they shouldn’t have dwelled.

When Ardyn approached Y/N a week prior to the event, they didn’t anticipate feeling so miniscule. Y/N had participated in a fair share of parties, but nothing close to this. They were beginning to regret not taking Ardyn up on his offer of him buying a formal gown on their behalf. Though Y/N considered their attire for the night to be nice, it also stuck out like a sore thumb when it came to class standing. The higher imperials made it known in jest.

While Y/N swirled their wine around in their glass, they fixated on the fireworks that were going off outside the large glass windows leading to the balcony. The thundering booms did little to ease their nerves, but watching explosions was far better than dealing with people. Since Ardyn was summoned to entertain envoys from Accordo, Y/N lost count of the many that approached them.

Like a horde of locusts eyeing a fine grain, they swarmed; asking numerous questions. It wasn’t everyday the chancellor had someone at his arm when it came to these events. Ardyn was fairly private despite his sly and charismatic demeanor. Though Y/N had rehearsed with Ardyn, they found themself stumbling when it came to questions addressing the nature of their relationship. The quriked eyebrows and snide remarks at times further made Y/N’s nerves fire off.

Y/N so badly wanted to tell the truth; that Ardyn brought them along to blend in with the culture of the higher imperials. He had rumors at court to quell, and was dealing with people in opposing nations trying to sway public opinion negatively regarding his lack of familiars. It was as he said: having a mysterious aura does wonders when it comes to the art of persuasion, but it also has its hindrance. And people were catching on that Ardyn wasn’t just quirky, but there was another level. Something dangerous that could even put someone like the emperor in harms way. Little did anyone know, Ardyn was the empires best kept secret.

Y/N knew Ardyn was infected with the scourge, having caught him in a moment of weakness when the daemonic miasma flared throughout his body and he needed aid. Before then, he seldom if ever talked to Y/N. Although, Y/N noted he was courteous when need be. The dynamic changed after that night when Ardyn promised not to harm them if they kept their silence he was infected.

Conversations and meetups began to become a common occurrence between them both. Y/N was scared out of their mind at first; believing he would go back on his word and kill them, but Ardyn wormed his way in like always with whomever crossed his path.

Ardyn stated several times in passing to Y/N that he felt relief being able to be open with someone about his illness. For years, he only had the company of Verstael and Aldercapt when it came to such things. Even then, the relationships boiled down to how his mind and powers could be put to the empires benefit while they searched for a cure for his ailment. At least, that was what Ardyn had told Y/N when it came to his story.

Ardyn never said they were friends outright, but there was a strong camaraderie that grew between Y/N and him over the past several months. It was something Y/N tried to remind themself of in the present when another round of people came over and interrupted the firework display. Such sentimentalities couldn’t drown out their anxiety, and soon, Y/N took off pushing past people.

Blood pounded in Y/N’s ears. Their hands quivered, and their feet tingled as if maggots were crawling over each nerve that ran down their toes. Y/N had to get away from the crowd and all the decadence. There was no thought or reason that traveled through their mind, only a resonating panic that felt primal.

Eventually, Y/N’s retreat brought them to one of the common ways; smaller halls within the palace that led to a multitude of rooms. Scattered about were large statues of the gods, and previous Niflheim rulers. Y/N slouched against a pillar nearby, and took a long, slow deep breath, then rounded the corner out of sight as guests came and went.

Y/N wrapped their arms around their chest so tight, that their nails dug into their sides. Their breathing was hard. Really hard. As if they had ran across Niflheim and all the way to Tenebrae. Bile rose in Y/N’s throat as they attempted to stifle their sobs. Although their body was on fire in the worst way possible, a small token of relief washed over Y/N. At least they were free of the grand hall. The consolation however didn’t do much when it came to their guilt. They were here to give Ardyn a good impression, and this outburst was sure to undo a lot.

As if he heard their thoughts from afar, the sound of Ardyn’s boots hitting the marbled floors had Y/N swallow hard. The common way was dark, but they could see his features coming into the light thanks to the lamps nearby. There was a ferocious concern in his honey eyes that made Y/N tremble while he approached.

“There you are,” Ardyn paused, leaning forward to catch is breath momentarily before he fixed his posture. He tilted his head curiously, studying Y/N from head to toe. “I heard whispers you took off in a hurry. Are you hurt?”

“N-no,” Y/N shook their head. Their voice shook and another wave of fear began to crawl against the hairs of their flesh. “I--needed to get away.”

“Y/N?”

“I---too many people. Too many questions. I couldn’t do it anymore! And the rude comments, and the noise, the music, it’s all just---gods, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you look stupid. So stupid for bringing me here! I don’t belong here--with these people. I don’t belong here with you. I’m nothing like them, and I--”

“Shhh, hey, hey, hey…” Ardyn’s voice started firm then faded softly. His hands gripped either side of Y/N’s shoulders, and he gave a gentle squeeze. “Look at me.”

Y/N forced themself to tilt their head up and gaze at him. His hardened stare from before settled. A look of regret now combed over his features while Y/N continued to sob.

“If there’s any fault to be had, its at my expense,” Ardyn began. “I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. Feeding you to the wolves wasn’t my intention.”

“I---I slipped up so many times,” Y/N choked. “C-couldn’t get my stories straight. Just one person after the other---and I’m already dirt. I don’t belong with you or them. T-they told me as much. And--”

“You’re right,” Ardyn murmured. “You are nothing like them, that’s precisely why I wanted you at my side tonight. I may seem well put together, but I get nervous at large festivities myself.”

“Y-you get nervous?”

Ardyn nodded and stepped closer so the rest of their conversation was out of earshot. “Do you know what I do to curb such ill feelings?”

Y/N shook their head, noting the childish grin that began to grow from Ardyn’s mouth.

“I envision everyone I meet, naked. It takes away their power.”

There was no way Y/N could stop the exhausted laugh that tumbled from their throat. Ardyn’s own bout followed suit. Alas it didn’t tamper down the adrenaline rush of panic that still remained in Y/N’s body. Their smile dwindled after the punchline lost its majesty, and they were crying.

Ardyn furrowed his brows and moved his hands from Y/N’s shoulders and to their face. Each palm cupping their cheek. “Close your eyes for me, love.”

“W-what?”

“Close them.”

Despite the uncertainty, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. The erratic pulse of their heart continued to throb behind their ears. Only the sigh that escaped from Ardyn momentarily pulled Y/N out of their inner turmoil.

"Listen to me…take deep breaths,” Ardyn muttered. He too joined in, inhaling slowly through his nose, and exhaling through his mouth. It wasn’t long before Y/N began to sync to his tempo, and relief began to pool in his mind, knowing a fire would soon be put out.

“Yes, follow my breathing just like that. There’s no need to panic. I’m right here now, aren’t I? You’re safe.”

“Y-yeah,” Y/N said in between breaths. Fragrant oils that were upon Ardyn’s clothes and skin found its way to Y/N’s nostrils. The familiarity along with the red wine on his breath aided in calming them down.

After some time, Y/N opened their eyes. It was so quiet, they half expected Ardyn to have been gone. He still remained in front of them. His hands still holding their face while his thumbs absentmindedly trailed underneath their eyes. Y/N had a morbid thought of Ardyn plucking out their eyeballs. He could easily perform such an insidious action given his infection, but alas nothing came of it. The intrusive thought ran away seeing the faint yet sincere smile that formed on his lips.

“I fear we must--” Before Ardyn could finish his sentence, he saw some of the Accordo envoys and a round of higher imperials making their way toward his and Y/N’s general vicinity. The face he made had Y/N look over his shoulder, hearing the commotion coming from the group.

“Gods be damned,” Ardyn whispered bitterly, letting go of Y/N’s face. “Not them.”

“I thought you got along with them?” Y/N sniffled, taking a moment to wipe their eyes.

“Yes and no,” Ardyn begrudgingly answered. “I have no patience let alone the disposition to listen to the words of drunkards tonight. Especially when it involves politics beyond my reach. No doubt once they see me, they’ll try dragging me in for another debate.”

A light went off in Y/N’s head. Though they were still healing from the panic attack, they pushed through the last of their nerves and quickly gestured at Ardyn’s hat.

“Get closer to me.” Y/N stepped forward and more into Ardyn’s personal space. Not giving him the chance to register the sudden intrusion. The look of bewilderment on his face would’ve made Y/N laugh any other time but now.

“I’m afraid I’m not following?”

“You don’t want to talk to them right?” Y/N began. “Well, take your hat and shield our faces with it. Lean in close. It’ll give them the impression we’re being intimate and don’t want to be bothered. Just trust me on this.”

Ardyn’s mouth parted to protest, but as soon as he heard his name being hollered, he quickly went through the motions that Y/N requested. Ardyn leaned forward and heard Y/N’s breath hitch in their throat. His eyes were glued onto theirs now, and he couldn’t help but smirk at both the awe and nervousness that dwelled in Y/N’s gaze. It reminded Ardyn of the night they had seen him as Adagium, and didn’t run. Intrigue and a twist of something more primal began to pull at his mind.

The shuffling of boots and shoes grew closer, and it wasn’t long before the group ventured by. Ardyn’s name was shouted a few times, until several aggressive hushes followed suit. Both Y/N and he could hear the whisperings, and Ardyn used his free arm to wrap around Y/N’s waist. Whatever doubts the drunken buffoons had at what they were witnessing fell away and soon colleagues beckoned their fellow peers to give space and privacy. A few wolf whistles here and there was given, and the flock retreated back to the festivities.

“See? They bought it! ” Y/N laughed with a grin. Whatever embarrassment they initially felt started to fade, but puzzlement began to take its place especially when it became obvious he had no intention of letting them go.

“Ardyn?”

He didn’t say a word. Not even his breath could easily be detected.

Ardyn stared at Y/N with an intense look in his eyes, where they could tell he was thinking hard. There was something irresistible about the vehemence his golden eyes held, and before Y/N could stop themself they leaned forward until their face brushed up against Ardyn’s. The stubble on his chin scratched them, and Y/N waited a moment, in case he wanted to pull away but he didn’t move.

Y/N’s emotions were so tangled from the night, that doubt began to creep in. Before it could take root and sprout, they closed the last bit of space between themself and Ardyn and pressed their lips against his. From the gentle push and pull of his mouth, Y/N could tell he’d been waiting for this and strangely so have they.

Ardyn’s hand at Y/N’s waist slid down further. His fingers dug into Y/N’s hip. He sensed the shiver that traveled down their spine and deepened the kiss. It’s not long before his tongue meets Y/N’s, and he wastes no time mapping out their mouth. Their taste was intoxicating to him, much like the wine he had nursed himself with during the worst flare ups of the scourge.

Ardyn was surprised with himself, that even after 2,000 years his body still remembered what this felt like. He was so indulged with the soothing texture of Y/N’s mouth against his lips that he didn’t register them pulling away initially, until the warmth had left him in yearning.

Y/N watched Ardyn lick his bottom lip while his hooded eyes studied them. They felt their knees wanting to give out at the image alone. Shaking, they reached for Ardyn’s hat that somehow continued to shield them both, and they took it from his grasp and placed it on top of his head. Y/N grinned briefly, averting their gaze downward. That’s when they felt Ardyn’s right hand gently grab at their chin, coaxing them to look up.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ardyn breathed.

“You’re right, but you didn’t stop either.”

“Touche’,” Ardyn huffed. “I have questions for you.”

“And I have a million to ask you.” Y/N countered with a shy murmur. They smiled at the amused laugh that left him.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Ardyn chuckled. His fingers gently stroked Y/N’s skin before letting them go. “Allow me to begin: do you want to leave this place?”

“Don’t you have people to meet and greet?”

“Yes,” Ardyn bluntly stated, then smiled as if he was up to something mischievous. “But you see, my distinguished guest I brought along suddenly fell to illness. Wine doesn’t mix well when you’re under the weather. I couldn’t fathom letting my plus one continue to carry on. For the sake of their health, I had to take them home or I wouldn’t live with myself.”

Gods, he was a masterful liar and he did it so well that Y/N couldn’t help but fall for the charm. The playful demeanor of Ardyn’s words while he conjured up his tall tale excuse had Y/N’s pulse stammer in their neck.

“What happens after we leave?”

“We can go anywhere you want,” Ardyn sincerely whispered. His features began to shift, looking morose almost. “The important thing is you and I need to talk.”

“About what happened just now?”

“Yes,” Ardyn paused. He contemplated his next words carefully. “And there’s some things I must share with you, about my condition, but not here.”

Y/N could only nod to his terms. No other questions or words would leave them. Not when their mind lingered on how saddened his voice was. Before anything else could potentially be said, Ardyn excused himself to go make the arrangements for their departure, and told Y/N to wait for him at the front gates.

As he walked away, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder why they felt a heaviness in their stomach; that whatever Ardyn had to share, it would change their dynamic once more. Y/N hoped they had the strength for it.

If you like my work and feel generous, feel free to donate to my ko-fi account or my cash app account!

Cash App: $JayRex1463

#drabbles #ardyn izunia #ffxv ardyn #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #ffxv #final fantasy xv

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blinkpen · 1 year

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inhales deeply

PREFACE: i covered the URL for a reason, don't go trying to find or harass this person or i'll kick your ass, and i will be ACTUALLY rude to YOU, i am speaking in good faith right now, in the event this person reads this)

i don't want to sound aggro or anything but this is so needlessly pessimistic and devoid of nuance. if you're not comfortable with gifts, thats fine, but birthdays were a thing humans have celebrated across many cultures for centuries before modern capitalism

it is a celebration of the fact you were born, that you are alive, that you have survived to see another year and hope to see another, it celebrates you, and long long loooong long before people's lives had to revolve around Buying Shit they were having parties, sharing drinks, making special food, handing you, the guest of honor a small crafted object they'd been working on, crafted with love, all year, just for you. in some cultures, we make gifts for people who have died. their funeral is not a somber affair, but a celebration. a celebration of the life you lived. you're not even here, so why are we placing this pile of gifts around what is left of you?

it's sure as hell not bc capitalism told us to. we were doing it back when we were handpicking all those flowers ourselves, not buying them from florist parlors that didn't even exist yet. we picked those flowers for you. we picked them when you were born, we picked them when you pass on. sometimes, we picked them for no reason at all, so you may enjoy them while we both are alive.

but i'm getting off track

making personal affects from hand isn't always viable. sometimes it's not even pragmatic, for you, or for that person. and you can definitely blame modern capitalism a great for that.

but you know what the average 30 year old, in this capitalistic hellscape would love? some nice new socks. as you go on to say, you'd still accept food for your pet rats - because that is in fact a very practical gift you would appreciate perhaps, a kitchen appliance they could really use but can't quite afford, or maybe they just barely could, but always hesitate n balk before they get it despite how much use they'd get out of it.

and you see that, and you KNOW, you know you can get them that electric kettle, or that pristine new set of tupperware to finally replace the same curry stained containers they've been rotating for over a decade, and if you can get it with a decal of their favorite animal on it, you KNOW their face will light up even more, bc it assures to them that you weren't just thinking of them, or just wanting to do something nice for them as a token gesture, just out of obligation, but also, that you KNOW them, and that goes a long way

maybe it really is something as "useless" as a plushie, and so despite how much they'd love it, this little superfluous joy, they will never be able to justify to themself to spend that money on that one little nice thing, but birthday or no birthday, you can take that hemming and hawing away from them completely, you can get it for them, because you love them, not because you felt pressured by capitalism, but because you know, this is something that would make their fucking day. and frankly, when i do that, it makes my fucking day as well.

yes the expectation to always be buying shit is annoying and if someone acts like a brat bc they didn't get All the Things they wanted and the Big Bash they feel entitled to, yes, they're probably a brat, and yes, the sense of guilt if you want to get something but can't afford to sucks and is definitely manufactured, the fact we get conditioned to treat an inability to spend frivolously as a moral failing is BOOOL SHEET! i agree!

but this? this is not a "capitalists just make up a holiday so they can tell you you're obligated to spend money on said holiday" situation sometimes gifts ARE given for gift's sake, which is to mean, "i don't have a reason, i just want to give this person something bc i know it would make their life a little brighter, so i want to" and it aint got a damn thing to do with money.

because if you know their favorite things, you can still sit down and draw the person their favorite animal. whittle one out of wood. make them a pancake in the shape of that animal! it can be something as small as that, you know! you know their favorite animal, you know their favorite flavor of cake, you know they vegan, you draw that animal hilariously badly with icing by hand on that cake and you both can laugh.

capitalism sucks but going "i want to give something to this person, but i don't know what what. i want it to be a surprise, so i can't just ask them - OH! i know they love this! i'll get them something like that" is all you need

i say this sincerely : you don't need to preface every conversation that has anything to do with giving people something for any reason or no reason at all with asterisks about capitalism. we know it sucks. i promise you that you are allowed to lighten up on a post that just wanted you to share what kind of animals you like and would be pleased to have something in your palm that shared its shape.

#may delete la8r but man that was such a needlessly Um Remmeber the World Sucks on such an innocent post #you didn't need to do that

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jesssssah · 1 year

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Queer As Folk (US TV 2022). Mingus and Judy. Background Mingus/Brodie. Moderate language.

NB: Fragment of a draft for next chapter of this series on A03 if you're interested :)

_________

Judy bites into her last rasher of crispy facon.

Mingus watches her watch them while she chews on it but before she can swallow her mouthful and ask, they say what they know she wants to hear.

“Yes, I’m eating, Mom. Like, I know I ate this super fast—” they glance down at their empty plate, fresh cleared of vegan french toast, and sides of marmalade and maple syrup “—but that’s just because I’ve been saving room.”

She sucks the last of her almond milk ice coffee up through her straw, the rasher of half eaten facon poised between her fingers.

“Is that really true?” she asks. “Because, baby, you know if it’s not, you don’t have to lie. I know you want to be independent and I want that for you too. But honestly? Shit’s expensive out there, I totally get it. If you need help buying food…or heck, even if you ever just wanna come over for dinner sometime, I would love to help! Now that I’ve got five days at work, I’ve got that little bit of extra cash coming in—”

“Mom, I live with three other people, remember?” Mingus pours themself another glass of water from the bottle of tap on the table. “There’s plenty of food in the house all the time, I promise. We share costs. And Mercury cooks heaps of really nutritious stuff for all of us. I mean, she spends her days at work photographing recipe book pages, for fuck’s sake—”

“I’m just saying.” Judy motions towards the full tables around them inside the trendy uptown cafe. “Like, this is really nice, right? It would be great to do this every single Sunday with you. Let’s have brunch here every Sunday!”

“No, Mom. No way.”

She leans back in her chair and Mingus feels instantly guilty. It’s been six weeks since they left home and although they hoped it would, time hasn’t really slowed the rate at which Judy still seeks opportunities to call them, or to offer to take them shopping, or to randomly come over and visit. Mingus suspects she’s lonely.

“I mean, that’s just a lot,” they add quickly. “Do you know what I mean? That’s four times a month.”

She picks up her napkin and wipes her fingers of facon grease. “I’m just the uncool mom again, aren’t I?” She scrunches the napkin up and tosses it into the middle of her empty plate.

Mingus groans and rolls their eyes at her. “No,” they say. “But right now? You are kind of being the diva mom again.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“That you always make everything about you. I can’t have brunch every Sunday with you, Mom. It’s got nothing to do with you personally. I just do other things on Sundays too. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you or something. Okay? I do love you. And I do want to see you. I just… Could you please stop making this a you thing?”

“Well, like what?” Judy asks. “Like, what do you do on Sundays then?”

“Well, like, work. Like, work is what I do on Sundays then...sometimes... I don't know. It's kind of a bunfight for Sundays but when I can, I work on Sundays... And… And, you know, I also hang out with Brodie on Sundays.”

“Oh.” Her expression changes from hurt to knowing. “How is Brodie? I haven’t heard you talk about him since Christmas. I thought maybe he wasn’t in the picture anymore.”

Mingus frowns. “And why would that be?”

Judy shrugs. “I don’t know. Guys come and go.”

“Well, Brodie is not one of those kinds of guys.”

She gives them a sceptical look.

“Okay, look,” Mingus says, crossing their knees and smoothing out the creases in the knee length skirt they’re wearing today. “I know that he hasn’t always not been one of those kinds of guys but really, he’s not like that anymore. He’s totally committed.”

“Committed?” Judy makes a face. “Okay… Didn’t realise you were interested in committed.”

Mingus scoffs.

“I’m not judging, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah nah, Mom, sure. Not at all—”

“I’m not!”

“Can I clear your plates?”

“Fuck yes,” Mingus and Judy say together to the waiter, who gives the pair of them a practised smile.

#queer as folk 2022 fan fic #Mingus and Judy #background Mingus/Brodie #moderate language #food

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the-keeper-of-midnight · 2 years

Note

How would the ROs of both games react when deep in the relationship with MC, they find an engagement ring hidden in the MC's stuff? I would especially like to see how Vera changes in deep relationship compared to now.👀

Fluff!

Ashley: Takes the ring and runs outside to MC. Starts to jump up and down. "Yes! Absolutely, a million times, and forever yes! But can we get a bigger diamond?"

Lan: "An engagement ring? Why would MC have an engagement ring hidden in-" realizing that it's for them. Instantly starts to cry. Runs outside to show MC the ring. "Are we about to level up?"

Mack: "Oh Crap! I wanted to be the one to do this... maybe I can still put it back and go buy one right now before MC makes their proposal?" takes another look at the ring. "Does that mean... does that mean MC loves me?"

MC walks into the room finding Mack with the ring in hand. Mack goes down on one knee. "Okay... I know it's your ring... and... I already know that I want to marry you. But I want to hear you say that you want to marry me..."

Kar: quickly put the ring back, takes a look at ring again, put the ring back, look at ring again, put the ring back.

MC walks into the room. "You know it's not going to disappear, right."

Kar: "I'm just making sure I'm not dreaming. "

Zhan: "Hmm... one ring to rule them all."

MC: "What did you say?"

Zhan smirks. "As if you didn't know." 🤨

MC: "What are you talking about?"

Zhan: "I found the ring."

MC: "Oh... and?"

Zhan smirks. "It's yes. I hope you know how to dance, and I also want a big party."

Insert Rich Family Name

The bodyguard: Melt into a puddle, then once they collect themself, walk outside to find MC: "Would you believe me if I tell you that I bought the exact same ring for you?"

The lawyer: puts the ring back and walks outside to find MC. "I may or may not have seen something that I wasn't supposed to see... but, the madly in love partner in me is screaming, yes! But the logical lawyer in me wants me to advise you to get a prenup. And I would sign a million prenups just to marry. Now please tell me that our honeymoon will be in Paris."

The detective: an engagement ring? This can't possibly be for you. You? Married? What would married life even look like?

Then MC walks into the room. "You found the ring didn't you?"

The detective: "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but... I love every moment we spend together, and if that ring means more of those moments... then... the answer is yes. And as the groom/bride, may I request a silicone ring? I'm not too fond of diamonds."

Vera/Bob: Take their time to look at the ring. It's a nice piece with the right amount of diamonds. Beautiful, expensive, fit for a king/queen. But if MC thinks they are going to say yes that easily they have another thing coming.

It hasn't even been that long since they moved in together and now they've found an engagement ring. Damn... is it really time to settle down... give themself fully to the one person who loves, and cares for them...? Fuck yes!

There's not a day that passes that they don't feel fulfilled, happy, and loved. Not a day passes without MC making them laugh and giving them a glimpse of what a happy life can look like.

So why wait? They've been there, done that, a million times with people who never really cared. But with MC... everything tastes different, and feel different... everything is better.

MC walks into the room while Vera/Bob is still holding the ring. "That's for me isn't it?"

MC: "I... yes."

Vera/Bob: "Hmm... I can't wait to see what kind of proposal you'll come up with. Cute ring by the way... I think I like it. As for my answer... you'll get it when you make your formal proposal."

#thanks for the ask!

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monicashipslokius · 3 years

Text

Soulmates, Actually Pt 3

(read Part 1/Part 2)

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki paces the length of the small bathroom, turning after only two steps. On each turn they catch sight of themself in the mirror, as hard as they try not to. They don’t want to see the cowardice marring their own features. They don’t want to face themself, knowing they are standing here in relative safety at the cost of their soulmate’s.

Through the thin walls, Loki hears another pound on the front door. Mobius calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Loki stops pacing and presses their ear to the bathroom door, straining to hear outside of it.

After the creak of a door opening, Mobius says, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mobius M. Mobius?” Thor has a weakness for Midgard and its people. Even as he speaks to Mobius now, his voice isn’t quite as booming as Loki is accustomed to.

“That’s me. Are you selling something?”

“I...? No. May I enter?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. I’m kind of busy, you know?”

“I see,” Thor says. “Wait! I’m looking for someone.”

“Sorry,” Mobius says. The door creaks again, loud, like it tried to close but was blocked by a hard shoulder.

“I must insist,” Thor says, and there’s the booming authority Loki expected. Heavy footfalls step into the apartment. Loki instinctively leans away from the bathroom door. “Do you live here, or is this a closet?”

“Hey, why does everyone think that,” Mobius says, his following footsteps much softer. “My apartment is not that small.”

“It is,” Thor says, blunt as ever, though perhaps his own time on Midgard changed him a small amount, because he immediately adds, “But... nice. Very... brown.” A long, awkward pause. “Seeing this... I feel apologies are in order. I cannot imagine Loki hiding here.”

Loki knows that their usual love of decadent flair is what’s saving them now, but the words still sting. It’s one thing for them to think disparagingly about their new home. It is entirely another for someone else to speak badly of it. Even Thor.

Maybe especially Thor.

“It seems silly now,” Thor says. “I had heard you are their soulmate.”

“It doesn’t seem all that silly,” Mobius says, voice much softer.

“I mean no offense,” Thor says. “Only that you are not their type.”

“Oh? Too old?”

Thor laughs. “Too human. But consider yourself lucky, friend."

"I don't know, I'd think it'd be okay to be the soulmate of a god."

"Not this god," Thor says, and that familiar self-hatred claws at Loki's ribcage from the inside out. They place their hand over their chest, physically pressing down on the feeling, but it does not stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mobius clips his words short.

Loki braces themself as Thor continues, "They never stay with anyone for long. They haven’t met a person yet who could hold their interest.”

“Maybe they just hadn’t met the right person,” Mobius says, stronger.

"Right people tend not to hang around my brother. You may have noticed that they are..." Thor pauses and Loki holds their breath. "A villain." Thor, at least, sounds pained to say it, though that is little comfort for Loki.

The word shouldn't hurt them. It is true. Despite their glorious purpose, they will never be seen as a hero, but only ever as the one who stands in the hero's way.

“Or instead," Mobius says, stronger still. Irritation oozes from his words. "Maybe they got so used to being seen as a villain that they started to think that’s all they are.”

The scratching in Loki's chest slows until it ceases entirely. Mobius.

But the calming effect of Mobius's defensive fury does not linger.

Thor holds his tongue a moment, and in that moment, a thick dread buds in the pit of Loki’s stomach. Thor may be oblivious at times, but he is not totally obtuse. And Mobius is angry enough for even him to take notice.

“Have you seen Loki, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I think you should leave now,” Mobius says.

“So it’s true?” Thor asks, like he still doesn’t believe it. “You are Loki’s soulmate?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“They must be deceiving you. Tell me where they are, and I will take them back to Asgard. Then you will be safe.”

“Loki’s not going anywhere with you,” Mobius says, stupidly brave. Stupidly perfect.

Outside a storm brews. Thunder rumbles the walls, as loud as Thor’s voice. “Do not stand in my way, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“No, you don’t get to order me around,” Mobius says. “You barge into my home and try to kidnap my soulmate. You didn’t even do it at a reasonable hour. We were asleep!”

“I am a god.” Lightning cracks outside the window, the light so bright, it flashes under the door of the bathroom. “You are a human.”

Mobius huffs out a breath. “I’m not giving them up. You’ll just have to kill me.”

Every nerve in Loki’s body, every pulse in their brain, the very breath in their lungs - all scream, No!

The bathroom door flies off its hinges from the force of Loki pushing through. Their daggers are in their hands, their armor has replaced their silk pajamas - there is no room for softness here.

Mobius glances behind him from where he’s standing, blocking the bathroom from Thor in the kitchen. “You broke the door,” Mobius says, entirely too calm for a man who was just about to throw his life away.

“We are going to discuss your blatant disregard for your own fragile life,” Loki tells him, stalking forward to Mobius’s side.

“I had it under control,” Mobius says.

Loki sucks in a deep breath to try to tamper down their roaring rage. “No longer will you risk yourself for me.”

“No, sorry, Loki.” Mobius crosses his arms. “You don’t get to boss me around either. I told you, soulmates protect each other. And that’s that.”

“You stupid, brave, impossible man.”

“Dying for you would be worth it.”

“And what am I to do at that point? Hm? Bid your corpse a fond farewell and move along?”

Mobius startles, like he hadn’t thought ahead that far. “Yeah, I guess.”

If Loki wasn’t holding daggers, they would grip him by the shoulders and shake him. “You have no idea what you are to me. You have no perception of how long I have waited for you. For us. For this tiny little room. For everything we shared last night. And all that we will share.”

Mobius’s eyes widen. “Loki -”

“No, Mobius. You will not be throwing your life away. Not now. Not ever. Not while I have strength enough to hold a blade.”

Mobius blinks. The surprise on his face lasts a moment longer, then softens entirely into fondness. “Let’s go to the store later. Buy some stuff. Spruce this place up a little. We can get a plant or two. And maybe a new bathroom door.”

Loki exhales, and the harshest of their anger slips away. “Only if we also buy you new clothes.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my clothes?” Mobius is smiling now.

Loki almost mirrors it. Until he remembers their thunderous brother occupying the entire minuscule kitchen. Thor seems to lack his usual righteousness. Instead, he looks between Loki and Mobius like he has no idea what to make of them. His mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.

A moment, Thor tries, “Brother, you...” He closes his mouth. Opens it. “You... actually care for this little man?”

Loki’s answer comes easier than even they expected, “Yes.”

“I’m not that little,” Mobius says.

Outside the storm clears away and starlight returns. Inside, Thor lowers his hammer to his side, no longer holding it ready to fight. He stares at Loki for a long moment. “We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

Loki’s impulse is to argue. They aren’t yet numb to the pain of Odin’s deception. Of Loki’s own monstrous truth.

But instead of drudging forward that pain, Loki draws strength from Mobius beside them. From the comfort of their home. From the promise of buying new drapes and bed sheets.

“I’m not going back,” Loki says, hating the way their voice cracks. Mobius inches closer to their side, and they stand taller.

“You cannot rule Midgard,” Thor says.

Loki glances at Mobius, who gives them a soft smile.

“Mostly,” Loki says, “I want to buy drapes.”

Mobius’s smile widens, and he dips his head, as if to hide it. Loki loses themself in the sight of such softness and warmth, until they remember their brother again.

Thor watches them, his confusion palpable. “This is not at all as father said it was.”

Loki tenses at the mention of Odin.

“A lot’s different since yesterday,” Mobius says. “Dubuque can really change a person, you know?” Mobius winks at Loki, and a fresh wave of comfort rolls through them.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Dubuque.”

“Perhaps I could return without you,” Thor says, confusion shifting gradually into something more sure. “If you hand over the tesseract.”

Loki pointedly refrains from glancing at the coat closet. As, to Loki’s surprise, does Mobius. Surely he had seen them place the scepter within. Surely he could parse together what the tesseract could be.

“You wouldn’t need it to buy drapes.” Thor’s grip tightens on the handle of Mjolnir, but he does not yet raise it again.

Loki’s body tenses like a bowstring. There is no way out of this then, without a fight. “You have no comprehension of its power, brother. Of what I could have, what I could achieve with it in my possession. With what I’ve been promised.”

“Promised?” Thor asks. “Promised by who?”

A chill creeps over Loki’s skin, inch by slow inch. They think of the creatures that invade their mind, that found them when they fell from the Bifrost.

You could have this, they whisper, even now. You are nothing without this.

“Loki?” Mobius whispers. “Are you okay?”

Shaking their mind free from the dark grasp, Loki thoughts travel instead to those same creatures wrapping Mobius in their viciousness. Tearing him down. Exploiting his deepest vulnerabilities.

The cold runs deep, all consuming.

With the tesseract still in Loki’s possession, maybe they could protect Mobius. Or, the opposite. Maybe those creatures will never stop hunting them until Loki finally does as they command.

When it was Loki alone, forgotten and fallen, following the icy commands was no question, when both vengeance and a crown were promised.

But Loki is no longer alone.

To Loki’s surprise, concern covers Thor’s face as well, and he has taken a step closer, hand half-lifted, as if in a halted attempt to reach out to them.

“The tesseract will not bring you happiness, Loki,” Thor says, and motions toward Mobius. “Not in the way your soulmate can. You must make a choice.”

“They don’t have to chose,” Mobius says. “I’m staying with them, regardless of what they want to do.”

“But they must,” Thor tells him. “I will be leaving here with either Loki or the tesseract. I’d prefer to do it without a fight.”

Mobius takes a step forward. “I already told you, Loki isn’t going anywhere.”

“If forced, I will take you both to Asgard,” Thor says.

Loki thinks of Mobius standing before Odin, of all the brave, protective things he would say to the All-Father in Loki’s defense. And Loki thinks of how fast Odin would cut him down, Loki’s soulmate or not.

“No,” Loki says.

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki disappears their daggers, then goes to the closet and draws open the door. They reach through Mobius’s brown suits and retrieve the scepter. It’s cold in their hand.

They could grab Mobius and teleport away. Together, they could go anywhere. Thor would need time to track them down. But they’d have to keep running. They’d never be able to stop.

Loki thinks of Mobius, sweating in the desert. Humans are weak, fragile things. Mobius would not be able to sustain that kind of life.

The scepter, the creatures, whisper to Loki, He will die anyway. Why shouldn't you have more?

"All my life, I’ve been in your shadow,” Loki says to Thor. Thor lifts his hammer, readying for the fight to come. “This is my chance to carve my own path. To find my own throne. The Midgardians are hapless. They are in desperate need of a ruler.”

Loki looks at Mobius and finds him watching Thor, body tense like he intends to jump in the way if Thor were to attack. He will die anyway.

“There is no happiness in the promise of a throne, Loki.” Thor frowns, and after a brief, sideways glance at Mobius, his eyes turn sad. “We have waited the same for a soulmate. You have found yours, while I am still waiting. I ask you, who lives in envy of who?”

A new feeling twists inside Loki - something like... pity? For Thor? No. Impossible. Thor has had a life filled with all of his whims being catered to. Ever the favorite. The favored.

Yet.

Thor has no Mobius of his own.

He will die anyway. But. Not yet. Not yet.

“To be honest,” Mobius says, drawing Loki’s attention. “Humans are kind of a drag. We fight all the time, can’t agree on anything. I know that’s half why you think you can fix it all, but really, it sounds like a bigger headache than it’s worth.” He shrugs. “You and I, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ve got your back 100%. But... if you were King of Earth, do you get any vacation days? Cause I got some places I really want to take you.”

Looking at Mobius, hearing his words, listening to the steady cadence of his voice, Loki warms from the inside out.

“We need to go to the beach. You saw my jetski picture, right?” Mobius turns to Thor. “You ever been on a jetski?”

Thor blinks at him. “...No?”

“You’ll love it. It’s so much fun. Out on the waves, just you and the ocean - with the wind in your hair, and the sun all bright.” Mobius turns his smile back to Loki, and Loki doubts any sunshine could ever be as brilliant as him. “What do you think, Loki?”

The cruel whispers grow dim. Thoughts of, You are nothing without a crown, are replaced with, What worth is a crown without him?

The chill burns away, until the scepter is too cold, too painful to hold.

Loki moves closer to the kitchen. Thor raises his hammer. Mobius hurries forward.

But everyone stops when Loki surrenders the scepter - the tesseract - to Thor. As soon as it is gone from their hand, Loki feels a heavy weight lifted away. The chill leaves entirely, and their mind is silent once more.

“You’ve made the right choice, brother,” Thor says. They lower Mjolnir to the ground to look closer at the scepter.

“Odin will not be pleased when you return without me,” Loki says.

Thor hums. “I will pass along your promise to behave yourself.”

“I made no such promise.” With Loki’s new weightlessness, a small, sly smirk slips onto their lips. It's shaky and unsure, but Thor doesn't mention it.

Thor slides his gaze to Mobius. “I think you will have your hands too full to do otherwise, with how quickly this one throws himself into trouble.” He pitches his voice low. “I like him. He’s small, but brave.”

Pride swells in Loki. They didn’t need Thor’s approval, but having it...

“Mobius M. Mobius!” Thor walks to Mobius and draws him into a tight hug. “Now my brother. I await the day our paths cross again!”

Mobius awkwardly pats him on the back. “Yeah, sure! Sounds great.”

As they break, Loki begins to steer Thor toward the door. Thor looks as if he also wants to wrap Loki in a hug, but thankfully thinks better of it. Instead, he simply says, "We will see each other again."

"We will," Loki says, a promise. And for now, it is enough.

Thor starts forward, when Mobius calls out, “Wait, you forgot your hammer.”

Loki and Thor both turn away from the door, toward the kitchen - where Mobius stands, hand gripping Mjolnir’s handle, holding it up off the ground. He brings it forward and hands it to Thor, who stares at him, mouth agape.

Mobius says, “Surprisingly light?”

Loki bites back a smile. They knew their soulmate was no ordinary mortal.

Thor looks at Mobius like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Only to those who are worthy. You are small in stature, but not in heart, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mobius says. Softer, he adds, “I’m really not that small.”

When Thor is gone, with the slightly damaged front door bolted behind him, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Told you I’d get rid of him.”

Loki reaches out, grabs Mobius by the shoulders, and pulls him into their embrace. They do not let go for a long time.

Mobius holds them back, nose tucked into the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. “I would have followed you,” he says, voice muffled. “You want to be king? We’d make it happen. You didn’t have to give it up.”

Loki will tell him of the whispers and the cold, of the dark promises made. Later. “Perhaps another time,” they say. “Plenty of life to find a throne of my own.” Though as the words leave them, they know they are only half true. Plenty of time for Loki. No time at all for Mobius. The creatures no longer whisper in Loki's mind but they still hear their mocking, He will die.

“I was thinking we could get a couple chairs while we’re out.”

Loki can’t help and doesn’t stop their grin, even as their heart aches. “See? My fortune is already changing.”

“I’ll buy you the best throne,” Mobius says. “You ever heard of La-Z-Boy?”

Loki closes their eyes, presses their forehead to Mobius's shoulder, and wonders how, with the cruel inevitability of human mortality, they will ever go on without this man.

#i wrote this #lokius #wowki #loki x mobius #fair warning this is pretty long if you pop open the readmore #ao3 link will come tomorrow #thor /#part 3 of 5 #soulmate au #avengers 1 divergence

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beelsnack · 3 years

Text

Bad Influence - Beelsnack's 666 Follower Special!!

(Technically I'm over 666 - shoutout to the porn bots)

But seriously, holy shit, there's a lot of you. Thank you all so much for liking my stuff, and for interacting with me and sending me good vibes and all of that. I hope I can keep giving you guys quality work!!

And yes, I am a nerd and I consider 666 a milestone for a blog for a bunch of demons. No, I'm not sorry.

-----

Lucifer: He couldn’t help but wonder when the change had set in.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, they had been humble and meek. If anyone complimented them, they deflected it with the mastery and resignation of someone who had been doing it for far longer than they should have. And if someone thanked them? You would think their entire world was dissolving around them.

But now?

He extended a gloved hand towards them as they descended the stairs. Tonight was one of the rare nights where they had the opportunity to be alone without one of his brothers tagging along, and they had been planning this date for nearly a week now. They slipped their hand in his without any of the hesitation they would have shown at first. They knew they deserved his reverence.

“You look radiant as always, my dear,” he curled his fingers around theirs as they reached the bottom step, bringing the backs of their knuckles to his lips. “Surely there is no star in the sky that could outshine you.”

They laughed - his theatrics always did amuse them. “You do have amazing taste, after all.”

He chuckled as well, guiding the two of them to the front door. “Of course. Do you think the Avatar of Pride would associate with anyone less than the best?”

“Definitely not,” the wind that came through the door when they opened it blew their hair away from their face, and Lucifer couldn’t help but preen at the fact that he had helped that quivering little animal grow into the proud swan that stood before him.

“Speaking of the best, where are we going for dinner?”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he laughed as they made their way out into the night. “You deserve the world, and the world you shall get.”

“Unless ‘the world’ means a steak dinner, I’m not interested.”

Mammon: “Come on, don’t leave me hangin’ out here!”

The curtain covering the entrance to the changing room rustled, and Mammon heard a faint “Fine, fine, just give me a sec!” before it finally opened and out stepped the human.

Mammon always thought they looked good no matter what they were wearing, even if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Actually, especially if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. But seeing them decked out in his fashion brand - one he had both designed and modeled - was definitely making him feel some type of way.

He let out a low whistle when they stopped in front of the chair he had seated himself in. The results of his own shopping spree were tucked haphazardly into a colorful assortment of bags at his feet, but the human had taken a bit longer than he did picking out their stuff. And damn, was he glad they did, because otherwise he wouldn’t get the chance to see them modeling his clothes.

It was a private fashion show, just for him.

The outfit itself was pretty simple. A black fitted tee beneath a cropped leather jacket, a pair of faded dark-blue skinny jeans, and a pair of black sneaks with a gold stripe going up the side. But the thing that brought the whole outfit together was the long necklace with a topaz pendent resting against their breastbone.

“Well?” they asked, giving him a spin before striking a pose before him. “What do you think?”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The human wearing his clothes...it was the next best thing to them walking around with “I Belong To Mammon” tattooed on their forehead.

“I, uh...I guess you...um,” he swallowed thickly. “Ya look alright, I guess.”

“That’s tsundere for ‘you look hot,’ right?” they grinned before spinning around to look in the mirror. “Man, this is a whole look! I have to have it!”

If this had been a few months ago, the human would have waffled back and forth about whether or not to buy anything. It didn’t matter how much they wanted something, it was almost like they just couldn’t do anything nice for themselves. There was being frugal, and then there was deprivation. Now, though, was completely different.

“I wonder if I should get some shades to go with?” they mumbled, looking themselves over in the mirror. “I think that would really pull it together, don’t you?”

“Just don’t go for the Ray Bans, it’s a fucking scam.”

Leviathan: "Come on, come on, come on…"

Very rarely was Levi the one watching someone else play games, unless it was a stream. And as mind-blowingly awesome it would be to watch the human stream one of his current faves, he definitely didn't want other people seeing how adorable they looked when they were focused.

They had come to him with absolute determination in their eyes, begging him to help them out. There were a limited amount of UR armor sets in the event, and they needed to get their hands on one. And, well, what kind of friend would he be if he didn't help them out?

(The fact that he already scored the armor is irrelevant.)

So, here they were, camped out in the pillow nest that they often made for themselves when gaming in his room, laser focused on the screen with Levi giving them guidance. The event level was brutal, but they were in the final hours, so it was crunch time.

"Okay, this boss is easy once you know the attack pattern. Four regular slashes, a jab, then you've got about five seconds to get behind a pillar before it uses the AOE."

"Gotcha."

Even then, it was a long battle, and they had used up most of their healing potions by the time the monster let out an anguished roar and disintegrated into a pile of bones. The human held their breath as they moved towards it to gather their loot.

"Yes!!"

They practically leaped out of the pillow nest in triumph. There, right on the top of the loot list in shimmering gold font, and the UR armor that they had been coveting.

"I got it! I got it!" they cheered. "Levi, I finally got it!"

"Hell yeah you did!" the two of them shared a crisp high five as the results of the campaign loaded on the screen. It was updating in real time, so they could watch as the final moments of the event ticked away.

Levi knew what they were looking for. Early on in the dungeon, another player had done them real dirty, sniping them from a few levels above and then taunting them over VC about how they would never get the armor now. So of course that only inspired the human to work harder, and here they were.

3...2...1

Event over. Quickly, the human scrolled up to the beginning of the list, checking the names of all the players who scored the armor.

Levi sat next to them, chewing his lip. What was that person's tag again? He didn't remember.

Suddenly, the human let out a snort that turned into a full-on giggle fit.

"They didn't get it!" they cackled like a hyena. "Serves them right, the jackass!"

Levi was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea to laugh at the misfortune of others. But, he knew better than anyone that spite was a hell of a motivator. When they had first gotten themselves isekai’d into the Devildom, they had let demons walk all over them, Levi had personally witnessed a lower-level demon shove them out of the way to get a sandwich they had been reaching for, and the human just stood there and let them take it. But they had grown to be a little more selfish, and if they wanted something, they were taking it.

And maybe, just maybe, seeing them like that turned him on just a little bit.

Satan: "You want to come and say that to my face?"

Satan stood there in stunned silence as the human spun on their heel to look the demons right in the eyes. They had their back to him, so Satan couldn't see the look on their face, but whatever it was made the two lesser demons flinch.

"Hey, come on, Human, we were just joking."

"Yeah, no need to get all worked up."

They scoffed, and Satan knew them well enough to know that they were rolling their eyes. "Is that right? So you don't think I'm a...what was it? A fleshy meat sack who thinks they can get what they want by sleeping with the strongest demons in the Devildom?"

Another flinch. Satan chuckled to himself.. Did those morons really think they wouldn't hear them? Humans might not have super-heightened senses but they weren't deaf.

A small crowd had begun gathering around them, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't every day one of the human exchange students squared up to a demon.

"You've got some nerve," the human drew themself up to their full height - which, admittedly, was laughable compared to most demons - and crossed their arms. "What do you think Lord Diavolo would do to demons who messed with his exchange students?"

"I believe there's a special spot in the Royal Torture Chambers for such demons," Satan came to stand next to them, and the other demons downright cowered. "If I recall correctly, there's an Iron Maiden down there."

"Ooh, cool!"

"Alright, we get it!" One of the demons cried, throwing their hands up defensively. "We're sorry!"

Satan opened his mouth to spit a curse at them, but the human beat him to it. "I've got Lord Diavolo on speed dial, so start running."

The two demons turned tail and booked it down the hallway, nearly crashing into Beelzebub as he turned the corner with a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He stood frozen for a moment before he swallowed and turned to Satan and the human.

"Were those two bothering you guys?"

Satan cast a sideways look at the human before a wicked grin spread across his face.

"They took care of it."

Asmodeus: "Well, someone's feeling bold tonight."

The door had barely shut behind the two of them before the human was pressing Asmo against it, mouthing at his neck as their hands traveled down the front of his silk blouse. He shuddered gleefully as their breath ghosted against his ear lobe.

"I can't help it," they murmured, fingers skirting just beneath the hem of his shirt. "You looked so good out there."

"I look good all the time, darling," he hummed, reaching up to grab a fistful of hair to gently pry them away from his neck.

"You looked especially good," they huffed as he let go of their hair. "Dancing like that, I could barely wait until we got home."

"Aw, sweetheart, you should have come to join me." Asmo rolled his hips in an echo of the dancing he had been doing at the club, delighting when he felt them shiver against him. "We could have put on a show that would have captivated the whole Devildom."

"I don't think the staff would appreciate it."

"They would be too busy watching to care," Asmo giggled, diving down to capture their lips in a quick and dirty kiss. "Although I can't say I'm not thrilled to be getting a private show."

Beelzebub: “Man, this place has the best barbecue!”

Dinner dates were a pretty common thing for the two of them. Over the course of the human’s stay in the Devildom, the two of them had figured out which restaurants would put up with Beel’s appetite and which would visibly freeze when the Avatar of Gluttony entered the establishment. The Hellfire Barbecue was one of the good places, probably because Beel made sure to tip really well, and one time personally went into the kitchen to tip the chef. Or, well, he tried, anyway. He ended up giving the money to the human and told them to give it to the chef because he knew if he went in there he would devour everything. But the sentiment was still there.

Beel smiled down at the human as they wiped the barbecue sauce off of their face. “You finished all of it this time.”

“Huh?” they glanced at their plate. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You usually don’t.”

“I was really hungry, I guess.” they grinned sheepishly.

Beel distinctly remembered the human telling him that they always tried to save some food for later. Whether it was being resourceful or because they had a weird sense of shame around eating too much, Beel didn’t know, but he had never pressed in case it was a sensitive issue. But, seeing them indulge themselves and looking genuinely full and satisfied made him happy. And was probably his main motivation for taking them out to dinner so often.

Well, that and getting his own food.

“I like watching you eat.” Beel said, waving to the owner as he passed by.

“You...like watching me eat.” the human repeated, looking somewhat confused.

“You look so happy when you eat good food,” Beel smiled. “I like seeing you happy.”

Belphegor: Oh, how the tables have tabled.

“Come on, I don’t feel like dealing with Lucifer’s lectures today.” Belphie grumbled, tugging half-heartedly on the human’s arm that was flung around his waist. “We should get up soon.”

For all of his complaining, Belphie didn’t move. If anything, he snuggled down deeper into the bed. He loved when the human agreed to have a sleepover in the attic with him. They got uninterrupted cuddle and nap time, since nobody dared to come up to the attic except Beel. And Beel was almost always welcome to join the cuddle puddle.

“Five more minutes…” the human mumbled sleepily, burying their face into Belphie’s neck. The soft, contented sigh they let out tickled, and he squirmed a little.

“Aren’t you usually the one waking me up?” Belphie nuzzled his nose against their hair.

“But it’s comfy here,” they whined. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You just don’t want to do the presentation in class today.”

“Your point?”

Belphie laughed. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“I did all the hard work anyway,” they shrugged. “We’ll make Mammon give the report.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

The two of them settled back down into the nest of pillows. The human had almost drifted back to sleep when Belphie brought his nose down to theirs to nuzzle them together.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You’re cute when you shut up and let me sleep.”

#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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satansphatass · 3 years

Text

Cold - Technoblade

Hello - this is my first post so if you see this follow me because I crave human validation 😎👍

I originally posted this on wattpad but nobody was interacting so I’m posting it here :)

Word count: 1800

Trigger Warnings: Blood/injuries

Pronouns: They/Them

Platonic/Angst/Whump

Summary: Y/n is injured and caught out in a snow storm - will anyone reach them in time?

***

The snow stung against y/n's skin, they were starting to become numb all over from a combination of blood loss and the cold. They had been trekking along since the end of the war in L'manburg; which wasn't ideal seeing as they had been pierced by a piece of debris from the explosion.

The shock of Wilbur and Techno's betrayal stung more than the physical pain itself - they needed to get away, have a fresh start. They didn't tell anyone they were leaving and they doubted anyone had even noticed. Y/n had no clue where they were going and had had the misfortune of ending up in the snow.

The cold was really starting to have an effect on their body, their skin had a waxy look to it and they were shaking like a leaf due to the lack of a jacket - again, another big mistake on their part. If they didn't find anywhere dry and warm soon they feared that they would either bleed out or freeze to death - neither of which were very nice options. Their crisp white shirt was soaked through with crimson, they weakly tried pressing their hands up against the wound only for them to come away slick with blood.

As they pushed themselves up from the ground a spark of pain shot through their body causing them to sink even deeper into the snow; on second thoughts, maybe a nap wouldn't be so bad - the snow was nice and comfy after all. They curled up and slowly lost consciousness.

***

Techno continued on his horse Carl, searching for his home that had secretly been in the works for months, it was hidden far away from L'manburg - he doubted that they wanted to see him after the little stunt that him and Wilbur had pulled. It was located by a village in a snowy land that he had just entered; he pulled his large cloak closer to him, it was thick and kept him warm even during the harshest winters.

He was starting to approach the forest near his home when he saw a small pink stain to his right, thinking it could be an animals print he approached. He jumped off of Carl and peered down at it - it looked to be a footprint, but nobody knew where he lived. That wasn't right.

He peered up to see more going up over a snow mound, he followed the trail to see them getting crisper and darker, they eventually joined together to make a continuous line of blood - these were clearly fresh, but the question was, who or what had caused them?

He made it to the top of the mound and looked down to see the trail lead to a large crimson stain against the fresh snow. He picked up speed and saw a mop of (hair length and colour) hair - he recognised that, it was y/n. What on earth where they doing out here?

He ran towards them in a state of panic - how long had they been here?! He fell to his knees beside them and flipped them onto their back. Their skin had a greyish-blue tint to it and frost had formed on their eyebrows and lashes. He unclasped his cloak and went to scoop them up when he was suddenly hit by the severity of the situation - they were bleeding out fast, like REALLY fast. He pushed his hands against the wound; even their blood was ice cold. He felt something nudging his shoulder and whipped around to see Carl by his side.

He weighed out his options and carefully wrapped them up in his cloak, the deep red a stark contrast to the fresh snow. He sat atop of Carl and rode into the forest with them in his arms. The silence was all of a sudden eerie and crushing compared to the peace he felt from it earlier. The trees sped past him in a blur and he finally made it to his quaint wooden cottage, he tumbled to the ground in a panic and dismounted y/n from his noble steed.

***

Y/n lay there in the snow: it seemed more solid than before, and warmer, and- where were they? This definitely wasn't how they remembered it, the cold was no longer wrapping its death grip fingers around them, they no longer felt stinging on their front - infact they felt pressure wrapping round their middle.

They forced their eyes open slowly, that really did not help with the pounding in their skull. They gazed around the room, they could faintly make out a shape in the corner - it looked to be a rapier, they weren't interested in getting on this persons bad side. They didn't know where they were and were starting to panic - who had done this?

They could make out the faint shape of bandages by their waist, unfortunately their shirt was still stained - whoever had done this couldn't have even cleaned their shirt or something smh. Pick a struggle.

They pulled the blanket closer to them, it was very comfortable; it was quite heavy and had a fur trim around the edge almost like Techno's--

Nononono- they couldn't be here. He had betrayed everyone. They had trusted him - to some extent anyways. They sat up abruptly - not smart. They let out a gasp of pain, the dark threatened to consume their vision. They placed a hand on the edge of the mattress to steady themself. After much trial and error they managed to sit upright.

They calmed themselves enough to take another look around the room. There were a few worn maps on the walls showing L'manburg and its surrounding areas - their heart ached at the sight of the familiar structures; party island, the podium, the various towers dotted all over the land - all gone, all blown up.

There was a small fire illuminating the dark room, and also the mass on the floor. Their blood ran cold - colder than it already was anyways - y/n had hoped for some time to leave before he got back. Luckily he was asleep on the floor and was a relatively deep sleeper. They slowly but surely pushed themselves up from the bed and wobbled towards the door, leaning on the walls for support. This was perfect, they would be able to make it away before he even woke up!

"What are you doing?"

Ah- turns out he wasn't a deep sleeper, that was a fatal flaw in the plan.

They slowly turned around to see a sleepy but amused Technoblade stood in the middle of the room staring at them.

"Uhh- I was going on a walk." 👀🤠

"Is that so?"

....

"Yup."

They started aggressively coughing, the speaking hurting their cold and sore throat.

"Get back in bed, you need to rest," >:(

"I'm fine, I don't need to rest - resting is for the weak."

"Everyone has to rest, even I rest."

"That's because your weak."

He stared them in the eyes, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

👁👄👁

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeh."

"Get in bed."

"No."

"Yes."

It went on like this until he started to walk towards them - slightly pissed off. He picked them up and placed them onto the bed.

"I don't need to rest!"

As soon as they said that, coughs wracked their body.

"You sure about that?"

They quickly tried to sit up to run off while his guard was down - but he pushed them back down as soon as they attempted anything. He held their arms down so that they couldn't escape, they tried wriggling free but to no avail. They quickly gave up.

"As much as I want you to rest right now, it's freaking me out that I can hold you down this easily."

"What are you talking about- I'm" their sentence was interrupted by more coughing "-super -strong"

He gave them a skeptical look not buying a word of their bullshit.

"I'm gonna go get you some water for that cough, you stay right here - okay?"

They nodded.

He walked off and climbed down the ladder.

They crawled out of the bed, ignoring his very clear rules and made their way over to the map of L'manburg on the wall. They stroked the coarse paper littered with so many of their favourite places - the forest where they liked to make flower crowns for everyone, the cliff top where they could think about life and how it's so very meaningless. 😶

Y/n sunk to the floor; tears threatening to spill from their eyes. It was so unfair, a beautiful nation destroyed by power hungry people. They had no idea whether Wilbur was still alive, they never saw him after the explosion. They missed him, they missed the land before the government - where they would all dance to Wilbur's songs around the campfire speaking nothing of governments and laws.

"Y/n?"

Techno walked up behind them and hesitantly placed a hand on their back, not knowing what to do because, social situations are awkward dude - am i right?

"You good?"

They whipped around slamming their fist into his chest in a futile attempt to hurt him,

"It's all your fault!" They said through tears, "We trusted you!"

He took their fists in his hands, staying silent while they had their tantrum. They soon grew tired; slumping into his chest, staining his shirt with their tears. They stayed their for a while, his embrace warm but his attitude still cold.

***

I did not proof read so if there is a section that got deleted or some shit then just let me know 🧍‍♂️

Please send me requests people (no smut/nsfw) - make sure to include pronouns pls.

#mcyt x reader #technoblade x reader #x reader #mcytumblr #idk

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heiayen · 3 years

Text

plan failed succesfully - tattoo artist!xiao x gn!reader

modern au, don't take this fic serious please, just something i finished mostly for fun so. you can call it a comedy i think!! 3rd person view

hello @kookieyachi @yostresswritinggirl do you remember the tattoo artist xiao? no? WELL i do and i finished the fic!! and turned it into comedy in the middle of it. there's also lot of things implied. mostly because why write about something you cant when you can simply imply that it happened.

word count: 774 + fic utc.

we live on impulsive decisions, yes?

even when the decision in question is getting a tattoo? of course yes. even when the decision was made purely because of a friend and it was kinda stupid doing lifetime things just because someone else said "yes, do it"?

we live on impulsive decisions after all.

so here they are, standing before the tattoo studio, [y/n] with their friend as an emotional support. she was hardly a support however, cracking jokes so often. truly a great friend.

"are you really sure about it?" they asked, face full of uncertainty, "oh god, why did i even agreed for this idea..."

"are you really asking me? besides, it can't be that bad and we both did dumbest things and we're alive, in all pieces." they sighed. of course, doing stupid things is funny, but not when they are more or less for your whole life. but, that's what you get for befriending a self claimed pirate.

"whatever you say..." they mumbled in a reply and walked toward the doors. "just open them, it's not like you can change now anything about this", they thought to themself. and they did, and walked to the studio, with the woman behind them. well, for a place where you literally draw on someone's skin for money, it was... quite cool looking. if it was a right word to use.

probably was, if you look at the fact that tattoos are seen as "cool" and for "those cool kids", according to some people. "those cool kids" as "those street kids who steal things". but try to argue with anyone about it, you will give up after a minute.

"what're you thinking about?"

"oh? ah- nothing, really."

if complaing about elders' beliefs was nothing, of course.

they walked toward the receptionist, a nice looking lady with dark hair (and cute... little braid-buns?) and before they could say a word, she already greeted them happily, just asked for name and right after it started explaining... everything needed. and then just everything went somehow, and in a blink of an eye they were already on the chair, patiently waiting for the artist to start his work.

and he was kinda cool too, [y/n] needed to admit.

his arm covered in tattoos, his pretty like small ambers eyes and, oh, they never saw anyone wearing red eyeliner and actually looking good till today.

and in another blink of an eye the tattoo was done (it was a small tattoo after all) and they needed to leave and all those things, but...

"hey." their friend looked at them.

"yeah?"

"do you maybe know this artist...? as friends, maybe?"

"...you should stop crushing on random people."

the last thing on the list was bread. the nowhere to found type of bread, which was one of the truly most annoying breads ever existing.

"it was here last week..." they said under their nose, looking at the shelves. maybe they changed the place? or stopped bringing this kind of bread to this shop? multiple choices, maybe someone even already took the last bread? or maybe-

"are you looking for something?" a familiar voice asked- oh, familiar?

yes, familiar. because it was the same tattoo artist from few days, buying bread-

"just looking for one certain bread! sunflower bread..."

"i was also looking for this one, but it seems like it's not in the store today."

so they like the same bread? can it be a good excuse to exchange numbers, then? they sighed, dissappointed not only at the lack of their favorite sunflower bread, but also at themself. maybe she was right with stopping crushing at random people...?

a quiet akhem broke the silence.

"if i recall correctly, you visited the tattoo shop few days ago, right?" he asked and got a nod in the response, "how is the tattoo healing? if there is anything wrong with..."

"ah, it's fine!" they responded with a slight smile. this question also gave them a very sudden idea. sudden and bad idea.

but don't we live on sudden ideas?

"you know, we can exchange numbers so i can text you in case something happens."

there was a moment of silence, before he took his phone out of the pants' pocket.

"fine."

"you won't believe who what happened!" [y/n] said happily to the phone, and before the person on the line could even response, they already did it for them, "i got his number."

once again, there was a quick moment of silence, before a loud "you did it!" came from the phone. and then another sentence.

"but, did you introduced yourself at least?"

goddamn it.

i came to conclusion that if your partner doesn’t share your favorite type of bread then they suck (they i realized that me and my girlfriend has different bread types. damn it.)

#heia's writin'#genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #gender neutral reader #i shall call it a comedy about bread #xiao x reader

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

Who Are You Really?

Chapter 3: To Mold; To Raise One

Summary:

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked. The warrior was forgotten by the hero. By everyone. And Macaque? He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Spirit Masterpost

If he had to say anything on the matter, he would have said they’re useful.

It hadn’t taken much, not really. He finds them in the woods, alone with nothing to their name but whispers of favors to powerful people and three eyes that stare through you. He finds them, appraises them, and despite the way their tail curls around their leg and despite the way they hunch down on themself, something is there. A little broken, but there.

Like a memory of a debt owed, Macaque knows he can fix them and is willing to try.

Convincing them isn’t difficult. They perk up at the word favor, ears pressed up against the sides of their head and their eyes wide and earnest. Desperate for a use, excited to have purpose—he dangles it in front of them and pulls them in.

There were more than a few roadblocks.

There is the anxiety, of course. Kid barely can stand the sight of their own shadow, much less the ones he can summon at the drop of a hat. He gets them used to the clones soon enough. Exposure works wonders, and if they don’t like it at first? Tough. The clones are a part of him, he says It wasn’t as if he could just get rid of them because they don’t like them.

A well placed guilt trip, and Kid stumbles over themselves to fix their error. Good.

They’re soft. Gentle. Caring for all the other living creatures almost to the point of those being above their own needs and wants. Careful of pretty flowers they don’t want to step on, kind to the trees and grass as much as one can be.

Wide eyed, but not doe eyed. Their eyes are something, though.

It’s interesting to watch the large pupil move, the smaller two following. They bounce around like ping pong balls, always taking in every detail. When they wink, they either close the large one, or the two smaller ones. Sometimes, when they’re trying to focus on something, they’ll close one of the smaller eyes.

“My vision’s a little lopsided,” they admit, when he questions. “It, uh, can make things blurry.”

Not doe eyed, he knows, when he looks at them. The furtive way they glance around. They look at dead animals far too long to be normal. Stare wistfully out at human settlements. And when they’re not looking at anything, their eyes look...tired. Empty.

Haunted, even.

Guess they call themselves Spirit for a reason.

It takes a while to teach them to stop caring about the petals you ruin in your walk, to crush bugs underfoot without thought. It would go faster if he taught them the hard way, with broken bones and bloodied fists, but breaking more than they already are serves no purpose. Beyond it all, Macaque wants a tool to use, and a tool shattered beyond repair isn’t useful. So he has to be patient about it.

Of course, his patience runs out sometimes, but they never complain. Maybe he gets used to yelling. It shuts them up real quick, so it works.

Training them is another matter. As much as he wants to beat all of the lessons he’d learned into them, he has to be patient. A warrior isn’t made on the first day, there’s a process. And they’re flighty, too. One wrong move and they might run away. Sure, he knew they’d come back, like a dog on a leash whenever the word favor was involved, but waiting would add more time to the process.

So he takes things slow. Somehow.

They have stamina. Running and jumping through forests day by day leaves them lithe and lean when it comes to muscles. They tower over him even when they bend over; they are always bent over. He forces them to stand up straight, just to get a measure of their height, and they loom like a tree in the forests surrounding them.

A good foundation, but their stance is so easily toppable that he barely has to push them and they stumble back, falling to the ground.

So he starts there.

“You need to be unmovable,” he says, using a stick found in the woods to prod at their limbs until they’re in the right position. “Rooted to the ground.”

“Like a flower?” they reply, turning their head around to look at him.

He smacks them on the side of the head with the stick for that.

“Like a tree,” he corrects. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to pick a flower?”

He hears them mutter about how they think it wouldn’t be too bad to be picked, but they correct their stance and go silent before he can bark at them to be quiet.

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked.

The warrior was forgotten by the hero.

By everyone.

And Macaque?

He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Once their stance is steady, he teaches them self defense. How to punch without breaking your fingers. How to kick without losing your balance. How to dodge, duck, strike.

Kid takes to it like a duck to water, with a few hiccups. The largest of which is a lack of want to land a hit.

Oh, they’re plenty strong. They can lift up half a tree’s worth of firewood with a bit of strain. They could likely kick harder than they punch, with how much they run, but to get them to do either is an uphill battle.

“C’mon kid, hit me,” he says, gesturing to his chest.

They pale, shoulders hunched, fingers rubbing against each other awkwardly as they keep them from becoming a fist.

“But-why? I don’t want to, uh, hurt you.” They frown at the thought.

Macaque laughs.

“You can’t hurt me, trust me. I’ve been hit by bigger and stronger people than you, kid,” he gives them a half grin and snorts at the thought of them being able to hit that hard.

“I don’t…” They draw circles in the dirt with their toe, glancing between him and their feet. “I don’t like hurting people.”

He sighs, long suffering. “You have someone you want to protect?” he asks.

They blink a few times. He watches their pupils dilate, shifting as they think. They don’t have the best poker face, but when they want to hide something, their face becomes carefully blank, a slate wiped clean.

It’s kind of creepy, in a way.

“Not anymore,” they finally mutter, forlorn. Ears downturned.

There’s something deeper there, but Macaque doesn’t have time to hear their life’s story. Especially when they’re training.

“Yeah, you do have someone.” He walks over and sticks his finger into their chest, poking them hard enough that they wince. “You. You want to stay alive? You fight.”

They stare at him, hard, and he raises a brow.

“Look,” he says. “You hate anyone?”

Kid glances down at him—he hates that they’re taller than him, even when they’re hunched down—and their gaze flashes to something dark.

He stares back.

“Yes,” they whisper. “Some. One.”

Macaque does not stiffen. There’s nothing haunting about how quietly, how gently, how angrily Kid says that.

“Alright then,” he takes a step back, arms splayed out to make himself a target. “Hit me like I’m that person.”

He watches them stare at him. They tilt their head to the side. Their pupils shift.

A minute passes, and Macaque is about to say something else, when they blink once, and then strike.

His clothes are ripped, a slash across his chest. Kid holds their hand out like it’s a weapon, claws bared. They took off some fur, too, but they didn’t go deep enough to break skin, though Macaque thinks it’s not for lack of trying.

Another blink, and they come to, yanking their hand back and cradling it against their chest.

“Oh-sorry-I-I was just doing what you told me, and, uh, I didn’t,” they mutter out more apologies, looking away.

Macaque laughs.

“No, no, that was great! We’ll have to get you used to punching and kicking, but using claws ain’t half bad.” He looks them up and down, seeing them in a new light. “If you like something sharp, then, well, we might as well get you a weapon, right?”

“A...weapon?” They look surprised that he’s not upset.

Macaque only yells when they make a mistake, though. And when they’re being annoying, but regardless. Why punish them for a job well done? He told them to hit him, and they did. Not exactly how he wanted, but as long as they’re more willing to fight, he wants to encourage the behavior. An inch of negativity towards them and they’ll jump a mile back from where he wants them to be.

“Something sharp,” he repeats. “Claws will only get you so far.”

He pulls out his staff, twirling it around a few times before holding it out, sideways, for the kid to look at. They peer down at it, tilting their head to the side. They close one of their eyes, to focus. Their eyes trace the spikes on the ends of the staff. They swallow, fidgeting, as their gaze ends at the sharp points.

“It’s...nice,” they say, a little nervous.

“We should go to a market. I’ve got a bunch of weapons we can test out, but your weapon has to be for you.” He pats the kid on the back, smiling.

“Shopping?”

He watches them perk up, eyes wide, a smile on their lips. There’s a certain charm to it. As tall as they are, they have quite the young face.

“Yup,” he says. “But first, I’m teaching you how to sew. If you’re going to tear my clothes, you’re going to know how to fix it.”

They duck their head sheepishly, embarrassed, guilty, but happy that he’s going to teach them something new.

Hook, line, sinker.

He takes them, first, to one of his caves, his hideouts. He has his stash of weapons there, so they can start training with them to get the kid used to weaponry before he buys them anything.

The trip takes a week, and during it he has to stop himself from strangling the kid every evening. They light up every two seconds, prattling on about every little thing they spot, skipping along with both their pack of things and his own. He thought making them carry his things as well as their own would get them tired enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to them chatter well into the night, but they manage to ask so many questions it makes his head spin.

“Do you think that anyone is going to like you if you never shut up?” he growls out, one night. “I can barely hear my own thoughts, you keep spouting out all of yours.”

They blink. Hunch their shoulders. Shift their gaze off to the side.

“I don’t know a lot,” they mutter. “I thought asking questions was how, uh, I learn? My mom always had me tell her what was on my mind, so she could let me know if I was thinking of something wrong.”

They shrug their shoulders, gaze off somewhere, or sometime else.

“Well I’m not your mom,” he snaps. “And neither is anyone else. Trust me, no one wants to hear your thoughts.”

The kid looks up at him, hunched over and sitting down. Their pupils shift, again. Their expression goes carefully blank.

“Oh,” tThey reply. “Sorry.”

Macaque lets out a huff. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy here. Not only is it a bad look, it also makes the kid less likely to trust him. It’s a balancing act, where he toes the line. Sure, the kid can take a bit more attitude than most, but you kick a dog enough and it bites back.

If you kick a dog, and then feed it nice food for a month before kicking it again, well...it takes it a lot longer to think of biting.

“Look,” he sighs. “I’m saying this for your sake, kid. I’m patient, but most people aren’t. You think a regular demon will just tell you to shut up?”

He pauses, levies them an incredulous look. “You’d lose a tooth or something, or an eye.”

They flinch, when he says eye. He files that away for later.

“How about this,” He continues. “You get 3 random questions per day while we walk, and 2 random comments. Sound fair?”

Kid looks up at him, a little less despondent, and then they smile.

“Okay.” They turn to the fire, grabbing a piece of firewood from the pile and adding it to the fire.

They glance up at Macaque, after a bit. “Thanks.”

Macaque reaches over and ruffles their hair, and it doesn’t feel like there’s a fake smile on his face when Kid giggles and leans into the touch.

When it comes to weapons, the kid is clumsy.

Most long weapons are surprisingly difficult for them to wield. Their height should be an advantage in that regard, giving them more of a reach, but instead all their long limbs are good for are getting hit whenever they slip with a staff or spear in hand. They nick themselves a few times, and Macaque thinks he’s going to have to make a fuss with cleaning them up, but every time they get cut they pull out well worn gauze and some mixture, and carefully clean and wrap the wound themselves.

“My mom taught me,” they explain when he stares for too long.

Anything long is difficult for them to handle, so he throws those out the window. Now, short blades they do well with, but they don’t like to stab.

“Curved blades,” he suggests, handing them a pair. “They’re more for slashing. Like a couple of extra claws, but longer.”

They hold them awkwardly, but with some careful correction they do a few practice swings, glancing over at Macaque for approval.

“Looks good,” he says, because they seem most steady with the twin blades, and that’s something to hone in on.

The kid beams. Macaque finds himself smiling back.

They train for a couple months, not just with the curved blades. A jack of all trades is far more useful than a master of one, after all, and letting them have at least a rudimentary understanding of how to use most weapons will make it so even if they’re without their typical arsenal, they’ll be able to make do.

That, and between the hand to hand combat lessons, will make them a force to be reckoned with, though they still refuse to strike with a killer’s intent.

All in due time, though. Macaque would hate to waste all this effort to create something of use by scaring them off with his impatience.

They know of the Monkey King.

“I hear about him all the time,” they say, over dinner. “He’s a very famous monkey!”

“Sure,” Macaque grumbles, ignoring the urge to punch their teeth in.

It’s not their fault, he knows. Anyone who knows anyone would know of the Great Sun Wukong enough to—

“Have you met him?”

Now, there’s a question. Something dark and pleased rises up when he hears it, because he can’t ruin the reputation of Sun Wukong to the world, but starting small never hurts, and why not score some trust with Kid along the way?

“We were actually pretty close,” he explains.

The look on their face when he shows them his scar and tells them how he got it is just priceless.

Shopping with them is...something else.

He takes them to the market closeby, a few miles out from where they met in the woods. They’re like a kid in a candy store, bouncing between market fronts and looking over every random object with interest.

“Some of the people here owe me favors,” they whisper conspiratorially to him, waving at a few of the shop owners. “I helped them out! It was nice.”

“Mhmm,” he nods along.

Kid is very, very insistent on favors. The wording is important, and Macaque pockets it, pulling out the phrase whenever Kid starts to get too hesitant about doing what Macaque needs them to.

“What’s the whole favor business for, anyway?” he asks, because he genuinely is curious.

As much as Kid’s ramblings can get annoying, they do provide insight. Information on insecurities makes for a fun leverage.

“They owe me,” Kid replies. “I do what they want, and then they can’t hurt me.”

Short, simple, to the point. But oh so interesting, an insight Macaque files away. He can’t go around hurting Kid after the favor is done, then. That’s fine. He has plenty of time to get them to heel without yanking on the leash.

A few tugs will do well enough, anyway.

They reach the weapon shop, and Kid is enamored with a purple pair of their preferred weapon, fluttering over to them and tracing the shapes with their fingers. They’re practically bouncing on their feet, grabbing fistfuls of their pant legs to stop themself from snatching up their prize immediately.

They glance back to Macaque for approval.

“Not a bad color.” Macaque has always liked purple. Maybe that’s why Kid doesn’t annoy him as much as most people. They’re bright in personality, but wear the colors of shadows, and hide in the shade rather than stand out in the spotlight.

Kid preens at the compliment.

“Can-uh-is this what-can I have them? Please?” They’re vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and earnest as they hope for a yes.

“Maybe,” Macaque replies, smooth as silk. “It all depends on if you’re going to use them properly.”

That gives them pause. Their excitement diminishes into confusion as they try and parse out just what Macaque means, ears twitching.

It is almost charming in a way, how they always seem to be moving a little bit. Whether their tail is swaying back and forth, or they’re curling and uncurling their toes, or fluttering their fingers at their sides, they move.

“I...know how to use them,” they finally say. “You taught me.”

“Practically,” Macaque replies. “But you still won’t fight with them.”

Kid blinks again, tilting their head to the side. Genuinely confused, befuddled, uncertain of his words. He watches their eyes slide to the side, glancing around and trying to figure out what exactly he means.

“I…,” they start, haltingly. “I thought I was?”

Macaque sighs, more out of exhaustion than annoyance, but they take it as such, ears drooping low. Their tail brushes the floor.

“Intent, kid,” he says. “You can use the weapons, but you don’t fight with them. Not with intent.”

“Intent to what?” Kid asks, hesitant but insistent.

“Kill,” Macaque says, simply. “These weapons are for killing. If you aren’t going to use them like that, there’s no point in you getting them. No point in continuing the favor.”

He can tell the second part hits them hard. They stiffen, hands clasping in front of their stomach, tight. Their feet overlap each other, toes curled, shoulders hunched, tail coiled around their leg.

Fidgeting, tense like a coiled spring, Macaque waits, because he’s seen this before. Every time he pushes, they duck their head in quiet defiance for only a moment, before

They buckle, going limp.

“No,” they mutter. “You’re right. I’ll get intent, sir.”

Sir is new.

Macaque likes it.

“Good. Then they’re yours—” He gestures to the twin blades, with purple glossy handles and white grips. “Take them.”

Their smile is smaller than it was before, when they pull the pair from the rack. Their hands tremble when they hold them; they grip the blades tight to keep them steady.

Macaque pays for the blades, and ignores how still they’ve become.

With Kid’s preferred blades acquired, Macaque ramps up training. He pushes them farther, because he’s laid the groundwork, and now the only way to get them to bend is to force them into the position.

Starting small is important. Kid is still fit to scatter if he scares them. It’s like placing a frog in a pot of boiling water. It doesn’t work. You set them in the room temperature water first, and then turn up the heat. Slowly, still. If he cranked it up now, well, they’d still jump out.

So, they start with a shadow clone. Looks like a real person, but is detached enough from it that Kid won’t get too freaked when they attack it. No blood, no screams, just smoke and mirrors to get them in action.

Maybe he should be concerned that he’s teaching them to fight a visage of him, but Macaque knows Kid isn’t stupid enough to think they can beat him.

That would be ridiculous.

He guides them through the motions, hands on their wrists as he tugs their arms into the correct positions, jerking their hand forward in a slashing motion and letting go just as they make contact with the clone, dissipating it with a single strike.

Typically his clones are more powerful, but an easy win to start will embolden them to strike harder next time.

“Nice job!” he pats them on the back, hard enough that they stumble a little from the force of it.

They’re smiling though, small and secretly pleased. They love praise, he finds, desperate for approval. A few kind words can feed them for a week, if he plans it out right. Not that he’s always planning. Some do just...slip out.

“Now,” he summons another clone, placing it a few feet away. “Try this one on your own.”

Kid nods, turns, and settles into a stance. They charge forward and strike.

Macaque smiles.

From clones, comes animals.

After all, he explains, they have to eat. Sure, a true warrior eats less than most, but they still need to have food. Starving themselves when they’re in the middle of training, in the middle of gaining muscle and strength, is stupid. They need to bulk up.

“I don’t, um, usually eat much,” Kid says.

Macaque scoffs.

“That’s why you’re a stick.” He gestures to their general size, how their clothes hang off of them.

They fidget, shrugging a little.

“I guess,” they reply, which is their typical response when they don’t exactly agree but don’t have the courage to actually disagree.

“Well, I know,” he bites back, finding some sort of pleasure in how they shrink away from him. “We need to make sure you know how to make food anyway. You’re no use to me half-starved.”

He drums up options, glancing off into the forest they’re surrounded by.

“There’s plenty of food out here,” he says. “We can fish in streams, shoot for birds, and there’s a human settlement just out west a couple miles, so—”

“We are not,” Kid interrupts, interrupts, voice harder than he’s ever heard, “Eating humans.”

Their eyes are sharp. Angry, even. So rarely does he find anger in them, find fire where there is cool terror and anxiety. This is something noticeable. Kid likes humans, enough to fight for them.

They’re trembling, waiting for his reaction. Clearly, they’re terrified that he’ll snap at them, that he’ll shut them down. But they don’t apologize.

Interesting. How rare is it that Macaque sees them be brave?

“Fine,” he shrugs. “They scream too much to be worth it, anyway.”

That much is true. While he might not be showing off the six ears that beget his title, they’re still there, and shouting is nothing that he wants to deal with.

Kid relaxes, relief evident on their face that he’s not yelling at them. It’s good that they’re smart enough to fear his reproach.

“But, that means you’re gonna have to learn to gut fish,” he jerks a thumb towards the stream behind them.

Kid smiles, with all their sharp teeth on display.

“Sir yes sir!” They salute.

Macaque has to wonder who taught them such a motion as they jump up and rush to the water.

He stands and prepares the next lesson.

In the weeks following, they learn to fish with both a line and with their hands. He teaches them to use a bow for the birds, as well as the bears. They only kill one bear, because the amount of meat will last them ages and it’s foolish to waste such meat.

They trade some of it for spices in the human markets, once Macaque makes sure they know how to look human. Apparently, it’s the only form they can shift into. Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless.

Kid takes to cooking with a gusto he doesn’t expect.

“I would help my mom with dinner,” they explain, setting up the fire one night. “I didn’t know how she was making what she was, but I loved all of it. I—”

They cut themself off, suddenly shy.

Macaque doesn’t pry. Half because he doesn’t care, and half because he knows it’s a fruitless endeavor. For most things, Kid can be cajoled into explanation, but if they truly don’t want to say anything, he’ll get nothing. Which, considering his secrets, is fair enough.

“I...like that I can make something nice,” Kid finally admits, turning away from him to grab some spices. “For you.”

Oh.

Somewhere along the line, Macaque stops finding them as annoying as they should be.

They smile at him like he’s a star, the sun, and years of being a moon, of being second best, makes that look something to covet. If that means he lets them drag him into the forest to look at some rare plants, if that means listening to them ramble about the medicinal properties of said plants, well.

It’s only because it ingratiates them to him. That’s it.

Physical affection, too, is something they desire. It’s a reward. That is it. A reward for a job well done, a pick-me-up when they’re too morose to be useful, a new tool in his set to fix them into something worthwhile.

Say nothing to the times they shivered in the cold, slowly shifting towards him, pressed against his back to conserve warmth. Macaque didn’t push them off because he was asleep. Say nothing to the days they would shiver in the day, lack of proper fur like he had to keep them warm, and he’d lend them his scarf. He didn’t need it anyway. He’s stronger than they are, he can deal with the cold. He’s setting an example.

He refuses to groom them. Grooming is something private, something reserved for people who are no longer around, who left, who left and took the whole of him with them. And Kid is not that someone.

Sometimes, though, he wonders.

Bright, like a star, they can shine in the darkest corners. Hands bloodied from a carcass, they’re always gentle with the animals they kill. Always certain to make the cuts clean and precise, so the animal dies quickly.

It’s a small mercy, but to choose to find that mercy and lean into it…

They’re not naive. Neither was he. Enough knowledge of a cruel world to understand hate, but enough kindness in a soul to push back against it. But that type of soul is flighty, off to the next weeping child to console, the next problem to solve, the next world to save.

That type of soul leaves, and doesn't come back.

Better to crush that type of soul, then.

“Mac!” Kid calls, holding a full net. “Look at how much fish I caught!”

Macaque fights a smile.

“Don’t call me that,” he barks out and wishes it hurt less when he sees them flinch.

“Sorry, sir,” they reply. “I got excited. We’ll have food for weeks! I’ll dry some of the fish out for snacks, and I have some spices that would go really well with—”

They pause, flushing, ears pointed up and pink with embarrassment. They bite their lip.

“Sorry,” They say, again. “I know you don’t like me rambling…,”

Not typically, no.

But now…

“Well, if it’s about our food stores, it’s important,” he says, a justification that rings hollow. “So go on, kid.”

They brighten, eyes wide and happy as Macaque becomes their sun, again.

Macaque basks in it, just a little, and thinks he can wait a little longer.

They get very good at using the blades. Between traveling, getting food, making food, and training, they can hold their own pretty well.

Of course, they only really fight animals and clones. Whenever Macaque suggests they spar with him, they lock up, terrified by the idea. That’s fine, though, because Macaque wants them to be in top shape when they actually fight him, anyway.

They can manage against eight clones at once, dodging punches and slashing through them. Of course, the clones aren’t at their top durability or strength, because Kid isn’t Monkey King levels of powerful like he is.

But, they seem to be doing fine, so he raises the intensity level a little bit. Has a couple of the clones level up, so to speak, to keep Kid on their toes. They can’t expect every enemy to be the same skill level every time. They have to be used to surprises.

Maybe he does it too quickly, because Kid ducks, slashes, and is unable to dodge the kick to their side that sends them flying.

Their head cracks against a tree trunk just outside the clearing.

When they drop, they don’t move.

Macaque is up on his feet in an instant. The clones vanish as he sprints across the clearing, at Kid’s side so fast his vision blurs with the motion.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Macaque lifts Kid up in his arms. They’re limp in his grasp, eyes closed, and they look dead but he knows they’re not, he checks their pulse and they’re fine, it’s fine. He wouldn’t kill them. Not like this.

He feels where their head hit the tree, and his hand comes back wet.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He reaches into Kid’s pockets, and finds that roll of gauze they always have on them. They buy a new roll every time they go to the market, just in case.

He hasn’t needed to wrap wounds in a while, considering his healing...style, but he remembers how it goes.

Blood drips onto the ground, even as he wraps the wound as best and as tight as he can. He folds Kid’s gangly long limbs so he can lift them up, and their forehead rests in the crook of his neck. He can feel their breath on his fur.

Good. They’re still breathing.

He squats down and presses hard against the dirt, lifting off the ground and speeding through the forest. There’s a demon market a few miles out, there’s got to be a healer there, they can fix this. They will, whether they like to or not. No one says no to the Six-Eared Macaque, regardless of circumstance.

He hears a shuddering whine crawl out of Kid’s mouth. A hand grasps at his shirt, as pained gasps reach his ears.

He can hear them so clearly. Curse of six ears. But, he can still hear their heartbeat, and even the gasps are a good sign. They can still breathe. It’s fine.

“Give me a minute, kid.” He whispers, forgiving the hand because they’re injured, that’s the only reason. “We’ll get you fixed up, just sit tight.”

They whimper and curl up tighter, as their wrappings on their head stain quick.

It takes Macaque twenty minutes to get to the market. Twenty minutes for eleven miles, as he rushed between trees, over boulders and hills, through towns. It would have been quicker, but whenever he picked up too much speed, Kid would whimper as the wind whipped at their face and head wrappings. So Macaque took it a touch slower, if only to keep him from hearing that noise.

They’d passed out a few minutes before he’d arrived at the market, though, so he’d managed to speed things up a little.

He slips between the shadows of market stalls, eyes searching for a healer. They’re typically at one end of the market or the other, to keep the stench of blood and pus and rot from infected wounds away from the rest of the market.

He finds the tent and dashes inside.

The healer is some sort of fox demon, tail twitching as Macaque enters. Sharp eyes fall on him and then Kid in his arms, and when Macaque speaks up his tone leaves little room for argument or reproach.

“They hit their head.” He doesn’t explain how. It’s none of their business what he does with his tools. “Fix it.”

The healer raises a brow, glancing at the two monkeys, one with sharp eyes and the other curled and trembling in the other’s arms.

“There is a fee,” comes a silk voice, near a hiss. They point to their price.

Macaque summons a clone and sets Kid in its arms, growling under his breath. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his coin pouch, digging into it and grabbing out the correct amount. He slams it onto the counter with a force that would have caused the coins to scatter all over the room if not for how tightly he grips them in his fist.

They trickle down onto the desk with a clatter. Macaque places his trembling fists at his sides, enraged enough that his eyes glow. If not for the fact that this healer is needed, their blood would paint the tent and everything inside of it.

The wary look the healer sends him is proof that they understand that.

“Fix,” he growls. “It.”

The healer gestures to the table off to the side, and Macaque has his clone set Kid down before dispelling it.

The healer moves Kid onto their side, lifting their head and glancing at the covered wound. With a careful claw, they cut away the bandage, a swirl of magic creating a small bubble over the wound, keeping the blood from spilling.

The lack of pressure, the new sensation of magic, gets Kid to stir.

They twitch, fingers and toes curling as their eyes blink open. Confusion paints their posture and expression, and they take in a hitching breath, ears swiveling to try and figure what is happening.

“M-Mo-Mac-h-hhhhhh,” they gasp out, trying to move.

The healer presses them gently back down onto the table, placing a careful finger to their forehead.

“Shhhh,” they whisper. “Rest, child.”

Kid’s eyes slide shut. They relax.

The healer first gets a rag and some water, carefully dabbing at the wound, cleaning away any dirt that may have gotten into the crack. They use their claws to align the tiny pieces of the skull that have dislodged both from the wound and from the journey. Then, they grab a jar off of the shelf, pulling off the lid and dipping their fingers in to scoop out an orange-yellow cream substance. Gently, they rub it across the wound, and then wrap it again.

They use a spoon to put more of that cream into a smaller jar, and hand it to Macaque, along with a roll of gauze.

“The wound will heal in a few days. Change the bandages twice a day and reapply the cream. It speeds up the process and prevents infection,” the healer explains. “The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate. Be aware.”

Macaque sticks the jar and gauze in his pocket and nods, picking Kid up. He’s gentle about it, supporting their head on his shoulder. They shift a little in their sleep, pressing their forehead against his neck. Their fur brushes against his chin.

Their tail curls around his arm, a comforting squeeze. The end wisps against his palm.

Macaque pointedly ignores how any of this makes him feel and heads off.

Back at camp, he sets Kid up with blankets and enough soft material for a pillow, making sure their head is elevated and kept away from the hard ground. He sends a few clones out to grab firewood, setting up a flame and throwing some stuff together for a soup.

Macaque, on a whole, doesn’t cook much. He’s content to chomp on apples and whatever fruits he finds. Occasionally, he’ll cook some meat. Otherwise, he just won’t eat often. Kid’s the one who makes all the different concoctions.

He hopes the mix of spices is good here.

Kid wakes up a few hours later, when stars dot the sky and Macaque shivers a little at the night chill. Bleary eyes stare up at the sky, pupils shifting to try and focus, though Macaque doesn’t see them settle.

He scoops a bowl of soup, still warm though the fire has died down, and shuffles to Kid’s side.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers.

Macaque is not a delicate man. But no one is here to see, no one who could matter, so he hooks an arm beneath Kid’s shoulders and lifts them up so they’re sitting up against his chest, though not fully considering the height difference. God knows they won’t be able to sit up on their own, and he refuses to waste good soup.

Bleary eyes blink, staring up at him. Recognition flickers in their gaze.

“Mom?” they croak.

Macaque. Freezes.

He carefully lifts the bowl of soup to Kid’s mouth.

“Drink,” he says, pointedly ignoring their comment.

Hallucinations, the healer told him. That’s all this is. Kid isn’t seeing him, after all.

Kid takes a few steady gulps of the soup, turning away to breathe. Macaque exercises patients by glancing up at the sky and ignoring how idiotic this is. He’s not a babysitter. He doesn’t do this. He isn’t their parent. He isn’t...

“Did Dad hurt you?” Kid turns back, looking up with eyes that stare through him rather than at him. “Your eye…”

They reach up, fingers close enough to brush the line where his scar is, hidden beneath glamour. Macaque pulls away, lifting the bowl up to Kid’s lips again in lieu of responding to that.

“Drink,” he snarls.

They flinch, nodding and getting the rest of the soup down. He helps them back to their bed, and their eyes stare back up at the sky with that same faraway look.

“I’ll be better next time,” they whisper, quiet but strong. “So you won’t get hurt.”

Macaque turns away, and doesn’t look back until he knows they’re asleep. Hallucinations, he knows. Hallucinations. That’s the only reason they’re saying anything like that at all. They don’t know him, he’s kept his heart under his cloak, never on his sleeve. That's why he’s their teacher, so they will learn to do the same.

He watches the fire sway in the night, until he can find it in himself to sleep.

The next day goes mostly smoothly, with incoherent ramblings occasionally from Kid that Macaque tunes out. He changes their bandages in the morning and then goes out, leaving a shadow clone to watch the camp while collecting food and other supplies.

They sleep through most of the day, but at night when he goes to change their bandages again, they start to squirm.

“Kid,” he starts, trying to hold them steady. The wrappings are already off, and he’s trying to keep dirt from getting in.

They kick and writhe, whispering and growling and making an assortment of whimpering noises he can’t make heads nor tails of. He grips them tight enough to bruise, to keep them steady.

“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you!” he shouts.

“YOU HURT ME!” they scream, and it sounds so much as if the words had been torn from their throat that Macaque is surprised he doesn’t see blood splatter out of their mouth. “YOU HURT ME!”

Their hand claws at his, and he drops them with a shout of pain as they tear off the skin of his knuckles. They drop to the dirt with their own short cry of discomfort, curling in on themself as Macaque backs away.

“You—” They cough. Their breaths are short and uneven. “You-it-it’s like an earthquake,” their voice is quiet and strained and quick. “Cracks beneath the surface. Snow, melting from inside. Inside out. Cracking. Melting. I’m-I’m-I can’t see it.”

They gasp it out, trembling.

The water is boiling. Why is Macaque the one burning?

They still.

“You don’t look,” they finally say, a hoarse whisper. “You don’t want to. You don’t want to see.”

Macaque swallows. Stares at the-the—

The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate.

Child.

He shuffles forward, so, so gentle as he reaches toward them. They don’t move when his hand brushes against their back. They’re boneless when he pulls them toward him. As if every last drop of them was poured into their words, they’re empty.

He patches their wound. Sets them down. They’re silent, asleep on the bed.

He sits, watches the blood from his knuckles drip to the ground. It’ll heal on its own. He can heal on his own.

He doesn’t sleep.

The next couple of days are easy. Kid doesn’t say or do much, moving when prompted and sleeping when not. Macaque ignores the buzz in the back of his head that feels like guilt. He leaves Kid with a shadow clone and tears down a forest. Anger is easy to deal with. This is not.

A little under a week after the incident, Kid wakes up with a groan.

“Mac?” They rub at their eyes sitting up with a bit of effort.

Macaque fights the urge to tell them not to call him that. He’ll save it for later.

“About time you woke up,” he says, with an easy grin on his face.

Kid blinks up at him, confused.

“You hit your head,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “One of my clones caught you off guard. You were out for a few days.”

Kid blinks a few more times, tail and ears twitching. They tilt their head to the side in thought. They reach up and feel the back of their head, poking at the freshly healed wound. They wince.

“Oh,” they say. They smile up at him. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

They stand up on shaky legs, shuffling a little before they steady.

“I’m gonna see about some food. I’ll make you your favorite tonight!” They grin, all teeth, and vanish into the forest before Macaque can stop them.

He stares at their retreating form. He sends a shadow clone to keep an eye on them, in case their wound acts up.

He sits and ponders their smile.

YOU HURT ME!

Thank you for taking care of me.

The strange thing is, he doesn’t think they were lying either time.

He eases them back into training, and they fall back into it with ease, the injury fading from view as their fur covers it up. He’s still ever so careful the next couple of weeks. The last thing he needs is for them to get hurt again.

They’re too much like him. Too much like the sun, the hero, but the difference is that the hero could be like that because he was powerful. The hero could strike down any foe, the hero had power. It allowed him to be soft.

Kid does not have power. They can get hurt. They can die.

Their heart is on their sleeve. They smile. They curl up, sometimes, hiding their chest, but more often than not they’re splayed out, an open target. Wide eyed, not completely naive, but just hopeful enough to get them killed.

And he...he doesn’t want them killed.

It’s sad, he thinks. If they were stronger, maybe they could stay as they are. But they aren’t, so he will rip their heart from their sleeve and teach them to keep it hidden.

Whether they like it or not.

“You’re too...you. To be intimidating like I am,” he tells them, pacing. “But there are different types of scary. We’ll have to find the one that fits you.”

Kid is sitting on a rock, watching him pace. Their eyes follow his movements like a pendulum, swinging back and forth. They tap their palms on their knees, nodding along as they listen.

“Um, Mac?” They start.

He glares in their direction. They shrink down, shoulders hunched.

“Sir,” they amend, quickly. “Um, why do I have to be scary?”

It’s a valid question. Annoying, but fair, and an explanation will get them to further listen. Still, the fact that they don’t know, when they’re as old as they are (not that Macaque knows how old they are), is annoying.

“Because,” he stresses, rolling his eyes. “When you intimidate, people won’t fight you. Intimidation is making sure everyone in the room knows you’re the strongest one there. Even if you’re not.”

And they won’t be, more often than not. They’re crafty, and fast, but not strong. In a standstill fight, they’ll lose a lot. But that’s why the intimidation look has to be perfect.

“Oh,” they reply. “Cool!”

“Of course it is,” he shoots back, puffing out his chest. “Now, angry intimidation won’t work. You don’t have a good angry face.”

“I don’t get angry often,” Kid shrugs.

“Exactly. You don’t have it in you,” he rubs his chin in thought. “We could go for the ‘danger behind a smile’ angle.”

He takes a few steps toward them. With how they’re sitting, a rock as a prop up, he’s at eye level with them standing.

“We want a small smile, kid.” He reaches a hand towards their face, to help shape their grin.

They flinch back, and have their blades out in a flash. Their eyes are wide, locked onto Macaque’s outstretched hand.

Macaque blinks, startled by their sharp shift in mood, and Kid comes back to themself, lowering their hunched shoulders.

“O-oh,” They breathe, letting their hands drop. “Right. Y-you’re right. I think.”

They set the blades on the ground, shuffling their feet.

“...Alright,” Macaque continues. He knows they were hit by a clone of his, and, well, the clones are made looking like him. They might be more shaky than they say, over that. He certainly has taught them to be quiet. “Now, you want the smile to be small. Your eyes are wide, and your pupils are small. You want to look like you’re a second from ripping their heart out and eating it in front of them.”

Kid makes a face. “That’s gross,” they say.

“It’s an analogy,” Macaque groans, throwing his head back and slapping a hand over his eyes. “Just do it.”

They try it, and Macaque has to give them a few pointers. No, your smile is too wide. Don’t fidget. Keep your tail still. Don’t look away. Keep eye contact.

Finally, they have a good look.

“There,” he says, stepping back. “That will make sure nobody messes with or hurts you, kid.”

Their expression drops away into something blank, and Macaque stills. He wouldn’t tell them, but when their expression is empty it’s far scarier than their smile. Better they not know that lest they use it to an excessive degree.

“Um,” they start, a little shy. “But, you do this. And you got hurt?”

Their eyes trace the scar hidden beneath glamour. Macaque turns so that eye is out of view.

“It doesn’t always work,” he mutters, casting a glare in their direction. “Because some people know that they’re stronger than anyone, so intimidation doesn’t work.”

“What do I do then?” they ask, with all the wide eyes of a student expecting their teacher to have the perfect answer.

“You claw at any part of them you can reach,” Macaque replies. “And you run.”

He ramps up their training. Any time they aren’t traveling is spent sparring, practicing, cooking, hunting, no free time. No time to play or joke around.

They’re confused, at first, by the change of pace. They try the same tricks, the same comments. Macaque does not budge.

“Quit it.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Stop acting like a child.”

They quiet, eventually. Learn to be smaller and less bright, keep their light within themself so it doesn’t attract too much attention. They learn to keep their thoughts inside, following orders with a blank face and the occasional grin.

They still get overexcited, and sometimes Macaque bites his tongue. If it’s just around him then it’s fine in small doses.

It’s not because he’s scared of their light going out. It’s not because he likes it when they ramble and drag him along until they get him to grin. It’s not.

He gets them a new outfit. Their old one is worn, the fabric thin and worn and ripping. They sew up the patches and clean it as best they can, but considering the age it’s soon to be a lost cause.

They do love shopping, so he strings them along.

They sprint through different styles. Everything is new and interesting to them, as if they spend time outside of the present and are then shocked by the new future. He trails them along different stalls, pulls them away from items they shouldn’t touch, and critiques outfit after outfit.

They find the right one, though he’s quick to tell them how rare that is, so they don’t get a big head. Besides, with how tall and gangly they are, finding something that fits them is pretty difficult. It takes them two hours to find something right, two hours better spent training, moving around.

He goes up to pay for it while they spin around and jump excitedly in their new look, and his eyes widen at the price.

“Enchanted pockets,” the tailor explains. “They hold up to a full pack’s worth of items without showing it.”

And, well, Macaque didn’t expect to spend this much. He turns around, because they don’t need those pants, they can carry a pack just fine, and—

Kid sees him looking and waves, gesturing to their new outfit and striking a valiant pose.

Macaque sighs, softens, and pays.

They tell him the flaps on the side are just like his, something excited and happy in their tone, and he grins. If they’re just like him, then they’ll be smart. If they’re just like him, they won’t make silly mistakes like trusting people, like getting attached, like getting hurt.

The issue with that is when you stare at a person who is functionally a mirror, you start to see all your flaws.

His final challenge isn’t supposed to work.

Kid has barely been able to spar with him, when he gives them his challenge. They spar and they don’t fight hard, and Macaque always wins.

But then they say they have to go, and Macaque knows they’re not ready (secretly, they’ll never be ready because they’ll never be powerful enough, but if he keeps them within arms reach he can make sure they stay away from him) so he picks something he knows they can’t do.

Kill.

He expects them to get to where that demon is and balk. He expects that they’ll try but their fears will halt them in their tracks, and they’ll come back with their tail tucked between their legs and apologies spilling from their lips. He expects that he’ll smile, and say that they’ll just have to stay with him, then, now won’t they? And then they will, and everything will be fine and good and right.

He doesn’t need or want anyone, but...he doesn’t mind if they’d stay.

He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know what they’ve lived through, what they’ve done before. He doesn’t know how deep their ties to favors run. He’s never asked, he doesn’t know.

Two days after he tells them to kill, they come back with a severed head.

They’re smiling, when they do. Their tail curls around their leg and they’re trembling, but they’re smiling like they always do. Macaque is supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying, and he’s supposed to know them and read them like an open book, but Kid smiles and it looks real.

They’re trembling. He barely hears what they’re saying, over the sound of their thudding heartbeat.

The eyes on the head are sewn shut. He asks, and they give him an excuse, and he doesn’t press because he never has. He’s never cared enough to ask about their past, their feelings, never dug deep enough. He thought they were surface-level, because they’re quiet, and they don’t talk about themself too much beyond comments about their mother. He’s staring at a stranger he’s known for over half a year.

He’s not supposed to be caught off guard. So self-assured, he plans his schemes with the knowledge that he understands all the moves the player will make. Now he’s in the dark, lost with the simple sight in front of him.

Macaque doesn’t understand, but if Kid’s a stranger he’ll keep them as one.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two gifts. He’d gotten them months ago, finding a jeweler who could enchant the token, and a book binder at the market that could create a tome practically infinite in space but small enough to be a notebook.

He holds it out, and then they smile so wide he thinks it could crack the porcelain of the mask of indifference they’re wearing so perfectly. They strangle their tail as if it were their neck, and he knows that must hurt.

They have blood, staining their feet. Every part of them is pristine, but the dried blood is crusted on their feet, covered with dirt.

He watches them go, tired eyes and bloody feet.

He makes his dinner by himself. He makes the fire by himself, he sits by the fire by himself. He sleeps by himself. He travels by himself.

There is no voice, pointing out different flowers. He doesn’t hear about this certain mixture that can cure this illness. He doesn’t get any anecdotes, he doesn’t hear the patter of feet as they run ahead.

It’s quiet, save for the typical sounds of the forest. As it should be.

The Six-Eared Macaque walks alone.

Just like a warrior should be. Isn’t that why they left, to be alone? Isn’t that what he wanted?

Macaque ends up back on that cliff, where they stared up at the sky on New Year's. He never cared much for the holiday, but the Kid was insistent, so he'd let them drag him along.

He closes his eyes, and for the first time when he thinks of fireworks he doesn't see Wukong's smile. When he opens them, the sky looks devoid of stars.

The moon looks lonely, without them.

Centuries later, a silver token with amethyst gemstone eyes buzzes in Spirit’s pocket.

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid oc #monkie kid #monkie kid macaque

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grogunotfound · 3 years

Text

PART ONE OF THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER SERIES

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ╾ dream smp x fem!reader au

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ╾ in a realm where a dragon threatens the inhabitants of a nearby kingdom, a mermaid makes a deal to trade her voice for a pair of human legs in order to save the people who saved her.

𝐚/𝐧 ╾ i am so excited for this series!! like the new layout? ((:

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The thunderous roars of the waves startled you. It was all you could hear; everything surrounding you was pitch black. You couldn’t tell where you were, but a voice in the back of your mind told you to calm down. So, you listened. You weren’t sure why you trusted this consciousness, but it was convincing enough to motivate you to take deep breaths. Slowly, the world replaced the darkness in front of you, loading itself into the emptiness to help you find your grounding.

You were on a grassy field that subtly rolled into a beach. Just beyond the sand was the source of sound that awoke you; it seemed less upset than what it sounded like. The ocean receded as multiple waves started tumbling upon itself—the roughness came in every so often, bringing in gifts of kelp to decorate the sand. You felt at peace being near the water. The grass was warm underneath the palm of your hands, which was also paired with the sun shining down on you.

You must find shelter, your inner voice reminded you. You took in one last deep breath of the salty air and stood up, your body silently thanking you as you stretched out your limbs. You turned away from the soothing scenery to find a place to settle down when night crawls in.

You gathered materials from the environment around you, trying your best not to disrupt the landscape of it all. You found enough items to start building your starter house—which wouldn’t be much but it’s okay. You wanted to explore before settling into a forever home. The current location was nice and all, but you wanted to find something even better. Plus, you needed to locate the nearest town to buy supplies for your neverending adventure in life.

Night took over quickly, which meant you either slept in late or that each day was a few minutes long. You were terrified but couldn’t find enough wool to make a comfortable bed, so you just lay on the dirt floor. Groans and hisses encompassed your temporary sanctuary, sending you chills when something thudded against the door.

Sunlight rescued you by peaking through the cracks in the door. You groggily rubbed your eyes, finding it impossible to rest when death knocked at your door multiple times last night. Nevertheless, you got yourself up to venture through another day. Food, you reminded yourself. Your stomach agreed in response, so you set out to find something to snack on.

You walked for so long that when it came to sunset, you still couldn’t find anything edible. There were so many things that heavily irritated your nose, it was difficult judging on if it would kill you or not. So, you decided not to risk it and continue walking until you found shelter for the upcoming nightfall.

The odds seemed to be in favor when you came across a wooden structure. Someone was standing outside, tending to the garden in front of the cozy building. They hadn’t seen you yet, so you called out to them, “pardon me?”

The figure turned around quickly, clearly frightened, “Please, I don’t have anything!”

You took a hesitant step back, “I’m not here to take anything. Would you happen to have any spare room that I can rest in for the night? I promise to leave in the morning.”

“Oh, you’re a traveler. Yes, yes! You may stay in my cottage for the night. My name is Bad,” they introduced themself, bowing and accidentally spilling water out of the container he was holding at the same time.

You curtsied in response and told Bad your name. He complimented it before finishing his gardening to give you a tour of his home. You were extremely grateful for his kindness, you wondered if he was used to having strangers traveling through his land. He seemed very nervous around you, his hands trembled as he prepared a food basket for you for the next morning. You also noticed his limp, “What happened?” You referred to his leg.

He followed your finger and laughed when he saw that you were pointing to his injury, “Do you not remember the war?” You shook your head. “You must be from another land then... Well, there was a war between two rival royals. They both wanted the land because more land constitutes more power. I fought on King George III’s side. I got into a horrific battle and was one of the few lucky ones. It’s a miracle, and one that I can’t forget thanks to my injury. Anyways, the war was brief because when King George III passed away unexpectedly, his enemy disappeared. Both kingdoms suffered drastically, so the remaining royal families agreed to unite their kingdoms to achieve both of their final wishes: to have more land.”

“That...seems so bizarre,” you rose your brows in disbelief. You have never heard of this historic event before, which made you wonder what you did remember. It felt like your mind was blocked—that there was something behind the indestructible wall that separated your consciousness from your past. It worried you, but the little voice in the back of your head reminded you to keep calm. “I’m surprised I don’t remember that.”

“Well, this world is practically endless. You must not be from around here.” Bad explained and handed you the beautifully put together basket—filled to the brim with muffins, fruit, and other necessities. “I assume you aren’t looking to do any farm work.”

“Sadly, no. I must continue moving,” you responded, smiling as you received the gift.

“On a quest?” He perked up.

“You can say that,” you shrugged. It wasn’t a quest, but it was a personal quest. Your inner voice was searching for something, and you felt that if you didn’t find this special item...you would never be satisfied.

Bad chuckled lightly and nodded, “Let me show you to your room.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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goldie90 · 2 years

Note

💕, 🔧, 🛒, and 😊

- just-another-self-shipper

Hi Carmen.😃

💕What´s about random affection? Does your f/o often hug or kiss you randomly and vice versa? Also, how often do you cuddle?

Oh yes he does! Nubbins is very affectionate, so it happens pretty often that he´s just randomly hugging or kissing me and I´m just the same as him when it comes to this, so it´s probably no surprise that we really cuddle a lot.💕

🔧How good is your f/o at fixing things? Are they the kind of person who tries to fix everything themself, or do they prefer to call someone to do the job whenever something in their home is broken?

Nubbins is very good at fixing things! In fact, whenever something in our house is broken, he´s the one who fixes it. We never have to call someone, which is pretty cool and it also saves us a lot of money.🙂

🛒How does grocery shopping with them go? Do they like to look at everything and maybe end up buying a lot of unnecessary things, while forgetting the things they originally planned to buy, or are they well organized and only buy the things that are actually on the shopping list?

Oh, shopping with him can be quite exhausting, cause he wants to look at everything and if I don´t keep an eye on him, he definitely buys a lot of things we don´t need (usually a lot of candy🍬), while he forgets the really important things.

Also, there´s this little problem with his camera.📸 See, my darling loves to take pictures and he also likes the idea of making money with them, so he´s got a habit of taking pictures of random strangers (without asking them beforehand) and then he tries to sell the pictures to them. I think it´s no surprise that most people are not very happy about this and therefore they usually refuse to buy the pictures, but my darling doesn´t takes no for an answer when it comes to this and because of this he often ends up following some poor person around, trying to get them to buy the picture he took of them. One time he spent half an hour with chasing some guy through the grocery store, which was pretty embarrassing.😅

So you see, shopping with him can be quite exhausting, but at least it´s never boring.😃

😊A habit of them that you find adorable?

Hmm... let me think...🤔 I think one thing that´s really adorable is how he acts whenever he gets excited about something. He can´t stop smiling then and he´s laughing the whole time, which is really cute and I love to see him like this.🥰

Thanks for asking and I wish you a nice day.🙂

#ask game #self ship #💕nubbins

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 4 years

Note

Hello! I have a request for the obey me bro! Could you write some hc abt a MC who would see the boys as lovely (each for their reasons) and would considers them more like cute little beans rather than demons, spoiling and pampering them as if they were children, giving them candy or patting them on the head to calm them down, buying them stuff... and so MC would be completely oblivious to their attempts to flirt! (like : you want a kiss? what if I pinched your adorable cheek instead?)

Ooooh boy this is both adorable and hilarious! I’m gonna do just the brothers for now, but if you want to see others lmk!

Content Warnings: References to spoilery stuff for Lucifer, Asmo, and Belphie’s sections, Asmo’s section also contains alcohol/clubbing

MC Treating the Brothers Like Cute Little Beans

Lucifer

MC hits Lucifer like a fucking freight train. They’ve been kidnapped and dragged to Hell, and their response to living with seven demons is... Well, he’s not sure what to call this.

The behaviour isn’t malicious or threatening, beyond dealing some serious damage to his Pride(tm), so what is he really able to do? Is this some human custom? Will he offend them if he asks them to stop? He’s supposed to be accommodating of them for the sake of the exchange program, but the last person to be so soft with him is...

He decides to deal with it. The heart-shaped foods when it’s MC’s turn to cook, the little presents, the... headpats, and other doting measures MC deems necessary. He only asks that they refrain from doing so around others, especially outside of the House of Lamentation. If Diavolo saw him like this, he’d never live it down.

And it eventually becomes quite endearing. Lucifer finds himself anticipating MC’s affection, and notices if they stop. It’s while he’s been swamped for an especially long time in paperwork that he realizes he misses it. Who knew a human like them could stir up these feelings in him...

Lucifer comes to the conclusion that if MC is so essential to his life, he should let them know. But the Avatar of Pride isn’t about to say, “Your babying has made me fall in love with you,” so instead he opts to start flirting. He gets MC fancy gifts, his touches start to linger, and he even invites them out to dinner.

And none of it gets a reaction. They coo over the gifts and smile at the increased attention, but the idea of romance seems to fly right over their head. He offered to take them to Ristorante Six and they pinched his cheek! He is The Lucifer, the son of the morning, the embodiment of pride, and a human just giggled at him and called him “such a sweetie” for trying to ask them out on a date!

Oh no. He will not let this human get the better of him. Lucifer will find a way to make his intentions clear, and this human will see him as a serious candidate to be their partner.

Mammon

Mammon lives a rough and tumble life. He’s energetic and loud, and his schemes to get riches often put him at odds with those around him. He can con people, and he can survive hostility, but MC is not the type of thing he deals with often, if ever. Part of him is convinced this is fine: he’s the GREAT Mammon, of course this human is all over him! Another part of him is flattered and greatly appreciates the attention.

But there’s a growing part of him that’s concerned that they think he’s some kind of adorable pet rather than a powerful demon. And he’s not sure if he really minds that.

He flips between grinning broadly and boasting about receiving MC’s attention, and putting on an act of being upset at being coddled by some weak human. Stop packing him lunches, MC, he can make them or buy them himself! No, don’t take it away! ...yes, he likes the apple slices.

Whenever he’s upset, Mammon will storm over to MC’s room and start grousing about whatever is troubling him at the moment, be it some plan of his that failed or his brothers’ teasing. When MC starts stroking his hair and making shushing noises at him to calm him down, he’s initially flustered and offended - he’s not a child, MC! - but his weak spot is his head, and the pats win him over in the end.

It’s become something of a ritual if he’s being honest.

MC also leaves him all these little gifts, and - that’s it. This human’s wormed their way into his heart, there’s no way he’s letting anyone else have them!

Mammon tries a variety of convoluted ways to try and “confess” to MC, but it never works out the way he wants, either because of some outside force or because MC themself just... isn’t taking the hint. He’s going to have to be as direct as possible about his feelings... Shit.

Leviathan

This must be some Normie Tactic, Leviathan thinks as MC ruffles his hair while he complains about his older brother not paying him back yet again. His crippling lack of self esteem won’t let him view MC’s intentions as genuine, and he reacts to every gift or compliment with immense suspicion. The only people who are this nice to someone always do it because they want something, and once MC figures out he’s just some yucky otaku, they’ll lose interest.

Except now he’s at a convention, dressed in a handmade and Completely accurate Lord of Shadows cosplay, and MC is dressed in an equally impressive Henry cosplay, and they’re holding his hand and asking him what merch he wants. And it hits poor Leviathan right then and there that MC is just doing this because they think he’s...

Well, he’s not sure what they think of him. The gifts, the comforting, the kind words, they all would normally read as flirting, but MC never seems to actually go anywhere with that? They’ll hold his hand, but just to make sure they don’t get separated. They’ll hug him, but only to cradle him when he’s feeling upset about something. They even gave him a kiss once, but it was on the forehead!

Is MC bad at flirting? Are they teasing him? Is this just how they are with everyone, and he’s perverting their friendship because he wants something more?

“So, have you made up your mind yet, Leviachan?” MC asks, giggling at the cutesy nickname for their favourite little bean.

“Will you just stop TEASING me already?!” the bean shouts in response, breaking their Platonic Hand Hold for dramatic effect. “If you really l-like me, just tell me! And if you’re just doing this to make fun of me, then cut it out!”

Leviathan turns beet red as he processes what he actually just said. He scrunches his eyes shut, unwilling to face MC’s rejection.

Instead, he feels a soft hand take his. “Silly Levi, of course I like you!” MC says. “You’re so adorable when you’re all flustered like that.~ Now come on, best friend, I saw a TSL poster that would be a great fit for your room!”

MC promptly drags him off towards a booth, having clarified absolutely nothing for the poor Avatar of Envy. Of all the genres his life could have become, he had to be stuck in a rom com...

Satan

Oh No. Satan tries very, very hard to be taken seriously, despite being the personification of Lucifer’s wrath and the youngest of the brothers in terms of actual age, and a human treating him like an adorable kitten or beloved grandchild is going to get on every single one of his nerves. His self-control is famously ironclad though, so he’s able to get through it with fake smiles and clenched fists.

It doesn’t hurt that MC also flusters his brothers, especially a certain someone, to an unprecedented degree, and Satan finds this very amusing. When he’s not up to humouring MC’s bizarre affections, he’ll proverbially wind them up and point them at whichever brother most recently slighted him, saying “Oh, Mammon’s been feeling a bit down lately... MC, you should go make sure he’s okay,” or, “Lucifer seems really overworked, doesn’t he?”

But his anger can’t be contained forever. Eventually, on a particularly bad day when MC is being especially persistent, Satan snaps. With a crackle of power, his demon form rushes to the surface as he vividly recounts all the horrible things he’s going to do to MC if they don’t stop with their incessant coddling-

MC responds by waltzing up to him and petting between his horns, saying that it’s healthy to vent your frustrations, and oh isn’t his feather boa so handsome!

Satan freezes. He forgets why he was mad. He forgets why he’s ever been mad, or ever felt anything else ever. Either MC is completely fearless or they... they’re not scared of him. They trust him.

He spends the next week catatonic under a pile of blankets or pacing his library of a room, sustained by tea and biscuits brought to him by a cheery, if somewhat confused, MC.

Dammit MC, ya broke him

Asmodeus

Unlike his brothers, Asmo is very familiar with this kind of attention, and he eats it up! He’s used to people giving him gifts or calling him pet names or even getting handsy with him, and he knows exactly where this is going to lead. So everything MC throws at him, he sends right back with flirting of his own.

“Asmo, your skin is so soft!”

“Thank you, darling! If you want, I can show you how I keep it this way... But I might need some help getting the moisturizer everywhere...”

“Awwww, you can’t reach your back? But you’re usually so bendy!”

They don’t quite respond to his attempts at getting spicy the way he expects, but the delayed gratification just makes it even more exciting!

Except... it keeps going like this. MC hasn’t responded to any of his suggestive pick up lines or his lingering touches with anything more than a fond smile and a peck on the cheek. This causes Asmo to do something he usually hates to do: reflect.

MC’s gestures were all very sweet, yes, but if they were trying to ply him with sweets and little fashion shows and going out dancing with him, they would have tried to sleep with him by now. But that seems to be the farthest thing from their mind.

Does MC just happen to... like him? Not to lust after him, or find him beautiful, but really, genuinely think he’s worth their time, no strings or favours attached?

Unthinkable.

The next time they go clubbing together, Asmo goes overboard with the Demonus and ends up piss drunk at the bar, sobbing in the arms of a much less tipsy MC.

“I just don’t understand!” he laments as MC fondly strokes his hair. “What do you want from me? Am I not enough? How is that possible?! I’m-I’m the- *hic*- I’m the embodiment of Lust!” His words slur more and more as he continues, his rant becoming unintelligible. “I can give you anything you desire! Who wouldn’t want that?”

MC pulls out a makeup removing wipe and carefully removes Asmo’s smeared mascara from his cheeks. “Don’t worry, you’re still the most beautiful demon in the Devildom to me, Asmo-chan~” they say as they boop his nose with the wipe.

What is he going to do with them? And what are they doing to him?

Beelzebub

When MC first meets Beel, he’s very hungry, and thus very grumpy. They quickly figure out that a steady supply of snacks drastically improves his mood, and make it their personal mission to keep their favourite giant beanstalk happy and munching. Beelzebub, for one, is completely on board with this, and will in turn tolerate MC’s... unique brand of affection. How can he really complain, anyway?

Even if they fling themselves at him at high speeds, he doesn’t mind catching them because he knows they probably have some homemade goodies on their person ready to reward him. A part of him wonders if this is some way of training him to respond to their commands even without being able to call on their pact, but they’re so unwaveringly doting that his suspicions can’t stick.

MC is also his biggest cheerleader at his games, and there’s something really sweet about seeing a small human in a stadium of demons screaming louder than anyone about their precious lovely Beelzburger’s athletic prowess.

The clinginess, the gifts, the relentless adoration, and yes, the many snacks all warm Beel up to MC very quickly, and he decides that he really likes being around them and wants to return the favour. Unlike his brothers, Beel’s quite emotionally intelligent, and goes for the direct route in his confession.

Which completely flies over MC’s head. They don’t flat out reject him, but they also don’t exactly respond in a way that suggests they even fully understood exactly what Beelzebub meant when he said, “I really love you, MC, and I want to make you as happy as you’ve made me.” He thought he was clear, but apparently not.

Maybe he needs to speak their language?

MC begins finding half-eaten treats accompanied by notes written in Beel’s blocky handwriting, and notices that the Avatar of Gluttony has been vocalizing his feelings about them a lot more than usual. They find this absolutely delightful, and relish in the attention, but even still, there’s no moment of realization.

Have they been flirting with him the whole time and take his reciprocation of their affections as an unspoken acceptance of their feelings? Or do they still not understand what he’s trying to convey?

Beel wonders if he’ll ever know the truth.

Belphegor

At first, Belphie couldn’t care less about how the human treats him. He just needs them to get him out of this stupid attic. Their babying is easy to play into: he leans into the “poor helpless small bean baby brother locked away in the attic :’(“ sob story to get MC to work on freeing him faster.

But of course, organically making pacts with six powerful demons is going to take a while, so MC has plenty of time for their coddling shenanigans in the meantime. Despite the threat of Lucifer looming over them at every turn, MC still manages to sneak Belphegor small gifts or fresh linen. One time they even bring him a cow plushie from his formerly shared room with Beel. It has a new collar though, with a tag that says, “I hope this puts you in a good MOOd! :D”

That cow joke would be later known as the thing that kickstarted Belphegor’s existential crisis.

The denial is easy to keep in place, at first. Belphie is faking his whole persona, why wouldn’t this human be doing the same thing? They could just be trying to win him over in hopes of making a pact with him as well; they seemed strangely keen on the concept of collecting them from his brothers, after all. And besides, MC is human, and he hates humans.

Yes, that is familiar, that is safe. Humans are awful, and this one is no exception, even if they insist on kissing his forehead through the bars to the attic and giving him presents with increasingly terrible and saccharine puns on them. The denial runs so deep that he ends up getting angrier and angrier as MC continues their coddling.

It all culminates when they finally open the door to the attic. Free, furious, and ready to enact his revenge, Belphegor makes the first move to kill the idiotic nuisance that’s been a thorn in his side since he decided to start hating them day one. He offers to hug MC (to get their guard down so he can kill them, not because he actually wants to or anything...), but when he moves to wrap his tail around their throat, they spasm out of his grip, shrieking.

Terrified that they’re somehow aware he was planning on taking them out this whole time, Belphegor tries to back away in search of a weapon or an escape route, but is stopped by something latched onto his tail.

It’s MC. On their knees, stars in their eyes, hands wrapped around the base of the fluffiest part of the Avatar of Sloth’s tail, tickling themself with it and giggling violently.

Belphegor blanches. “Are you really this stupid?! Do you know what I just tried to do to you-” He lets out an undignified shriek of his own as MC gently, but insistently, tugs on his tail to force him to come closer to them.

He finds himself in MC’s lap, being held like a child. They cuddle him closer to their chest and say, “I know you want to be a big scary demon-” he is dammit, if it wasn’t for his hesitation their stupidity, they would be dead right now, “-but I know you’re just sad, and angry, and alone. So you can’t scare me, Belphie-bean.”

Belphie-bean. The Devildom’s biggest traitor has been defeated by cow puns and Belphie-bean. Belphegor falls asleep in MC’s arms, the first of many naps taken to process this development in the sick joke that is his life.

#Anonymous #obey me imagines #obey me:swd #obey me #obey me headcanons #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #mc #fan mc #mine #headcanons #long post #my writing

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command. I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!”

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

“Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--”

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production. We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #this chapter ended up being much more of a beast than i thought #and this is WITH some scenes getting moved to next chapter for like...SPACE #but that's pretty much what took this so long #trying to rearrange this to cover some of the big points that HAD to be covered by Shirayuki POV #so that this was only like...6K instead of 8K and double the chapter length of any one before it #DEEP SIGH #this is a hobby i choose to do for fun

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starlit-serenade · 3 years

Text

ONEUS Reacting to Someone Hitting on Their S/O

Summary: How would ONEUS react to someone hitting on you when you are out in public together?

Word Count: 2,654 words

Pairing: Reader x Members / Characters: GenderNeutral!Reader; Kim Youngjo (Ravn); Lee Seoho (Seoho); Kim Geonhak (Leedo); Lee Keonhee (Keonhee); Yeo Hwanwoong (Hwanwoong); Son Dongju (Xion);

Rated: E / Warnings: Jealousy / Genre: GenderNeutral!Reader; Fluff;

《 ONEUS Masterlist 》

Kim Youngjo (Ravn)

Youngjo would obviously trust his S/O with anything and everything. But seeing or hearing someone hitting on you would make his blood boil. He would get so aggressive, but not physically. He would want to intimidate the other person and scare them off. Or maybe he'd just start being very affectionate toward you in front of them.

You make eye contact with Youngjo across the CD shelf, and he smiles softly at you. You've come to look at CDs with Youngjo on both of you guys' day off.

"Look, I found one that reminds me of you!" you say, holding up a CD on your side of the shelf. It has a colorful album art with a black cat drawn on.

Youngjo smiles brightly. "Cute. Let me find one that reminds me of you."

He moves to a spot further down the CD shelf, searching for another CD.

After you continue seeking through the CDs for a couple minutes, someone reaches past you and grabs a CD right in front of you. They stumble and almost fall over, but they stop themself with their hand on the shelf on the other side of your body. They bump you a bit, and you hell as your stomach hits the edge of the shelf.

"Sorry," the person says, placing their hand on your shoulder in apology.

"No worries." You smile politely as you rub your stomach, and you can see Youngjo is watching you from a distance.

Are you okay? he mouths at you. You nod gently. You're fine.

"Hey," the person says, clearly checking you outaa. "How about, as an apology, I take you out to coffee?"

You shake your head. "I'm sorry, I'm not interested."

"No, really, I insist!" the person says.

You open your mouth to speak when you suddenly feel a hand snake around your waist. Youngjo is standing right next to you, holding you to him. When you look at Youngjo, he's smiling down at you softly.

"Hi," Youngjo says to the person. "I'm Y/N's boyfriend. Can you please respect when they say no?" His words are respectful, but his voice is very aggressive.

The person swallows. "Sorry. I didn't realize you had a boyfriend. Sorry, sir. I'll get going."

The person leaves immediately, vanishing around the corner, and Youngjo nudges you gently.

"I found you a CD," he says, grinning as he holds up a disk. You smile and kiss his cheek.

"Love you, Youngjo," you say.

Lee Seoho (Seoho)

Seoho would be so very upset. He would definitely be very possessive, and might try to be a bit intimidating, but you would know exactly how frustrated he was feeling and would undoubtedly have to comfort him afterward.

Seoho smiles as you both walk through the park together, cold drinks in hand. It's the first sunny day in a while, so Seoho wanted to take you outside.

"My legs are a bit tired," you mumble, almost to yourself.

"Do you want to sit for a second?" Seoho asks, gesturing to a bench nearby. You nod, and the two of you sit on the park bench.

"It's hot out," you comment. The past few days have been rather chilly and cloudy, and so today you were pleasantly surprised to find it was warm.

"Yeah." Seoho nods in agreement. He looks at his drink. "I'm finished. I'm going to go throw my cup away, I'll be back, okay?"

You nod. "Alright!"

Seoho gets up from the bench and walks away, waving sweetly at you before turning to search for a bin.

After a minute of waiting alone on the bench, someone sits down on the other side of the bench. You glance over, and it's a man around Seoho's age.

"Hey," the man says. You blink and nod politely.

"Hello," you say.

"Nice day out, huh?"

"Mhm." You nod awkwardly in agreement. You can feel the man's eyes on you, waiting for more of an answer. "It's very warm out."

"It really is." There's a pause, and you look over at the man. He's definitely checking you out, and you shift in your seat uncomfortably. "Can I buy you a cold drink?" he asks.

For a second, you're shocked. Almost speechless, you search for the words.

"Oh, sorry, I have a boyfriend," you say. You glance around, looking for Seoho, but he isn't anywhere in sight. You know you can deal with the situation on your own, but having your boyfriend with you would be a big help.

"Oh, I'm sure it wouldn't be too much of a problem if I just bought you a cold drink," the man says.

Yes, it would be.

You shake your head. "That's kind of you, but--"

"Actually, it is a bit of a problem."

You turn around and see Seoho standing beside you. You can see from the way that his fist tightens, his jaw thenches, that he is very unhappy.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to offend you," the man says. "I just thought they might be able to have a friendly cup of coffee."

"As their boyfriend, no you may not," Seoho says. He reaches for your hand which you enthusiastically give him. "Let's go somewhere?" he asks you. You nod and let Seoho lead you away, barely sparing a glance at the man left on the bench.

Kim Geonhak (Leedo)

Geonhak, upon seeing someone hitting on you, would be so frustrated and furious. He would try to be intimidating--probably by lowering his voice much more than necessary--and would possibly be very affectionate and possessive. but you would absolutely be able to tell that he's feeling insecure and frustrated.

You and Geonhak are sitting at a table near the back of the library. You're taking care of some studying you have to do. You sigh and stand up quickly, and Geonhak looks up at you curiously.

"I'm just going to return some books and find some other ones," you say quietly. He smiles and nods.

You take up your books, put them on the return cart, and walk over to the bookshelf where you found your original books. You can still see Geonhak from there. Maybe you'll be able to find just the books you need this time. A man wearing an employee badge is standing next to the bookshelf, placing books into it. As you find a book that looks good, you grab it.

"Oh?" The employee is staring at you. "That's an interesting looking book." He looks up at your eyes and you nod politely.

"Yeah. I need it for my studies."

"Oh?"

You explain the topic to him a bit, since he seems curious.

"Oh, that's cool. Hey, I get done in about an hour. Maybe, perhaps, we could . . . talk more over coffee?"

You blink, taken by surprise. So that's why he's been looking at you like that. "Oh, sorry. But no."

"No? Why?"

"Well, because I have a boyfriend," you say.

"Oh? I'm sure I could take better care of you than he." The man suddenly freezes, and you frown in confusion. Suddenly, you feel someone's arms wrap around you, and you feel a familiar kiss placed on your neck.

"Hi baby," Geonhak says, his voice about an octave deeper than usual. He pulls away and speaks to the man in his deep voice. "Please excuse me. I'm not sure if you heard, but Y/N has a boyfriend."

The man blinks and opens his mouth to say something, but he stops. His face is red with embarrassment. You can tell that Geonhak is giving him an evil glare.

"S-s-sorry," the man says, backing away. "I'll get back to work." He exits the aisle to organize a different shelf.

Geonhak looks at you and kisses your neck again, before nuzzling his face into your neck. You can tell that he's stressed, and run your hand through his hair.

"Let's go sit down," you suggest. Geonhak nods, looking at you like a puppy.

"Okay," he says, smiling softly.

Lee Keonhee (Keonhee)

Keonhee's personality is usually carefree and friendly, so seeing how cold he'd act toward someone would be possibly intimidating to not just them but to you as well. He'd be so possessive, and would definitely want to signal physically to the other person that you're taken, by putting his arm around you or something.

"Wait here, I'll go order our drinks, okay?" Keonhee asks, smiling his sweet smile that makes your heart flutter.

"Mkay."

"The usual?" he asks.

"Mhm!" You smile, and he pecks a quick kiss on your cheek, before heading away from the table to the line to the coffee shop's counter.

You stare down at your phone, scrolling through social media, absentmindedly reading the news as you wait for Keonhee.

"Excuse me, is this chair occupied?"

You look up and see a man with his hand on a chair at your table. You note that it's one of four chairs at your table, and you only need two: one for yourself and one for Keonhee.

"No, you can have it," you say with a nod and a polite smile.

The man pulls out the chair from the table, pauses, and sits down across from you, and you can already tell this isn't going to go well.

"Can I buy you a drink, beautiful?" the man asks. In all honesty, he isn't bring creepy or disrespectful. But you already have a boyfriend and are not interested.

"Oh, uh, sorry," you say. "I, uh, I have a --"

Suddenly, a cup of your favorite drink is placed in front of you. You look up and Keonhee is smiling down at you, his drink in his other hand.

"Hi, angel!" he says, the most pleasant smile on their face. You can tell that he's purposely not paying the man any attention.

"Hi Keonhee!" you say. "Thank you for getting the drinks."

"Of course, lovely!" He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, and you can see that he shoots a quick glare at the other man, and you quickly tug at Keonhee's sleeve.

"Keonhee, let's head home," you say quietly.

"Sounds good!" he says. "Let's go, my lovely," he says, taking your hand and leading you out of the coffee shop. You don't miss the final glare he gives the man, who is sitting surprised and alone at your table.

Yeo Hwanwoong (Hwanwoong)

Hwanwoong wouldn't try to be intimidating or anything. He'd definitely be possessive, and would show if physically, like his arm around you and neck kisses. He'd act very confidently, even if he wasn't feeling it. But he'd need a lot of comforting.

"Ready to head home?" you ask your boyfriend Hwanwoong. He looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, taking a breath after his practice on the other side of the practice room. A grin spread across his face.

"Sure! I need to gather my things, so how about you head out to the lobby and I'll meet you there, alright?" he says, gesturing to the room. His water bottle is against the wall in the corner farthest away from him. His jacket is in a separate corner.

"Alright, see you in a bit Woongie," you say, pushing yourself to the feet before heading out to the lobby to wait for your boyfriend.

You walk through the hallway and stand outside the elevator, waiting. As the elevator rings and you walk into the elevator, someone walks in behind you.

"Hello," the person says. You nod politely in greeting. You swear you've seen this person before, perhaps the hallway or something.

"Hi," you say. "I've seen you around here often. Are you a trainee?"

"Oh, yes. Yes I am."

You can feel this person's eyes on you, even when you look away. Their gaze is very intense.

"Are you a trainee here?" the trainee asks. You shake your head. Suddenly the elevator shudders, there's a ding, and the doors slide open. You and the trainee step out into the lobby.

"Oh, uh, no." You chuckle a bit. "No, I'm not a trainee."

The trainee raises an eyebrow at you. "Really? I see you around here often enough," they say. "What do you do around here, are you a staff member?"

You shake your head. "Oh, no. I'm not. My boyfriend works here."

The trainee pauses. "Oh? Who's your boyfriend?"

You feel an arm snake around your waist, and for a second you're surprised. But you can recognize your boyfriend from the slightest touch.

"I'm their boyfriend," Hwanwoong says, pecking a kiss to your cheek. The trainee looks absolutely mortified, and you really aren't surprised. A trainee? Trying to hit on Yeo Hwanwoong's significant other?

"Oh," the trainee says. "Well, that's great. I've got places to be. Goodbye."

The trainee quickly rushes away, and Hwanwoong nuzzles his nose against your cheek gently.

"Can we go get something cold to drink?" he asks.

"Of course," you say, running your hands through his hair a bit. "Let's get some bubble tea, how does that sound."

He smiles. "Sounds great."

Son Dongju (Xion)

Dongju would want you and him out of that situation as soon as possible. He'd be very firm and calm, but would not want either of you to engage with the other person. If he had to, he'd be very calm and stern with them, maybe even a little passive aggressive.

You examine the two noodle packages in your hands, debating which one to get for you and Dongju's movie night tonight. Dongju should still be getting veggies.

As you decide and put away the one you've rejected, someone walks past and accidentally bumps shoulders with you, causing you to almost drop the noodles in your hand, but manage to catch them. You do, however, drop the box of popcorn you had under your arm.

"Oh sorry." The man who has just bumped into you stops and picks up the fallen popcorn as you stabilize yourself and your noodles. You smile and nod as he hands you your popcorn.

"Thank you," you say.

"Maybe you should have a basket," the man says.

"Yeah." You laugh a bit and nod, too lazy to tell him that you did in fact have a basket, until Dongju took it with him to the next aisle.

The man doesn't move away. It seems as though he wants to keep the conversation going, but you don't.

You place the noodle package back on the shelf and fix the things in your arms so that they're easier to carry. You are overly aware of the man still standing next to you, watching you.

"Sorry, is there something you need?" you ask him.

"Uh, was just wondering if I could get your number?" the man asks.

You, surprised, find it difficult to find a detailed response, and can barely manage to say, "No, sorry."

"No?" the man chuckles nervous. "Why?"

"Because . . ." You're about to tell him that you already have a boyfriend when suddenly someone behind you clears their throat. You turn your head and see Dongju approaching with the basket in his hand and a concerned look on his face.

"Y/N, did you get noodles? Ah. Let's see if we can find you that candy you like," he says quickly, grabbing your hand and squeezing. He looks at the man, and his eyes narrow a bit. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm Y/N's boyfriend, and we have to get going for our movie night."

Before the man can say a word, Dongju drags you away, out of the aisle and down to the candy aisle. You watch him grumble under his breath as he looks among the candies for your favorite. He's fuming, so you walk over and plant a kiss on his cheek. You can see him smiling dumbly.

"I love you, Son Dongju," you say.

"I love you too," he says softly and shyly.

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