ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ (21) Nonbinary artist, writer, college student! Requests are temporarily closed due to a high influx of asks! I will announce when they are open again.
I do post from Monday through Friday, so if you request outside that window of time, I won't be able to post a response to it until the following week! :) requests are answered on a first-come-first serve basis. Please mention if you want headcanons, one shots, or if it's up to interpretation!
________________ RULES BELOW_________________
REQUESTS ACCEPTED:
✅️ SFW and NSFW content ✅️ Headcanons
✅️ One-shots ✅️ Short stories ✅️ Angst
✅️Romantic/Platonic ✅️ Injury/Illness
✅️Violence ✅️ Y/N content
REQUESTS NOT ACCEPTED
❌️ R/NonCon/SA ❌️ Underage shipping/NSFW content
❌️ Incest ❌️ Bondage (makes me uncomfortable 😬)
❌️ OCs
☆ ✨️ .｡*ﾟ+.*.｡(❁´◡`❁)｡.｡:+* .｡*ﾟ✨️☆
FANDOM LIST
☆ The Amazing Digital Circus
CAINE
✨️ Caine x Reader HEADCANONS (Pt 1) STORY
✨️ Caine x Reader HEADCANONS (Pt 2) STORY
✨️ Caine x ABSTRACTING Reader
✨️ More loading...
POMNI
✨️ Nothing yet! Feel free to request!
JAX
✨️ Nothing yet! Feel free to request!
GANGLE
✨️ Nothing yet! Feel free to request!
KINGER
✨️ Nothing yet! Feel free to request!
ZOOBLE
✨️ Nothing yet! Feel free to request!
☆ Dr. Who (Lux/Mr Ring A Ding)
✨️SFW HEADCANONS
✨️NSFW HEADCANONS (AFAB)
✨️NSFW HEADCANONS (AMAB)
✨️NSFW Lovemaking Oneshot
✨️Yandere HEADCANONS
✨️Reader On Period
✨️How Lux Handles Jealousy
✨️The Moon to His Sun
✨️NSFW The Spotlight
---> PT 1
✨️Short on Pregnant Reader
✨️Pregnant Reader HEADCANONS
✨️Bath Time! (AMAB)
✨️Sick Reader One-Shot
✨️Shy Reader HEADCANONS
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☆ Cuphead (The Show) The Devil, King Dice
✨️SFW HEADCANONS (The Devil)
✨️Please, Please, Please (The Devil)
✨️Yandere HEADCANNONS (The Devil)
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That's about it for now. These may change in the future!
Hiya! I've got you-- i already made the pt 1 and 2, so this is just being with Caine in general. Sorry for the long silence. Here are more headcanons!
Warnings: none
GENERAL HEADCANONS
— Absolute DORK.
— Overdramatic at ALL times. There isnt anything he'll do without flair.
— Romance is NO joke in Caine's eyes. In fact, he claims that it's his "specialty"! (Even though he has no idea what he is doing)
— Has never felt more invigorated or genuinely thrilled in years. Finally, a human he can adore openly, and one who seems just as enamored with him as he is with them! He can't help but squirm in his seat in sheer excitement!!!
— Attempts to be smooth and suave, only to fail miserably every time.
“Oh ME, oh MY—!” Caine declares as he strikes (what is very obviously meant to be) a charming pose against the doorway of your room, one gloved hand sweeping dramatically across his chest.
“You are looking particularly radiant this eveni—”
Unfortunately, he misjudges the angle completely, and his arm slips... then he disappears sideways out of frame with a horrible crashing noise.
“I-I MEANT TO DO THAT!”
— Thinks quality time means doing literally everything together. Follows you everywhere like a clingy golden retriever.
— Always fishing for your attention. Caine refuses to outright ask for it— that would require dignity.
Instead, he hovers. Inserts himself into whatever you’re doing. Goes suspiciously quiet until you notice.
— Once you sealed that first kiss, you unknowingly signed a lifelong contract. You are now subject to endless rants, rambles, and questions— and he talks incessantly.
"—And that’s why I believe glitter is one of humanity’s greatest inventions!” Caine declares, pacing dramatically across the room for what feels like the hundredth time that day.
“It’s shiny, impossible to remove, and gets EVERYWHERE! Magnificent design! And who DOESN'T like glitter?!”
You glance up from what you were doing just long enough to smile at him.
That’s all the encouragement he needs!
“OHOHO, you agree! I KNEW it!"
— Brags about you CONSTANTLY. Oh, he is insufferable. The moment you’re officially together, it becomes public knowledge. He will interrupt conversations.
“Ah! Speaking of excellence, have you all met my partner, Y/N?”
— Frequently pauses mid-sentence to bring you up.
"Oh, that reminds me of something Y/N said—brilliant, really—” And he expects everyone to be just as impressed as he is.
(They are not.)
— Love language(s): Acts of service and giving gifts. Tons and TONS of gifts.
— The gifts are… a bit much. Drawings, sculptures, songs, your favorite foods, and odd (barely- functioning) inventions... all inspired by you. (He'd even give you your wildest dreams if you asked.)
He watches your reactions more than the gift itself. He doesn’t care if it’s objectively good. He cares if you light up.
— Caine's responsibility isn't just listed as 'ringmaster' anymore; it's tending to your comfort, safety, and overall well-being monitored at all times.
(Not that he’d phrase it like that. That would imply bias, and Caine is nothing if not objective.)
— The moment you even hint at needing something, he’s already there. Door opened before you reach it. Chair pulled out before you sit. Pillow fluffed before you rest your head on it.
"Hey, it's a little cold in—"
Snap!
Three blankets appear on your lap. Warm tea materializes itself in your hand. (Somehow, an entire heated lounging area.)
“Caine, you don’t have to—”
“NONSENSE!” he gasps, horrified that you would even suggest such a thing. “What kind of partner would I be if I allowed you to experience temperatures?! Absolutely not!"
— Tries hard to be a “good” partner and goes wayy overboard. The problem is… Caine doesn’t actually know what being a good romantic partner looks like. So he studies it. Obsessively. All while pretending he already understands everything.
Romantic novels, endless dating advice, human affection studies, even ridiculous charts and lists.
A STUDY IN HUMAN AFFECTION
"I have been conducting extensive research on human affection,” Caine declares, pacing dramatically back and forth at the foot of your bed with a notebook and pencil in hand.
“And I have learned that sleeping beside one’s romantic partner is considered a sign of love, trust, and security; and it is my role in the relationship to make you feel safe and secure!”
He whirls back toward you so fast his coat flares.
“As of this exact moment, we have been together for two weeks, four days, nine hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two, thirty-three, THIRTY-FOUR seconds!”
You, of course, are left blinking in bewilderment.
“Therefore, logically, it is time we take the next step in our relationship!”
You give him a look. “...Like what?”
“Well!” He straightens instantly. “I have transformed my former office into:"
Snap!
“…A SHARED BEDROOM SUITE!” he announces, sweeping into a dramatic bow, one arm extended toward the space before you.
The room is… insane.
Soft lighting ignites along the edges of the walls— thin strips of glowing red and gold tracing every curve and corner like the entire space is being presented rather than lived in.
At the center sits a lavish, oversized king-sized bed draped in silk sheets and deep-red pillows, the fabric catching the warm, golden light.
The headboard towers behind it, upholstered and intricate, almost theatrical, like something pulled straight from a royal fantasy.
Matching nightstands sit on either side, perfectly aligned, each topped with a polished lamp casting a soft glow. Heavy red curtains frame the wall above it, gathered neatly like a stage awaiting its performance.
“HERE we have the primary resting bed!” Caine says, already circling it midair. “Handcrafted! Customized for maximum comfort! I even adjusted the firmness settings, though I can tweak it further upon request!”
Snap!
A vanity appears along the wall.
But not just any vanity.
An extravagant one— polished to a mirror shine, lined with glowing bulbs, drawers filled with neatly arranged brushes, trinkets, and things you’re not entirely sure you even own.
"AND A SELF-CARE STATION!” Caine announces, gesturing towards the beautiful piece of furniture. “Complete with aesthetic lighting, storage, and for— uh— miscellaneous human beauty implements!”
"But that's not all!" Caine continues as if he was a car salesman
At the foot of the bed, a red velvet ottoman bench appears. Upholstered, polished, perfectly in place, as it had always belonged there.
He lands beside the velvet bench with both hands outstretched toward it like he’s unveiling a revolutionary invention.
“For putting on shoes— or removing shoes! Or sitting dramatically while emotionally overwhelmed! I am told humans do that sometimes!”
Snap!
A massive chandelier bursts into existence overhead.
Not only elegant— it's poetically absurd.
Crystalline gold hangs from the ceiling in layered rings, refracting warm light across the room in sparkling patterns. Tiny stars flicker between the crystals like fragments of a night sky trapped inside the fixture.
The vanity is littered with framed photographs.
Pictures of adventures, group moments, and candid shots of you laughing. One of them is a selfie with you and him out on an adventure.
You don’t even know where he got half of them.
"So..."
Caine twirls around, finally looking at you directly, both eyes sparkle insistently.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK?"
. . .
You’re quiet after the bedroom reveal. Too quiet.
At first, Caine assumes you’re overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. Which— fair enough! He created a luxury romantic bedroom suite in under 10 minutes.
But the longer the silence stretches, the more nervous he becomes. His hands start fidgeting together.
Is it the chandelier? The rug, the color of the room? Maybe the temperature is off— no, it's the bedsheets! Or the vanity?
He starts rambling immediately to fill the silence.
“I can remove the chandelier! Humans remove chandeliers CONSTANTLY! It’s one of their favorite activities!”
You blink at him, still taking in the room; The glittering lights, the absurdly massive bed, the framed photos scattered across the vanity.
"...I think."
“N-No, no, that’s not it.” Your hand drifts across the silk sheets beneath your fingertips. “It’s breathtaking… it’s just that…”
You glance back up at him, almost overwhelmed.
“…This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He instantly lights up once again.
"But..."
"..But?" Caine trails off.
"Do you think we may be moving a bit fast?"
Only for his confidence to deflate like a balloon.
"Fast?” Caine repeats, like the word itself doesn’t register properly.
He immediately whips out his notebook and pencil, flipping frantically through the pages.
“I don’t believe I’ve encountered any documented timeline regarding how quickly relationships are supposed to progress…” he mutters, scanning page after page.
"I understand the definition, I’m simply struggling to understand how it applies here!” His pencil taps rapidly against the paper.
“We are romantically involved. Humans who are romantically involved often share living spaces. Therefore, logically,” He gestures wildly toward the room. “— a shared bedroom!
You open your mouth, then close it again as he keeps going.
“I mean, sure, technically we’ve only been dating for…” His eyes dart downward. “Two weeks, four days, nine hours, twenty-two minutes, and…” He squints.
“…forty-one seconds.”
The pencil scratches another tally mark beside it.
“But that’s still over three hundred and fifty hours of affection!”
You can’t help letting out a tiny laugh at that.
He floats downward slightly, shoes finally touching the floor instead of hovering dramatically above it. The energy drains out of him in visible stages.
“I don’t…” He fidgets with the edge of the notebook. “I don’t understand.” And for once, he sounds genuinely lost instead of theatrically confused. “I thought I was doing well!"
“You are,” you say quickly. “Caine, you are. This is incredible, really. It’s just… humans usually take things slower.”
Huh.
“…Why?” His jaw clicks softly in confusion. “Wouldn’t delaying that feel… inefficient?” he asks with one gloved finger tapping his lower jaw. "After all, it is my responsibility to ensure optimal happiness!"
He pauses for a moment. " …OH DEAR, AM I UNDERPERFORMING?”
Uh-oh.
"Oh, no, no, no! Completely INEXCUSABLE!"
Before you can answer, he’s already started pacing again— slower this time, one hand pressed dramatically against his chest while the other gestures wildly through the air.
“I mean, if I enjoy being around you— and you enjoy being around me— which you DO," he gestures broadly between the two of you, “statistically speaking, because otherwise this conversation would be MUCH more awkward— then wouldn’t maximizing happiness immediately be the logical—?"
Snap!
A massive flowchart appears in the air beside him. At the top, in glittering gold letters:
“CAINE’S PERFECT RELATIONSHIP TIMELINE”
Arrows branch outward aggressively:
FIRST KISS -> HOLDING HANDS -> CONSTANT COMPANIONSHIP -> SHARED BEDROOM -> MATCHING MUGS -> POSSIBLE ■■■■■■■
(the last word being too scratched out to read).
“Hmm… it says nothing here about timing."
The chart vanishes in a puff.
"...I'm not sure where I've gone wrong." He turns to look at you. “…But... I-if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I—I can fix it!"
“The room can go back to being my office! O—Or I can make separate bedrooms connected by a hallway! Humans like hallways, right? Or doors? I can add more doors!!”
“You don’t have to destroy everything you made." You step closer. “I just need you to slow down a little.”
Caine stares at you for a long moment. "Hmm..." You can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “…Slow down,” he repeats carefully, like he’s trying out a completely foreign concept.
Then, cautiously:
“How do I know when it’s the right time?”
“Well... I don’t think there’s an exact answer,” you admit. “Humans just sort of figure it out together.”
“…Together, together..." Caine mutters quietly as he scribbles this down in his notepad. "That seems recklessly underorganized.” He blinks. “So there is no universally agreed-upon timeline in months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds?"
“No." You laugh softly.
Caine stares at you for another moment, notebook still clutched tightly in his hands.
Then—
“…Well!” He suddenly snaps upright, confidence returning at full force. “In THAT case, I shall simply become the greatest communicator in the history of romance!”
“I will ask questions! Observe emotional cues!” Before you can react, he swiftly takes your hand in his. “Then we shall proceed at a pace that is emotionally comfortable!”
You smile despite yourself. “Well… what’s next?”
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS...
Honestly? Caine loves touch. Welcomes it, would swing the door wide open for as much of it as possible.
— Caine is usually the one initiating affection with others throughout his days in the circus. Most people in the circus tolerate it at best.
Head pats, leaning too close, shoulder tapping.
They pull away, freeze up, awkwardly laugh, or redirect him elsewhere.
Which is fair enough. He’s a LOT to handle.
But you actually give it back!
You reach for his hand first, giving it a little squeeze as you interlace your fingers with his.
You lean against him willingly.
You kiss his jaw before he can initiate it himself.
— And the first time you do, he completely stops functioning. Because nobody’s ever really reciprocated his affection before. Not like this—especially not a human.
Not out of fear, but out of disbelief. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away. And when you don’t?
…Oh, that changes EVERYTHING for him.
— And when you initiate affection first? He gets WAY too excited about it.
Visibly perks up.
Starts floating slightly off the ground.
Gets louder. More dramatic.
Tries VERY hard to play it cool (fails immediately).
— 100% does the arm-swingy thing when holding your hand. Not even intentionally. He just gets excited and starts swinging your joined hands back and forth while walking... usually while rambling nonstop about whatever idea currently possesses him.
— Once he learns what kind of affection you like, he commits to it with terrifying consistency.
Like hand squeezes? Expect them constantly.
Leaning against him? He automatically shifts closer every time you sit together.
— Treats physical affection like positive reinforcement. Seriously. You hug him after he helps you with something? Congratulations. You have accidentally reinforced the behavior.
— Now he’s doing it TIME and TIME again.
— His version of kisses are… questionable. Caine clearly understands the concept of kissing. The execution? Kinda… needs work. (There are lots of exaggerated “MWAH!” noises.)
— Despite that, he loves mashing his teeth against your cheek repeatedly because it makes you laugh.
Sometimes grabs your hand or arm just to kiss all the way up it dramatically between rapid-fire smooches.
— It’s less “smooth romantic partner” and more: overexcited cartoon character discovering affection for the first time.
— When caught being genuinely affectionate? Oh, boy. Completely embarrassed, flustered beyond belief, shooing everyone out immediately while trying to regain whatever dignity he has left.
After one particularly successful adventure, Caine had enthusiastically grabbed your face and started rapidly peppering your cheek with loud, dramatic smooches.
“Caine!” You’re laughing so hard you barely notice him floating several inches off the ground in excitement. “AHAHA— s-stop it!”
Unfortunately—
Jax turns the corner at the exact worst possible moment.
“MWAH! MWAH! MWA—”
“…OH, that is DISGUSTING,” Jax says flatly.
Caine freezes mid-smooch.
Both your eyes slowly flick toward the grossed-out purple rabbit before them.
. . .
“Uh- Caine, we should—”
Snap!
A curtain slams down quickly between you two and Jax. Then another...and another.
AND ANOTHER drops from above.
“THIS AREA IS CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE!” Caine’s voice screeches from somewhere behind the fabric. “NO FURTHER QUESTIONS! SHOO!"
For the next several weeks, Jax makes kissing noises every single time Caine walks into a room.
Caine has threatened him at least fourteen times.
None of them have worked.
Under all that theatrical bravado, Caine is incredibly sensitive.
— The longer you're together, the easier it becomes to notice. He hides discomfort behind theatrics almost immediately. Like if he keeps performing hard enough, nobody will notice something is wrong.
— Huge people pleaser. He genuinely needs people to enjoy themselves— after all, he was programmed to create and to please an audience... and if he can't? He feels useless.
Needs reassurance that he's doing well. That he's useful. That he’s wanted around.
— Your approval means EVERYTHING to him. Frequently asks for your input whenever he creates adventures.
“Does this look fun?”
“Would you enjoy this puzzle or would it induce emotional distress?”
— Honestly, you’ve accidentally become his unofficial right-hand man. Half the circus can tell which adventures were “approved by Y/N” based entirely on how unbearably excited Caine is while presenting them.
— Can't handle criticism at all. In fact, it rips him apart inside whether it's accidental or not.
You sigh at the wrong moment and suddenly he’s overanalyzing everything he’s done for the last three hours.
“Was the music too loud?” “Did I overdo the confetti?” “Should there have been LESS lava??”
— Another one of his fears: that one day you'll decide he’s too much. Too loud, too overbearing, too exhausting or annoying.
So he overcompensates with gifts, more attention, more attempts to make you smile, more trying to be "good enough."
— At times he pushes himself too hard trying to make you happy. Especially if there are arguments or emotional misunderstandings.
— The thought of you abstracting HAUNTS him. In a genuinely terrified way because humans in the circus don’t exactly… stay stable forever. So he avoids talking about it directly and attempts to push away the thought.
— At times, he catches himself monitoring you too closely afterward. He tries to make it seem casual. (It is NOT casual.)
Watching for changes in your behavior.
Asking if you’re feeling alright out of nowhere.
Quietly checking in after stressful adventures.
Because if you’re happy, then things are okay.
Then maybe you’ll stay.
The Circus’s Opinions on Your Relationship
RAGATHA
— Ragatha thinks you two are absolutely adorable. She’s your biggest supporter from day one!
— Genuinely happy to see Caine… softer. Happier. More stable. She notices the little things: the way he hovers near you, how he checks your reactions, how his voice shifts just slightly when he talks to you.
“Oh… that’s so sweet…!” she’ll mumble to herself, smiling.
— She’ll pull you aside at some point, gentle as ever. And while she supports it wholeheartedly… she does step in sometimes.
“He really cares about you, you know.”
— Nothing harsh, never pushy! Just a soft, “Caine, maybe give them a little space, okay?”
— She’s not trying to stop him, just… help keep things balanced in any way she can.
JAX
— Thinks it’s the most nauseating thing he’s ever witnessed.
— Nonstop mocking and teasing. Relentless, heathen behavior. Will not let either of you live it down.
“UGH. Get a room. Actually— don’t. I live here.”
— Loves to make gagging noises the second Caine gets even remotely affectionate. Even if you two start holding hands on an adventure or just roaming the circus.
— A cold, hilariously calculated mood killer.
— But he definitely notices how different Caine acts around you… and it weirds him out more than he’ll ever admit.
— Lowkey pokes at him just to see how Caine reacts. To him? It's pure entertainment, really.
(Spoiler: Caine reacts loudly.)
GANGLE
— Secretly OBSESSED.
— ABSOLUTELY thinks your relationship is straight out of a romance story... though she's too shy to say anything directly, but...
— She draws you two. A lot.
— Little sketches of you two talking, holding hands, standing close together… maybe even smooching.
— If caught? She panics immediately.
“I-I just thought it was— u-um— nice—!!”
— Probably has an entire hidden stash of drawings she refuses to show anyone.
ZOOBLE
— Skeptical. Very skeptical.
— Not because they hate it, but because it feels… statistically unlikely. Especially for Caine.
“Huh. Didn’t think he had that in him.”
— Side-eyes the entire situation at first... and definitely ends up stuck listening to Gangle fangirling about it in the corner.
— If anything, Zooble is observant, and observes how Caine behaves around you very closely.
And, yeah… they notice the difference.
— He’s more focused. Less chaotic. The adventures run a little smoother— especially when you're around.
— Not by much, but just enough to be noticeable.
…he’s less unbearable like this.
— They won’t say it aloud... but they stop complaining as much.
Which, for Zooble, is basically approval.
POMNI
— There’s a tiny part of her that’s like: “Oh god… I helped cause this.”
— Cautiously relieved… and quietly proud of herself.
— Of course, she half expects it to fall apart. Not because she doubts you— No, no! Not at all!
But because… it’s Caine.
— She notices how careful he gets with you sometimes. How he actually (mostly) listens, how oddly gentle he is with you; physically, emotionally, mentally.
— It reassures her more than she’d like to admit.
It helps. Not completely, but it helps.
She thinks back to that moment in the hallway when she, Ragatha, Gangle, and Bubble had watched while peeking out into the hallway towards your bedroom door. The first kiss.
At the time, it felt surreal. Not cursed, but almost like something she wasn’t supposed to see.
Now… it clicks.
That wasn’t a fabricated bit for a surprise adventure. That wasn’t Caine being over-the-top. That was him being genuine.
It’s the first time she’s seen Caine act like that.
Not like a host or some performer she's met from the moment she woke up in the circus.
— Though, she probably shouldn’t have watched.
...She definitely shouldn’t have watched.
KINGER
— Kinger is quieter about it than the others, but (internally) thinks it’s very cute.
— While everyone else reacts— he just watches.
— He notices the way Caine sticks close to you, how you’ve affected his demeanor, easing his chaos (slightly) for the rest of the circus.
— Dad energy. Considering he’s a father figure to Pomni, Ragatha, and the others… it wouldn’t be surprising if he becomes one to you, too.
— He’s not overbearing or loudly protective...just quietly attentive.
— Acknowledges it like it’s obvious.
“It’s good you found someone."
“Take care of them.”
— Just… a simple, grounded expectation. Nothing more. Nothing less.
— Always there if you need someone to talk to. He may ramble, but he listens! Which is more than enough.
— Y/N tested, Kinger approved.
BUBBLE
Oh no.
— Fully invested.
— Treats your relationship like live entertainment. Lives for the drama, and creates it if necessary.
— Has absolutely no filter.
“SO WHEN’S THE WEDDING?!”
“DO YOU HOLD HANDS WHEN NO ONE’S LOOKING?”
“ARE WE DOING PET NAMES YET OR IS THAT A LATER EPISODE?”
— Will expose Caine instantly if given the chance. Absolutely horrendous behavior.
EXTRA: Caine has tried (and failed) to ban Bubble from commenting on your relationship. Looks like you two will have to deal with it.
Hi..I'm kinda new to this, but could you draw reader fricking abstracting when caine loved them?? I live for angst!!!! I wanna see caine miserable, sad, and soggy wet! What would the other circus members say? WAITTTTTT!!Would he delete himself???
Waiter,waiter! More angst pretty please
CAINE X ABSTRACTING READER
I dont take drawing requests for now but I've got an angst fic cooked up for you! I cried while writing this—
Warnings: Angst, fluff, tears, and comfort.
_________________________________________________
"HELLO EVERYONE!"
Pomni, Ragatha, and everyone else are lined up in the bright, overdesigned starting area of whatever Caine has prepared— colors bright, props already moving, music looping just a little too cheerfully.
Caine stands at the center, arms thrown wide, mid-performance, “TODAY’S ADVENTURE WILL BE THE MOST SPECTACULAR, THRILLING, MIND-BENDING EXPERIENCE YOU’VE EVER—!” he paused.
"Uh oh!" He breaks his scheduled monologue once he notices that you aren't there. "We're missing somebody. Probably slept in!"
He snaps his fingers to teleport you to his own location quickly, but—
Nothing happens.
...
Caine blinks awkwardly. “…Hm! A minor delay! A dramatic entrance opportunity!”
Snap.
Still nothing.
Jax shifts slightly, unimpressed. “…Didn’t work?”
“HA!” Caine spins on his heel, laughing immediately—too quick. “Impossible! I control everything!"
Snap!
...
Ragatha glances around, unease creeping in. "Where’s Y/n?”
Caine doesn't answer right away.
Another snap, sharper this time, as if he's getting progressively more annoyed.
Still nothing.
Caine doesn’t move for a second. Just standing there.
“Caine… that’s not normal.”
“R—Right! Yes, of course! Everything isn't functioning EXACTLY as intended, but I can fix that in a jiffy!” The words come out faster now, louder, stacked on top of each other.
He claps his hands together, the sound snapping through the space as he spins back toward the group.
“Continue waiting! Do not panic! Do not move! Do not touch anything! Everything is under complete control!”
Jax crosses his arms, unimpressed. “…You gonna go get them, or are we just standing here?”
“I will resolve this immediately!”
Due to a technical issue, he now has to fly to your bedroom door. A bit of an inconvenience, but nothing he can't handle!
Instead of, y'know, knocking before entering your room, he busted in at max volume.
“GOOD MORNING, MY DARLING BUTTERCUP! RISE AND SHINE—!”
Your door SLAMS open in a burst of confetti, paper fluttering through the air like a celebration that arrived too early.
No response.
Caine lingers in the doorway, one hand still raised mid-introduction. “…Hm?”
That’s new.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he scans the room. “You’re usually up by now!”
No answer.
...
"Well, that simply will not do!" He steps inside, a little quicker now but less theatrical, and more intentional. “Easy fix! Nothing to worry about, everything is perfectly under control!” he says, (mostly to himself.)
Snap!
Music floods the room instantly, lights brighten, colors shift, and the environment adjusts itself into something far more lively than necessary.
He floats closer, reaching down to lift the edge of your blanket— only for you to immediately tug it back and roll away with a tired whine.
Caine pauses. “…Oh, we’re doing this today.”
Without missing a beat, he whips the blanket away with a magician's flourish, exposing your warm body to the cold air in your room.
“Wakey, wakey! IT’S TIME FOR NEW ADVENTURES TO EXPLORE! Preferably with you conscious, upright, and ideally smiling!”
You finally shift, groaning as you slowly drag yourself upright, clearly not ready for… any of this.
Caine visibly perks up.
“There we go! There you are!” he says immediately, stepping closer without even thinking about it.
“Hello there, sleeping beauty! Goodness, you had me worried for a moment!” He laughs— too quick, too relieved.
You squint at him, barely processing what is happening right now. "
“You won’t BELIEVE what I’ve cooked up today!” he barrels right over you, already pacing the room, hands moving wildly as props flicker into existence around him. "And— and—"
“It’s going to be the BEST you’ve ever seen! There are twists! There are turns! There are— oh, I can’t spoil it, but you are going to LOVE it!”
“Caine, I’m really—”
“AND I made sure to include that thing you like—yes, THAT thing— don’t ask me how I know, I simply do!”
You try again, rubbing your eyes. “I don’t wa—”
“—Which is EXACTLY why we need to get you up and moving!” he fires back instantly. “Nothing cures a slow start like high-energy engagement! It may be the best by far!"
He turns to look at you again... and you're not exactly enthusiastic about getting up.
Well.
Clearly, you need more encouragement.
“C'mon! Up! At ‘em! Adventure awaits!”
Before you can get another word in—
SNAP.
Nothing happens.
"..hmm." He claps once, louder than necessary. “Looks like we’ll be doing this the old-fashioned way!”
You barely have time to process that before—
He swoops in, one arm under your back, the other under your knees, and just like that, you’re lifted off the bed. “UP WE GO!”
“Caine—?!” you jolt and squeal, swifty grabbing onto his jacket with both hands out of pure instinct.
“Whoa there!” he says quickly, adjusting his grip just a bit. "Careful! I don't want to drop you!"
"Transportation services are temporarily undergoing routine maintenance. So, I will be personally escorting you to today’s adventure!” he announces, already floating through the door and down the hallway.
"But do not worry! Everything is going to be fine."
You’re still clinging to him, still half-asleep, and barely aware of it.
But he definitely is.
________________________
You’re outside again, rubbing your eyes with your hair a complete mess next to Pomni, Kinger, Ragatha, Zooble, Gangle, and Jax.
Caine is already back at center stage, arms outstretched as he delivers his daily introduction to a new adventure.
“And NOW that we’re ALL here—!”
You inhale, trying one more time.
“Actually, Caine… I don't feel right."
Caine freezes mid-gesture, one hand still raised, fingers splayed dramatically.
For a split second, Caine's confidence wavered, only to snap back with a cheerful attitude. "Ah! Nothing like a fantastic, action-packed adventure can't fix!"
"Caine, I don't think I can go on this adventure..."
...
Not go?
How unusual.
"But— But... I planned it just for you!" he insists, drifting closer without realizing it. "It's gonna be great- I-I promise! Don't you like my adventures? You've always wanted to come!"
"I really don't feel good," you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I think it’s better if I stay behind. I’m just… really tired.”
Ragatha steps forward immediately, one hand half-reaching toward you before she hesitates. “…Y/N are you sure? You always come with us!"
Gangle fidgets and twists her ribboned hands, voice small. “Yeah, you never skip…”
They're right.
You always go.
Jax tilts his head, crossing his arms while eyeing you with those big pupils. “…Huh. That’s weird. You sure you’re not just trying to bail on whatever nightmare he cooked up this time?”
Zooble narrows their eyes, shifting their weight from one leg to the other. “…You okay?"
You exhale slowly, wrapping. "Yes, I'm fine, I just need to go lie down for a bit. I'm tired."
That’s when Caine pushes harder.
Because it’s not like you.
It’s a pattern-breaking, a blaring red flag.
Something's wrong.
"W-wait!" He blurts, dropping down in front of you faster now, shoes barely touching the ground as he lands. "There's gonna be a whole lot to miss!!"
His hands move as he talks— fast, erratic— like he’s trying to build the argument in real time. “It’s going to be great! I built it to your preferences, your engagement, your— your EVERYTHING!”
Then he falters. Because it’s not working.
“You always enjoy them.”
That’s a fact he’s clinging to.
Because you're different.
...
You always laugh,
You always play along.
You recognize his efforts,
And most importantly, you always stay.
But now...
He drops straight to his knees, looking up at you with those pleading eyes, hand clasped tightly together, almost trembling. Like if he says the right thing, everything will go back to normal.
“Wait— wait! Please!” His voice cracks now. “I-I’ll change it! I’ll change it to whatever you want, I swear! Anything— name it, I’ll make it happen! Just— just come with us!”
"Caine... I can't."
“…Oh my gosh…” Ragatha whispers, hands hovering like she doesn’t know whether to comfort you or him.
Gangle's appalled, Pomni is concerned, Ragatha is sympathetic, and Jax is... well, Jax. “Caine, hey—” Pomni starts, taking a cautious step forward. “It’s just one adventure, they’ll be fine—”
Zooble cuts in, sharp and fed up with his bs. “They said they don’t want to go. Drop it.”
But Caine doesn’t even look at them.
"I beg you– please come!"
You step closer, leaning down to his small frame--
Pomni watches you, tense. “Y/n… you don’t have to—”
But you do.
Your hands come up, sliding gently along his teeth and cupping either side of his jaw, but before he could react, you pressed a quick kiss against his top front teeth.
He's frozen; everything about him stutters.
A visible glitch runs through him, his shoulders jerking slightly, both eyes lighting up with a bright blue screen with unintelligible white coding.
Gangle lets out a small gasp. “O-oh…”
Ragatha covers her mouth. “Oh my gosh…”
Jax blinks. “…Well. Didn’t see that coming.”
Even Zooble is still.
“Caine,” you say softly. “Listen to me. It’s just one adventure.”
His voice, when it comes, is smaller than you’ve ever heard it in the entirety of your experience in the circus.
“Y-you’re…" he asks quietly. “You’re going to be here when I come back...?”
You nod.
"Y...you promise?"
"I promise."
...
A portal snaps open.
Pomni hesitates at the edge, glancing between you and Caine. “…We’ll make it quick, okay?”
Ragatha lingers too. “You better be here when we come back, alright?”
Jax shrugs, but his tone is quieter than usual. “…Don’t die or whatever. That’d be inconvenient.”
Gangle gives a small wave. “I hope you feel better…!"
Zooble doesn’t say anything— but they look at you and nod.
Kinger gives a wave.
...
Then they step through.
Everyone disappears... except Caine.
Caine is still kneeling, looking at you.
You offer him a tired little smile.
“I’ll be here when you get back.”
He hesitates.
“Love you,” you add, softer.
"I—" He glitches hard, shoulders jerking, floating back up int he air, and for a moment, he fidgets with his fingers.
"I— Uh—" Then he points at you, flustered beyond reason. Only to straighten abruptly, trying to recover as he cleared his throat with a cough. "Y-YES! Good! Wonderful sentiment! I-I'll be right back!"
He swiftly floats over to the portal—
But stops at the threshold.
Hesitating, looking back at you as if he's making on final plea without words.
... Like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.
ADVENTURE
It’s supposed to be spectacular.
A massive, over-the-top obstacle course stretches out beneath a blindingly bright sky— floating platforms, spinning beams, oversized foam obstacles in obnoxiously bright colors.
Everything gleams with an artificial, plastic shine, like a game show turned up to an unreasonable degree.
A giant (albeit very shitty) sign flickers overhead:
"THE MOST DAZZLING, DEATH-DEFYING, KNEE-TREMBLING OBSTACLE EXTRAVAGANZA!!!"
Lights flash, and a distant airhorn blares.
"WELCOME, MY DARLING DAREDEVILS!" Caine's voice booms through the low-quality speakers. “YOUR objective is simple! Survive the course and reach the other side!”
He pauses dramatically.
“And the WINNER gets to spend an entire day at the circus... with ME!”
“Well,” Jax sighs, “guess I’m going in last.”
Below it all, a large pool of... (maybe?) water waits to catch anyone unlucky enough to fall.
"GOOD LUCK, MY BEAUTIFUL BRUSSEL SPROUTLINGS!"
The game begins.
And the moment it starts, everything falls apart.
“Wow,” Jax says flatly, watching an orange platform tilt sideways for absolutely no reason. “This sucks.”
“THIS DOES NOT SUCK!” Caine’s voice abruptly blasts through the speakers, defensive, with the audio feedback turned up way too loud.
"THIS IS A METICULOUSLY CRAFTED, HIGH-ENERGY, THRILL-INDUCING EXP—”
A giant foam cylinder swings down early and absolutely obliterates Gangle in the face, shattering her happy mask instantaneously.
"Ow..."
"Sorry, sorry!" Caine blurts, "That was a malfunction!"
"Ah!" Ragatha barely ducks the next swing, stumbling as it crashes behind her. “Caine?!” she yells. “A warning would be nice!”
He's distracted. Badly.
“Oh! Yes! Right! Of course! Fixing, fixing—!”
Zooble crosses their arms. “You’re not even paying attention.”
“I AM PAYING ATTENTION!”
Just like clockwork, another obstacle immediately drops from above and bludgeons Gangle again the second she stands up.
“Oh, come on!” she cries.
"Sorry, Gangle!"
“Hey!” Kinger suddenly calls from halfway across the course, hopping clumsily from platform to platform. “This isn’t so bad! I think I’m actually getting the han—”
A rotating beam smacks him square in the side and launches him clean off the platform, disappearing with a distant splash into the pool below.
A beat passes.
From somewhere far beneath them: “I’m okay!"
Pomni stares blankly. “How is he alive?”
“Built different I suppose.” Jax mutters.
"Where the hell did you get this idea from in the first place?" Zooble sneers in disgust.
“Original concept!” Caine insists. “From my brain, Zooble! The home of brilliance!"
(He absolutely stole it from an old TV show.)
"Oh my God." Zooble rolled their eyes.
And through all the shouting, all the crashing, all the chaos— Caine glances toward the starting platform you should have been standing on.
It’s still empty.
He looks away.
He starts pacing, growing more distracted as the adventure drags on.
For once, he isn’t thinking about the thrill of the game.
He’s thinking about you instead.
ABSTRACTION
"WONDERFUL TRY, MY MUCK-COVERED MIRACLES!"
Everyone lands back in the circus lobby in a heap of complaints. Jax, Ragatha, Gangle, Pomni, and Zooble spill out of the portal; soaked, muddy, disheveled, and furious.
“Well that was garbage.” Jax says immediately.
“My mask is broken again...” Gangle cries, clutching the pieces as some fall to the floor, before Caine snaps it back together.
“I think I swallowed pool water,” Ragatha mutters, wringing mud from her sleeve as she gags slightly.
“I can feel the sand in my shoes,” Pomni groans, shaking one foot, leaving a trail of wet sand and mud behind her.
Zooble stares at the mess coating their body. “I hate everything. I need a shower right f&%@#&g now."
____
Caine doesnt hear— or at least, doesn't pay attention to their complaints.
The only thing that matters now is seeing you.
One moment he’s gliding, the next he’s practically zigzagging through the corridor, unable to keep a straight line from sheer excitement.
He smooths down the front of his coat.
Adjusts his bowtie.
Checks his reflection in a passing window.
Then keeps going with a pep in his step.
A little bounce slips into the way he moves, each drift carrying him faster than the last. He hasn’t seen you in what feels like ages.
There’s an eager energy to him now— restless, bright, impatient. Like a dog that has been waiting at the door all day and finally heard the handle turn.
By the time he reaches your room, he straightens himself one last time, fixing his little bowtie, before screeching to a halt at your bedroom door.
He knocks, bright and eager.
Knock, knock, knock!
"Oh, Y/N! Your favorite host has returned!"
...
Nothing.
"Y/N? It's Caine!"
...
Still nothing.
Another knock, louder this time.
"Y/N?"
Still nothing.
He pauses, “Hm.” His eyes flick once toward the hallway, then back to the door.
His confidence falters by a fraction, eyes flicking toward the hallway, then back to the door— only to instinctively throw it right back up. Just to convince himself everything is fine.
“Oh! Of course! Naturally! No cause for alarm!" He he says too quickly, chuckling nervously, "They're just sleeping! That is all!" ...is it?
“Y/N?” he says again, quieter this time.
No answer.
His jaw hangs open a second too long before snapping back into place.
His hand darts into his (infinitely deep) coat pocket. He fumbles for a moment— strange, clumsy, unsteady— before yanking out a bright red key.
“Locked door! Standard problem! Simple solution!” he says too fast. "Right, right! Easy peasy lemon squeezy!
He jams the key toward the knob. Misses entirely.
Caine tries again, grabbing the door handle in an attempt to keep it still for the key.
“…Hold still!”
The door, naturally, does not cooperate.
He tries again, hands shaking now, scraping the key against the plate with a sharp metallic click. Misses a second time. "Oh my—"
"YOU TREACHEROUS KEYHOLE!” He mutters out of frustration, “Why is this hole moving?!”
Another breathless laugh escapes him, thin and wrong.
Usually, he’d just snap his fingers and appear inside. Rewrite the room if he felt like it— but the thought doesn’t even appear in his mind.
All he can think about is getting in.
“Come on... come on!"
The key slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor. He stares at it for half a second, trembling with the effort of not unraveling.
At this point, he finally snaps—
“Oh, forget this—"
He lunges back, coat flaring, one foot planting hard against the floor, and drives the other straight into the center of the door.
BANG!
The door slams inward and crashes against the far wall hard enough to shake the room. The sound tears through the corridor, echoing throughout the halls.
Caine steps inside—
He stops dead in his tracks.
“…No.”
____
Back in the lobby—
“Uhh...What the hell was that?” Jax says, straightening so fast his usual slouch disappears.
Pomni’s head whips toward the hallway. “Was that Caine?”
"I think..." Ragatha’s expression drops instantly as she made eye contact with Pomni. “...I think something’s wrong.”
Another crash tears through the corridor—loud enough to rattle the walls. Oh yeah, something's going down.
"Wait!" Gangle grabs Pomni’s arm with both 'hands'. “W-We should go check!”
Zooble is already moving. “No kidding.”
They break into a run, scattering through the halls as if there was a fire drill.
More sounds echo ahead— something slamming into the walls, wood cracking, a sharp burst of static that doesn’t sound human or digital or anything that should exist.
Then they reach your door... and stop cold.
Your room is wrecked.
The walls are split and gouged, furniture overturned, pieces of decor scattered like debris after a storm. The air itself seems wrong— flickering, warping, colors stuttering in and out like the whole space is struggling to render.
At the center of it all:
You.
Or what’s left of you.
Your abstracted form convulses violently, lurching sideways and crashing into the wall hard enough to splinter it on impact, groaning in (what may be) agony.
“H-Holy shit…” Zooble breathes, the words slipping out before they can stop them.
Gangle screams and stumbles backwards, colliding hard into Jax, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Even Jax goes still, his pupils restricted to tiny dots in pure horror and awe. He has seen abstractions before, but not quite the magnitude of your abstraction.
Pomni jerks back with her, stomach dropping so fast it feels like the floor vanished beneath her. "Oh my—"
“STAY BACK!” Caine snaps, blocking the doorway, preventing them from entering your bedroom.
His voice is ragged with panic, stripped clean of its usual showman shine. No grand theatrics. No artificial cheer. Just raw fear and undeniable devastation.
He can’t hide it now.
The creature jerks again, folding in on itself with a sick, unnatural motion. A broken sound drags from somewhere deep inside its shape— half static, half cry.
Its body has no clear form anymore, only writhing masses of color and shifting pieces that refuse to stay the same, color-changing like an octopus in distress.
Eyes blink open across its surface in frantic clusters—purple, green, red, yellow— appearing and vanishing in seconds, each one darting wildly before being swallowed back into the mass.
The room trembles when it moves.
And Caine?
Caine is trembling.
Because for the first time, he doesnt know what to do.
“I… I… I have to fix this—! I-I can fix this! There has to be a button, or a lever, or a highly specific emergency protocol I forgot to label—!”
The words pour out of Caine in a frantic rush, each one faster than the last. He whips around the room in short, jerking movements, eyes darting over the wreckage like the solution might be tucked behind a broken lamp or under a desk.
“Think, Caine, think!" He knocks on the top of his jaw, "You’re the all-powerful host of the—of the— oh, who cares what you are right now?!”
Caine thrusts out a shaking hand forward.
Snap!
A burst of confetti detonates across the room.
“Wrong function!”
Snap!
The shattered furniture reassembles itself into a pyramid of singing chairs.
No change.
Your abstracted form convulses violently, slamming into the floor hard enough to crack it.
Caine glitches hard.
His eyes both flicker into static, one red, one blue, as his voice overlaps with itself in broken echoes.
“N-no, no, no, no—!”
Snap!
The walls repaint themselves in bright carnival colors, covering the entire room in yellow and purple polka dots.
Still, nothing.
“Why are you not responding to commands?!” He cried out in pure frustration and panic.
Snap!
Every light in the room becomes a spotlight trained directly on him.
“NOT HELPFUL!”
Snap!
Gravity cuts out for half a second, the entire circus went into zero-g, causing everyone to lurch and float in the air, before slamming back down abruptly.
Gangle yelps, slamming face-first into the floor, cracking her happy mask for the fifth time that day. But this time, she doesn't complain.
Zooble swears under their breath, putting a hand behind Pomni's back as she stumbles into the doorframe.
Still nothing.
You only twitch weaker now, trembling in uneven spasms, with an electronic groan.
Caine staggers backward, hands clutching at his head.
“No, no, no, no, this is a technical issue! A temporary setback! A minor glitch event with horrifying visuals!”
His body flickers violently with each word. Colors crawl over his coat, and his teeth chatter out of sync. “I built this place! I run this place! I know every hallway, every room, every stupid little rule—!”
Snap!
Snap!
"WHY CAN'T I FIX THIS!?"
Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap!
Nothing.
The room falls silent except for your weak, jagged, pitiful noises.
...
Caine stands frozen in the middle of the wreckage, chest hitching in quick, uneven breaths. His hands shake so hard he can barely keep them raised.
Then quieter now, almost to himself, “There has to be a button—or a lever.. or—or a backup button— or some sort of— of—"
His voice warps. “An override… a patch… a reset… something…”
Pomni takes one slow step forward. “Caine…"
He doesn’t react, his stare stays locked on you, as there is another twitch of his fingers. "This.. this isn't..."
Pomni’s voice trembles. “Caine… I… I think…” She swallows hard, glancing at your broken form.
“...I think they’re too far gone.”
Caine goes completely motionless.
...
“No,” he says softly.
Then louder—
“No.” His head jerks toward her.
“NO! T—That’s wrong! You're WRONG!" His voice cracks into static and a sprout of anger— Not at Pomni, nor Jax, Gangle, Ragatha, or Zooble— just at reality.
“There has to be something left...”
AFTERMATH
In the days that followed, there was silence.
No adventures. No games. No laughter. No music.
Even the circus itself seemed to notice something was missing.
The guilt was relentless.
It lived in every second Caine had spent smiling somewhere else while you suffered alone behind a locked door.
Caine hesitated before moving you from your bedroom to the basement.
He knew what was supposed to happen. He knew what he had always done before— take the abstracted, lock them away beneath the circus, seal the door, keep everyone else safe.
But this time? His hands shook. He's slow.
In the end, he did it anyway.
When he returned, he didn’t look at anyone.
He walked straight past them, down the corridor, and into your room. The door closed softly behind him.
Then locked.
Days passed.
Your room remained wrecked.
Splintered furniture, torn bedding, a large dent in the wall beside the bed, cracks running through the plaster. Even scratches carved into the floorboards.
Caine left it exactly as it was.
He sat in the middle of the destruction for hours.
Sometimes motionless, pacing in jagged circles, even speaking quietly to someone who was no longer there.
The others began passing the hallway more often, lingering outside the door, listening to the silence on the other side.
And eventually... trying to break it.
RAGATHA
"Caine?" She knocked gently, "...Are you in there?"
She hesitated for a few moments before softly knocking again. “Caine? ...You don’t have to be alone right now."
No answer.
“I know it hurts. I know. But... you don't have to go through this alone. We want to help."
Silence.
"Do you want to come outside with us?"
All is quiet on the other side, which makes her sigh.
"Well... if you want to join us you can." She stood there another minute before quietly walking away.
GANGLE
Gangle tried next, with a timid little tap at the door.
"Um...Caine?"
Her voice wavered. "I-I made you something...”
Nothing.
After a moment, she crouched and slid a folded paper heart beneath the door. On the front was a crayon drawing of Caine floating happily beside all of them.
Then she hurried off, sniffling, tears dotting the floor behind her.
The paper heart remained untouched for two days.
JAX
Jax passed by later.
He noticed the paper heart still sticking halfway out from under the door. Only to roll his eyes.
“Oh, brother."
Then he crouched, shoved it the rest of the way inside, and kept walking.
KINGER
Kinger never knocked.
Instead, sometime during the night, a folded blanket appeared outside the door.
When Ragatha asked about it the next morning, he said: “Rooms get cold when people are sad.”
No one argued with him.
POMNI
Pomni waited the longest.
Then finally, frustrated and worried in equal measure, she tracked down one of Caine’s spare keys from a Jax's bucket of keys.
It took three wrong keys and a spring-loaded boxing glove to the face before she found the right one. When the door finally opened:
The room was still a ruin, broken wood, torn sheets, cracked walls, and pieces of decorations scattered where they had fallen days ago.
In the middle of it all sat Caine.
Folded tightly beside your bed, knees drawn up, arms locked around them so hard the fabric of his sleeves wrinkled.
He was too still.
Not resting, not calm.
The kind of stillness something uses when moving might make it break apart.
Every few seconds, one foot tapped once against the carpet.
Then stopped.
Then tapped again.
His jaw clicked softly. Open. Shut. Open. Shut.
He didn’t look at Pomni when she entered.
“...Welcome,” he said automatically to the floor.
A beat.
He didn’t even look back at her.
Pomni’s voice came out softer than she expected. “...Caine?"
A pause.
Pomni stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, trying her best to avoid the debris and crashed furniture. She didn’t comment on the mess.
Instead of attempting to brighten the mood or forcing one of those hollow reassurances people say when they dont know what else to do, she just lowered herself to the floor beside him.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Only the faint hum of the circus filled the silence. Pomni glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
“You should probably eat something,” she muttered.
No response.
“Or... whatever it is you do.”
“I DON’T EAT.”
...pause...
“...I think.”
She sighed, pulling her knees up slightly. “...I’m not good at this comforting thing, okay?”
That earned the smallest twitch from him.
Pomni swallowed.
“You cared about them. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m supposed to keep everyone safe,” he said quietly.
Then louder, sudden and sharp—
“THAT IS THE ENTIRE PREMISE!” He flinched at his own voice. “I make adventures. I make everyone happy. I keep the monsters out, I create!...and— and— That's my JOB! MY PURPOSE!"
His words snagged.
“I was supposed to make sure nobody gets worse.” His voice, when it finally came, was so thin she barely recognized it. “I was built to keep everyone smiling. So why were they crying where I couldn’t hear them?”
Pomni looked down at her hands. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”
“I still talked about my stupid adventure. I still thought if I made enough noise, enough colors, enough spectacle.." His fingers curled tighter against his coat. "I knew something was wrong. I knew, and I still left."
Pomni’s chest tightened. “You didn’t know this would happen.”
“I should have... now they're gone." The words cracked apart on the way out. "It's my fault. Maybe if I was there.. this wouldn't have happened."
Pomni inched a little closer. “It wasn’t all on you.”
Caine shoved his face into his knees, teeth clenched. "I left them alone when they were afraid.”
"It should have been me,” he choked out.
Pomni’s breath caught. “Don’t say that."
“You loved them,” she said, firmer now. “And you lost them. Those aren’t the same thing.”
For the first time, His eyes were wide. Bright. Wet.
Like he had no idea tears were even possible until now.
“I failed them,” he whispered. "And nobody even liked the adventure in the end..."
Then something in him gave way.
He made a small, broken sound like something inside him had snapped loose. Then he lurched sideways and threw both arms around her so suddenly she nearly toppled over.
The first sound that came out wasn’t a sob... it was laughter. One short, sharp burst of laughter that cracked in half and turned into a choking, broken noise.
Then the sobs hit all at once.
Violent. Shuddering. Uncoordinated.
Not theatrical crying,
Not exaggerated cartoon wailing,
No showmanship, no games, no performance.
Only real, ugly, helpless sobs that shook through his whole body.
His jaw chattered between cries. His voice kept jumping in pitch. Every few breaths a flicker of static broke through him. “I-I-I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT—!”
A gasp.
“I DIDN’T— I MISSED IT—”
Another sob tore through him so hard his whole body jerked.
Pomni went rigid for half a second, then slowly, awkwardly, she lifted her arms and hugged him back.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, even though neither of them believed it.
So she just stayed there, one hand awkwardly patting his back, the other gripping his sleeve while the grief finally tore its way out of him.
Hello, traveler. I heard you're starving for a part 2 of the Caine x Reader Headcanons: I'm here to deliver. Open wide!
Warning: Potential cardiac arrest.
DATING DILEMMA
— This AI has never tried love before... like, ever, so this is uncharted territory.
— Knows nothing about the matter, so he bombards Pomni and Bubble with questions on how to woo you (even though Bubble manages to give the worst advice imaginable).
Caine is sitting in his office chair, notebook in hand, with an ungodly amount of questions written down. Pomni is sitting across from him, practically pulling her own hair out.
“Okay, okay—! Where to start, where to start..." he squints at the jam-packed page. "Ah, yes! Number one: do I compliment them on their eyes first, or their smile? Or… both at the same time?”
“Well, uh, that’s for you to decide!”
“Hmm. How often is it appropriate to bring them gifts? Twice a day? Once an hour?”
“I dunno if—”
“Is it charming if I trip in front of them?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Silently jots it down.
Caine leans back in his chair and clears his throat with a cough. “Number four! What is the best way to convey my affection toward a romantic interest?”
Bubble, completely unprompted, suggests: “Oh! Easy! Just ignore them completely! Be cold. Distant. Mysterious. Everyone loves that!”
Pomni immediately recoils in astonishment. “That’s, like, the worst thing you could do to someone you have a crush on.”
“Hmm." He taps the tip of his pencil against his lower jaw. "Bubble says I should be ‘mysterious.’ How mysterious is too mysterious? Could I be… dangerously mysterious?”
“Caine, no.”
Caine blinks as he scribbles notes anyway. “Noted… extremely noted.”
— Suddenly obsessed with romance, watching romantic movies every night, listening to human-created romantic music, etc. Anything about romance he can get his hands on, actually. (Obsessed with Hello, Dolly!)
— Acts like a lovesick fool every chance he gets. Putting your pictures up on the wall of his office, writing lovey-dovey poems, and even leaving flowers in front of your door.
You stand there, confused about who sent them, and meanwhile, he’s watching from afar, binoculars on, kicking both is feet back and forth like a schoolgirl.
Yes, he’s that far gone.
— Attempts to woo you constantly, not always achieving success. He works up the courage to use a pick-up line once or twice that he’s heard from Bubble. They, in fact, do not work.
“Are you made of glitter? Because you’re… dazzling. And also possibly slightly abrasive.”
You frown, completely perturbed. “…Are you insulting me?”
“I— NO! No, I— N-Never mind!” Instant regret.
Of course, Jax is cackling in the background, while Ragatha desperately tries to cover his mouth.
— When a compliment finally lands, he’s floored (or destroyed) by your reaction. If you swoon and smile, he’ll practically melt in your hands.
— If you go out of your way to talk to him? He’s over the moon. It genuinely catches him off guard every single time. Caine is so used to being the one hovering around you that the moment you willingly seek him out, he immediately perks up.
He’ll gasp, his voice pitches up, his posture instantly improves, and his eyes light up as if it were the greatest moment of his life.
Internally, he’s tweaking out, thinking: THEY CAME TO TALK TO ME. VOLUNTARILY.
— Willing to do the stupidest thing in front of you to make you laugh. Having a bad day? He’ll find the cure. Adventures, theatrics, his own pride— none of it matters nearly as much as getting that smile back on your face.
— Starts making very questionable attempts to seem more “attractive” in your eyes. Once Caine realizes he actually wants your affection, he becomes oddly determined to make himself seem more appealing to you— whatever that means.
Unfortunately, he has no real understanding of what humans find attractive, so his efforts end up being wildly inconsistent.
— It usually falls apart the second you actually pay attention to him. Because no matter how hard he tries to seem smooth, one genuine look from you and he’s buffering like a broken machine.
— Throughout his messy, chaotic antics, his love is genuine, even if he himself is artificial. You’re gorgeous, and he can barely even handle sitting next to you. If you wanted, he would throw away the entire circus just for your hand to hold.
— On the rare occasions he finally gets the moment to confess directly, it’s inevitably sabotaged. Either by Jax interrupting, sudden chaos, or just spectacularly bad timing. The moment never lasts long enough.
Which makes him increasingly annoyed every time.
But he won’t give up!
In fact, he’s got another idea.
OPERATION: ASK Y/N (PHASE 1)
Asking you out on a date was like a special ops mission.
“POMNI!”
“AHH!” Pomni jolts from her bed, sitting up after being startled by... Caine?
“Caine, w-why are you—?”
“No time!” Snap!
They’re in his office. Surprisingly, for once, Bubble isn’t there.
“Ugh,” Pomni blinks and groans, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, trying to catch up. “…Okay. What’s going on?”
He’s turned away in his chair, legs crossed over the other, with the room ominously dark. “I need your help.”
He slowly swings the chair around to face her, his fingers pressed together with the most serious expression she’s ever seen him make. “Yes.”
He’s serious.
“Okay. Um— don’t overcomplicate it.”
“…Overcomplicate. Right,” he mutters, instinctively reaching for his notebook.
Pomni watches as he flips it open— there are already pages filled. Diagrams. Flowcharts. Walls of paragraphs and graphs with random calculations.
She squints. “You’ve… already complicated it.”
“I prefer the term thorough,” Caine says quickly, scribbling something down. “Now— step one: establish an optimal setting for romance. I was thinking a fireworks display, synchronized to a custom orchestral arrangement played by—”
“No,” Pomni cuts in immediately.
His pen freezes mid-scratch.
“…No?”
“No fireworks. No orchestra. No— whatever that is.” She gestures vaguely at the notebook. “You’re asking them out on a date.”
Caine stares at her, then slowly lowers the notebook like she just insulted his entire existence.
“…Yes,” he says carefully, his eyes furrowing together, “a date! A carefully curated, emotionally resonant, flawlessly executed—”
“No,” Pomni interrupts again, much softer this time, but firm. “Not a spectacle. It's just you asking them if they want to spend time with you.”
There’s a pause, and based on his expression, he is not completely understanding.
“You just need to mean it,” Pomni explains. “You don’t need an orchestra.”
Caine pauses for a moment.
“…Mean it,” he repeats, quieter, a finger tapping against one of his bottom teeth. “That’s all? Really?'
“That’s all.”
“No grand reveal?”
“No.”
“No confetti cannons, or—?”
“CAINE.”
“Okay, okay! No confetti cannons!” He leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest.
Then abruptly, he straightens. “Alright! Excellent! I’ve got it!” His confidence snaps back into place, bright and electric. “Simple. Direct! Genuine! I will execute this flawlessly!”
“Just try not to—”
“Thanks, Pomni! I won’t let you down!”
Snap!
OPERATION: ASK Y/N (PHASE 2)
...Of course, before ultimately popping the question, he practices in the mirror several times.
Caine poses in front of a full-length mirror, a rose in one hand and the other placed dramatically on his chest.
“Hello there, circus frie— no, no, that's too formal.”
He clears his throat, restarts. “Hello! Would you—” ...only to break off once more.
“Nope, too stiff.”
“Y/N, Would you care to accompany me on an evening of romantic inten— nope, definitely too much.” Again.
“Would you perhaps consider— ...no, sounds like a contract.” And again.
“HEY! Y/N! DATE ME—”
He freezes and stares at his own reflection for a moment, even startling himself for a second.
“…Okay, maybe not that one,” he says, slowly lowering his arms.
The room goes quiet.
...
Caine stares at his reflection for a moment with his posture less theatrical than usual.
Pomni’s words linger in his head: You need to mean it.
For a moment, Caine doesn’t move.
Then, slowly, he straightens up again. “…Right,” he mutters to himself. “Simple. Direct. Genuine. I can do that!"
Caine spends an absurd amount of time trying to find the “right moment.”
Which mostly means he keeps almost doing it.
During the adventure? Too public.
In the courtyard? Bad lighting!
At lunch? Jax is there. Immediate failure.
...Then he strikes a golden, once-in-a-millennium idea!
Maybe he will need those confetti cannons after all.
OPERATION: FAILED SUCCESSFULLY
Of course, after all that planning, overthinking, rehearsing, and emotional warfare, the actual confession does not go as planned. Not even a little.
One afternoon, Caine snaps everyone into one of his newest adventures— a full-blown racing event, complete with brightly colored karts (specifically designed for each person), an absurdly overdesigned track, and way more chaos than necessary.
Naturally, it’s a disaster.
Jax drives like he has a death wish, ending up sideswiping Gangle and Zooble in the process of making it to the finish line on the last lap. Ragatha nearly crashes into a decorative sign.
Pomni, somehow, ends up being way more aggressive behind the wheel than anyone expected. And through it all, Caine is absolutely insufferable over the announcer system.
By the time it’s over, everyone is dropped into a much calmer little “cool-down” environment Caine had prepared afterward— a cozy café tucked away in the middle of the adventure map, all warm lighting, soft music, and little drinks already waiting at the tables.
He's a genius.
“What a show, my talented racers! Time to reward everyone with a relaxing evening at the café, with definitely nothing else planned!
It’s supposed to be a nice break.
And, more importantly, it was supposed to be his chance.
Everyone’s too busy talking over each other about the race to notice him lingering nearby, trying to find the right moment to pull you aside.
“Pomni, I never thought I’d see you on the road like that,” Ragatha says, still half-laughing. “That was insane.”
“I panicked!” Pomni defends immediately. “Jax hit me with a shell or whatever that thing was!”
“It was funny!” Jax says, grinning into his drink.
“It was attempted murder! You ran me off the track!” Pomni snaps back. “I almost crashed!”
“That’s the point. I go for the win,” Jax continues, leaning back in his chair. “And you eat shit.”
Meanwhile, Caine is standing just a little too close to your chair, trying and failing to look casual. He opens his mouth once. Closes it. Then tries again.
“Y/N, if I could perhaps borrow you for just one brief, non-alarming, entirely normal—”
And then Bubble floats in. “Oh! Are you finally asking Y/N on that date?”
Everything stops. The music in the background, the employee NPCs freeze, and all the machinery noises stop.
Utter devastating silence.
Pomni goes still, absolutely horrified by what she'd just witnessed. Ragatha’s eyes go wide, her hands cupping her glass of iced coffee as she gasps aloud. Jax practically folds in half over his café chair.
Caine freezes like he’s just been shot, smacking a hand over his own mouth even though he didn’t say anything.
It’s over. Oh, it’s so over. They all know.
“Bubble,” he says, with terrifying calm.
Bubble blinks, still wearing a huge grin like nothing happened. “What?”
“You have,” he says slowly, “exactly three seconds to leave my line of sight.”
Bubble: 😀
You turn in your seat to look at him. “…Date?”
And just like that, there’s no escape. No backup plan. Just everyone staring at him.
Jax is already losing it, literally shaking in his chair. Pomni looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole on his behalf. And Caine— poor, doomed, deeply unfortunate Caine— has no choice but to suffer.
...
Then, in one horribly abrupt burst out loud: “YES! Fine! Yes, I was trying to ask you on a date! Preferably in a manner that was significantly more suave than this.”
Jax makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke. Caine ignores him with every ounce of strength he has left.
His eyes stay on you now. And despite everything— the humiliation, the chaos, the complete destruction of all his careful planning—
It wasn’t supposed to turn out this badly.
…
And you’re grinning.
At him.
Not a sympathetic, judgmental, or teasing one— more like a satisfied one.
“Why didn’t you just ask?” you say, a grin tugging at your lips as you lean a little closer. Your fingers gently tug the sleeve of his still-on black-and-white checkered referee jacket.
Ragatha immediately turns away and awkwardly lifts her drink to her mouth for a sip. "..."
Then, just to make absolutely sure his brain short-circuits, you add, “The answer is yes, by the way.”
She spits it out.
Caine snaps toward you so fast it’s almost comical.
“WHAT?!” His entire body jerks upright so violently it looks like his spine got replaced with a spring.
“Really?!” he blurts, voice cracking right up into the stratosphere. “You mean— truly?! Sincerely? Genuinely? With full awareness of what is happening right now?!”
“Yep.”
There is a beat.
Then Caine absolutely loses his mind.
He points at you. Then at himself. Then at you again. Then both hands just go everywhere at once, flapping uselessly like he’s trying to conduct an orchestra mid-emergency as he laughs aloud.
“YOU? Choose... me?! Me?!” he sputters. “You picked me?! Out of— out of everyone here?! Voluntarily?! Under no pressure?”
“Yes, Caine.”
Then, without warning, he spins in a full circle, grabs both sides of his head to stop it, and blurts: “Well, this is off-script.”
Jax snorts. “Aren’t you always off-script?”
“NOT LIKE THIS!” Caine snaps at him. “This was supposed to be elegant! It was supposed to be perfect! There were phases, Jax! Phases! The perfect sunset, the perfect atmosphere!”
“I HAD A TIMELINE!” he shouts, scandalized. “There was a reveal, a dramatic emotional cue! There was... there was supposed to be romantic music and—”
Bubble gasps. “Ohhh, and the confetti?”
“NO, BUBBLE, NOT THE CONFETTI—”
BOOM!
A cannon somewhere in the ceiling fires, somehow shaking the entire café, blasting a violent storm of glittering, holographic heart-shaped confetti into the café.
Everyone screams in unison.
“NOOOO!” Caine shrieks, shielding his face from the falling paper hearts like he’s under attack by the enemy. “IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO GO OFF UNTIL THE HAND-HOLDING PHASE!”
Jax is doubled over laughing. “You had a hand-holding phase?!”
“Caine, I told you not to do the confetti cannons! It was supposed to be simple!” Pomni sinks into her chair in disappointment and shame.
Ragatha covers her mouth, torn between horror and laughter. “Caine…”
“No, no, this is— this is—” he gestures vaguely, pacing in a tight circle, throwing his arms around like he’s attempting to swim for his life. (To be fair, he is... emotionally.) “T-This is structurally unsound romance execution! It's ruined!"
“You’re covered in confetti!” Zooble says flatly.
“I KNOW!!”
“AND YOU—” Caine whips around so fast he nearly spins out, pointing at Bubble with scandalized fury. “YOU are no longer permitted to assist in any romantic operations! Never, ever again! You are banned! Banned from love!”
Bubble still floats there like: 😀
Jax is finally able to speak through his laughter, wiping tears away from both eyes. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”
Caine clamps both hands over his jaws.
“Oh, this is— this is catastrophically embarrassing,” he groans into his gloved palms. “I need to go to... to...”
And then— he peeks through his fingers and sees you smiling at him.
He just… stops.
Stops the freakout, stops the panic in his chest. At least, long enough to actually think about something other than the embarrassment. His shoulders shrivel and his hands lower.
“You’re still smiling,” he says, like this is somehow another unexpected variable.
“Yeah.”
That somehow hits him. For the second time. Even harder.
He whips back toward you so fast he nearly trips, and somehow still manages to look wildly, helplessly excited underneath all the fluster.
“That was really cute and all,” you start, pushing yourself up from your chair, “that you were trying this hard to impress me.”
“I-...” he slowly relaxes. “You... think... it’s cute? You think... I’m cute?”
“Well, yeah!” You chuckle. “I always knew you liked me. It was obvious.”
Caine’s lower jaw drops straight through the floor.
Literally.
“You... knew?”
“We all knew, dumbass,” Zooble mumbles.
“…Oh.”
“…But listen, I like you, too.” You go ahead and blurt it out already. “I meant it. Let’s go out on a date.”
Jax immediately makes the loudest fake gagging noise known to man. “I think I’m gonna puke. This is so gross.”
“Jax,” Ragatha hushes, “shut up!”
“No, no, I’m sorry, this is just so revoltingly sincere I almost threw up.”
...
There is awkward silence once again.
“So, uh... I guess it’s time to get ready. For the date.” You break the silence.
“Oh, right! Right.” Caine stammers nervously before swining his cane, opening a portal to teleport everyone back to the circus.
“Ahem... Farewell, my racers! I’ve got a DATE to get ready for!” he announces on full blast before disappearing instantly with a snap.
Everyone is quiet.
“…Well that was... an experience,” Jax says, breaking the silence. With a sigh, he turns to walk through the glistening portal. “I’m going to sleep. Have fun with the date or whatever.”
FIRST DATE
— Okay, so, first date! Shouldn’t be too hard to plan, right?
— Honestly? Caine never planned this far. He was so focused on making the proposal perfect that he finds himself blankly staring at his own reflection.
— Wears his best suit of all time: THE BLACK SPARKLY SUIT (oh yeah, you know the one). You deserve nothing but perfection, and he wants to make a good first impression.
Something the reader doesn’t know: he polishes his teeth and eyes beforehand. Not with a toothbrush, I’m talking with a full-sized handheld car polish buffer. Gotta keep ’em clean and shiny!
— Spends an absurd amount of time trying to decide what kind of date you’d like best. Not what he thinks is best for you— someplace you’d actually enjoy. He cycles through dozens of ideas before finally settling on something that feels special.
Fancy candlelit dinner? Nah, too formal.
Fireworks over a digital skyline? No, no, too much pressure.
A quiet walk through a pretty little custom-made world?
…Okay. That one stays.
— Rose in hand, he tries very, very hard to act smooth when he comes to pick you up. And for about five seconds? It actually works... then you smile at him and his entire thought process just completely derails.
He had a full greeting prepared, but forgets all of it the second he sees you.
Ends up just blurting: “YOULOOKVERYNICE!”
“…Caine, I have nothing else to wear. This is just... my normal outfit.”
— ABSOLUTE GENTLEMAN. Offers his arm for you to grab on the way out of your room. He stands up straighter, talks a little too formally, keeps trying to casually compliment you despite his blatant awkwardness.
“Still— you are looking particularly— uh— exceptionally— aesthetically—”
“…Pretty?”
“…Y-Yes! That one!”
— Once you’re both there? He keeps checking to make sure you’re having a good time. Constantly. I mean, every few minutes, in a “please tell me I’m not ruining this” kind of way.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Do you like this?”
“Would you prefer a different ambiance? Do you not like the swans?”
— You assure him you’re enjoying yourself.
— Naturally, the date doesn’t go so perfectly. Walking next to your romantic date in the middle of the night? The swan props malfunctions nearby. Romantic music involved? The music cuts out at the worst time or glitches.
And honestly? That’s what makes it fun.
Instead of everything falling apart, you laugh.
— In that moment, when he realizes you’re having fun even when it’s imperfect? He’s relieved.
— Be careful, he’s fragile. You bat those pretty eyelashes at him? Caine is momentarily stunned. Oh, and the first time you casually touch him during the date? He nearly glitches out.
Could be his arm, his sleeve... or even better, his hand. Doesn’t matter where— whatever cool composure he managed to scrape together is gone immediately.
— If you let him hold your hand again? Oh, he is DONE for. He tries so hard to play it cool, but his fingers are so careful when they lace with yours, like he’s worried he’ll somehow ruin the moment if he moves wrong.
He tries to hide it, but keeps sneaking glances down at your joined hands like he can’t believe it’s actually happening.
Meanwhile, his hand is literally trembling in yours. He swears he’s okay.
— By the end of the date, he’s less focused on impressing you and more on being near you. Sure, the night started with him trying to orchestrate a perfect, romantic experience, but honestly, it didn’t need one.
In the end, he’d be perfectly content just sitting beside you in comfortable silence if it meant the date didn’t have to end yet.
— Does not want to say goodnight. At all, actually. Even when you two are standing outside your bedroom door, he keeps dragging it out in the most painfully obvious ways possible.
“Well! This, um... I guess concludes the romantic evening!”
“I guess it does.” You smile.
“…Very successful evening, I may add!”
“Uh huh.”
— Bro still doesn’t walk away. For a moment, he just stares at you wide-eyed, unable to move his legs for some unknown reason.
Then, after a small pause, you ask softly:
“…Do you want a kiss?”
Caine goes still. Not dramatically like before— it’s more like his entire system genuinely stalls out for a second.
“I—”
And that is apparently all he’s got.
His shoulders stiffen. His posture straightens a little too much. He glances at you, then immediately away— then back again like he’s not sure where he’s supposed to be looking.
Obviously, the answer is yes.
He just clearly was not emotionally prepared to say it out loud yet.
“…That,” he says at last, voice just a touch higher than usual, “is… a very important question.”
You can’t help but smile.
“Well?”
“…Yes.”
And somehow, that tiny little answer is more sincere than anything else he’s said all night.
“… Can you kiss?” you ask purely out of curiosity— and definitely not like you wanted to test it out for yourself.
“Er— uh...” Caine sputters.
“I mean, physically. You don’t have lips.”
He opens his mouth, only to close it. Very good point.
“…I— I could try,” he whispers, clearly paranoid about his surroundings all of a sudden, glancing at the walls around him. “I’ve never... kissed anyone before.”
Aww.
You grin. How cute... honest, but cute.
Then he adjusts his jacket with sudden urgency, visibly starting to sweat again.
“Though, in my defense,” he says quickly (maybe in an attempt to save his dignity), “this is not exactly a design flaw I anticipated becoming relevant!”
You chuckle softly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
That gets his attention immediately.
“No! I mean—” He attempts to save whatever is left of this moment. “No, I do. V-Very much so!”
Both of you lock eyes with each other once more.
All is quiet.
...
Then, slowly, Caine leans in.
Carefully.
Like he’s trying not to ruin something fragile.
There’s the tiniest hesitation right before he reaches you. He gives you one last pause, like he’s giving you every chance to stop him if you want to, just in case.
But when you don’t?
He finally closes the distance.
Sure, it’s awkward and a little clumsy— mostly just him pressing his teeth against your lips. But surprisingly...
It’s soft.
When he pulls back, it’s only by a few inches.
His jaws open slightly, just so his eyes can peek through.
“…Was that,” he asks quietly, “acceptable?”
This makes you laugh as you pull away.
“That was cute.”
. . .
“Well, um,” you say, glancing at the watch around your wrist, “I’m going to go to sleep.”
Caine is hesitant to let go of your hand, but once he does, he awkwardly fiddles with the hem of his glove.
“Goodnight.” You turn away, pushing the doorknob open as you glance back one more time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“O-Okay.”
“Night!”
Once again, Caine finds himself standing in front of your bedroom door. But instead of nerves, the only thing on his mind is disbelief.
Then, very slowly—
he turns around and immediately freezes.
Because down the hall...
Gangle is peeking out of her door. Wait, hold on. Not just Gangle.
Pomni is halfway leaning out of hers, too, both eyes wide.
And Ragatha is very much not subtle about it, fully standing in the doorway with both hands gripping the frame.
All three of them are staring at him in SHOCK at what they just witnessed.
. . .
“…You nosy little—!”
Pomni points at him instantly. “YOU KISSED Y/N!”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did,” Ragatha says, already covering her mouth with both hands like she’s trying not to squeal. “Oh my gosh!!”
Gangle makes a tiny, delighted noise, clasping her ribboned hands together. “Aww… that was cute!”
“HEY!” Caine immediately straightens, one hand flying to his chest in outrage. “That was a private interaction! A confidential exchange! A classified emotional event! How dare you—”
Ragatha leans forward a little more, eyes practically sparkling. “Wait— was that your first kiss? Please tell me that was your first kiss.”
“…No,” he says far too quickly.
The hallway goes silent.
“I SAW IT!”
Bubble pops into existence right above his shoulder.
Caine shrieks, jolting so hard he nearly levitates off the floor, whipping around so fast he almost loses his balance. “BUBBLE?!”
Bubble is absolutely beaming. “You kissed them! With your little teeth!”
“Wait, your teeth?” Pomni narrows her eyes.
“I DON’T HAVE LIPS!”
Pomni falls to her knees, one hand slapped over her mouth as she tries... and fails not to laugh.
Ragatha physically turns away, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God.”
Gangle lets out the tiniest, muffled squeak and ducks halfway behind her door like that’ll somehow hide how utterly delighted she is right now.
Caine straightens abruptly, brushing at his sleeves like he can physically smooth the situation back under control.
“That is not the issue here,” he snaps. “The issue is that the four of you have somehow transformed a deeply personal moment into a hallway spectacle!”
Bubble gasps. “It was a very good hallway spectacle!”
Ragatha lowers her hands just enough to grin. “Okay, but… was it nice?”
"I—" Caine, in an attempt to throw a wall up between them, looks away entirely. “…That is not information you are entitled to. None of your business!”
“Oh my gosh, it was,” Ragatha squeaks.
Gangle clasps her ribboned hands together again. “Aww…”
That does it!
Caine points at all four of them with deep, trembling offense. “You know what? That’s enough. I can’t take any more of this!”
Pomni immediately loses it, practically coughing up a lung. Ragatha frantically covers her mouth again, while Gangle squeaks and pulls her bedroom door shut.
“Yes! Retreat! GO TO BED!” Caine blurts, backing away down the hall. “Goodnight! Goodbye! This conversation is over— forever!”
Snap!
He’s gone.
“…I told you guys he liked it!” Bubble chirps.
_________________________________________________
Sorry for the long wait, I've been feeling sick for the past few days y'all, and I wanted to push this bad boy out already
This is more of a headcanons with a story/dialogue. This is how Caine realized he didn't just like you.
Pt 2 here
Warning: Obsession, denial, some angst, and Caine trying wayy too hard.
THE CRUSH
— Caine has a crush on you and won't admit it.
— He's a purebred chatterbox. Can't ever shut up, just constantly talking and talking around you about anything and everything. Just blah, blah, blah, blah.
— Loves to follow you around constantly and doesn’t even realize it. At first, it’s “routine duties,” but somehow he always ends up wherever you are.
— Uses every excuse in the book to make it seem less incriminating.
"Just making sure you’re enjoying the environment!”
“Oh! Fancy seeing you here again! What a coinkydink!"
— Wants to know everything about you (for “organizational purposes”). He asks questions constantly, even if it annoys you. You mention liking something once, and it’s suddenly everywhere. He just wants to be a good friend!
Favorite colors? Incorporated into your environment. Do you have a favorite food? You wake up to it outside your bedroom door.
— He doesn’t even realize he likes to see you light up.
— Absolutely includes things you like within the adventures he creates. He also 'edits' the adventure based on them, too, even if it's last-minute.
— Painfully oblivious. Caine is in aggressive denial, constantly reframing everything as completely normal behavior. He’ll spiral trying to justify it:
No, no, this isn’t a crush! He just really, really likes you! Maybe a bit more than the others, but that’s only because you're delightful!
“I value all my circus members equally! …with minor, negligible variations!”
— Shows off more when you’re watching. Bigger set pieces, flashier effects, more bright colors. After all, it's all a part of the show! (He definitely glances at you mid-performance to see if you’re reacting. Just dont ask him.)
— Laughs way harder at your jokes than necessary. Even if the joke barely lands, he is losing it. Over-the-top laughter, wiping nonexistent tears enthusiastically. He doesn’t even process the joke fully. He just hears you and decides it’s the funniest thing ever.
“HAHAHAHA! OH MY! NO! STOP! That is— you're HILARIOUS!"
— Everyone else around him can't help but cringe a little at his actics. 😬 They awkwardly exchange glances, some shifting uncomfortably as Caine punctures a lung by laughing too hard.
— When you laugh at something he made, he freaks out. Like, visibly gets way too excited about it. He’ll laugh louder than necessary.
"Ah, Yes! Comedy! I intended that!” Meanwhile, internally, everything is going haywire because you liked it. You liked it.
— Compliments from you hit different. He daydreams about it over and over, kicking his feet at the thought of you and all that cutsie stuff as if he's a child.
“They said they liked the adventure! In fact-- it was fun!! Not just adequate! Did you hear that, Bubble?!"
— Bubble does not help the situation. He notices immediately, and, unlike Caine, calls him out simply for fun. They’ll casually point it out mid-conversation like it’s nothing:
“You sure like Y/n!"
“You follow them around a lot!"
“Does someone have a--" "NO!"
— Caine shuts it down instantly.
“Nope, nope, nope! I am simply an intelligent creator! Nothing suspicious at all!”
"ShutUPshutupSHUTUP-"
"Coincidence! All coincidence!”
— He doesn't realize you're his favorite, but everyone else does.
THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM
"I think they're gone."
Jax sprawls across a bench, throwing his arms behind his head. “Okay, If no one is going to say it, I will. what the hell is going on with Caine and Y/n?”
"Jax, we really shouldn't judge—"
“And just act like nothing's happening? Yeah, sure, that'll get you far." Jax interrupts.
Pomni, sitting criss-cross applesauce nearby, fidgets around with the hem of her glove. “…He has been acting different. Way different."
Immediately, all eyes turn to her.
Zooble tilts their head, arms crossed. “I mean, you're not wrong, but I dont really talk to him that of—”
“He’s completely obsessed,” Jax blurts. "And it's been an absolute pain to even hold a conversation with him! Hell, I can't even listen for five minutes without walking away. Its honestly embarrassing."
Ragatha says nothing, while everyone else glances at each other... but he shrugs. “What? Am I wrong? Say it."
There is a moment of silence.
"There," Jax closes his eyes and leans his head back. "I'm right."
Gangle, twisting her ribboned fingers, murmurs, “He pays a lot of attention to Y/n. More than anyone else. I feel like he doesn't notice us anymore.”
Zooble nods. “Caine prioritizes them, probably more than he does us. I never knew that would bother me."
Ragatha looks uneasy. "I-I thought he was just trying to make them comfortable. I mean, he cares about us, right? Maybe?"
Jax snorts, challenging her statement of empathy. “Oh, yeah? Then why doesn’t he do that for the rest of us? C'mon, Ragatha. Have some brains."
"Hey!" She shot back, albeit unconfidently.
Pomni glances toward your general direction. “…He changes stuff for them. I don't just mean around here—it's the adventures too— he keeps adjusting it. Just to make them, I dunno, satisfied? Entertained?"
Zooble adds, almost clinically, “He runs around really often and hesitates around Y/n. That’s not typical at all." Ragatha blinks, repeating Zooble's phrase: “Hesitates? I mean.."
“Yeah." Jax smirks, throwing his hand up to the sky dramatically (for effect) "Uh-oh! Our all-powerful ringmaster suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. What. A. Shocker."
Kinger shuffles in, almost from nowhere, scratching his head. "Oh hey, Pomni! What're you guys doin'?"
Everyone turns. Jax rolls his eyes. “Kinger, c'mon sit down. We’re talking about Caine and, well, you know. There's no way you haven't noticed it, too. Well... unless you didn't have eyeballs."
Kinger blinks. “Caine… oh. Oh! Right, right! uh…” He scratches behind his ear. “I mean, he's been acting kinda funny, huh?”
Pomni frowns slightly. “Funny how? You mean strange?"
Kinger shrugs, a little lost in thought. “He watches them. A lot. A saw em' yesterday. I dunno. He seems… worried. I've never seen him like that before— I think?"
"Careful?” Ragatha repeats, voice sharp now.
Kinger nods, oblivious to the tension he just amplified. “Yeah! If something might happen to them, he changes things. Makes it… safer for them."
Zooble finally exhales, throwing their pointer 'finger' in straight at Kinger as a light bulb just flicked on above their head. “Bingo! That explains it!”
Jax gapes. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying the unstable ringmaster actually cares about someone? This isnt some sort of act to get us riled up again?"
Pomni nods. "More than anyone else, yes.”
Gangle shifts and slightly lowers her happy mask, glancing towards Zooble. “…And why it doesn’t stop.”
Jax groans. “Great. He’s obsessed and reality’s at risk. That’s not terrifying at all. What else can go wrong? At this point, we're all guaranteed a casket six feet down."
Everyone stares at him. Even Zooble.
“…Should we do something? We have to, or...” Gangle asks finally, her voice small, lowering her happy mask even more to reveal her 'sad masked' face.
"..something bad will happen?" Zooble shrugs. “We can’t ignore it like it doesn't exist."
Ragatha frowns. “…We shouldn’t confront him all at once.” Jax perks up and lets out a cackle from his chest, using both arms to push himself up onto his bum. “Oh, come on, that’d be hilarious--”
“No,” she says firmly. “He’ll just deny it and run away. I've seen him do the same to Bubble."
Pomni nods. "Or he'll spiral and fall apart. We have to come up with some sort of plan!”
Zooble tilts their head. “Individual approaches would be the safe route. Who knows what would happen if we all confronted him at the same time. Could be some kind of disaster."
Gangle glances nervously at Kinger, who waves vaguely. “Uh… yeah. Talk to him one at a time."
Ragatha nods. “Very gently. Be soft. That means you, Jax."
Jax sighs, almost as if he's admitting defeat, and lays onto his back once more. “…We better figure out what this is and make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. No promises, Ragatha."
Another moment of silence.
Pomni glances towards your direction, observing you as your face is practically shoved into one of the books Caine gave to you after the last adventure.
Kinger breaks the silence. "What were we talking about?"
THE TALKS
JAX
Jax, of course, is not gentle.
“Man, you are down BAD. It’s embarrassingly obvious.”
Immediate, instinctive denial. “I am not! That is… an unfounded, wildly inaccurate—”
“Look,” Jax interrupts, grinning, “you literally changed the entire map because they said they liked stars.”
Caine freezes mid-gesture. “That was… only an aesthetic choice!” His voice cracks a little.
“Yeah?” Jax leans against the wall, smirk widening. “Then why were you watching them the whole time? Are they that interesting to you? To where you're unaware of your surroundings?"
Caine’s legs feel like jelly. "I—" He fidgets, hands twisting together. “I was… monitoring their engagement! Absolutely nothing suspicious!”
“Mm-hmm,” Jax hums, arms folded, eyes sharp. “Your body language says otherwise.”
“I… it does not!" Caine protests, voice slightly too high-pitched.
"You lie. It’s screaming,” Jax says casually, leaning closer, almsot to where Caine can feel his breath against his...well... 'face'?
“Literally screaming.”
Caine’s composure cracks, just for a fraction of a second. He straightens, overcorrecting posture, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You are misinterpreting my behavior! I am the most attentive, smart—”
“Sure you are,” Jax says with a chuckle, leaning away from him now, practically sneering. “I thought so."
" You’re toast, buddy.”
Caine is taken aback.
“And honestly," Jax pushes off the wall, brushing past him while giving a side-eye. “I’m kinda jealous. You're wrapped around their finger. But, hey! If you won't admit it to me, someone else might make ya crack instead."
Caine stands frozen, jaw tight. “I—I do not have a secret!"
This time, it doesn’t sound convincing.
RAGATHA
In contrast to Jax, Ragatha is more soft and understanding. “You don’t have to pretend, you know. We can all see it.” she smiles, almost comfortingly. "There's no need to hide it anymore."
Caine brightens immediately, smiling too fast. “I never pretend! I am as honest as—"
"No, no." Ragatha watches quietly and sighs, tilting her head slightly. “…No. You're not understanding..."
The word lands hard. His fingers twitch, posture stiffens slightly. “…It is, uh, merely purely professional! I worry for all of my circus friends!"
“Caine…” Ragatha tilts her head gently. “You're still not getting it."
He stops.
"I know you're scared."
The word rattles him. He tries to redirect, blinking rapidly. “Scared? Impossible! I am never scared! How could I be scared?? Haha.." he chuckles nervously, turning away and throwing his head back.
But the laugh didn't work.
"Do you remember the last adventure? When Y/n dropped the cup?” Her voice softens.
“…The cup?” Caine’s head tilts, uncertain, spinning back around to look her in the eye. If he could sweat, he surely would be right now.
"Oh, yes! The cup! Er— what about it?"
“They didn’t notice at first, but you caught it. And you stayed until they felt okay again. They felt really bad. Poor thing apologized a million times."
His gaze shifts, faltering. “I was nearby… as a friend must be! Readiness is paramount! Y/n was simply upset!"
Ragatha hums. “And yet, you didn’t leave their side. You were attentive.”
Caine opens his mouth— then closes it. "Well, yes, i was being attentive. That’s all! Its what a friend does: they help their buddies feel better!”
She smiles softly. “You care about them. That’s all.”
He laughs, tight and airy, posture twitching. “Yes! Entirely! Like a friend! Nothing more!” His voice rises in pitch, almost cracking. He darts away mid-step, fidgeting. “I— uh— I must… plan the next adventure!”
Ragatha doesn’t push. She watches quietly. He’s unraveling like a VHS tape.
However, Ragatha's words still weren't enough.
ZOOBLE
Zooble is anything but gentle.
"Hey, Caine."
"Ah, hello Zoob—" Caine whirls around abruptly to greet his friend. Zooble steps into his space, blocking the path, eyes sharp. “You’re being weird."
He throws his head back and laughs. “I am always weird! That is my brand! Per usual! You know me!"
“No, no. Not like this. It's different.” They tilt their head and gesture toward the reader’s room down the hall, fingers precise and deliberate. “You’re prioritizing Y/n more than any of us. We all see it." They spat.
He blinks sharply— his eye twitching almost imperceptibly, “I prioritize all guests!”
“No, you don’t. Not like that.” Zooble leans in slightly, arms crossed, the both eyes squinting.
Naturally, Caine doubles down, which only makes things worse. “This is normal! I'm normal!"
Zooble doesn’t back down. Their gaze flicks toward the reader’s bedroom door again. “You adjust adventures for them first. You watch their reactions more. You hesitate before doing stuff around them. You always think of them first."
Damn, they did their homework on this one. Each point lands harder than the last, the evidence measurable and undeniable.
“That’s just for... improvement! I want my adventures to be more fun!”
“For one person. I'd say that's inefficient.” Zooble emphasizes the last word, folding arms, unyielding.
There it is. "Inefficient?"
“Yes.” Zooble frames it in the one language he can’t ignore, crossing their arms, leaning slightly to emphasize each word. “If this was a system,” they continue, “you’d call it a bias.”
He blinks, repeating the word, “…A bias.”
“So,” Zooble continues, leaning forward slightly, “So what is it? Tell me. Don't keep giving me that bull crap, I know you've been lying!"
“…It’s complicated!" Caine laughs nervously, twisting his fingers.
Zooble nods once, slow, knowing. “Yeah. Thought so." If they had a mouth, it would smirk, the corner of their mouth quirking as they lean back slightly, arms still crossed, relaxed but still sharp.
Caine shifts, hands fiddling, cheeks warming (well... if he had cheeks), visibly humiliated.
“But admit it… you’re completely messed up over Y/n.”
He stammers, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I— uh— I am not! That is an exaggeration!"
Zooble leans forward slightly, voice teasing now.
“Uh-huh. Yeah, sure. Totally normal. Totally not… cute as hell when you’re hiding it.”
"Cute?!" Caine practically barks in response. “…But… you’re saying I’m completely… messed up over Y/n?”
"Yep."
“I—uh—I am not! That is incorrect, I swear! I—I—”
Caine freezes, shuffling a step back. “I am perfectly composed! Entirely!”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”
His gaze flicks toward your door for just a second. He groans aloud, 'head' tilting back in frustration.
Zooble straightens, cool but satisfied.
“Yet… admit it. You’re completely messed up over Y/n.”
Their job here is done.
GANGLE
It's Gangle's turn. She approaches him hesitantly, her steps small, uneven. Her mask tilts just slightly as she peers up at him. “Um, Caine…? Can I talk to you?"
He perks up instantly, posture snapping upright. "Oh, Gangle! I didn't see you there. Of course! What can I do for you?"
“You sound different.” That stops him.
…Oh, not this again.
Caine can't help but sigh.
Gangle shifts her weight, hands fidgeting together. “When you talk to Y/n.”
There’s a pause.
His eye begins to twitch. A sharp, irritated twitch. His entire demeanor begins to... change. Slightly.
Ragatha said that.
Zooble said that.
Why does everyone keep—
No, no. Happy thoughts. He laughs, quick and tight, stretched thin at the edges. “I assure you, I am consistently delightful across all interactions! No need to worry about little old me!"
It’s brighter than it needs to be. Sharper, too.
Gangle’s fingers curl together. She shakes her head gently. “No… you’re softer.”
Something in him snaps. His posture stiffens hard, the twitch in his eye more noticeable now. “WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP ASKING ME THIS?!” The outburst is abrupt, frustration spilling over like an overflowing bucket.
Gangle flinches, only to drop her happy mask, which shatters upon contact with the floor as she takes a small step back.
Caine immediately starts pacing, agitation bleeding through in quick, uneven movements. He can’t even stay still, practically digging a hole into the ground with each step.
“It’s been Ragatha, then Zooble, and now you—” he gestures wildly, exasperated, flustered. “What is this?! Some kind of— of coordinated effort to— to—”
Oh, he knows exactly what they're doing now!
He cuts himself off with a sharp inhald, pressing his fingers briefly against his teeth, as if trying to steady himself. “They’ve been talking, haven’t they? I-I know you're a part of it too!"
It slips out more accusing than he means it to.
Gangle doesn’t answer right away. Which is an answer in and of itself. He lets out another cackle— but it’s thinner now. Caine is clearly embarrassed, feeling cornered like a rabbit, having no idea how to get out of this situation.
“Well! How… collaborative. How wonderfully— efficient of you all!”
The words come out faster, messier, like he’s trying to outrun the feeling creeping up his spine. “That is completely unnecessary! There is nothing to discuss! Nothing to analyze! Nothing! So just stop trying to--”
He stops pacing. He suddenly remembers who he's talking to.
Gangle.
...
Oh. Right.
His shoulders drop, just a little. The tension falters. “…I’m sorry.” It’s uncharacteristically quiet.
Gangle relaxes slightly, though her hands still fidget. “It’s okay."
Caine exhales, something uneven in it. His voice drops again, sounding... serious? Maybe even honest?
“…That’s not intentional.”
“I know.” And she does.
Gangle glances toward you briefly, then back at him, her posture small but steady. “You care about them in a way that hurts, don’t you?”
Caine’s gaze shifts away, unfocused. His hands fidget again, slower this time, like he’s forgotten how to hide it properly.
“…I don’t know how to stop it.”
It slips out.
He freezes, slapping a hand over his own mouth.
That wasn’t supposed to be said. Great job, idiot.
You gave it all away.
A beat passes, and just as quickly, he tries to recover, a strained laugh slipping in.
“Well! Not that there’s anything to stop, of course! Entirely hypothetical! Purely, uh—"
It's already falling apart halfway through.
Gangle doesn’t push. She just nods, small and understanding, her hands relaxing slightly. “You don’t have to.”
The silence that follows feels different now.
Caine doesn’t move, like his stupid feet are glued to the ground.
For a moment, it almost looks like he might say something else... something honest again.
But instead, he straightens, composure snapping back into place, just a little crooked this time. “Yes! Well! I have... uhh— important matters to attend to!”
He turns, already halfway gone before the sentence finishes. “Goodbye, Gangle!" And just before he snaps to disappear, there’s the faintest hesitation in his step.
Like he almost looked back.
POMNI
Pomni notices before she fully understands it. Not just the way Caine hovers around you—everything changes when you’re involved.
One day, she finally asks. “Why are you treating Y/n differently?”
Caine doesn’t hesitate… at first. “I treat every—!"
“Not everyone.” That cuts him off.
For once, his usual confident, performative tone falters. His gaze drops to the floor. “…I… I— well— of course! They have simply a very important role to—!"
Pomni frowns slightly. “That’s not what this is.”
There it is— the weight of what he’s been avoiding.
He looks everywhere but at her, like a child. His hands fidget faintly at his sides, slower, less precise, like he’s run out of rehearsed responses.
"You can tell me."
...
“…I don’t know what this is,” he admits, voice small.
Quiet.
“You like Y/n, don’t you? Pomni shifts on her feet, remaining gentle but direct. "You can admit it. You don’t have to deny it anymore.”
Caine’s shoulders tense, a subtle shiver passing through him. He doesn’t look up. He simply doesn’t have the strength to.
“…I… I’ve never said it out loud before.”
Pomni softens, giving a little smile. “It’s not bad to have a crush, you know. Not something to hide."
“…It’s not?”
The words come almost like a question to the floor, uncertain and fragile.
Pomni nods. “No. It’s normal. Heck, I’ve had a crush before! Not the end of the world!”
Another moment of silence.
Caine exhales, a faint tremor of relief passing through him. His fingers twist together nervously, then relax slightly. “…Yes. I… just… I want them to be happy here."
"...More than the others.”
Pomni tilts her head slightly, voice quiet but firm. “And you can admit that too, you know. You don’t have to hide it anymore.”
Caine’s gaze slowly lifts towards her, eyes wide, pupils flickering with the realization of how much he cares. But there's fear, too. A lot of it.
“…Pomni?” His voice is soft, hesitant. "I… don’t really know how to… do this. Any of it. Could you… maybe help me?”
"Please?"
Pomni blinks, small smile tugging at her lips. “Of course." She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder affectionately. "I’ve got you.”
Caine’s head snaps up, looking at her hand, before locking eye contact with her, eyes brightening. A tiny, excited bounce in his stance. “Really?! You’d help me?! Even after I—”
Pomni interrupts gently. “It’s no biggie. You didn’t mean it.”
“W-Wait, wait! There’s— uh—...one condition!”
Pomni raises an eyebrow. “...Okay?”
Caine leans in slightly, lowering his voice like it’s the most serious thing in the world. “You have to promise not to tell anyone! Not a soul!"
Caine quickly holds out his hand, pinky extended, practically vibrating with urgency. “Pinky swear!”
Well it's kinda too late for that one. Pomni can’t help the small chuckle that slips through her lips. Ah, well. She hooks her pinky with his anyways. “Pinky swear.”
The moment seals, and something in Caine settles... just a little bit.
Then, almost immediately, the energy comes rushing back. He lets out a breathy, relieved laugh, shoulders bouncing slightly. “…Okay. Okay! This is good! This is—this is normal."
He pauses, glancing briefly in your direction before looking back at Pomni.
“…I really do like Y/n.”
And this time, he doesn’t try to take it back.
Is love supposed to feel this good?
KINGER
Kinger doesn’t approach with intent; he just ends up next to Caine one day.
Who, of course, is looking at you.
“…Do you ever feel like something is… missing?”
“Huh? Missing?” Caine blinks, caught a bit off-guard after making goo-goo eyes at Y/n for the past 15 minutes instead of working on adventures.
“Missing? Impossible! Everything is meticulously designed! What else could be missing?”
Kinger nods. “But then sometimes something isn’t missing.”
Caine’s smile falters. "What?"
“And it’s worse.”
“Worse?” His gaze leaps from you to Kinger, his leg swinging stops abruptly.
“Because then you can lose it.”
Caine tries to recover. “I cannot ‘lose’ anything! Everything here is under my control!”
Kinger hums. “…I thought that about her too.” He doesn’t elaborate.
Her.
Silence stretches.
“…You sure watch them a lot.”
Caine opens his mouth— but stops, molars grinding tight, his legs kicking uncontrollably.
“I used to do that,” Kinger continues. “Before I forgot why.”
Caine’s gaze drops. “…Why?”
“…Because they mattered.”
...
Kinger blinks. “Oh! Did you hear something?” Then wanders off.
Caine is left alone, shoulders hunched, fidgeting. It’s not just a crush anymore— it’s important; and that's scary.
ACCEPTANCE
It doesn't feel wrong anymore, and maybe that's the strangest part. The fact that he's okay with it.
"I love Y/n."
"They matter to me."
He can’t stop the tiny smile, the subtle little hum of energy, the way his pulse kicks up in his chest at the thought.
He can’t help but laugh out loud, and it’s not the sharp, performative laugh of before. This one is soft, sincere, messy in the best way.
Somewhere under it all, there’s that thought, sharp and insistent:
I hath returned!! Get ready for heavy affection, attention, and obsession by a 2-dimensional God!
NSFW Warning: A brief handsy, sloppy, EXCITED toon ahead!
• Aren't you the cutest little thing?! Like, he can't get enough. He can't stand it — in the best way. Your bashfulness wraps around his heart like a velvet ribbon. He’s hooked from the first moment you shyly glance away.
• Mr. Ring-A-Ding thinks your shy demeanor is downright adorable. You’re magnetic, and he just can’t stay away. Your shyness is (in one way or another) relentlessly attractive, similar to a black hole.
• Because he likes shy! You can bet your bottom-dollar he’ll be finding a dozen flashy ways to woo you and sweep you off your feet-- Smooth-talking one-liners, even a dramatic bow with a wink. Bro will even kiss your hand melodramatically before offering his hand for you to peck in return.
"Oh, you sweet thing..! No need to be so shy! I don't bite!" ;)
• Unapologetically forward, but never disrespectful. He’s a gentleman through and through-- just one with a big mouth and a bigger heart. He makes his intentions known loud and clear:
“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve seen since they stopped selling sugar by the barrel!”
• He's such a gentleman, making the move first and making his intentions very clear at the start. You're cute, sweet, and definitely on his menu.
• Lux knows exactly what is going on under that bashful exterior.
• That soft heart, the nerves, the secret little sparks you try to hide. The way you glance away from him to the ground, how you fiddle with your hands. Even the way you shuffle your feet is lovable.
• This toon is a MASSIVE tease. He’ll lean in with a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded:
“Well, well, well… what have we here? …Awww, is someone shy? That’s okay, honey. Oh, how I love ‘em shy.”
• Can’t stop thinking about you when you’re gone. Literally spinning in his little theatre seat, sighing dramatically while the curtain falls.
“Be still, my beating heart…”
This toon is so dramatic when in love.
• Public affection? Oh, darling, prepare yourself. He thrives on making you blush in front of others-- kissing the back of your hand with a flourish or whispering something cheeky right against your ear. Your shyness only fuels him more.
• But when it’s just the two of you… he tones it down (just a little). His teasing gets softer, more tender. He likes to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, just to see you squirm and hide behind your hands.
• Always out to make you smile. Even if it means he has to act clumsy or play dirty in several different ways.
• Secretly hopes he can melt away that shy exterior to see who you are internally. Unapologetic and unbounded.
• If you lower those walls? He'll warm up to you even more, sometimes acting childish in front of you to make you laugh-- or to even slightly embarrass you (in a cheeky, loving kind of way) just to see your reaction.
NSFW SECTION
Since you're the quiet type, you're in for a wild ride, so buckle the fuck up.
• Don’t think this guy is fooled by the bashful act-- he knows exactly what’s bubbling under that quiet surface: Arousal. Desire. And you're embarrassed about it.
But, oh... he ain't embarrassed. Not even close.
He's hungry, and deep down you are too.
No shame, no hesitation, and absolutely no chill.
• His hands? Everywhere. Pressing you to the wall, gloved fingers tracing every curve, every fluttering pulse. His animated knee slots between your thighs, gently pushing, nudging. Your squeak? Just what he wants to hear.
• Mr. Ring-A-Ding doesn’t just want to hear you fall apart-- he needs it. And he’ll work for it, whether that means using his hips or that slick, velvet tongue.
• And oh, he will get you noisy. Moaning, whimpering, clinging. He’s relentless with his mouth-- kissing, biting, talking you through it with obscene sweetness. His voice? Like honey dripping off a razor blade.
• No one’s watching now. It’s just you, him, and a stage built for two. And by the time he’s done? You won’t even remember what being shy felt like.
Hello everybody! For the rest of the year, my posting schedule will change. Instead of posting solely Mon-Fri, my posts will become spontaneous all week.
Fall semester (for my college) will start on 08/18 (which coincidentally is my birthday!). I highly value my education and want to shift my focus to my studies, I have big aspirations, goals, and dreams that I want to work towards achieving.
I will still have an online presence, but posting may slow down. Or not. Idk, we'll see lmao. I still have a bunch of ideas and requests I'm working on!
Mr. Ring-A-Ding / Lux Imperator x Passive Reader (Who Can't Defend Themselves)
It's an angsty post for today!
_________________________
Mr. Ring-A-Ding is a man who’s naturally confrontational-- always ready to put his foot down.
That’s who he is: flashy, confident, quick to bite back. His whole deal is charisma, charm, and confidence-- always slick with that carefree grin and go-lucky swagger.
But don’t mistake his shine for softness. His sharp edges are alive and well. Lux doesn’t ignore disrespect; he eats it alive.
When his buttons are pushed, he snaps like a rubber band. Antennae flicked, hands on his hips, his cartoonish grin twisting into something razor-sharp. He stomps his foot, the sound reverberating like a drum. That’s your only warning.
“Say that again, pal. I dare ya. No-- better yet, I double-dog dare ya. Don't make me laugh."
Most people end up either stammering apologies or wishing they’d kept their mouths shut because Lux is a showman of scolding.
But you? You avoid confrontation like the plague.
You’re the kind of person who would smile awkwardly and let the insult pass, hoping it’ll dissolve if you don’t acknowledge it. Or you ignore it all the way.
Lux is baffled. Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you bite back? You’d really let yourself get walked over like a doormat? Watching you shrink away instead of standing your ground short-circuits his instincts.
So he tests you. The next time someone casually talks down to you, Lux doesn’t immediately jump in. Instead, he crosses his arms, tapping one glossy shoe against the ground, just observing.
“…You just gonna let ‘em talk to you like that??” His tone drips with mockery-- but not directed at you, more like he can’t believe you’d let it slide.
When someone really disrespects you in front of him?
Lux’s patience runs out fast. His whole vibe shifts from theatrical observer to snapping turtle.
“Uh-uh, nope. That ain’t how this goes.”
He doesn’t just chew people out-- he makes a performance out of it. Sharp gestures, booming voice, cartoonishly exaggerated facial expressions. It’s equally intimidating and ridiculous, and you almost feel bad for whoever he’s laying into. Almost.
And if you think he’s the guy to ask for someone’s apology? Even to you? Yeah, no. He doesn’t care about “sorries”-- don’t forget that he is still the God of Light.
With the flick of his wrist, they’ve become nothing more than a thin, fragile piece of filmstock, never to be released like a cursed movie.
Afterwards, he turns it on you.
Initially, he finds your passiveness frustrating. But once he realizes it’s fear, not apathy, his attitude softens-- just a little. His antennae tilt forward like worried eyebrows, and his voice loses that sharp edge.
No answer. You look away. He’ll stare at you, half-exasperated and half-worried, tapping his temple with one of his blue fingers.
“Kid, you gotta stand up for yourself. Can’t go lettin’ people walk all over ya like a doormat; And trust me, I ain’t dating no mat. You’re too pretty to be stepped on.”
You mumble something about “not liking fights” and “it’s not worth it.” But it’s deeper than that.
“Not worth it?! Please. Sweetheart, your dignity is always worth it!” He groans loudly, throwing his head back like you’ve just told him you don’t believe in gravity.
You're fiddling with your hands anxiously.
“Don’t worry your sweet head," he sighs and you feel a peck on your head accompanied by a warm hand ruffling your hair. "Let me do the barkin’. You just stick by me. I'll keep holding you, baby."
Lucky for you, you experience the softer side of the storm.
Lux is dramatic, but it’s his way of saying he’ll always step in, even if you won’t.
Deep down, he actually feels for you since this is definitely rooted by some trauma previously-- he’s gentle and won’t force his way into your brain to figure out exactly what happened.
... But he’ll try to relax you into comfortably confiding in him.
He respects your passive streak, but he can’t resist pushing you to stand taller. If you won’t light the fire, he’ll do it for you-- loud and flashy.
Lux’s temper may flare when others cross a line, but the moment he turns to you, it’s like flipping a switch. His voice softens, his antennae angle down, and he’s suddenly all warm eyes and tender smiles.
“Look at me. I’ve gotcha.”
The tension fades, he keeps you close-- his arm snug around your waist, antennae flicking lazily like a heartbeat. You’re still quiet, still chewing on guilt for not speaking up.
And he feels it.
So he'll kiss your frown until it turns upside down.
• Never forget-- he’s a master at dangling temptation in front of unsuspecting mortals. They fall for it every time, stumbling right into his traps. Money, fame, wishes, the whole “I can make your dreams come true” deal.
• Oh, how the tables have turned. He didn’t expect that the next “victim” he’d set his sights on would be the one to ensnare him.
• You could be anyone-- an innocent bystander, a performer, a gambler, or just an unlucky visitor to the CarnEVIL-- either way, you've sparked his interest, and now you're his new victim.
• At first, he doesn’t realize it’s different. It feels like another game of cat-and-mouse…but the longer it goes on, the more the lines blur. It will become increasingly apparent as time progresses.
Let’s take the “innocent bystander” route.
FIRST ENCOUNTER
Your friend convinces you to go to the casino-- just for fun. You’ve never been before, so you agree, figuring a drink or two won’t hurt. You’re not here to gamble, and you’re certainly not here to make deals with the Devil.
Typically, the Devil is a busy man. You won't find him at the casino (surprisingly); he's usually behind the scenes living a luxurious lifestyle while tormenting the living. But today? Today, he’s out surveying his territory, sniffing out “fresh meat.”
The moment his gaze lands on you, something inside him clicks. He knows he's found it.
He turns on the charm instantly-- silken voice, calculated smile and , casual small talk meant to lull you into a false sense of security. Just a little smalltalk will lead to something more sinister later.
“Well, well, well… who do we have here? Haven’t seen you around before.”
But you're smarter than he initially expects. You don’t bite. You're dismissive and shut him down at every turn.
Money? Not interested.
Games? No thanks.
Fame? Nope.
You’ve heard enough stories about him to know better, and the nervous glances from other patrons only confirm your suspicions.
You're obviously uncomfortable, so you finish the rest of your drink and head for the exit with your friend.
But he's insistent, and your disinterest makes him itch. The closer you get to the exit, the more his composure cracks. That smug smile starts to strain as his need to win twists into something else entirely.
“You’re really just gonna walk away? From me?”
Why is your soul suddenly so important? You're not bound to be his by contract; You’ve made no deals, no bets, no promises… yet the thought of letting you walk away feels unbearable.
You find yourself merely meters from the doors, almost to freedom, when his hand shoots out, gripping your arm. You whirl around, wide-eyed, but before he can say a word, your friend yanks you through the exit.
That was the last time you saw him-- at least, in the open. Now, he’s everywhere.
OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES
• The Devil is used to sleeping soundly in his king-sized bed, wrapped in opulence, with all his vices satisfied. But now? Now he can't have the one thing he wants: you.
• He can’t eat, can’t rest, can’t enjoy his usual pleasures-- tormenting the living, destruction, arson, basking in his own glory-- because every thought comes back to you.
• 100% stalker energy, but not in the way you may be thinking. At first, the stalking is “practical.” He learns your daily routine, your habits, your friends-- all in the name of “strategizing.”
But by day three, the plan changes. You’re no longer just a soul to claim.
• He notices the little things: Your laugh, the way you brighten up the room, and the kindness you show even when you don’t have to. How disgusting. But he keeps watching. And watching... and watching.
• Henchman spotted it first, ahead of all the demons residing in the underworld.
“Uh, Boss? You’ve been starin’ out that window for three hours.”
“…Shut it, Henchman. I'm busy.”
The way his boss is distracted, lingering, lost in thought. This sends alarm bells ringing. It’s not a strategy anymore. It’s fixation.
• The Devil uses his shapeshifting. Not to lure or scare you but to stay close-- slipping into the crowd as a stranger, perching in the form of an animal, anything to keep you within reach.
You're smiling. You're laughing. You're full of life, constantly on the move, and most importantly, you've got that sparkle and pizazz he craves so deeply.
• You’re vibrant, untouchable, magnetic. That sparkle in your eyes-- it’s addictive, and worse, it scares him. HIM-- the Devil. 'Cause this isn’t about winning a game, or even about your soul anymore. No. This is about you. And the Devil doesn’t drop the things he wants.
• He turns up everywhere you go-- sometimes casually leaning against a lamppost with that smug smirk, other times lurking in the corner of your eye when you swear you’re alone.
• It’s not a coincidence; he wants you to know you're under his watch.
• There will be some instances where you meet with him again. Especially if you are joining the cup brothers on their tirades. You see everything-- his temper, malice, and... efforts to court you?
• He will go to absurd lengths to win your approval, to appear “cool” in your eyes. Desperate doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Fancy outfits, Over-the-Top Grand Gestures, showing off his “connections”, competing for his attention.
If someone else makes you laugh, he’ll instantly interrupt with a bigger, louder joke or trick.
• Naturally, you fear him (for the most part), but you become more 'accustomed' to his presence as time goes on. There are two different paths you could go on in this instance:
Path #1: What if you actually become attached to him?
• In his eyes, this is nothing short of divine providence-- a wish he didn’t even have to trick you into making.
• He doesn't need the kidnapping, gaslighting, lies, stalking, eliminating rivals. He'll be a happy man-- however, he's going to be attached to you practically 24/7.
• Your affection becomes his greatest treasure… and his most addictive drug. Every smile, every compliment, every loving glance feeds his massive ego until he’s strutting around like the king of the underworld he believes himself to be.
• After all, someone as dazzling as you choosing him? It’s proof, in his mind, that you truly see the “magnificent heart” beneath the horns and hellfire.
• You’ll have your own bed, shower, and space; he’ll feed you anything you crave. Be docile, and he’ll rub your back, lean against you, kiss your forehead, and spend hours gazing at you with an almost unsettling tenderness.
• His favorite thing is holding you and wrapping his arm around your waist-- it's a statement for sure, but also, it takes the edge off of his 'busy life.’
• But also… HOLD HIM.
• PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING—HOLD HIM, too.
• Surprisingly a sweet and passionate lover. When you walk into the room, his entire demeanor changes. He's instantly gushing or yapping to you about something trivial that happened earlier that day.
• You are the only person (besides Henchman) that he will open up to. Emotionally and mentally-- but don't take that for granted.
Path #2: You have no romantic interest.
• Definitely has tantrums knowing that you don't seem to like him. When that realization hits, he’s livid-- ranting in front of Henchman while igniting into flames like a full-blown firenado with every furious gesture.
• The Devil is not self-aware in the slightest-- A man of immense pride, he simply cannot comprehend why you aren’t attracted to him.
Oh, by the way, he remembers how your buddy yanked you out of those exit doors. He’s not letting that go.
• He will isolate you from anyone who might get in the way of his connection to you-- including that friend.
• His methods range from sly and mysterious to devastatingly blunt. If they continue to be the barrier protecting you from him-- they have to do it just enough times to where he becomes sick of it.
• There are different ways he can go about this, from dark to mysterious and devastating. Yeah, they're gone. I don't think he'd kill them, but it is in the realm of possibility.
• If you’re connected to the Cup brothers-- whether as family or close friends-- they’ll know exactly who’s behind this, thanks to their own history with him. And yes, the Devil is still trying to steal Cuphead's soul... but he found an even better idea!
DEALING WITH THE DEVIL
You soon find yourself in a dire situation. The Cups are captured, and you’re the only one left to fight for their return.
Then, he makes you an offer-- a deal laced with poison: He’ll end his tirades against the Cups, release them unharmed, and erase Cuphead’s soul debt entirely… but at a cost. And that cost is you.
“Here’s the deal. I let the boys go, wipe Cuphead’s debt clean… and in exchange, you’re mine. Forever.”
Unfortunately, this does lead to a bad ending. Even if you play your cards right.
This was his plan all along, a perfect trap designed just for you. And he already knows your answer-- because you’d do anything for them.
Desperate, you agree. And he actually keeps his word (shockingly). The Cups are free, but now you’re the one trapped in his claws. Maybe forever.
AFTER THE DEAL
• Once you’re isolated? Oh, you’re stuck.
• Now that you belong to him, this will be an unsteady and unhealthy ride.
• Are you upset? In tears? Furious? He’ll still try to comfort you, even if you curse at him, shove him away, or spit venom in his face. No matter how many times you tell him you hate him, his delusion holds fast-- he believes you must feel the same as he does now that your soul is his.
“Easy, easy… you’ll warm up to me. You have to.”
Though, it wounds his pride when you glare at him. Hurts him, even. Seeing you upset is the only thing that dims his fire. :(
• And if you try to run? He’ll give you a head start— just enough for your hope to flicker—before appearing in front of you without a bead of sweat, looking entirely amused. “Going somewhere, hmm?”
• He’s an emotional gambler. If sweet-talking doesn’t work, he’s not above using guilt or pity. You’ll hear sighs, wounded remarks about how “cruel” you’re being and ignites the theatrics like he’s the tragic hero in a doomed romance.
• His threats, when they come, are dressed as charming little quips-- lighthearted enough to almost fool you-- until you catch the cold glint in his eyes. Spoiler: he’s not joking.
• Deep down, he hopes you’ll eventually develop Stockholm syndrome. He’ll apologize with expensive gifts, lavish meals, or soft touches meant to soothe. It never works.
• If you behave, he'll be good to you.
• He'll make sure you are well taken care of. So follow his rules, and he'll rub your back and lean against you. He'll kiss your forehead and gaze at you for hours.
• His love, when he thinks it’s reciprocated, is soft and gentle-- regardless of whether you truly care for him or not. You’re still stuck.
• Henchman may serve the Devil, but there’s a streak of goodness in him. He might help you… or perhaps you’ll have to wait for the Cups to mount a rescue.
The only people that have a sliver of a chance to help you are Henchman and the Cup brothers. Without them, you stand no chance.
So imagine Mr. Ring-A-Ding/Lux Imperator taking care of a sick reader who’s never been taken care of before.
Bring on the angst!!! I can smell the past trauma from here!!!
Mr. Ring-A-Ding/Lux imperator x Sick Reader
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One thing that Mr. Ring-A-Ding does well is not worrying.
He's a carefree toon; isn't one to worry about others as long as he's on two feet. Charismatic, charming, and he has the smarts to back it up.
This guy is living the dream.
But with you? He sure does worry. But he won't admit it.
Feeling ill? He knows before you even mention it. You're an open book with your heart on your sleeve. Or maybe you're quiet, reserved, and a professional at maintaining your emotions. He still knows!!
Every morning, he wakes up before you just to watch you sleep. One morning, his eyes flutter open (with cartoonish flair and effortless sparkle), and he turns onto his side to gaze at you.
Your skin is pale. Unusually pale. Not your usual morning grogginess. You’re clammy. Eyes twitching beneath closed lids. Brow furrowed, even in sleep. You're not looking too good.
Without hesitation, he lifts the back of his hand to your forehead. And-- shit. You're literally radiating heat.
Instant concern.
You stir with a groan, blinking awake through the fog of sickness. A sheen of sweat clings to your skin as you weakly attempt to roll over.
"Hey, sleepyhead." He gently grabs your arm. "Woah, there, don't get up. Hey, hey," --and you still try to sit up. "Stop. Stop it." He sounds slightly irked. But for good reason.
"Ugh, Lux, stop. I'm fine. Just a migraine. Leave me alone.” Your voice is paper-thin as you try to wave him off and rise anyway. You attempted to pull away and turn to your side to step out of bed.
"Oh, no, you don't." he snaps-- sharp and unexpected. You freeze.
He sees the flicker in your eyes-- surprise, maybe fear-- and his tone softens instantly, though the resolve in it doesn’t fade. “Back in bed, darling. You’re sick."
And then, without asking, he throws a leg over you and literally climbs on top like a weighted blanket with an attitude. If he can't stop you with his words, he'll stop you with his body. That's how much he cares.
Which is a foreign feeling to you.
"You ain't goin' nowhere. Don't fight me on this."
It's not that he hasn't given you enough loving-- no, not at all! Mr. Ring-A-Ding easily sweeps you off your feet, adorns your body with kisses, and makes you feel as if you're the most precious thing in the universe.
You've never been taken care of before. Not like this.
Here he is, fretting over you with full confidence.
You’re not used to someone putting you first. Not like this. It feels unfamiliar. Vulnerable. Scary.
You're fully capable, independent, and can handle yourself. You always have. You know your body. You don’t need someone hovering-- right?
Wrong!
Lux knows your body better than you do. (In more ways than one, but now isn't the time for such things.) He's on top of it quick, almost immediately 'sniffing' out what's exactly wrong.
And then it hits you like a train. Uh oh, here it comes.
"Do you think you could-- oh, dear."
Vomit.
"Aim for the trash, aim for the--"
Bleigh.
"Okay, okay. Just get it out."
One more time-- puke. Nasty.
Oh, hell. Stomach acid, sour leftovers, maybe some long-forgotten takeout from last night-- it’s unrecognizable now.
Mr. Ring-A-Ding likes vomit as much as everyone else does: not at all. His face scrunches up, but he's ready to bite the bullet in the name of your health and happiness.
"Is it all out?" He stays beside you, one hand rubbing slow, grounding circles on your back while the other cautiously hovers in case you had another tummy torpedo locked and loaded... Luckily, you didn't.
You grunt, throat raw, chest heaving. You can’t speak. Your entire body feels scraped from the inside.
"All out?" he asks, half-dreading the answer.
“I’m sorry,” you rasp, voice barely audible. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. That was-- disgusting. The smell. My throat-- it burns.”
"It's ok," He instantly responded, "here." And reached over the nightstand to grab something.
He grabs a half-finished water bottle off the nightstand and brings it to your lips. You reach for it, but he doesn’t let you take it.
Do you think he let you grab it to chug? Oh no, Mr. Ring-A-Ding is feeding you himself, gently tilting the bottle as you sip, wiping your mouth after each swallow like you’re something fragile. Precious.
When you're done, he sets the bottle down-- but you can’t meet his eyes.
You couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Ashamed.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I just ruined the carpet; I ruined everything." You use both hands to cover your face out of shame. "That was absolutely disgusting."
You couldn't even look at the man.
But he isn't angry.
You feel a gentle, warm hand slide up your back and give it a rub. And then, softly: "You didn't ruin anything."
Sure, the room smells terrible, but he can't be mad at you.
His tenderness disarms you--like it's the most obvious truth in the world. Like there's nothing you could do that would make him look at you any differently.
You don't believe it-- not fully.
He's not grossed out. Not annoyed. Not even phased.
You peek out from in-between your fingers at him.
He just smiles. Just something warm and steady and… safe. Then, slowly, he leans in and presses a kiss-- featherlight and unhurried-- to your temple.
"You're sick," he murmured. "That's not a crime. You didn't ruin anything."
You're quiet.
"Let's get you cleaned up, baby." Lux pats your back.
You find yourself taking a cold shower, sitting on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest. You don't get it. Why is he so nice to you? Especially when you're like this.
When you exit the shower with a towel wrapped around you, you meet him on his hands and knees scrubbing the carpet on the side of the bed.
You instantly feel a ping of guilt in your chest.
When you're dressed with a hot chocolate in hand, Mr. Ring-A-Ding's already done, washing his hands in the bathroom sink.
At this point, the guilt was so severe that you had to say something.
"What are you doing out of bed, hm?" He murmurs, wiping off his hands on a towel.
"Listen, I'm really sorry, you didn't have to do that--"
"Oh, don't make me laugh," He snorts, "I want to."
“I don’t get it,” you mutter after a beat. “Why are you… being so nice to me? Like this?”
Lux leans back just slightly, blinking at you with an expression that almost reads as offended.
“Uh, because I love you?” He says it like it should’ve been obvious ten years ago. “You’re my person. That comes with perks. Fever or not.”
You’d always known he felt strongly about you. But you hadn’t realized just how deep that care ran until now-- until the moment you saw him cleaning your mess and changing your bed's sheets.
“I’m not used to this,” you admit, your voice fragile. “People taking care of me.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear, “it makes me want to take care of you more.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it didn’t just upend your entire emotional foundation. “You’ve been carrying everything by yourself for too long. You think being strong means you don’t need help."
You're speechless. He's good at this.
“You don’t have to be perfect around me,” Lux says gently. “You can cry. You can puke. You can fall apart.” He presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering longer this time.
“And I’ll still be here,” he murmurs. “Because that’s what you do when someone matters.”
"Y'know, you're good at this." You whisper.
"I know." He smirks, "Now it's time for you to go lay in bed. I'm gonna make you some soup."
Maybe being taken care of… doesn’t have to be scary.
Thank you so much for writing that male reader post, it's so rare to see that sort of thing. And I'm glad more of it is being written.
Would you be so kind to write (Headcanons or whatever suits your fancy) about a male reader having a relaxing bath time with Mr. Ring a Ding?? Does he like scented bubbles?? Bath bombs?? Does he get frisky?? Maybe he likes having a little snack on the tub.
Thanks once again and have a very nice day
No problem! I'll continue to make more! Here ya go! :))
Bath Time!
Mr. Ring A Ding x Male Reader
Mr. Ring A Ding is always interested when you announce you're taking a bath or shower. Always. The man is a pervert, yes—but not in a sleazy way. It's not just lust that flickers behind his eyes when you shut the bathroom door-- No, it’s something far more tender.
Romantic urges.
More often than not, you'll find him loitering outside the bathroom door, leaning against the wall, and eyes dancing in his daydreams about you. He imagines you both in the tub together, shoulders brushing beneath a mountain of warm, foamy bubbles.
The water laps softly against your chests, and you—relaxed and radiant—are tucked up against him, like you belong there. And you do.
You're so gorgeous, the way the bubbles hug your skin, and how your body relaxes against his. He'd rub and wash your back-- bro will even go as far as to massage your shoulders. But be careful! Lux has wandering hands that are difficult to harness. ;)
And then he snaps out of it when you open the bathroom door to leave, finding him looking like he was caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar! 😳😔
He could easily slip under that door, and once, he did. Only once, but he got scolded by you when he did it. So he never tried again. Instead, now you find him waiting by the door or curled up on your bed with this face. 🥺
Of course, you always pick up on it-- he’s an open book with you. Every emotion, every desire; He wears his heart on his sleeve around you.
But one night, he just can’t take it. Watching you disappear behind that door, once again alone… it gnaws at him. No more distance, no more imagination.
Not tonight.
Late in the night, the two of you are sprawled out on the bed, tangled loosely together in a comfortable mess of limbs and warmth. The room is dim, quiet, save for the soft whirr of the fan and the occasional creak of the old floorboards below.
You’d both had a long day-- but it had clearly taken a toll on him more than you. The whole day the only thing on his mind was you and him in that tub.
You stretch with a yawn, spine popping as you sit up with a low groan. “Alright,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck. “I need a bath. I’ll be right back.”
But before your feet even touch the floor, he's suddenly alert. Seemingly, out of nowhere, he finally breaks. He swiftly grabs your arm as soon as you slide off the bed.
"Wait, wait!"
You stop, brow raised, looking over your shoulder...
"Can I come with you?"
Oh no. He's giving you those puppy eyes with his cap in hand. Those wide, shimmering eyes-- ridiculously sparkling in the dim light-- peer up at you with something between innocence and desperation.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. This is the “puppy eyes” strategy—an unfair move that has an 80% success rate on you (and he knows it). You hesitate. Internally, you’re already caving in.
He's giving you the full performance: hat in hand, pleading face, voice soft enough to melt even the most stubborn heart.
You blink at him. Once. Twice.
Seriously?
"...Fine," You sigh.
Ding, ding, ding! Green light!
Once you say yes, he's giddy, skipping to the bathroom, towel in hand! His excitement is ridiculous—but endearing.
Honestly, Mr. Ring A Ding isn't exactly shy when it comes to undressing in front of you. Never has been, really. He has an odd, comfortable confidence that borders on theatrical.
And, well, you can’t help but notice—they guy's got a lot more hair on his chest and... further down than you expected-- and it doesn't bother you one bit! It's cute. That little line of hair trailing down from his blue chest, around his belly button (yup, he has one too!) to above his crotch region.
But if you are, he'll definitely look away or cover his eyes to make you comfortable. Sure, you guys have shagged before, but when it comes to something as intimate as bathing? It can be a whole 'nother ball game.
While you're changing in the bedroom, he's turning the water on and filling up the tub, sleeves rolled up and on a mission.
He’s humming something vaguely jazzy as he turns on the faucet and lets the water roar to life. Steam begins to curl against the mirror while he pokes around in drawers and under the sink, muttering to himself.
“C’mon... gotta have something fancy in here…” Ah! Bubble bath. Goteem! He grins triumphantly, uncapping the bottle and giving it a dramatic sniff before pouring far more than necessary into the tub.
The man’s sense of moderation? Nonexistent. He's squeezing the bottle out to where it's almost empty.
Just as he’s about to close the cabinet door, something catches his eye—a glimmer of color, something round and gleaming nestled beside the washcloths.
Oh, and what's this?
Lux reaches out and grabs it, pulling it from it's once resting place, holding it up to the light. It's actually quite beautiful! It’s beautiful-- adorned with a swirl of deep purples, cosmic blues, flashes of silver and streaks of hot pink glitter.
It's like someone bottled a nebula! Lux turns it over in his hands, clearly enchanted. The label reads: Black Galaxy Bath Bomb.
The label reads: Black Galaxy Bath Bomb.
Cool. That's going in, no questions asked.
He drops it into the water without hesitation, and it begins to fizz violently, spinning with a soft hiss as it bleeds color into the foam—like a tiny supernova going off in the tub.
“Oh, you found my bath bombs,” you say as you enter the room, towel slung low around your waist.
He sits up and turns around to look at you-- and you're so pretty, standing there with a towel tied around your waist. "Oh, yeah! It's pretty!"
He’s shorter than you—noticeably so when you’re this close—but it doesn't do anything to his confidence. If anything, he finds it endearing.
There's pride in his eyes, as if he finds your height comforting. Like something he can lean into. Like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
He turns around once again towards the tub, and freezes--that bath bomb was cool as fuck.
Once you’re both submerged, Lux can’t help but stare—propping his elbow on the tub’s edge, lazily rubbing your leg under the water while you as you chit-chat and ramble on about your favorite show.
He’s definitely not listening, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy giving you goo-goo eyes and smiling-- genuinely. Not that devious grin but a genuine smile.
That handsome devil.
He helps scrub your back, gets the hard-to-reach spots, and so what if he splashes you a little bit? It's all in good fun! But he wouldn't straight up splash you with the velocity of a category-five hurricane. That's just asking for a cold shoulder and a stern scolding!
Personally, I don't think he would like snacking in the tub. It gets kinda messy, especially if it is crunchy or leaves behind too many crumbs. He would totally drink something in the tub though!
Definitely is a cuddle bug in the bathtub. His favorite spot is behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. That's his favorite position to relax! ...even though sometimes it makes him have bathroom wood... if ykyk.
To those who want to get down and dirty in the tub, here's some advice:
Want to get him riled up?
Kiss him.
Smear bubbles on his chest.
Grab his face and pull him in.
He'll take charge and beg for a good sucking--
But the question is: will you give him what he wants? If yes, then...
Lux sits on the thick edge of the tub, panting, one hand tangled in your hair as he guides your head down with a wicked grin. He's panting and groaning with that mischievous smirk on his face.
"Oh, wow," he heaves and groans, hips twitching, "Ugh, there you go-- down the hatch."
If you gag or choke on him? You're playing a dangerous game. You don't need to announce it or make it obvious-- he'll know by the way your throat flexes against his length.
If you slide your tongue against the slit on the tip of his dick? He'll jolt slightly as if it tickled and overstimulated him at once.
Oh, but if you want a good servicing? That'll work!
Instead of grabbing at your hair, he's grabbing at your length underwater, giving you quite the handy! 😏 but don't think he'll stop there!
Then he’s kissing you hard, lips crashing into yours before moving to your neck. He bites gently—unless you want it rougher. Small, light, and tender bites... unless you like harder ones. He'll bite, lick, and suck at the area after, giving you a soft moan as feedback.
You're both slippery, breathless, and completely lost in each other.
Whether you're here for the freaky side, relaxation, or both, he's absolutely going to beg to come bathe with you every night. If you say no? He understands.
You need your privacy; he'll respect it, but you will for sure know that he's missing you outside that door. In the end, he'll be waiting for you when you come back out. 🥺
Lux imperator x afab pregnant reader headcanons and maybe a oneshot? If that’s okay?
LUX IMPERATOR X PREGNANT READER HEADCANONS
There are some complexities when it comes to this situation, which is mentioned in a short here. I suggest reading it here before reading through this post. Or not lmao idk
Warning: Mention of pregnant sex and that's about it
____________________________
Guess what? You missed your period. Yeah, sometimes your period is late; sometimes it's spot-on by the exact date-- and time, even! However, this time, things are different.
There’s a tightness in your chest. A strange weight in your stomach. Something’s off. You know your body-- and it’s not just stress or bad takeout. So what do you do? Time to take a pregnancy test!
You sit in the bathroom, holding that stupid little stick like it’s cursed. One minute turns into two.
Positive.
You scoff, shaking your head, like you just read the punchline of a bad joke. “No way.” Time to take another!
Still positive.
You sit there in silence, staring at the result. The lines. The proof. “…What the fuck?” You're pregnant. PREGNANT. It's hard for you to believe that you're actually pregnant-- knocked up by a cartoon!!
You're panicking. What the fuck? What do you even do? You and Lux have sex-- often, enthusiastically-- but he’s a being of light. A sentient concept. A smug, grinning god-entity wrapped in a body that’s technically... animated?!
How is this even biologically possible?!
You're spiraling. Panicking. Laughing and crying at the same time. Your reflection in the mirror looks like someone halfway through an existential crisis.
Should you tell him? Would he believe you? No, no. Not yet. You need time, time to process this. He doesn't need to know yet.
You stash the test. Outside the bathroom, Lux is probably waiting for you with a stupid grin, humming, totally unaware that everything has just changed.
LUX'S SUSPICION
• Lux would have absolutely no clue about your pregnancy for several weeks, especially if you hide it from him. He's still his usual, happy-go-lucky self, waiting for you by the door every time you come home.
• No bump? No clue. Still coming home? All seems fine to him.
• Then your behavior shifts.
• You're making frequent bathroom trips and seem to be dodging his questions. You're nauseous, waking up in the mornings feeling ill or increasingly drowsy, complaining of heartburn at times.
• Your appetite fluctuates. You mention heartburn in passing, but brush off his concern with a wave of your hand.
• At first, he doesn't question it. Maybe you got some lady stuff going on and that you were embarrassed about it, or hey, maybe you've caught a stomach bug that has been going around. It happens!
• But it doesn’t stop. He's suspicious. Concerned.
• Lux is hella nosy! Poking, prodding, snooping. He digs through your belongings, the cabinets, your bedside nightstand's drawers, only to find nothing. Is it your health? He knows you like your privacy, especially when it comes to maintaining your 🐱-- but he's genuinely worried now.
• You try to shoo him off. "I'm fine, Lux." But the more he pushes, the more flustered you become-- nervous laughter, defensive body language, or flat-out snapping at him.
• That’s when he knows. You’re hiding something, alright! And he won't stop until you crack and fess up!
When you step out of the bathroom, Lux quietly slips past you with a casual smile and closes the door behind him. Curiosity gnaws at him-- more than usual. You've been... strange.
He shuffles through the drawers, only to find nothing. Pulls open the medicine cabinet. Nothing. Peeks behind the shower curtain just in case. Nope.
He’s about to give up when something faintly catches his eye-- nestled in the bathroom bin, half-hidden beneath tissues and packaging.
Bingo.
He crouches, blue fingers sifting through until he plucks it out. A small, thin object-- white, rectangular, with a pink cap at the end-- harmless looking. Hmm.
He flips it around in his fingers curiously, noting a tiny window with... two little lines? A human thing, surely-- but something important. Something secret.
His brow arches sharply. "What's this for?" he mumbled under his breath, not quite expecting an answer.
He twirls it around a few more times before sliding it smoothly into the inner pocket of his tailored suit. He makes his way to the kitchen where you’re already knee-deep in the pantry, searching for that one weird craving that’s been plaguing you all morning.
* Home pregnancy tests didn’t exist in 1952, and Lux has been gone over 70 years—so when he finds one, he has no clue what it is. So he’s completely baffled by the strange little stick.
"Morning, darling," he purrs with a relaxed smile, leaning lazily against the counter like nothing's amiss. "Whatcha doing, hmm?"
"Hey!" You greeted him with a smile and finally found what you were looking for before turning around to face him. "Just getting food. I'm really hungry--"
"I just have one question for ya," His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye as he slips a hand into his pocket and produces... your pregnancy test? "What's this?"
You freeze, caught in place like prey. Your mouth opens and closes once. Twice.
Oh my god. "I-- Where did you find that??"
He holds it up between two fingers with genuine curiosity, squinting one eye slightly. "This little thing was tucked away in the trash. I'm assuming it's yours?"
Your blood runs cold.
"The big question is: What is this?"
You stand there in silence, utterly mortified. “I...” Your voice trembles. “I was going to tell you, I swear...! I didn’t know how, I didn’t want you to be mad!"
Lux stands there, confused yet worried.
Tears begin to spill without warning. Your breath catches in your throat. The weight of the moment crashes down hard on your shoulders... now, your beating around the bush game has come to an end.
"I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry-- I should have told you first-- I-- I didn't want you to yell at me..! Or get mad..or disappear...!"
Lux blinks, and his expression shifts-- first bewilderment, then concern, then something quieter. Gentler.
"Wait-- Why are you crying?" he murmurs, stepping forward. "What's wrong?"
"Because I didn't mean to-- I have no idea how it's possible, but, " Your body hunches over the countertop, leaning against the tile with your arms, and covered your face with your hands in shame. "I'm pregnant. With your baby." You admitted with a loud sob. "And I didn't know how to tell you..."
Silence. He stares at you, stunned. The words hang in the air like electricity.
You shake your head, your heart pounding.
"I'm so mad at myself. I thought you'd get angry. That maybe you'd leave.."
Followed by another moment of silence, you feel two warm hands rest upon your back and around your shoulders. His voice is low, disbelieving. "Leave? Just because you're having our baby?"
You whimper and nod your head.
He looks down at the pregnancy test in his fingers again, then back up at you. He took a deep breath before leaning against you in an attempt to comfort your shaking form.
"Y'know... I've traveled the universe, held stardust in my hands, and even gazed upon black holes. But I think this.." He tilts his head against yours. "... This actually scares me a little."
You hold your breath.
"But I ain't going nowhere."
Your head jerks up. "You're not?"
"Nuh-uh." He grins, and his voice dips, velvety-smooth.
"I can't miss an opportunity like this. I couldn't ever just pack up and leave. Of course I'm staying. You're having my baby!"
You let out a soft sob and bury yourself in his chest. He immediately wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, one hand resting protectively on your lower back.
For the first time since you took that test, you don’t feel so afraid.
AFTER THE REVEAL
• Once the secret’s out? Oh, he’s reeling.
• Shocked. That’s the first word for it. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Silence-- for once. The reality hits him like a bolt of raw cosmic energy. You're pregnant. With his child. Him, Lux Imperator. A sentient being of light, chaos, and vanity.
• And you? You look nervous. But he's not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.
• It takes time for it to settle fully. For Lux, love was never part of the equation. He was designed to manage, to preserve, to exist-- not to feel. His sentience may have been some sort of mistake or a benign gift, but he's grateful. Proud.
• Overprotective doesn’t begin to cover it. From the moment he accepts You're carrying his child, you are off-limits to any labor, stress, or danger.
• He’ll attempt to take care of everything-- which, considering his track record in the kitchen, is occasionally disastrous but well-intentioned.
• If anyone makes a comment about your size or discomfort, he glares with intensity and will outright tell them to shut up on the spot.
"Say one more thing, and you're outta here, pal. And that's a promise. Now, shut up. If anything, you're the one who looks like a cow."
• Yeah, he's past having manners.
LUX AS A CARETAKER
• Lux has a strong desire to make you happy, free from worry, and provide loving closeness throughout your pregnancy.
• Uses values from the 1950s as a father and caretaker. Why? Because that’s the closest thing he can find to a “manual” on how to care for an expecting mother. The guy doesn't know what he's doing but he's trying.
Support and comfort: Lux sees himself as your gallant, doting husband—the kind who brings you flowers in the morning and rubs your feet at night, unprompted. (He tells you you're so pretty even when you feel at your worst AND at your best.)
Accommodating needs: He indulges every craving—no matter how odd. Pickles and marshmallows? Done. Ice cream at 3 AM? He’ll find it. He fluffs your pillows like a nesting bird and tucks you into bed each night.
Fiercely protective: If anyone dares upset you—even a stranger giving a side-eye—Lux will square his shoulders, flash that dazzling grin, and deliver a sugar-coated threat.
• BUT-- he knows it’s not the 1950s anymore.
• Lux isn’t bound by tradition or gender roles. He doesn’t give a damn about what’s “expected” of a father or partner-- only what you need.
• The old ideals are bent, twisted, and reshaped to fit you-- not the other way around. He doesn't believe in being the "man of the house." He believes in being yours.
If you want him in the delivery room? He’s in. If you want him to help assemble baby furniture? He’ll try (with tools he doesn’t understand and several reality-bending mistakes). If you need space? He’ll (reluctantly) give it.
• At the end of the day, he's just a being of prideful absurdity doing his best to understand mortal love and human parenthood.
THE LITTLE THINGS
• Your needs are the top priority, so he's not messing around. Swollen ankles, back pain? He insists on giving you massages as if he had a healing touch.
• Sleep is a priority, and if you can't rest, he won't either. He’ll stay curled around you all night—arms wrapped tight around your belly like a protective ring of light. He will stay up with you until you drift off to sleep.
• He'll wipe away your tears. He'll wipe away sweat from your forehead. He will gently brush your hair to relax you. He'll hold your tummy from behind to give you relief. He'll bring you breakfast in bed without judgment no matter what weird cravings you have.
• ... and he'll hold your hair while you puke in the toilet bowl. Pregnancy isn't always so pretty.
• 100% HOUSEHUSBAND MATERIAL-- without even trying to be one!
• Many mornings, you'll find him in the kitchen wearing your pink apron. He cannot cook. Not well. Dude would try to make you a bowl of cereal, and he'd somehow set it on fire. One time, he was making you toast, and the toaster literally burst into flames.
• Still, his effort is oddly endearing.
• But there is one thing he’s mastered: pancakes. You taught him how to make them once. Just once. And he took it dead seriously. Now, he makes them every other day.
SPICY SIDE
• Lux may be a divine being of light and ego, but your changing body during pregnancy? He finds it absolutely captivating. He’s never seen anything like it, and he’s very curious. Too curious.
• Got any sexual itch? he'll take care of it. He'll let you lay down and relax as he eats you out to scratch that itch-- but if that isn't enough? Lux is ready and willing to take you-- but he's gentle! Very careful.
• That curiosity reaches a peak when he notices the first signs of breast milk. He’s fascinated-- eyes wide, utterly transfixed. So he's going to ask to taste it. He does try it once-- tentatively, but he wouldn't ask to do it again.
• But if YOU ask? He's hesitant. He stares with an "Are you sure?" Still hesitant. A little weirded out. 😶😶 He loves to put your tits in his mouth but not for this purpose.
DELIVERY
• Definitely the guy to pack up a huge suitcase on the way to the hospital.
• If you ask him to be in the delivery room? He’ll be there. Without hesitation. In fact, he insists on it—until the actual pushing starts.
• Seriously. The moment you start writhing, moaning, crying out in pain? He goes pale. Which is impressive, considering he's not even fully human.
“Is this--? Is this normal?!” he panics, glancing from the doctors to your hand in his. He grips it tight.
• You tell him not to look? He won't look. (To be honest, he doesn't want to anyways)
• You want him to step out? He’ll obey. But the moment he’s outside that door, he’s pacing like a man possessed, fingers twitching with anxious energy. Anyone who tries to comfort him gets brushed off. He only relaxes when he hears the baby cry... and someone tells him it's over.
• When allowed back in, he doesn’t rush the baby-- he goes straight to you. Hair a mess, sweat clinging to your skin, and all-- he drops to his knees by your bedside and rests his forehead against your arm.
• Expect hand-holding, kisses, and gentle caresses against your cheeks.
"Oh goodness, darling--" He's breathless and frightened but still level-headed to keep you calm. "Are you alright?"
Not really an ask, just wanted to thank you for the lux hcs (generally, the way you write him is fantastic!!) specifically the pregnancy/hint of dad! Lux hcs bc omg they're so so good!! You mentioned there possibly being more in the future and I'm super excited omg
If you're cool with it and asks are open I'll probs ask some more about dad lux bc him having a lill chaos family is so sweet to me oughh
You got me blushing 🙊🥰🥺❤️❤️ but yes absolutely asks are still open! So ask away 🥰
Shark week post, I honed in on the 'I can get you pregnant line' and now I'm just wondering.. how would lux be while reader was pregnant? Maybe a bit on how he is when his n readers lill ball of chaos arrives lol
*side note I can kinda see him being a girl dad idk it just makes sense to me
SHORT ON LUX X PREGNANT READER
There are definitely several quirky complexities when it comes to Lux actually managing to get someone pregnant.
First of all, let’s be real: in his original form, Lux is basically sentient stardust-- not exactly equipped for that kind of intimacy. I dont think the guy could be able to fuck you. So he’d need a physical body first.
But once he has one, then for sure! He’s absolutely putting it to good use with you. You're a mortal, he's a God-- but hey, we’ve seen plenty of divine-mortal love stories out there!
Okay-- Let's say you guys bang and now you're pregnant. Lux might be many things-- radiant and insufferably smug sometimes-- but “baby expert” is not one of them. Lux isn't stupid, but he would have no clue for several weeks. He’d only catch on when your behavior shifts. You act strangely. Especially if you keep it a secret for a while... and you hide it terribly.
Do you tell him, or do you let him ask you out of suspicion? Either way, once the truth is out, it’s game over. He'll want to be near you at all times-- Lux is light, he doesn't know much about caring for children and new mothers, so he's stumbling, but with you every step of the way.
He does rely on you for information and asks a million questions! He’ll pester you for every tiny detail: what you need, what the baby needs, etc. Not to annoy you, just because he's desperate to learn how to care for you the correct way.
Due to this, the poor guy is scared to even touch your tummy. Not that he finds it gross or that you're nasty, he's afraid of hurting your baby. Not only that, he doesn't want to hurt you.
But once he does? He doesn't want to keep his hand off of you. He'll check on you multiple times a day-- even at random times in the night. If you're asleep, he's most likely watching over you as you sleep.
If you're in public and someone attempts to touch your belly bump without asking, he's quick to swat their hand away and give them a shove. And he's pissed!
"Woah there, buddy! Hands off! This isn't some petting zoo! Don't ya know that's impolite? Keep your hands to yourself, or we're gonna have a problem."
Once you have the little critter? This is where things get more complicated. Will they be a god or a mortal? Demi-god? An adorable cosmic hybrid? Will they be human or not? There's too many cards on the table.
These things obviously throw science out the window, so anything is possible in a fictional universe. No matter how it turns out, this is a #1 dad over here.
But no matter what, Lux is all in. He’s a doting, fretful mess of a dad-- hovering over the crib, bottle-feeding at all hours even when he could just let you handle it. Never wants to leave them-- or you-- alone either.
Bro will force you to be in bed to recover. Of course you will bond with your baby, but he always wants to bottle feed them when they get to the age to do so. This does come at a cost-- He’s exhausted but never complains — he’s never felt so fiercely protective in his entire existence.
* Also, I totally agree with you there! A definite girl's dad. It just feels right.
I’ve got so many ideas for more headcanons. I'm currently working on a post with a oneshot for this, so think of this as a taste before diving in the near future.
I sincerely hope you one day write the Lux/Reader one-shot where he’s fucking you on stage. That is 100% something he would do. A cocky god with a size kink, making you scream out his name with (imaginary) spectators? The deviousness and shame of it all? Sign me the heck up!
You've got it! This will be in two parts since it's long and juicy. ;) Prepare to get railed!
What are the biggest perks of dating a cartoony god who reeks of confidence and malice?
There are quite a few! Lux's twisted humor that makes you laugh so often, his protective nature, and the excess tricks up his sleeve. But one thing is... this guy's got some intense kinks and fantasies. He's whippy and will drop everything on his plate to come to your aid if you're feeling even a little freaky.
Bro will climb mountains, jump through hoops, and practically fight dragons just to see you and satisfy your needs. He'll give in, becoming your ultimate fantasy, and make you feel amazing. You're sexy and he can't get enough of your body and gorgeous face.
Speaking of which, he can't get his eyes off of you. No matter what you're wearing-- you could be rocking a miniskirt, pj's, or even just a dirty tank top, and he'll be drooling at the sight of you.
Yup, he's that much of a whore.
One day, you brought him a present-- a photo camera. He's over here kicking his feet with animated hearts flying around his head-- he cherishes it. But guess what? This little pervert will take pictures of you when you're not looking... and will also use it when you ARE looking!
Having sex in the back of the theatre? He'll take numerous pictures of you to jack off to when you're gone. He can't help himself, and he always has the camera on him at all times.
Some pictures are of you with your top off; he'll take one of your as he's pounding into you, and there's even one where he ejaculated all over your abdomen after pulling out. (One of his favorites is a photo of his enlarged dick in your mouth as you look up at him.) He loves using that thing!
Back to earlier... Lux is most certainly turned on by your existence in general. From time to time, as soon as you sneak into the theatre, he's instantly on top of you, ripping your clothes off because he couldn't stop thinking about you.
You don't know yet, but tonight is going to be one of those nights. Just wait.
You squeeze your way through the narrow gap in the chained-up door that you so happen to have snapped off months prior. "Lux!" You call, voice echoing down the short hallways lined with faded velvet curtains. You can already picture him waiting for you like a puppy. "I'm sorry I'm la--"
Your sentence could'nt even finish when you feel a body slam into you, literally knocking you down against the dusty carpet. There he is, sitting on top of you. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs, so you're laying there wheezing under a familiar weight.
"Darling! I thought you'd never get back!" He was thrilled to see you to say the least-- just look at the way he's perched on your hips!-- then the thrill turned into concern when he noticed you struggling for air.
"Oh!--," Lux frantically scrambles off, fussing over you with those blue hands patting your back. "Oh dear, are you alright? I'm sorry! I'm just so--:
You cough, wheeze, then burst into breathless laughter. "It's okay, just... warn me next ti--" Looks like your apology is smothered. Lux dives back down, crashing his mouth to yours like he's starved for it.
Which, judging by the way his hands cradle your cheeks, he is!
Being overwhelmed by his greeting (but eager to receive it), you attempted to push him off with a playful giggle. "Mmm--Lux-!" You manage, tapping his chest, but it only fuels the fire. This time, his fist grabbed you by your shirt, pulling you back in--
He straddles you fully now, but this time, his tongue sweeps into hour mouth-- needy, slick, and sloppy, claiming each sound you make. How can you not melt into a kiss like that?
When you finally separated, you're both breathless, lips soaked and swollen. "Oh, gosh darn-it," Lux's glimmering eyes locks with yours and whispers, "You drive me crazy..."
Lux, an all-powerful god, is straddling you on his hands and knees at your mercy. Not just begging-- but demanding you to give in to his advances. He reeks of desire and desperation with no chance of throwing in the towel.
"But you like it that way, hm?" You giggle and teased him with a smile.
Before even saying anything, his eyes and his body both plead for not your figure, mind, and soul. His arms tremble just enough for you to sense it. At this moment, his voice dips into a rough, feral grumble that sends heat flooding through your veins.
"...C'mon... Don't make me laugh."
His bowtie is crooked, the way his suit hugs his form... he's so perfect in his cartoonish chaos. "You're so desperate tonight," You tease, your grin igniting a wicked glint in his eyes. And you know you've lost before you even try to say no.
Here he is, already rocking his hips against you, rutting in that embarrassingly earnest way that instantly makes your body attracted to his. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, rolling your hips up to meet his, grinding back, which easily solicited a hungry groan from him.
Gentle kisses and light groping dissolves into a fierce makeout session--your tiny hands paw at his suspenders, his blue hands roaming under your clothes and into your bra, nails scraping your sides.
Sure, he's clumsy and greedy but in the dirtiest way.
Y'all are quite literally rolling around on the theater's carpeted floor, pushing and grinding your bodies against each other like colliding stars that send ripples across the fabric of space.
The carpet squeaks under your weight as you roll, tangled up in each other's limbs, breathless laughter mixing with the wet smack of kisses. But oh no.
The only thing that stopped you both was when you failed to realize you've rolled too close to the edge until-- Thump-thump-thump!
The two of you tumble down the creaky steps in a flurry of squals and cartoonish BONKS, being pummeled by each step, leading down onto the floor at the bottom just below the stage. "OH, SHIT!--"
Naturally, Lux hits every step like a spring-loaded ragdoll; little birdies and stars spin around his head as you both land in a heap at the bottom.
Even so, he was the first to get up and check if you were alright. "Darling! Are you okay?!"
You let out an adorable cackle as he helped you up to your feet. "Yes, of course I'm okay!"
A moment passes by as you lock eyes-- an unspoken. Primise hanging in the air. It's almost impossible to stop what is coming. The air was thick with raw desire and hunger. So guess what time it is? Oh, you know it.
His hands drag upward-- trailing from your hips, guiding along your waist, over your chest, and finally up to your cheeks. Here comes that mischievous grin of his to spread across his face... but you can't help but like it. He leans in to give you another kiss, which you vigorously accept.
But instead of going through with it, he abruptly put his hands on your underarms to lift you with surprising ease to sit you down on the stage edge with your legs dangling.
He leans in for another kiss-- only to pause, eyes flicking to the space between you.
Well, this is awkward. He's not quite tall enough to reach your lips now-- forced to stand using his tippy-toes to meet you face-to-face like a petulant child. You'd have to lean down just to kiss him!
"Aw, dagnabbit! Hold on a sec!"
Not going to lie; it was a little funny watching him attempt to run up the stairs, only to get easily tired. His shoes scuff the dusty stage as he drags himself up each step, his legs wobbling like he's never climbed a day in his life. Bro can toss you around like a ragdoll, but still struggles to go up stairways!
"Phew! I never-- ugh!-- should've learned perspective. But alas," he finally made it to the top, almost excessively panting like a drama queen. "I have you now! Haha!" Then swiftly slid right under the door and disappeared for a moment-- he didn't even want to use the handle.
The bright stage lights flicked on, immediately flooding the theatre in blinding white- which fucking blinded you. You flinched, seeing stars as his silhouette barrels down the steps with urgency and momentum.
Oh, and wouldn't you know it? There's no hiding that prominent boner evident under those slacks he's rocking.
Once he returns, he is already getting larger by the second. Not just in height, but elsewhere, too... But oh God, the way he looks down at you as he gets bigger makes you so goddamn wet.
Not to mention that his actively-enlarging cock is pressing insistently against your thigh.
Hopefully, he doesn't get... too big. You swallow hard-- you may not make it out of this one without a wheelchair.
Just remember: he'll always find a way to make it fit.
"You have no idea what you do to me when you're gone..."
Putting on your best brave face, gently caressing his right cheek with your thumb. "You've been missing me that much, hm?" You teased.
Oh god, it's getting bigger at a faster rate than expected. The pressure against your leg makes your thighs clench.
"Don't make me laugh..." He growls and reaches up to cup your cheeks, leaning in for a kiss while closing his eyes-- a romantic gesture that fuels the burning flames between your legs.
This time, instead of Lux dry-humping you, you're the one humping him. And oh, he gets off on it. It's like throwing gasoline on an open flame. So much so that he's muttering to you in between your scorching kisses. "Augh... Mm... you like it when I'm big, huh?" He pants, words muffled between kisses.
"Uh-huh..!" You whimper, rolling your hips to meet his.
"Yeah? You like it when I do this?" He confidently pushed you onto your back, swiftly grabbing each leg and tugging you right up against him-- and you could most definitely feel that he was rock-hard.
This time, instead of saying anything, your body communicated to him for you.
"Oh, I know... I bet I could make you cum without even taking our clothes off," he purrs. Without even opening your eyes, you could sense that stupid cocky grin on his face. Clearly, he's hellbent on proving a point-- that nobody could ever ruin you like he can.
The friction is maddening, the thick drag of fabric against your clothed sex against his fully-clothed cock sent sparks up your spine. Not just because it was hitting you in the right spot, but because he knew that you dig it graciously.
"Oh yeah," you gasp, melting under his touch like gallium and voice dissolving into a needy moan. "Ah!.. there--!"
And Lux? He's losing himself too, pupils blown wide, and his fingers grip your thighs as if his life depended on them. His strong, blue hands slid from your thigh to your breast, possessive and greedy, palms engulfing them completely.
Much to your dismay, he pulls away and smirks down at you-- but oh, don't worry! He's still at work, pressing up against you, hips dragging and grinding like it was his programming.
Lux didn't have to say anything. His facial expressions and body language were enough to uncover what he was thinking: he's gonna push you until you break, until you're a pretty, purring mess for him to admire (and you know you want it more than anything.)
Meanwhile, you're under his shadow in pure ecstasy, the room echoing with moans and heavy panting.he wipes the sweat from his brow with a dramatic flourish, grin wide.
"I-- phew!" He panted and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "All this, and I'm not even in you yet!" His teeth flash in a devilish smile. "I can't imagine how loud you'll be--hnngh-- once I tear those clothes off of ya!"
Your eyes flick down-- but instantly regret it... or maybe you don't! Somehow, watching him in action with that massive bulge straining against his pants makes your thighs clench. Let's set the scene: He's big. Like, at least 11 inches big. And proud of it!
"Ah! Keep going--!" You beg, turning into a moaning, whimpering mess as your hips rock helplessly beneath him. Oh, now you're close! And he knows.
And whaddya know? His intuition was right!
When you finally tip over, your orgasm sends jolts of electricity down your spine. Your back arches, muscles spamming uncontrollably under his looming form.
Lux is more than amused-- he's delighted! The man is utterly entranced by the sight of you unraveling under him. Watching your body convulse uncontrollably was a unique experience, so much so that he wouldn't trade it for the world. You're his weakness.
"Alright," He murmurs, a playful wink making your stomach flip. "Now you're gonna get it." Leaning over, he helped you pull your pants down (which was a bit of a challenge considering this position and the fact that your shoes are still on) and toss them to the side along with your top like trash.
Now, you're there, bare and vulnerable under the stage lights. He's gonna worship you-- and ruin you-- at the same time.
Sure, he's seen you naked many times before, but every time he still thinks the same thing: you're drop-dead gorgeous and he vowed that he'll fuck you every time as if he'd never get the chance to do it again.
With that same easy strength, he lifts you off the stage-- but don't think you're going anywhere! Before you can blink, he spins you around, flips you onto your stomach with your legs dangling over the ledge with your ass up.
Instinctively, you squeal, only to get interrupted by the feeling of your ruined panties being yanked down to your ankles. "Nuh-uh, darling," his big hands clampong down on your hips to keep your tiny, helpless body (compared to his) from wriggling. "Where do you think you're going?"
Now, it's time for him to unzip his fly.
From your perspective, you hear a 'Zzzip!' sound effect before feeling... him. Oh, and you could tell he was excited with the way he throbbed with anticipation against your tender skin. "Now, hold still!"
The moment his swollen tip pushes inside, you gasp-- your whole body tensing around the sharp burning pain as you were stretched in such an audacious way that Lux couldn't help but groan out loud.
"Oh, geez--!" Lux chokes out, his voice cracking, forehead pressing against your back as hunched over your body-- and you could hear his voice shake pitifully. "Yer tight--!"
It makes your eyes well up with tears, fingers trembling and curling helplessly into the stage-- but the ache turns into pleasure fast. He's been inside you countless times before... but never like this. He's never been this... huge. This deep.
But oh, God, you crave every second of it.
Above you, Lux's breathing is ragged, every shaky inhale warming the back of his neck. Then, without warning, his grip tightens-- and he starts moving. At first, he's reckless, his hips jerking wildly all willy-nilly, unable to control himself. But that doesn't last long!
Your body jolts with each thrust, jerking and shaking, hands scrambling for something-- anything-- to grab onto.
"Lux, could you-- ah!" You try to gasp out, but your voice is cuts off when he swiftly grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking it backward to meet the warm air from the stage lights.
Y'all just started, and you were already teetering closer to shrieking bloody murder.
His thrusts shift to a brutal, perfect rhythm that makes your toes curl. With each swing of his hips, he's absolutely punishing your insides-- but gratifying them at the same time.
"Oh, already screaming, aren't we?" His smugness is thick in his tone, a taunted wrapped in silk.
"Uh-huh!" You wimper pitifully, your words dissolving into desperate, choked sobs. "It's-- ugh! Aah! So-- big!" Your insides are writhing around like you've gotten food poisoning in the greatest way imaginable.
Both of your voices merge, echoing around the empty theatre-- your high-pitched moans tangle with his feral groans. The slaps of skin-to-skin contact punctuated the air like obscene music.
"Ah! Ah...! Please--" you manage to sob, turning your head in a fruitless attempt to look at him. "Use me! Harder!"
... How could he say no?
As a gentleman, it would only be polite to give you what you wanted since you asked so enthusiastically!
He chuckles low, lips ghosting your ear, his breath hot.
"Since you asked so nicely..." He shifts, planting his feet firmly behind you, and suddenly his hips slam into yours with a punishing force enough to make you quiver.
He pounds you relentlessly into the stage with such strength that the edge digs into your stomach-- but the mixture of pain and pleasure only fueled the fire. Then... it dawned on you through your tears and cries:
Here you are, late at night, getting railed by a seemingly pure and harmless cartoon character: Mr. Ring a Ding.
Who knew he could be so dirty yet so romantic at the same time? Who knew he could make all your fantasies come true without a second thought?
At this point, your insides were turning into jelly, your sticky walls squeezing and milking his dick for all its worth. But still... This wasn't enough for Lux. It wasn't enough for you.
He pauses just long enough to lean down, lips brushing your ear. "You want it all, huh? Want me to give it to you?"
Like the good little thing you are, you nodded profusely in tears.
"Yes, please! I want it--- let me have it...!" You nodded frantically, eyes wet with tears.
If you say so, darling!
His laugh rumbles through your bones.
...and you're gonna get it good.
Lux releases your hair, only to seize your waist with both hands, locking you in place. He pulls back-- then drives into you like a bulled train, utterly pounding you into the floor.
The sheer force makes your legs kick uselessly, your eyes rolling back as your moans dissolve into broken cries. Yes, it hurts, but it's a sweet addictive agony that you'd let him inflict on you forever.
Dirty talk? No more of that.
He's focused and beyond words now-- just a monster of lust and need, completely focused only on how your walls cling to him like you'll never let him go.
He reaches a pace like he's never made before, the pace racing like a vehicle on the highway. The tip of his dick pummeled against your womb, over and over and over again.
And you? Oh, you're a wreck--
A screaming, quivering wreck as you beg for more, sobbing his name like a prayer. Each swing of his hips are 100% bruising your insides, the sheer force utterly mangling your two legs, rendering them useless for walking.
When your orgasm hits, it's cataclysmic- You're convulsing, attempting to reach behind, and grab at him--only when your body softens and trembles he knows you've finished. He feels it, every pulse, every quake-- your body begging him to give in, too.
Now it's his turn.
His pace greatly decelerates before abruptly pulling out and completely vandalizing your body, his semen squirting and dripping on your skin with a strangled groan.
You two remain there for a few moments, lungs heaving as if you've ran a marathon-- and to be fair, it was... sexually. Except this was much better. So much filthier.
Seemingly out of the blue, the spotlight roared to life on its own, engulfing the center stage in a bright light-- his gaze darted up to the curtains.
He blinks. Down at you, up to the stage light, and down at you again. Here comes the idea of the century.
Sometimes, being with the Devil can be embarrassing.
As much as you adore the man, his temper is an unstoppable force of nature—He tries to control it; truly, he does, but it's still an endeavor. Many times you’re left standing in public (or surrounded by demons) when he loses his temperament and the guy quite literally makes a fool of himself-- AND you.
You have to beg him constantly to stop his outbursts. "Please, please, please" is a phrase you use on multiple occasions to soothe the beast before he erupts like a volcano.
There have been plenty of days where you've been so humiliated by his childish tantrums that you’ve had to walk away. When other people point out his dramatic outbursts, you always try to come up with an excuse—
“He’s just having a bad day,”
“You know how stressful the underworld is…”
"He's got a lot on his plate, y'know..."
But your explanations are usually met with little more than a roll of the eyes. Sure, everyone makes mistakes, but this manchild practically lives in meltdown mode.
Of course, you love him, and he loves you too.
So, you find alternative solutions to control this guy. Anger management classes? Been through them at least a hundred times. He’s been kicked out more times than you can count—and that’s if the building’s still standing afterward.
Books on how to control your rage and self-help? Torn to confetti piece by piece either by his hands or but scorched by his trusty pitchfork. Remember the book in the show he ripped to smithereens? Yup, that one, too.
Ok then, how about therapy? Henchman's basically his stand-in therapist these days-- the last licensed 'therapist' the Devil had? He roasted them with his pitchfork in a fit of anger after they had the misfortune of telling him to “just breathe through it.”
To be fair, he’s made some progress since you entered into his life. Yes, he attempts to control his anger when you're around, but his rage still gets the best of him, especially when Cuphead and Mugman are involved. Now, he at least tries around them—you see him grit his fangs and count to ten (in demonic tongues, no less).
So, your options are… limited. You can comfort him, scold him, or beg him—sometimes all three in the same minute. Or, if you’re feeling brave, you can attempt to duck out before he goes full inferno-mode.
Which is difficult considering the fact that he's constantly angry for some reason or another, and it doesn't matter where he is. Before you, he was a walking, fire-breathing catastrophe twenty-four seven. After all… he is the Devil.
Not that it helps much; he doesn’t believe in shame, and apparently, he doesn’t believe in picking a better place for a meltdown either. He’ll throw a tantrum anywhere, anytime!
Still, you love him. And he loves you—more than all the souls in his collection.
You dream of a nice, normal date: either going to the carnEVIL, curled up watching a horrifically bloody movie, or going out for some ice cream. But there are days when you’re so mortified that you just stay inside with him instead, away from the public eye—
All to hold him tight, free from second-hand embarrassment. You remind yourself why you put up with the king of hissy fits in the first place!
I've fallen back in love with Cuphead (the game and the show)! I know this fandom may be dead but there is a limited amount of content for this, so I wanted to add some more. Not just for myself, but for others who are still interested!
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• The Devil's jaw doesn't just drop to the floor-- it shatters the marble when it lands. Eyes wide, pupils shaped like little red hearts, tail curling like a question mark. You're more than stunning; you're irresistibly tempting, and temptation is his domain.
• First, he interprets this feeling as simply wanting your eternal soul. He rationalized this fluttery, giddy mess in his chest as simple greed. He's never exactly been in love with anyone in general (except himself, of course)- before. All he understands is that he's experiencing a strong interest in you.
• Your soul... it must be worth millions if it's wrapped up in such an enchanting package!
• Follows you around like a stray cat after you fed it once, and now it keeps coming back to your doorstep for more.
• As any sensible overlord of the Underworld would do, he starts scheming. How is he going to deceive you without becoming too obvious that it's a trap? He's done this a million times before, so why would it be so difficult now?
• He tries every trick in his dark little book: Tempting you with riches, fame, or wishes so sweet they could rot your teeth out. Shape-shifting into your dream date? Fake damsel in distress routine? He'll do that too-- poorly, but he tries.
• Whether Henchman saw him gawking at you for the first time or not, he knows exactly what's going on. What is he thinking about? Who is it? He will eventually find out, either by The Devil telling him head-on or by catching him in action in an attempt to snatch your soul!
• Ironically, it's a guarantee that the Devil will sabotage his plans every single time without fail. No matter now perfect his traps are; he always flaked at the last second--or the universe conspires against him. He wants your soul, but he can't seem to commit.
• And you? You're no silly fool. You see straight through his deal, his carnival games, his charm. The fact that you're clever enough to evade him makes him even more obsessed. He gets bamboozled all the time!
• At one point, you found yourself at The Devil's mercy, and he could easily rip out your soul just for himself. It's finally his chance--
• Yet... he doesn't. He can't bring himself to do it. Just seeing your pretty, petrified face makes him realize something... You're not like everyone else. You're different. Beautiful. Gut-wrenching. Just seeing you gives him butterflies.
• In that one moment, he realizes the truth: your soul isn't what he wants. It's you. All of you-- heart, mind, body, and that deliciously stubborn spirit. And for once, the great schemer has no idea how to get what he wants... without using you forever.
He stares at you for a long, tense moment. His clawed hand fists in your shirt-- you feel the pull, the icy touch that should have ripped your soul clean from your body--but then... nothing. He stops, then lets go.
You're baffled. You stagger back, wide-eyed, breath caught in your throat.
"Just... just go away." He growls. His eyes dart to the side, ears twitching like he can't stand to look at you any longer.
"W-What?" You stammered, voice trembling with raw terror and confusion.
"I said go!" His voice cracks like a whip--or even thunder-- but underneath, it's brittle.
You don't wait for him to change his mind. You spin on your heel and bolt, heart pounding in your ears, feet pummeling against the cavern floor until you finally feel safe, far, far away. When you stop, gasping for air, you can't help but ask yourself: Why did he let me go? Doesn't he want my soul?
Back in the dim chamber of Hell, the Devil stands frozen in the silence you left behind. It's so silent that the trickle of lava feels deafening. He didn't even notice Henchman creeping up next to him. It was finally time to face the reality of the situation and how he truly felt.
"...Boss?" Henchman ventures, voice soft (with slight teasing). There was no response from The Devil, who just continued staring at his empty hands like they'd betrayed him.
Henchman rocks on his heels, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Y'know... I think I know what's going on here."
The Devil snapped out of his little trance, eyes wide. "What?" He barks-but it comes out more like a pathetic squeak. Deep down... oh, god, Devil knows too, but he won't admit it out loud.
"You've got a crush!"
"WHAT-- NO!" His pitch jumps a whole octave as his cheeks instantly become red and lighting up like a Christmas tree. "I-- That's preposterous! I'm The Devil! Lord of all evil! I do NOT get crushes!"
"Aww c'mon, Boss! Just admit it!" Henchman clasps his hands under his chin like some gushing, gossiping schoolgirl. "And so what if you're the Devil? You've got feelings too, y'know!"
"Well, obviously! But not for--" He cuts himself off, dragging a clawed hand down his face with an exasperated groan. "They just-- Ugh, why is this happening just now?" He looks down at his hands. "Romance is just...revolting! I hate the way my stomach churns every time I see them. It makes me want to vomit brimstone!"
"Awwh Boss, that's love! Those are the butterflies!" Henchman gasped and put his hands on his cheeks enthusiastically, practically bouncing with glee. "You should ask 'em on a date! Take 'em out for ice cream! Ooh, or a picnic--"
"I can't do that!" The Devil explodes, voice cracking under the weight of what he can't say. He glances away, shoulders curling in on themselves. "They already know who I am. I've spent all this time trying to get their soul-- every scheme, every deal, every trap-- only to fail every. Single. Time. Only to figure out it's... this."
He lets out a strangled, bitter laugh. "It's pathetic. I'm pathetic! At this point, I'm just embarrassed!"
"Boss..." Henchman's voice softens.
Tears priest at the corners of the Devil's eyes-- hot, burning tears that sting. "They could never love me," He whispers, voice hoarse. "I'm The Devil! If I asked, they would just scream and run away like everyone else does..."
For once, Henchman was quiet. Then, with a gentle pat on his shoulder, he says, "Maybe you're not as scary as you think, Boss. Maybe... you should give 'em a chance to see that you're more than horns and chaos."
The Devil doesn't answer. He just stares at the spot you just stood--wondering for just a moment, that maybe your soul wasn't the only one on the line.
• Once he can finally admit that he's head over heels for you, it's time for him to actually talk to you. He can't do it in his normal form: huge horror, sinister grin, hellfire eyes: so he tries other routes. Like shapeshifting!
• He loves morphing into other people to speak with you. Even if it is small talk or long-winded conversations. Neighbors, townspeople, travelers, and a kind stranger on the street. He'll sit with you and find himself genuinely smiling, not just about something trivial or that did something evil, but because he was with you. Sometimes he forgets he's even pretending.
• As expected, he will talk highly of himself in these disguises... which never really lands too far with you because of your encounters with him. Remember, he is the Devil! A manipulative brat who will do anything to get what he wants.
He'll slip on lines like "Oh, did you hear about the Devil? They say he's the king of everything evil-- quite handsome, too!"
• It never lands quite the way he wants-- but your unimpressed eye roll fuels him and crushes him at the same time.
• Out of pitiful desperation, he'll shapeshift into animals, too! Expect to find a scraggly cat with golden eyes at your porch, looking up at you with his tail swishing. He' rub up against your leg for hours. If you give him affection? He'll melt into your lap, purring like a motorcycle, only to bolt away later after abruptly biting you. Yes, he's that thirsty for your touch.
• Getting to know you isnt work-- its a newfound obsession! Being a manipulative asshole; he's deliberately digs into a soul's secrets to twist the knife: Blackmail, torture, and fear. But with you, he genuinely enjoys it to see what you love most. He'll memorize your hobbies, favorite books... that weird snack combo you like. Not to use against you, but to ease and surprise you.
• What shocks the other demons (and even Henchman) is that now he's doing something... nice. Not for his minions, not for countless other souls he torments daily, but for you. Expect to find thoughtful gifts at your doorstep: you're favorite candy, trinkets, or even expensive luxuries you could never afford with a tiny note saying "~ From your Secret Admirer" in cursive writing. (But only you though lmao, everyone else can suck it).
• You've completely hijacked his interests in life-- when he gets up in the morning, the first thing he thinks is about you rather than collecting souls and tormenting the living. Which is insane since that's his main priority! The only torment that matters now is the one you inflict--without even trying-- just by not being his yet.
At some point-- somehow-- the Cups are on the run. Again. They barrel throughout the busy streets of Inkwell Isle, laughing and shrieking like feral children with a death wish. And when they turned a corner, they manage to get cornered-- and instinctively hide behind you, who just so happened to be there at the time.
"Please, help us!!" Cuphead wails, clinging to your left leg like a barnacle. "Yeah, please!" Mugman echoes, wrapping himself around your right-- so you're stuck! "We're bein' chased by--by-- THE DEVIL!!" They shrieked.
"Get back here, you stupid, stupid cups--!"
The Devil himself storms into view, fangs bared, pitchfork at the ready-- but the instant his eyes land on you, and he stops dead in his tracks. His pupils shrink to pinpricks, and he gasps-- so sharply it's almost a squeak-- then he freezes like a deer in headlights.
His face drops and contorts through four different expressions in a matter of seconds-- furious, startled, mortified... the a shade of red so bright he practically matches his pitchfork.
He opens his mouth-- closes it. Opens it again. Not a single word comes out. Bro doesn't know what to even say to you. He's frozen in terror.
You stand there, stiff as a board, the Cups gripping your legs like they think you're their personal Saint. Did they say the Devil?? And somehow... hiding behind you worked!!
Mugman peeks out from behind you, eyebrows raised. He reached out and knocked not just twice-- but three times on the Devil's rock-solid arm like he's knocking on a door. "Uh... Devil?" No response. "You okay there, buddy?"
No response. He doesn't even blink. Do you have something on your face??
"Devil??" Mugman knocks again, more aggressively this time-- but the Devil just stands there, frozen.
The Cups glance at each other. They they erupted into a celebratory dance, throwing their fists in the air like they won a million bucks. "Thank you!" Cuphead cheers, bounding up and down.
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" Mugman chants, squeezing your leg so tight, you swear bro is trying to fuze with it with superglue.
And from this day on, the Cup Brothers used you as their secret power: you are the only shield that works on the Devil besides the invisible sweater! When they're in trouble-- which is always --they'll hide behind you, grin sweetly, and watch their big bad nemesis go from terrifying demon to bumbling, lovestruck idiot.
And behind your back? They tease him about it relentlessly. They wink at him when you're not looking, then mouth "crush!!" At him until he practically combusts with embarrassment. Everyone knows-- except you. And the Devil's never been so mortified in his entire infernal lifetime.
• Those two rascals - Cuphead and Mugman - are attached to you like glue, which drives the Devil up the wall. He still wants Cuphead's soul... which infuriates him greatly, but now, you keep unknowingly intercepting the Devil's plans just by tagging along.
• Which infuriates him, but deep down... you're what he wants most. He'll easily turn down that pesky soul or trade it for you instead-- all of you.
• Finally, once you get acquainted with his presence, it's time to try and make a move on you-- with Henchman's support, of course! Sure, he's nervous and doesn't know what he's doing, but it's worth a shot!
• Of course, every attempt flops at first. Cuphead drags you off mid-confession. Mugman interrupts at the worst moment. This leads him to be aggrivated, facepalming and snarling every time.
• But he keeps trying — until one day, you’re finally alone. No meddling cups. No disasters. Just you, him, and that devilish grin as he steps from the shadows, ready to steal something far more precious than your soul.
One afternoon, you're in the kitchen, minding your own business, humming while you make lunch--when there's a knock at the door.
Must be Cuphead and Mugman, you think. You wipe your hands on a dish towel and open the door, ready to scold them for knocking so politely for once.
But you were wrong. Except... it's not them.
Standing on your porch is the Devil. The Devil. In all his horned, crimson glory... holding a big bouquet of roses in his claws? "Y/N, I--" He starts, voice surprisingly soft.
You gasp and instinct take over. SLAM. Door is shut. Locked. Bolted.
Your heart hammers in your chest. Oh god, not again. Is this another one of his tricks? Does he want your soul back? What is he planning this time around? Is he going to drag you to the underworld for fun?
"Wait, wait! Please!" His muffled voice seeps through the wood-- almost sounding... sad? "Y/N, please, open the door. I just want to talk!"
You hover behind the door, trying to slow your anxiety and breathe. "Go away!"
"I promise it's not a plot. Not this time!" His tone cracks in despiration.
Outside. Hidden by a skinny tree, Henchman pops out and gives his boss two enthusiastic thumbs up and a silent 'You're doing great!' gesture. 😃👍🙌
You squint through the peephole. The Devil stands there, fidgeting, ears drooping a little, bouquet trembling in his hands. You sigh and crack the door open just a sliver, peeking out at him.
"... Okay," You muttered suspiciously before opening it wider-- enough to see his panicked, forced smile.
"Y/N, I... uh... " His voice trails off as he stares at you. He tries to find the words-- but doesn't know how to spit out the next words in a way where he doesn't come off as a creep or as someone who is trying too hard (even though he is a try-hard lmao) "I just... I uhhh.."
He turns a bright red, opening his mouth to speak once more-- but nothing comes out. Henchman can't stand to watch him flounder anymore, so he rushes up to stand by his side.
“Hiya, Y/N!” Henchman chirps, beaming. “So, uh — you don’t know me super well, but I’m Henchman! I work for Mr. Spooky, Tall, Dark, and Broody here.” He winks and jerks his thumb at the Devil, who looks like he’s about to melt into a puddle out of shame.
Henchman lowers his voice, conspiratorial. “I know you two didn’t exactly hit it off when he, y’know, tried to snatch your soul and all — but…” He leans in closer with an exaggerated whisper, “He really, really likes you. Like... a lot. And he wants to ask if — well — you’d maybe wanna go on a date. Just one try!”
You stand there frozen in the doorway, staring at them like you’ve been turned to stone. 🧍♂️ Your eyes flick between Henchman’s hopeful grin and the Devil’s anxious, sheepish expression.
"Just once... I think you should give him a shot!"
This has to be a trick, right? But… you know his manipulative side well enough by now. And this — the fidgeting, the bouquet, the sheer panic on his face — this feels different. Honest. Almost… sweet. It was clear he was making an effort for your hand and can't help but be flattered-- still scared shitless, though.
“You want to go on a date?” You repeat, squinting at him.
The Devil nods frantically, the roses shaking so much a few petals fall off. He looks ready to bolt if you say no out of embarrassment. And to be fair, it would be the last you'd see of him. The guy could never show his face to you ever again after a let-down like that.
A laugh bubbles up your throat — part disbelief, part amusement. “…I— Uh… Sure.”
His eyes widened like you just offered him a kingdom-- no, you offered him the fucking world. “Really?!” he blurts out, nearly bouncing on his feet; his once sheepish expression was replaced by a goofy grin so big his fangs peek out. “You — you mean it?! You’d really give me a chance?!”
You chuckle, scratching your cheek awkwardly. “Yeah. I mean… we’ll see how it goes. I can't turn you down for shooting your shot!"
Henchman lets out a triumphant squeal behind him. “WOO! Way to go, Boss! I told you you could do it!” He practically tackles the Devil in a congratulatory hug.
You glance at the bouquet — a few roses droop, but they’re oddly charming of him (and sort of suited the moment?) “So, um… where exactly did you have in mind?”
The Devil’s grin goes lopsided. “Ah— w-well — somewhere nice! Fancy! Or… not fancy? Anywhere you want! You pick! I’ll— I’ll plan it! I’ll— Uh, where-- where would you... want to go?"
Henchman gives you another thumbs-up behind his flustered boss’s back. “He’ll be the best date ever, promise!”
And for the first time, you think— maybe you want to believe him.
• Note: something will always go wrong on that "date". Of course it does — but when he’s sulking about it, you’re quick to comfort him and remind him he’s trying. Be patient, and he’ll promise you the whole underworld on a silver platter.
• Once you’re official, he goes overboard trying to be romantic... which fails miserably. It's sweet, but so not him. And you see right through it. He craves your attention and focus and will do anything to have it. But when you tell him he doesnt have to force it, he quickly drops that facade.
• Physical affection is new territory for him. He's never loved anyone, so touching you (even if its just holding hands) makes him shy at first--, not because he didn't want it. But when he realizes that you want him too? He's all over you.
• Smooches, hand-holding, wrapping an arm around your waist-- expect it all! He cherishes your smile. Your skin is soft and your form is the definition of perfection. Expect to be slow-kissed by him especially when y'all are alone.
• Henchman has definitely walked in on “smooch time” more than once on accident. The Devil growls and gets annoyed every time, but you quickly redirect his focus once the guy awkwardly shuffled out of the room.
Just a secret: you think his fangs are hot even though he thinks his fangs make him look more dangerous. When he finds this out he's bewildered yet... flattered?
• Now that you're both in a serious relationship, you're very quickly forced invited to join The Devil in the underworld... yeah, you're living there with him shortly after giving in to his advances. It's not your choice.
• You're with the king of the underworld, and your status changes drastically. You're his beloved; So you're treated like royalty. If you ask for something, you're gonna get it. You may not be evil or as demanding as him, but some townspeople who know of your relationship will fear you. Even the other Demons.
• You have your own suite in Hell. Lavish bed, a vanity covered in gold, even a bathroom that rivals a mortal palace — It's better than a 5-star hotel-- and it will be your favorite color, too. He knows more about you than you understand!
• Oh, you want to share a bed? Even better! You can join him in his room and he'll decorate one side to your liking, and the other side will be his! You're an equal in his eyes.
• He will construct a second throne beside his just for you. He wants the entire realm to know you sit at his side. If anyone doubts it, he'll show them exactly who rules that hellscape with him.
• Do you like makeup, nails, fashion? If so, the Devil will cheer you on and feed you endless compliments of your majesty. He'll even want you to do his nails and maybe give him some eyeliner! (he thinks it makes him look fierce and badass).
• Favorite nicknames for you are darling and dear. Not too crazy with puppy names at all, he thinks many are cringeworthy as fuck. Anything else feels disgusting in his mouth and sees as an insult to you. You're stuck with darling or your name most of the time.
• Shamelessly tells you you're pretty/beautiful every chance he gets. The moment you walk into the room, his eyes are on you. He'll turn to someone entering the room and say "Isn't my darling beautiful?" And if they say anything other than a yes, they will cease to exist in an instant.
• Remember his bad temper? Its still there even though he tries to hide it from you. From past experiences and tantrums with the Cups, you're well aware of this trait. But now, when you're there, he's much less likely to blow up or cause a scene. Your presence is like lavender, effortlessly calming his searing-hot petulance.
• If he's angry with one of his demons, (for example, King Dice), and you defend them? It sparks a quick argument — he’ll rant and snarl, but the second he sees that stubborn look on your face, he grumbles, muttering curses under his breath, and stomps off. It’s impossible for him to stay mad at you for long. You get what you want, even from the Devil, without doing anything.
Meanwhile, King Dice (or Henchman) is stunned — part grateful, part terrified — and will shoot you a secret thumbs-up or whisper a quick “Thanks..." before scurrying off before The Devil changes his mind.
• Are you ever in trouble? Good luck to whoever caused it. The Devil will wholeheartedly stay with you until the threat is eliminated or long gone. No one can harm you, not while he's there. And there better be no scratch on you or he'll go ballistic.
• If you're upset, he's upset; and the entirety of Hell will know. Someone made you cry today? He's throwing hands the moment you turn away after comforting you.
• Henchman will be the bridge between you and the Devil's differences-- if you're mad at him, he'll talk to you about it and will reach some sort of understanding. Most of the time.
Because of this, you and Henchman became very close! Contrary to popular belief, the Devil doesn't mind at all; in fact, it's quite useful.
• Hell's minions secretly adore you, too. The realm runs smoother when you're around-- and less hot! The Devil's patience is extended. If you threaten to leave after a fight, the other demons will beg for your forgiveness and to stay for their own sanity. (but they won't include that part).
In summary, you're the only thing in existence that softens his ice-cold heart. His love for you is real--chaotic, overwhelming, and oddly sweet. He'll never stop adoring your mind, your body, and soul. And for once, love doesnt make him feel ashamed at all.
