*spins around in chair* Hello. I've been expecting you...
~✨WELCOME TO MY TUMBLR INFO POST✨~
I am an aspiring author, who loves writing about fictional characters that don't belong to me. Really, I should be working on something original. Unfortunately, I can't fight the hyperfixation.
You can find all my work on Archive of Our Own. This is where you can find my One Piece, Jujutsu Kaisen, and Pokémon works. Currently, I am hooked on Obey Me!, and this post is focused on that.
~✨OBEY ME! MASTERLIST✨~
Drabbles:
MC teaches the brothers about "jinx" (Gen)
First date/First kiss (Beelzebub x GN!MC)
Attentive bf Beel (Beelzebub x GN!MC)
You, Me, and Steve (Mephistopheles POV, Gen)
"Kiss the Girl" parody (Leviathan x GN!MC)
Hella Britney Spears Obey Me (Raphael, Gen)
The twins help overstimulated MC relax (Beelzebub & Belphegor centric, Gen)
Belphie & Sidra's ship discourse (Belphegor x Sidra-MC)
Letter confession (Leviathan x GN!MC)
A Pinch of Luck (Birthday gift starring Beel and Mammon)
Obey Me! Month 2024:
Masterlist
Longer fics:
Project: Burn Bright (Leviathan x GN! MC, heroes vs. villains, rated M, this is my baby please check it out)
The Speedrunner's Guide to Romance (Leviathan x F!MC, Rated E)
Meteor Shower (Belphegor x GN!MC, Rated G)
Late Nights & Half-Pipes (Beelzebub x F!MC, Rated E)
Blunt Force Concussion (Mammon x GN! MC, Rated G)
Kiss and Tell (Demon brothers x GN! MC, Choose your demon)
A Jellicle Birthday (Happy Birthday Satan, crack treated seriously)
Cold Weather Tonic (Transfem!Leviathan x OC, winter fluff)
Butterfly Tea (Simeon x GN! MC, Rated T)
A Place for Just Us Two (Demon brothers x GN! MC, choose your demon)
Textiles and Tinsel (Leviathan x OC, Rated G, cosplay fun)
Behind the Glass (Leviathan x OC, Rated G, hurt/comfort)
~✨MY MC - ÁINE QUINN✨~
Visual References:
CHARACTER SHEET (thank you @shootingstarrfish)
Bunny fit Áine (once again, thank you @shootingstarrfish)
Self-Indulgent Drabble Exercise:
(All characters and prompts chosen by a randomizer wheel and I had to come up with a little something for whatever I spun)
Satan + Arranged Marriage (angst, minor warnings in post)
Please hit me up if you have a drabble request. I don't bite! (unless you don't abide by THESE rules)
I'm also a mod for @belphegorzine and the head mod of @lvlup-levizine, so check those out, please! 💕
Personal banner (depicting my very real blind dog and mess of Straw Hat Valley planning corkboard) by @4laurus. She's incredible and happy to take commissions. Hit her up!
Characters: Áine Quinn, Satan
Prompt: Confession
Content warning: angst, unrequited love
Euphoria. That was what Áine felt. It embodied the roar of the crowd, Mephistopheles' approving nod, the sweat of her hands as she clung to the newspaper that had earned her the medal placed around her neck. It felt like a dream, and when the announcer had declared her the winner of her category, Áine hadn’t fully believed that she was awake, that this was reality. But then Leviathan was crying and clinging to her shoulders while Lucifer ushered her onto the RAD auditorium stage and Belphie was asleep and Asmo was snapping photos and… Where was Satan?
It didn’t make sense. Satan had been the one to help her find the lead. He had been the one to investigate the 81st mystery of RAD at her side. He had single handedly wrung information from the head of the Spirit Committee (which Áine had been disappointed to find did indeed refer to participation and not ghosts) and yet, his reserved seat remained empty.
It wasn’t until the after party–where Lucifer drank enough to be affectionate and Beel had eaten the chef of the RAD cafeteria out of house and home–that Áine began to worry. She had thought that, maybe, he was helping an acquaintance with a favor, that maybe Diavolo himself had sent her close friend on a secret mission. But the demon lord didn’t seem to know anything when she inquired about Satan’s absence, nor did Barbatos (who had fixed her with an expression far too understanding for her liking) or Simeon (who had the audacity to laugh at her inquiry).
“Hey,” Áine murmured into Levi’s ear, sidling up to where he tapped on his D.D.D. in the corner of the ballroom. “Do you know where Satan is?”
“Satan?” Levi glanced up from his screen, consideration furrowing his brow for a split second before he shrugged, “I’m sure he’s off networking somewhere.”
Áine didn’t know why, but something heavy sank in her stomach. She pressed a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s cheek–giggling when his quiet gasp heated his scale-speckled skin–and excused herself to go search for her study buddy, her closest friend outside of her relationship.
The winding halls of RAD seemed more narrow, the turns more sharp and the ceilings more vaulted. Áine’s steps echoed in the otherwise silent academy, the student body at the afterparty of the awards ceremony, and though she didn’t pay much attention to where she was headed, she felt sudden empathy for the ants that infiltrated the House of Lamentation.
Would an ant seek out a missing friend by visiting the last place they had seen them, or by checking their usual haunts?
Before Áine could formulate a hypothesis and prepare a lab to prove her answer, she found herself in the RAD library, her tasteful mary jane pumps leading her to the looming shelves bearing fiction catered to adolescent demons. She leaned against the wall of bound spines, tapping the carpet before her with the heel of her shoe as she hummed, “Warriors again? What volume are you on now? New prophecy?”
The mop of golden hair in the corner of the aisle flopped, Satan sighing, “Feathertail just sacrificed herself for the Tribe of Rushing Water.”
“Ah, yeah, that one hurts,” Áine sympathized. She approached with caution, but when she saw only sorrow–not anger–in his sea green eyes, she sank down into the space next to him.
It was quiet for a moment, save for the rustle of pages as Satan slid his bookmark into place and laid his comfort read onto the ground. Áine’s heart pattered in her chest, a warning from her body as if it sensed the discomfort to come.
Finally, Satan spoke. “How was the ceremony?”
“I, uh, won,” Áine chuckled softly, a blush curling around the shell of her ears.
“Of course you did.” Satan did not smile, though something glimmered in his eyes as he turned his head to stare down the aisle, away from Áine’s searching gaze. “I knew you would.”
Áine shrunk under his praise, insisting, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
The line of Satan’s lips hardened. Just as Áine prepared to change the subject, to try and sneak past whatever confrontation was about to unfold, Satan blurted, “I’m sorry I did not attend.”
Áine winced internally. She offered a gentle smile, shrugging, “It’s fine.”
She hoped he wouldn’t dig into the why of it all. Alas, she was not so lucky. Satan sat still as a statue next to her, eyes fixed to a tiny shred of paper at the open maw at the end of the shelves, likely from a student’s notebook. She felt him stiffen ever so slightly as he slowly said, “I’m proud of you.”
“Oh,” she tried to wave it off, “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“But it doesn’t feel right.” He shook his head, his lips twisting into a small frown. “I think I’m too proud of you.”
Áine blinked. “What do you mean?”
A beat hung in the tense air between them, ringing out for what felt like an eternity. Satan laced his fingers together in his lap, his gaze shifting to his well-maintained green nails.
“I wonder if it is because I see you as something dear to me, something I consider mine,” He theorized, his voice tight and the syllables slightly stilted, “And I fear I’m starting to get angry when you don’t look at me like you look at him.”
There it was. As if her body was yelling I told you so, her chest began to ache, her heart racing even faster. Her tongue felt numb, her lips useless as a feeble, “Satan…” spilled from her throat.
“You don’t need to pity me,” he spoke softly, and the silence of the library made it sound as though he was whispering directly into her ear. “I know that your heart belongs to Leviathan. I wish I didn’t feel this way, but wrath is in my nature, and jealousy is manifesting in ugly thoughts that I can’t shake.”
She sat still, careful not to breathe too loudly and interrupt the stream of consciousness leaking from Satan’s heart.
Regret flashed in his eyes as he admitted, “I couldn’t watch you achieve such an honor and search for his eyes. Not when I’m right there.”
The shock was subsiding now, the harsh reality that, really, she knew all along allowing her to try and reason, “Satan, I will always care about you. You’re my close friend.”
He chuckled, but there was no mirth to the sound. “Not your best friend, though.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” It was a soft exhale, nearly lost to the mountain of books on either side of them.
“Neither do I.” Still, Satan would always hear her. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his neck exposed and waiting, disappointment a heavy weight lingering above like a guillotine. “Sometimes I wish you had never come here. And then, maybe I still wouldn’t understand this ache in my chest. Maybe I could just tamper it down like all the anger simmering within me.”
Áine didn’t answer.
Then, just when she thought he would never look at her again, his eyes slid to meet hers, and she saw no hatred within the brilliant sea green irises. “Though, given the choice, I think I would do it all again. Exactly the same. Even if it hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, carefully reaching into his lap to extract one of his hands. She entwined her fingers with his, a show of silent support.
“There’s no need for you to apologize.” He took a deep breath in, his frame loosening as he leaned back against the painted brick of the library wall. He did not jostle the hand that Áine held. He fixed her with a stare that oozed vulnerability, a visage so rare for the Avatar of Wrath. “I am the one who should be apologizing, but I have to ask, can I be honest just this once?”
She nodded, the pit in her stomach threatening to swallow her whole.
“I love you, Áine.”
His voice was a thorn on a proffered rose. Áine hesitated, “I…”
His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. He blinked slow and steady in feline fashion as he interrupted, “Don’t say anything. All I ask is that you sit here with me, for just a little longer.”
And Áine squeezed his hand, her breath hitching in her throat. Just a little longer. She could manage that.
*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜
My requests are open! Find out more HERE.
I'm always happy to learn about your MC and write something for you! ✨MASTERLIST✨
The cool water caressed Áine’s body as she floated on the surface, partially submerged in the pool. Her dark purple hair appeared black as it swirled like ink around her crown, the pale strands of pink dampened to a fuschia. Water lapped at her ears, muffling her hearing in a manner so calming as she watched the light of lazy waves refract on the high ceiling of the RAD pool room.
A splash echoed up to the vaulted skylights, and despite the late hour of the evening, Áine did not flinch. She had invited her company after receiving permission from Diavolo himself to use the pool far past operating hours. It came as no concern when something slick and cold curled around her ankle.
A rush of water and she was dunked under the waves, her hazel eyes wide, the chlorine stinging her irises as she hovered like a photograph in the low light of the pool. The pain was not enough for her to pull her gaze away, not when the perpetrator of her assault looked so beautiful.
Leviathan’s amber eyes glowed in the depths, his indigo hair dark, floating like an intricate halo above his head. He wore his horns like a wreath distinguishing wealth and status, his tail bending to the currents with whip-like speed. Clusters of purple scales shone upon his pale skin, dusting his collarbone, his cheek, his hip and… Oh, he wasn’t wearing any clothing.
Áine’s lungs wheezed in relief as she broke the surface, gasping for air. She kicked her legs with languid grace, propelling herself to the closest tiled wall. Once her arms rested on the lip of the pool, she felt Levi’s tail curl around her ankle once more, his eyes alight and reflecting in the surface below as he anchored himself to his partner.
“I can’t believe you wanted me to show up…” He winced, “Like this.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. Áine knew he was not thrilled about the concept of skinny dipping.
“You’re stunning,” she insisted, a whisper rippling the surface of the water.
Levi whined in response, ducked his head to hide the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. He couldn’t, however, hide the physical reaction between his legs. When he caught her grinning, he lifted his hand and smacked the water, sending droplets into her face. “H-hey! Don’t look there! That’s embarrassing!”
“I like it,” Áine soothed, lifting one arm from the shore to trace her fingers down his jaw.
Levi simply whimpered in response, using his tail to pull himself closer to Áine. She hooked her leg around his hip as soon as he was in range, the pressure at his lower back pushing the water from the space between them.
“Oh!” he gasped, low and needy as Áine rocked her hips against his. He wasted no time in burying one hand in her wet hair, in pressing burning kisses to the side of her neck. Áine’s breath hitched with arousal, her fingers slipping beneath the water to trace the curve of his stomach, to gently ghost her nails over the dip of his hip.
“Mn,” Áine moaned, Levi stealing her breath with a searing kiss. She felt as though the pool was boiling, as though someone had set fire to all of RAD. And yet, no matter how swiftly her heart pattered against her ribs, she knew she was safe. She was keenly aware of the irony as she deepened the kiss, as she took the lead, as she guided the Avatar of Envy’s hands down her body to cup her ass, to thrust his hips, to pinch her skin.
In some ways, Leviathan was still very much an angel. He showed it everyday in his adoration and loyalty, in his snacks and gifts and save files before very important cutscenes that he wanted Áine to see. And thus, it brought Áine great joy to bring out the demon in him.
The surface of the water did not stay still for long that night.
*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜
My requests are open! Find out more HERE.
I'm always happy to learn about your MC and write something for you!
✨MASTERLIST✨
Characters: Áine Quinn, Asmodeus
Prompt: College!AU
No warnings apply
“Um, is this a mistake?” Áine asked, her hazel eyes wide as she stared down at the invitation in her hand. It was printed on bubblegum pink cardstock, trimmed with blush lace and dusted with a generous amount of rosy glitter.
“Hm?” Asmodeus looked over his shoulder from where he had been handing an identical card to the captain of the lacrosse team. He smiled when he met her gaze, perfect lips parting over radiant teeth.
The juxtaposition between Áine–hair in a messy bun, clad in comfortable joggers and a university sweater, gel pen tucked behind her ear–and Asmodeus was downright comical. He stood tall and handsome in the hallway of the Faculty of the Arts building, designer slacks paired with a preppy patterned cardigan and tied together with leather pumps that only emphasized the long legs of his devastatingly gorgeous silhouette.
“You invited me to your party…?” It came out more as a question than a statement. She shrank under his unreadable stare, intimidated by the popularity that oozed from his pores.
“You have eyes, don’t you?” Somehow, it didn’t sound cruel when dipped in Asmodeus’s honeyed tones.
The captain of the lacrosse team excused himself, but not before raising his brow as Áine blurted, “But we don’t even know each other!”
“Oh, hon, but we do, don’t we?” Asmodeus’s laugh was a sweet jingle, a melody from the most expensive wind chime. He jabbed a finely manicured nail against her collarbone, a knowing glint in his bright eyes that had Áine convinced that she owed someone real money for the gift of his attention. Still, he insisted, “You’re the university’s star reporter. Mephistopheles never shuts up about you. And you’re easy on the eyes.” He winked.
Áine felt faint, her heart racing in her chest. She sputtered, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I only invite the best of the best to my Asmo nights.” He withdrew from her space, tossing his carefully coiffed champagne hair with the back of his hand. “Congratulations, you made the cut.”
She still didn’t know if this was some sort of cruel prank when he turned on his heel, shooting her a lazy–and somehow unbelievably endearing–wave as he called, “I’ll see you on Saturday. 8pm sharp. Wear something cute.”
“Something cute…” Áine repeated to herself with a resolute nod. Okay. She could do this. It was just a party at the house of the most popular guy in school! No big. She could handle it… Right?
“Oh!” Asmodeus exclaimed, performing a graceful spin to capture her gaze once more. He actually seemed a little sheepish as he added, “And I hope you don’t mind, but my brothers will be there,” but the hint of embarrassment lasted less than a second before he was the embodiment of confidence once more. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to be so captivating that you can’t take your eyes off me.”
*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜
My requests are open! Find out more HERE.I'm always happy to learn about your MC and write something for you! ✨MASTERLIST✨
“Arghhh,” Leviathan groaned, shoulders tensed and hunched over his D.D.D. His frame was so large in comparison, and when Áine glanced up from her school notes, she had to stifle a laugh. It never failed to amuse her, the way her tall, lanky demon boyfriend bent to the will of his device as if it contained its own gravitational pull.
“What’s up?” She asked, underlining her next heading with a new gelpen: aventurine green.
“Mirabelle won’t come home,” he grunted, shifting on the ottoman next to his bathtub. Irritation licked at every syllable, his brow furrowed with concentration.
Áine decided to revisit her notes some other time. Instead, she rose from where she sat at his computer desk to go hover over his shoulder. He was pulling on a card of a well-endowed mage clutching a scepter fitted with a glowing emerald. Áine hummed in sympathy, “How long does the banner go for?”
“It ends today,” Levi muttered, and it did not surprise Áine when she noticed a haze of inky purple begin to seep from his pores, bright orange sparking like embers above coals.
She hesitated. “And you really need her?”
This time, he didn’t even bother responding. Instead, Áine watched his thumbs taper, dark claws overtaking his soft hands as a low growl rumbled in his throat.
“Levi…” she worried, watching coral horns weave their way through indigo hair, his thick serpentine tail slithering out of the base of his spine, thumping onto the tiled floor with a heavy smack.
Her concern grew as he pulled again and again, retreating to the in-app purchase screen when he failed to bring home the new character. A hundred grimm. Three hundred grim. A whopping thousand grimm down the drain as he tried and tried and failed to add the busty witch to his character collection.
It was when Áine could hear his molars grinding together with a sickening pop of his jaw that she suggested, “I think you gotta let her go, Levi.”
Her words were unable to pierce the fog of negativity, of envy that circled his horns like a demonic halo. The grumbling rose in volume, each tap of a claw threatening to break the D.D.D. screen, each flick of his tail nearly knocking a precious figurine off the nearest shelf. The energy that radiated from Leviathan cast a heavy pressure on Áine’s chest, forcing the air from her lungs and making it hard to breathe.
“Levi!” She coughed, reluctant to leave his side despite the smog scratching at her throat. When Leviathan simply threw away another thousand grimm to sacrifice his purchase to the gacha gods, she risked reaching into the toxic haze spilling from purple scale clusters bursting across his skin to jostle his shoulder. No reaction, the demonic cloud of energy only got denser, his eyes burning amber as he grumbling about how unfair the odds were. She tried shouting, “LEVIATHAN!” but she may as well have been talking to a wall.
She sighed, stepping away from Levi to shake off the immense weight of his aura. A deep exhale, and she pulled the ace from her sleeve. “STAY!”
“EEEP!” Levi crumpled to the floor in an instant, the magic that flickered around him disappearing in a flash of white light. A beat, and his tail was retracting, his horns sinking into his skull, his claws returning to carefully maintained painted nails. He hissed in pain, but at least his attention had finally been pulled from that Celestial-Realm-forsaken gacha banner. His stomach to the floor, his ass in the air, he shot her a baleful side-eye and grunted, “Did you have to do that?”
Áine pushed the guilt away, stepping to his side to help him to his feet as she countered, “If you go bankrupt, you won’t be able to afford the VIP experience at the upcoming Hana Ruri café collab.”
He merely sighed, shifting from leaning against her for support to wrapping his arms around her middle. He deflated into Áine’s embrace, resting his forehead on her shoulder, his knees bent to accommodate for his height. “You’re right,” he murmured into her sweater. “It’s just so not fair.”
“What if…” Áine thought as she ran her fingers up and down the notches in Levi’s spine. “What if you can get Mirabelle some other way?”
“Like…hacking?” Levi straightened up, pulling away from her warmth to squish his nose in disgust. “That’s cheating.”
“No, like…” And Áine winked, blowing him a kiss, “You know how to sew. Get me an outfit and I’ll be your Mirabelle any day.”
She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him move so fast, booking it out his bedroom door on a mission to the textiles district of the Devildom.
*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜
My requests are open! Find out more HERE.
I'm always happy to learn about your MC and write something for you! ✨MASTERLIST✨
Characters: Áine Quinn, Thirteen
Prompt: School Partner Project
No warnings apply.
“I fear I have made a grave mistake,” the professor drawled, little to no expression in his voice. He stood at the back of the classroom, arms crossed over a glitter-crusted suit, disdain sketched into the hard lines of his face.
Mere moments earlier, Áine and Thirteen had taken their spots at the front of the classroom, game faces on, ready to rock the socks off the other students with their presentation on the history of static sheep exploitation in the devil yarn industry. The various colorful cuts of bristol board–decorated in sparkling markers and dopamine inducing stickers–contrasted photographs of sheared sheep kept in tight enclosures, Áine delivering a passionate and very tearful speech on the poor living conditions of the livestock while a song by a human world artist looped in the background. Something about the arms of an angel.
The presentation had concluded by Thirteen offering a solution to the overfarming, and the entire class had recoiled when she brandished the massive bazooka. Thankfully, it had only coated every corner of the room in synthetic wool created by plant fibres, though they could have done without the additional glitter bomb.
As the two exchange students enthusiastically celebrated, the cloud of sparkles dissipating into a haze that burned the eyes of all present, the professor could do nothing but make a mental note to never, ever, pair Áine Quinn and Thirteen together for a project again.
*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜
My requests are open! Find out more HERE.
I'm always happy to learn about your MC and write something for you!
✨MASTERLIST✨
Characters: Áine Quinn, Satan
Prompt: Arranged Marriage
Warnings: Manipulation + control, betrayal
Additional context: There is unrequited love on Satan's side for Áine, but her heart belongs to Levi.
The wooden floor felt cold against the skin of Áine’s knees as she crumpled behind her bedroom door. The moment the lock had clicked into place, she had sunk into the abyss that opened in the ground, its teeth all shattered glass digging into her flesh as it swallowed her whole.
She clawed at her chest, her breath stuck in her throat. What was she supposed to tell Levi?
A sudden knock at the door only made the air disappear from her lungs entirely.
“Áine?” The deep timbre of Satan’s tone followed the stern rap that gave way his identity.
She shuddered, a voice that had once seemed so comforting warping into shackles around her ankles. She did not answer.
“May I come in?” Satan tried again. There was a soft thump as he leaned against the door on the other side.
She summoned the last bit of strength in her reserves to crawl away from the panel at her back, to choke out a strangled “Y-yes,” as she slumped against the frame of her bed, the soft pink duvet cushioning the hard edges of reality.
He wasted no time, the hinges announcing his arrival with a creak. Áine barely registered golden blond and sea green as anything more than blurs of color as he crouched next to her. A slow exhale marked the beginning of a sentence that never left his lips, and Áine made no move to fill the heavy silence with anything other than muffled sobs.
Eventually, Satan offered a soft, “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”
Áine’s snort of affirmation came out weak and weepy. She wiped the top of her wobbly lip with the back of her hand. “What are we going to do?”
She heard Satan stop breathing, as though holding his breath would bring an impossible answer. Then, he whispered, “I don’t know.”
Áine whimpered, her violet hair sweeping forward like a privacy curtain as she buried her face in her knees, drawing her legs to her chest. What were they going to do, indeed?
What had begun as a plea for dual citizenship to the House of Lords–an effort to surprise Áine’s beloved Leviathan with permanent residence in the Devildom–had gravely backfired. The House of Lords saw no loyalty in Áine, saw an opportunity to create a political alliance. Wouldn’t the apprentice of the greatest sorcerer in the world be a handy chess piece if tied to the one demon of the seven rulers with no ties to the Celestial Realm? They had agreed to allow her stay, should she be wed to the Avatar of Wrath, and really, what good was being friends with Lord Diavolo if he wasn’t able to pull strings for his favorite human? Not that she blamed him; the House of Lords was already irritated with his blatant favoritism, and the last thing the Devildom needed was mutiny towards the stand in king.
“I’ll take good care of you,” Satan spoke with a finality that hollowed the marrow of Áine’s bones. It held the subtle satisfaction that had pierced her heart the moment the speaker of the House of Lords had decreed their conditions of the trade. It rang like a death knoll as he added, “I promise.”
“That’s not the point, Satan!” Áine hissed, raising her teary eyes.
She looked at him for the first time since he had entered her room. He stared at her with a storm in his eyes that raised the hair along the nape of her neck. Guilt crashed against waves of loyalty to his lord, to his standing, to her, made worse by the blue lightning of desire reflected in emerald pools.
“Is it so wrong to think that maybe we’d be good together?” There was a hint of a whine to his protest, just barely audible, the reserved, knowledgeable, well-read demon not one to lower himself to begging. “That maybe we’re compatible?”
“Satan.” Áine’s heart pattered like the flight of a scared jackrabbit. She clenched her hands into fists, choking out, “We’re not having this conversation again.”
He had the audacity to suggest, “Feelings can change.”
The challenge that flashed in his emerald eyes sent resentment roiling in her gut. She steeled her resolve, and maybe the words came out harsher than intended when she spat, “I will never love you. Not like that. Not the way you want me to.”
That did it, flipping the switch inside the tumultuous landscape of Satan’s brain. In an instant, his teeth bared, his gaze narrowed to a simmering slit, and slowly, every movement with intent, he pried her fingers away from her knees. Lifting her knuckles to his lips, his frown oozed into a sinister smirk as he kissed her hand, gently and ever so threatening.
“Just think. It could be worse.” He murmured as he paused in the doorway, his silhouette blocking out any light of hope. “You could be betrothed to Lucifer.”
*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜
My requests are open! Find out more HERE.
I'm always happy to learn about your MC and write something for you!
✨MASTERLIST✨
HAPPY SUPER BELATED BIRTHDAY @shootingstarrfish!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! This idea randomly came to me. I hope you like it!
Characters: Björn Dimorgard x Sidra (MC, he/they),
Fandom: Ex and Bee
Misunderstandings, established relationship
No warning apply
“I need a haircut,” Sidra murmured to himself, leaning over the bathroom sink to peer into the mirror. He inhaled, stockpiling air in his cheeks just to huff, flopping his bangs with the exhale.
Bee didn’t glance up from the book resting in his lap. He shifted a bit, sinking deeper into the old couch in the breakroom of the Del Luz Detective Agency. Wrinkling his nose at the scent of mothballs that only he could discern, he volleyed, “Yeah, you’ve been looking extra shaggy lately.”
Sidra gasped in mock offense. “Are you saying you don’t find me adorable anymore?”
“I never said that,” Bee immediately soothed his boyfriend. This time, he closed the book and set it aside, rising to loiter in sight of the bathroom. Sidra played with the rosy pink strands that peeked out from his chocolate brown mop, trying to style their overgrown hairstyle with the desperation of a dog learning a new trick to earn a treat. A reedy whine vibrated in his throat, only further illustrating Bee’s mental image. He chuckled, “Actually, you might be more adorable. At this point, you could play a beloved sheepdog sidekick in a detective movie.”
“Make it a documentary of our lives and then we’ll talk.” Sidra’s pout caught Bee off guard. He had expected them to laugh.
Guilt curdled in Bee’s stomach. “You look great,” he insisted, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door.
“I know,” Sidra beamed. He flashed his right hand, a pop of carefully tapered neon pink tips. “I just got my nails done. They were getting way too long.”
Bee offered a soft smile, nodding his acknowledgement as Sidra finally pulled themself away from the mirror. Just in time, too, for the phone atop the desk that bore his name began to ring. Bee swung his broad frame to the side as if he himself were the door, allowing Sidra to pass on their way to answer the call.
Sidra checked him with their hip as he passed, a playful grin lifting their lips. He sped through the small hallway connecting the tiny breakroom to their main office, tripping over his feet and brushing his calf against his desk leg. To Bee’s surprise, Sidra’s face contorted with discomfort, a low hiss of pain drowned by the shrill ring of the phone.
Before Bee could ask, Sidra was spewing, “Thank you for calling the Del Luz Detective Agency. This is Sidra speaking. How may I help you?” The crease between his brows and his narrowed eyes only accented their tone, tight with pain.
Concern struck Bee like lightning. He zeroed in on Sidra’s leg, searching for any sign of swelling. To any normal person, their calf seemed fine.
Luckily, Bee was far from a normal person.
Unfortunately, not even his heightened senses could pick up anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps some additional heat from the meatiest part of their calf. Nothing that demanded immediate attention.
“Mhmm, okay.” Sidra nodded, shooting Bee a suspicious side eye. “Yes, we would be interested in meeting with you. Can I get your e-mail? I will send you more information about our services.”
The phone clicked into its holder as the call ended, Sidra fixing Bee with a raised brow before they turned and began to jot down notes on a rumpled piece of lined paper, hastily torn from a disheveled journal.
As the tip of their pen swerved over curved consonants, Bee tried, “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” Sidra’s bangs flopped with the speed at which they lifted their head, chocolate eyes widening in confusion. “Yeah, of course. Just someone looking for occult investigators. Nothing out of the ordinary there.”
Bee ventured a step forward. The foot of his prosthetic clicked against the wooden floor. “No, I mean your leg. Did you hurt it?”
“Oh.” Sidra blinked. He shrugged in a manner slightly too nonchalant. “It’s fine. Just a bite.”
“A bite?” Bee pressed, “What kind?”
“A…Bug bite.”
Bee narrowed his eyes. “...Okay.”
“So anyway,” Sidra changed the subject by plucking a post-it note from the edge of their computer display. “Ex wanted us to head to the docks. There’s a vendor at the seaside market who claims a demon has possessed their kettle.”
And all Bee could do was nod, turning the key in his car’s ignition. Pushing the pedal, Bee drove towards the coast to the soundtrack of whatever tune was on loop in Sidra’s head. As the car hugged the curve of a cliff, descending to the dock district lined with warehouses and fishmongers, Bee swallowed down his growing concern that something was terribly wrong. A bug bite was nothing. There was absolutely no correlation between a bite and an increase in hair and nail growth.
Right?
“Ugh, I would die for a hamburger right now.” Sidra pierced Bee’s thoughts like a needle to a rubber balloon. He slumped in his seat, letting their head loll onto their shoulder. Their fingers tented upon his stomach. “But like, a triple patty burger.”
A chill ran up Bee’s spine. His tongue felt heavy against the floor of his mouth, and he swallowed thickly. “Any reason why?”
Sidra yawned, rubbing their eyes with his knuckles. “I’m just craving something meaty, you know?”
Bee bit his tongue, his elongated incisor digging into the fleshy muscle. On some level, Bee really did know. However, Bee had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t quite the same desire. Close, but different. Cousins, not siblings.
Hesitantly, he clarified, “Would you settle for anything else?”
Sidra shrugged, “Maybe some roast beef. Ah, or braised lamb.”
Bee balked. Red meat. That much was clear.
He hated that he was about to do this, but he needed to know. Tentatively, he sniffed at the air around Sidra.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Unfortunately, Sidra noticed. Mirroring his movements, Sidra made a show of sucking in air through his nostrils. It surprised Bee when their eyes lit up in excitement.
Sidra beamed, “Do you smell that?”
“No?”
“You don’t?” They were practically vibrating in their seat. He had already unbuckled his seatbelt, worn sneaker thrust out the door of the car as he explained, “I swear I smell cat. Let’s go find it!”
And maybe the hairs on the back of Bee’s neck stood stalk straight as he followed Sidra down an alley in the middle of the sketchy dock district. Maybe he flashed his fangs at any onlooker who stared. Maybe, just maybe, he angled his hand in the pocket of his baggy jacket to appear as though he was carrying a weapon. One could never be too careful in these parts.
He refused to acknowledge that he had access to silver bullets.
It wouldn’t be necessary.
…He hoped.
As Sidra pouted–the cat lost to the sharp turns of the back streets–Bee took the lead, guiding them back to the vendor stalls that lined the seaside. They sauntered side by side, an easy, unsuspicious gait that would do little to alert passersby. They paused at a fresh fish stall, Sidra easily entertained by the rainbow reflection on the scales of freshwater trout.
Bee took note of the bob of Sidra’s throat as they swallowed, chalked it up to saliva gathering in his mouth out of hunger. Sidra turned his attention to the fresh cuts of meat sold by the local butcher, and Bee decided to do some mental math.
“Hey,” he spoke after a while, “Are you free on Saturday? Do you want to stay over?”
Bee’s heart sank when Sidra stiffened, peeling his eyes away from a fatty striploin to stare at the ground. Bee bent his knees, playfully ducked his head and tried to meet their gaze.
“I, uh,” Sidra fussed, playing with the buttons of their cardigan, “I can’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“I have plans already.”
Bee could hear his pulse, thudding swiftly in his ears. It physically pained him to clarify, “Overnight?”
“Yeah.” Sidra’s nod was frantic, so exaggerated that their hair bounced, drawing Bee’s attention to just how long the strands had grown.
Perhaps it was his natural desire to explain the unexplainable. Perhaps it was panic. Either way, Bee reached past Sidra, his arm shooting across his chest to grab a silver ornament from the table of a nearby vendor. Brandishing the bejeweled antiquity, Bee forced it into Sidra’s space and blurted, “What do you think of this broach?!”
Sidra recoiled with a squawk, throwing up their hands like a flesh barrier. “Ew, get that away from me!”
Bee was stunned, anguished, devastated. He could barely keep the tears from his eyes as he let his shoulders drop, as he tossed the broach back onto the vendor’s table. With a sigh so strangled it almost resembled a whimper, Bee plopped two large palms onto Sidra’s shoulders, spinning them to face him. They stared at him with big, bewildered eyes as he asked, “Sidra, were you bitten by a werewolf?”
“What?” Sidra’s confusion was but a soft exhale and a tilt of the head, followed by a pouty, “No!”
Bee gulped, concern that he had upset his boyfriend warring with the fear that said boyfriend may indeed be a werewolf. Grasping at straws, he threw out, “But your hair is growing out! And you just got your nails done–like you were hiding how sharp they had gotten!”
Sidra gawked. “That is normal human behavior.”
And how dare they make Bee feel like he was the crazy one?! With a quick counter, Bee argued, “Then how do you explain the cravings for meat?”
Sidra simply shrugged. “I mean, I could also go for french fries or sushi.”
Bee felt the heavy weight of relief mingling with the acrid taste of humiliation. It sunk onto his shoulders, permeated his skin and lingered on the back of his tongue. His vitriol was fading as he volleyed, “You shied away from silver!”
Still, Sidra stared, completely unimpressed. “Bee, the broach was ugly.”
It was all Bee could do to weakly offer, “Then how do you explain your plans on the night of the full moon?!”
“Oh!” And Bee didn’t know if he should feel relieved or angry that Sidra laughed, “I’m not a werewolf! There’s a midnight release of the new Defy Me! game!”
So there they stood, a vampire and a–apparently–completely normal human, in front of an antique jeweller who was most definitely fed up with their loitering. The woman hissed an insult in a foreign language, shooing them away from her stall the moment Bee returned the broach to its rightful home.
“Then…” Bee asked as he settled into the driver’s seat of his car, their hunt for the possessed kettle a dead end, “It really is just a bug bite?”
“Well, no,” Sidra admitted, turning away from where he had been gazing out the window. There was an embarrassed blush dancing upon the apples of his cheeks, a faint pink that matched the highlights of his hair. “That was a lie.”
“What do you mean?” Bee asked, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. This time, the beat followed the melody that oozed from the radio. Bee found himself preferring Sidra’s humming.
“It’s a Whiskers bite.” As though divulging conspiratorial secrets, Sidra whipsered, “I didn’t want to tell you or Ex about it, because well, you know how Ex is about Whiskers.”
Bee nodded sagely, “He can do no wrong.”
“Exactly.” Sidra leaned back in the passenger seat. “But it got infected. I went to the doctor and got some ointment for it, but it’s still a little sore.”
The silence hung like a song between them. As the radio soothed another chorus, Sidra reached over to entwine their fingers over the middle console. He squeezed once.
Bee deflated, his palm warm and his heart full. “I’m so glad you’re not a werewolf.”
“Nope,” Sidra grinned, his canines sharp and glinting. “Just your beloved sheepdog sidekick.”
reference used (credits to the artist! i can't find the artist, i would appreciate it if you can tell me the original artist so i can properly credit them!):
