not a request, but hear me out… Guy Crimson’s s/o, who is thoroughly covered in his scent, leaves on a journey that lasts weeks, if not months. Once returning, they don’t smell the same, they smell… like all sorts of different majin that aren’t him. His s/o even has the scent of another daemon on them from their visit to Tempest and their time spent around Rimuru and his secretaries. (Honestly, it can be assumed that Diablo/Black spent much time around s/o intentionally, knowing, and finding it amusing how much it would irritate Rouge, the Red Primordial to have his mate returning with the scent of another primordial.) While there was not a chance in hell that s/o would ever betray Guy, it’s inevitable that the scent of others would rub off on them. I wonder if Guy would appear needy, desperate to rescent and reclaim his lover.
I know that the Red Primordial has existed from the dawn of time, but boy would it be a joy to see him desperate.
This red motherfucker acts so fucking unaffected by it.
Wearing that classic Cheshire cat grin, damn "happiest" Guy has ever been so it seems. Clean cut in the visible light of your eyes, so undeniably unnatural to the human eye. And it may very well blow over an ignorant fool's head.
But you know Guy, his one and only; how he plays across the midnight air free as bird. And you, of all the people in his long, long eternity, are likely to notice that strange smile, that joyous uppercut of his lip doesn't feel the way it normally does. Forced. Far from smooth. It's cracked right into place, edges of a sword, stabbing every truth to rip it apart further. Not that he doesn't trust you. Oh no, Guy does trust you, but a lion doesn't attack another lion wandering its territory for the gazelle's sake.
Guy's thin-laced smirk rubs alcohol onto a wound that shouldn't even be there, a pricking sense of dread and despair.
said wound is a reminder. One for you.
Any shift in Guy Crimson's mood tips at the drop of a hat, and those notable shifts happen simultaneously hand in hand with foreign encounters.
The ancients-who don't see eye to eye with him, do understand Guy Crimson, in defining remembrance of his 'happy-go-lucky" demeanor-scolds; a somber, quiet weight for those unfortunate enough to summon him, what truly lies beneath the twinkling stars of his bloody façade, no one can really pin it in place.
Any face of Guy is skillfully crafted; Sinister smile-too straight not to be fake, seething his cheekbones, thinning out the handsome layers of his face in the smoothest slit of the mouth. No wrinkles, flaws, or mild stumble of the brow; a wild brush, crinkled black. A hollow shadow upon his closed, ruby-laced lids; children cry at the sight of such an abominable facet.
Guy Crimson is a fairly reasonable dude, no admirable primordial like him can avoid treading the soils. Dirt will get on your shoes; nature is an inevitable thing to allow. Something was going to rub off eventually. If it was Diablo that "accidently" rubbed off on you, Guy knows better than to fall for the trap that devilish little sea urchin set up, especially when Guy has better things to think about.
But Guy doesn't have to like it, nonetheless, no matter the intention. That scent-something not his-itches the back of his head. Countless bugs crawling, stubby legs creeping up his throat. That specific irritation peaks every time you enter the same room, although it isn't obvious for the unknowing ones-it isn't mild in the slightest and will worsen the longer the smell lingers. God help you if it ever gets stronger.
He won't take the sudden change of scent as a threat, heavens no. Guy Crimson is more than a little self-aware of the disastrous threat proposed in his footsteps, his very name was inspired by the fearful screams of his victims. The people effected by him-especially under, know how far they can truly throw their rocks across the lines of his tolerance. Which is fairly high, you must admit for someone of his intimidating stature.
Mentioned many times before, while Guy isn't exactly emotive, he is possessive to a demonic degree with no issue showing it. Guy isn't blind to human moral logic, but it won't apply to himself in general sense. It's his nature; to frown upon anyone who intrudes upon a claim walking on his land, rightfully his by law alone.
Under the sheets of bed, the star-littered cover of night-Guy won't exactly turn this situation into a problem, not technically, but that doesn't mean he won't eventually do the inevitable and pout.
He turns an entire fucking wheel and crashes himself into a pole while he's at it; Silently scuffing each time he smells anything remotely like somebody else, cheeks huffing and puffing like a child. Sharp pins, annoying fingers, poke and pry away pinches at your flushed plums.
Rest assured, the moment a chance seizes to wipe off the intrusive smell, the pitiful intruder on your flesh,
