#lbc x reader

"and just how exactly am i supposed to know which worm is you?"

moses let out a long, soft sigh, pressing a hand against her forehead as her brows drew together. the look on her face made it abundantly clear that she had already accepted this as yet another one of your harmless — albeit utterly nonsensical — antics.

for a brief moment, she seemed genuinely inclined to dismiss the question altogether; yet the instant your cheeks puffed into an unmistakable pout, the resolve she'd so carefully maintained gave way.

"fine."

it wasn't as if humoring you would cost her anything.

". . . yes," she answered simply, the corners of her lips softening ever so slightly. "i'd still love you if you were a worm."

". . ."

rather than answering immediately, erza folded her arms and furrowed her brows with the utmost seriousness, looking as though she had been tasked with solving the greatest mystery known to mankind. you merely watched in silence as she remained completely still for a while, painstakingly searching for what she believed to be the perfect answer.

"erza?"

at once, her eyes suddenly lit up, sparkling as though she'd just uncovered the greatest revelation of her life.

". . . we could be worms together," she shyly pressed the tips of her index fingers together, looking oddly proud of her conclusion.

the surprise on your face soon softened into fond amusement, which the blonde-haired woman readily took as all the encouragement she needed.

"i'd even fight all the other worms for you ! then everyone— everyworm would know you're my worm !!" she declared it with such wholehearted conviction that neither of you could suppress the laughter that followed.

"if you were a worm, that would complicate matters."

"a worm wouldn't be able to communicate properly. you'd be vulnerable to predators, incapable of defending yourself, and. . ." his voice remained calm and methodical as his thoughts wandered further. "i assume your dietary requirements would also change."

"i'd need to look into proper care." he closed his eyes for a laconic moment, only to reopen them and meet your thoroughly bewildered gaze, your head tilted slightly to the side.

". . . i believe i've misunderstood the question."

you answered with nothing more than a small nod.

a deliberate cough escaped him as the realization settled in. for the first time that day — or perhaps week — a faint trace of embarrassment crossed his otherwise composed features.

he had, after all, devoted an astonishing amount of thought to the logistics of caring for a hypothetical worm.

"whether you were human or a worm wouldn't change who you are to me."

"so yes," his eyes found their way back to yours. "i'd still love you if you were a worm."

— the difficulty, however, isn’t confined to circumstance alone. lucio himself is hardly any easier to navigate. his thoughts, his time, his very being are devoted to becoming a “perfect textbook” in the purest sense, leaving little to no room for anything beyond that – let alone the notion of “liking” someone. 

— but a life shaped so rigidly, so singularly, cannot contain every single impulse. within him stirs something unrefined, insubordinate – a foolish desire that refuses to obey the rules carved by his master. it’s undisciplined, raw, and it draws him toward you despite himself.

— the pull is inevitable, to an extent - like bees drawn to honey. for a man whose existence has been defined only by training, obedience, and thrashing – the warmth of your presence is something entirely new. until now, the closest he had ever come to comfort was a roof overhead and food to fill his stomach. 

— perhaps the strangest part is that lucio does not initially recognize the feeling for what it is. affection, fondness, attachment – these are concepts that exist somewhere beyond the narrow framework through which he understands the world. he can identify sword forms, recite lessons, and memorize instructions with remarkable precision. yet place his own heart before him and suddenly he becomes utterly illiterate. 

— he begins noticing small things instead, such as how his gaze instinctively seeks you out whenever you enter a room; how his attention drifts toward your voice amidst crowded conversations; how his shoulders loosen ever so slightly whenever he realizes you’re nearby. 

— don't worry, he'll keep those little unruly habits firmly in check, indulging in them only when it has been thoroughly confirmed that valencina is nowhere nearby or, under more fortunate circumstances, far too intoxicated to pay him any mind. even then, such moments remain private, existing solely for himself to acknowledge and no one else.

— lucio has spent the overwhelming majority of his life being taught that he exists for a singular purpose. a textbook possesses no desires of its own; it does not seek comfort, nor does it grow attached to others. It simply fulfills the role it was crafted for, serving exactly as it was shaped to serve.

— be that as it may, every time you smile at him, every time you treat him as something more than a weapon or a lesson, those carefully constructed beliefs begin to crack.

— and that’s precisely what scared lucio the most. there are days where he avoids you entirely because of it. and also because every moment spent in your company makes him increasingly aware of how much he wants to stay there. 

— though “distance” isn’t always the form his fear takes. if he believes the matter has grown particularly severe, he can and will become unusually critical of everything you do, nitpicking the smallest movements and mistakes despite knowing full well that his standards are unreasonable. the behavior comes unnaturally to him, yet it is the only response he understands. 

— because lucio acts upon what he knows – discipline, punishment, harsh words, violence. these are the languages he was raised with; the only methods ever used to correct, teach, or shape him into what he is meant to become.

— consequently, teaching him how to love – and, more importantly, what it means to be genuinely loved in return – is a gradual process. a long one, undoubtedly, demanding no small measure of patience; yet perhaps it’s the only path capable of leading him somewhere better.

— and should you somehow manage to dismantle those walls he has spent his entire life constructing; should you convince him, despite every circumstance insisting otherwise, that he is allowed to exist as something more than a mere textbook–

— then perhaps, in this world or some distant mirror of it, lucio might finally learn that affection was never something he needed to earn through suffering in the first place.

— once lucio genuinely grows attached to someone—romantically, no less—then good luck to him trying to pry that particular individual out of his mind. even should he exhaust every ounce of willpower attempting to cast those feelings aside, the efforts prove collectively abortive.

— the thoughts themselves are seldom grand in nature. rather, they take the form of mundane concerns: what you might be doing at this very moment, whether you've eaten properly, if you've been sleeping enough, if you've remembered to stay hydrated. occasionally, his mind wanders toward your preferences, your beliefs, the little habits you've picked up over time, and what not.

— no, he has absolutely no idea why these occupy his thoughts more frequently than devising a proper plan to escape this hellhole, either.

— he rarely voices such concerns outright though, fully aware of the consequences hanging above both of your heads. on the rare occasions that he does, however, the change is so subtle and minimal that one could very easily miss it entirely.

— he truly, truly ill-like admitting this to himself, let alone to you, but. . . if allowing himself to be patched up by your hands remains the only appropriate excuse to spend time with you, then he would gladly endure being beaten however many times necessary.

— pain is hardly unfamiliar to him, anyways.

— though, truthfully, it was never about the injuries in the first place. the matter is complicated by one unbearable concern: your safety. Lucio, the textbook, could withstand many things without complaint – humiliation, pain, relentless training until he’s dog-tired – yet the mere thought of you being harmed because of him weighs upon his heart more heavily than a hundred beatings ever could.

— and the fear is far from unfounded. valencina’s temperament is far too volatile for such comfort. she may decide to lash out on a whim, regardless of whether he is recovering from previous punishments or not; and should his attachment to you ever become apparent, there’s no guarantee that her displeasure would remain directed solely at him.

— in all honesty, lucio would much rather bear the consequences alone, because pain is familiar.

— but the possibility of watching someone he cherishes suffer on his behalf is something he cannot quite bring himself to accept, no matter how much he attempts to reason otherwise.

— praise has an absolutely catastrophic effect upon him. god alone knows how much hardship the man has endured throughout his life, so even the smallest scraps of affirmation prove devastatingly effective – “you did well”, “i believe in you”, “i'm proud of you”, and the like. so much that – hypothetically speaking – if lucio possessed a tail of any sort, it’d be wagging oh so violently much to his everlasting mortification, of course.

— outwardly, however, he displays little to no reaction. if anything, he merely grows quieter than usual, maintaining the same composed expression he always wears as though nothing of significance has occurred. 

— but frankly, those words will haunt him until the day he dies – lucio remembers every single one with terrifying precision.

— unfortunately, he isn’t particularly gifted at casual conversation. criticism, correction, formal instruction? certainly. he excels at those. but ordinary matters prove far, far more difficult.

— nobody has ever truly asked him whether he was doing well. nobody has cared to inquire about his interests, his preferences, or the little things that make up a person's life beyond their utility.

— consequently, his quietness and awkwardness comes naturally. more often than not, you’ll find yourself initiating conversations and guiding them along while he simply listens. and, truthfully, he doesn’t mind this arrangement in the slightest.

— speaking of listening, lucio is, in stark contrast, an excellent listener. you could ramble from the heavens down to the very earth itself and he would still be listening attentively, even if he occasionally tells you to spare him the details or cease speaking altogether. more often than not, such remarks carry little genuine weight behind them.

— because, plainspokenly, he doesn’t dislike hearing your voice. far from it, in fact. he simply has no idea how to admit as much.

— the man takes mental notes of everything about you, however.

— whether it concerns your utter disdain toward his master – which, once again, earns a firm reminder from him to refrain from saying such things aloud despite the fact that he never physically stops you – or your complaints regarding the suffocating nature of this dreadful house of spiders, he remembers it all.

— the same applies to smaller, more prosaic matters – your favourite foods, things you dislike, habits you’ve picked up, stories you’ve only mentioned once in passing, the like. lucio memorizes them absentmindedly, as naturally as breathing.

— if lucio does choose to speak at length, his words are usually either unnecessarily formal, astonishingly literal, or some unfortunate combination of both. thus, sarcasm, figures of speech, and playful teasing have a distressingly high chance of flying straight over his head.

— he would probably enjoy teaching you how to wield a sword. partly because it allows him to observe your movements, to watch fragments of his own style take root within your form, to correct your mistakes and guide your posture with his own hands. and partly because it grants him an excuse – an entirely reasonable one, in his mind – to remain close to you for a little while longer.

— he’d be especially patient and gentle, too. learning under his guidance is infinitely easier to breathe through than anything valencina would ever offer, trust me. his criticisms already lean toward the constructive side by nature, but with you, they become noticeably softer, almost subtle in their delivery.

— assuming valencina even permits him to indulge in something so trivial, that is.

— lucio is painfully touch-starved, though he doesn’t realize it yet. nor does he understand that touch accompanied by genuine affection differs so fundamentally from the violence and rough handling he has grown accustomed to throughout his life.

— because of that, he’ll remain avoidant and hesitant toward physical affection at first, even when he knows full well that you have no intention of harming him. it’s simply instinct – years upon years of conditioning manifesting as habit.

— though, if you insist that he stay still, he will. reluctantly, perhaps, and with visible uncertainty written across his features, but he’ll nevertheless place his trust in you and allow it.

— please, do shower him with affection. he won’t fuss over it, nor will he display any particularly dramatic reaction – truthfully, most of the time, his expression hardly changes at all. and yet, he can’t deny that such gestures make something within his chest flutter in ways he still struggles to understand.

— though, if he could ask for one thing, it’d be for you to remain mindful of his bruises and old injuries. hugs, pats, and other forms of affection are always appreciated, yes, but pressing against fresh wounds is considerably less pleasant than the sentiment behind them.

— not that he’ll complain much, mind you. more often than not, he’ll simply endure it in silence rather than risk discouraging you from touching him altogether. it takes a fair amount of trust and several gentle reminders from your side for him to realize that asking for a little caution isn’t the same as rejecting your affection.

— and once he finally does, well. . . know that this becomes one of the very few things keeping him together amidst everything else. your warmth, your touch, your quiet acts of care – they become a comfort he clings to more dearly than he’d ever realize; a small mercy that renders this miserable little cell of hell ever so slightly more bearable to inhabit.

— it’s precisely that pride which forged the sharper edges of her personality: the competitiveness she makes no effort to conceal, the deliberately condescending cadence in her speech, and the near‑unshakable confidence she places in her own intellect.

— until she meets you, that is.

— reasonably speaking, faust dislikes you almost immediately.

— perhaps ‘dislike’ is too restrained of a word for the peculiar irritation curling beneath her ribs each time you casually correct one of her statements - not rudely, nor arrogantly, but with enough accuracy to leave no room for dismissal. 

— at first, she perceives your interjections as little more than an unpleasant habit. an attempt to challenge her authority. a needless inclination to chime into matters already settled by her conclusions.

— yet the issue lies within one inconvenient fact: you are correct - consistently so.

— not always in grand, dramatic ways, no. sometimes it’s merely a minor adjustment to a calculation she overlooked; other times, a clearer and more comprehensive reinterpretation of a phenomenon she thought she already fully understood. insignificant details, yes, but they accumulate.

— and faust notices every single one of them. of course she does - these matters concern her expertise, after all.

— it never fails to make her brows twitch for what feels like the tenth occasion of the day.

— however, there exists something far more irritating about this entire ordeal - something that makes her skin crawl ever so slightly beneath that composed exterior of hers. a feeling she hardly ever - if ever at all - experiences. 

— even people, or the countless intellectuals she had crossed paths with before, had never occupied her thoughts in quite this manner. howbeit, somehow, you manage it effortlessly - so unchallengingly, in fact, that several sinners have already begun noticing the subtle changes in her behavior around you.

— is it because you are her colleague - someone she is forced to remain around for extended periods of time ? perhaps it’s because your corrections are never delivered with arrogance, nor mockery, depriving her of any reasonable justification to dismiss them outright ?

— or perhaps it’s because, somewhere along the line, faust began experiencing something she had only ever truly felt once before - during that incident aboard the warp train - uncertainty.

— the longer this odd game of intellectual one-upmanship continues, the more irritation begins intertwining itself with something far uglier beneath the surface.

— insecurity.

— faust possesses immense pride - that much is undeniable - yet such confidence was never built upon arrogance alone. she has gesellschaft - an incomprehensibly vast collective of knowledge standing behind her, supporting her conclusions, refining her understanding, ensuring she remains ahead of nearly everyone else within the city.

— and yet, even with that advantage, you still manage to outpace her. again. and again. and again.

— it leaves something bitter festering beneath her ribs. growing moment by moment like a stubborn seed slowly forcing its roots deeper and deeper into soil unwilling to reject it.

— because if even the knowledge she prides herself upon proves insufficient before you, then what exactly does that make her ?

— no, that can't be the case. that must not be the case. no. absolutely not.

— faust, counting herself alone, wouldn’t be this degree of aggressive - irritated, certainly, but not enough for such ugly emotions to fester this deeply beneath her composure. however, the factor belonging to gesellschaft sure does trigger such. to an extent.

— their presence lingers constantly behind her thoughts, whispering into every moment you manage to outplay her once more. telling her - a genius - why is she being driven so downhanded by such an individual - someone they are quite certain does not possess a technique akin to theirs on their back, but merely their own knowledge alone. 

— before long - or perhaps for far longer than she would ever care to admit - faust attempts to rationalize it. surely there must exist a logical explanation behind your capabilities.

— maybe your field of expertise merely overlaps with hers more often than anticipated ? maybe your conclusions are aided by information inaccessible to others ? maybe your thought process simply differs enough from conventional patterns to produce more efficient results in certain scenarios ?

— with that being said, the issue with such reasoning lies within one simple, irritating truth: your intelligence does not appear limited to a singular field.

— whether it concerns calculations, abnormalities, combat strategy, linguistics, mechanical systems, or phenomena even some certain parts of the city itself struggles to properly categorize - you adapt with infuriating ease. worse still, you do so without carrying the same air of superiority she has come to expect from intellectuals of your caliber.

— you simply. . understand. as though the conclusions she spends precious seconds refining had already existed within your mind long before the discussion even began.

— there are moments where she catches herself watching you silently from across the bus. staring - bordering closer to glaring, if anything - while you spend your time conversing almost jovially with your colleagues. not out of fondness - certainly not that - but observation. analysis. an attempt to uncover the mechanism behind your thought process.

— soon afterwards, with those tendencies gradually growing more accustomed to gesellschaft’s constant words alongside the very nature of faust herself - whose hostility was never born purely from arrogance, but rather from an incessant desire to understand the city wholly - she eventually comes to accept one undeniable truth.

— yes. you are indeed smarter than faust herself.

— surprisingly, that realization merely drives her to learn more about your knowledge - about yourself - instead.

— she begins lessening those habitual tendencies to glare toward your direction whenever discussions arise; especially after you once remarked, rather casually, that such glaring would “eventually ruin her pretty eyes” - an absurd statement, frankly.

— yet ever since then, the twitch of her brows whenever you present a significantly more comprehensible plan for the sinners has noticeably softened.

— rather than immediately opposing your conclusions internally, faust slowly begins learning from them instead. from your words. your thought process. the peculiar ways your mind reaches answers before anyone else can fully piece the question together.

— however, to accomplish such a thing, she ends up following you around far more often than intended - to the point where the two of you are now, apparently, attached nearly hip to hip.

— the other sinners find this development utterly hilarious - despite faust herself not quite sharing their enthusiasm. after all, watching her shift from glaring daggers at you to quietly absorbing your explanations like a student listening to their instructor within such a short span of time is, admittedly, rather amusing from an outside perspective.

— nowadays, the two of you resemble that infamous pair of exceptional students within a classroom - constantly discussing matters no one else understands, nor particularly wishes to understand after a certain point.

— albeit faust remains noticeably competitive at times, the aggression behind it has lessened considerably beneath the surface. not entirely gone, certainly not, yet healthier now - more constructive than hostile.

— and perhaps most surprisingly of all, even gesellschaft itself gradually comes to embrace your presence.

— after all, you prove to be yet another remarkably plentiful source of knowledge now placed well within their - lcb faust’s - reach.

➤ YI SANG

— in contrast to faust, yi sang initially takes a rather passive - if not outright unresponsive - approach to your intelligence, particularly prior to his canto.

— after everything he has endured, the fact that someone happens to be exceptionally clever hardly seems important in the grand scheme of things. if anything, he occasionally regards you with a quiet sort of melancholy.

— your brilliance reminds him, perhaps unwillingly, of his own past - the days when he was praised as a genius, only for that same path to lead him toward mistakes and regrets he still struggles to fully leave behind.

— yet the more time he spends around you, the more those feelings begin to change.

— there is something oddly grounding about your presence. a difficult thing to explain, really, but perhaps it stems from the fact that your intelligence resembles his own in a strangely familiar way.

— and perhaps - just perhaps - it is comforting, too. a faint reminder of better days. of conversations shared with people he once cherished. a distant warmth lingering beneath memories that otherwise ache to revisit.

— though even yi sang himself would hesitate to admit that aloud.

— this develops far more noticeably after his canto - without the weight of the past dragging at his heels quite so heavily, yi sang becomes much more observant than most people realize.

— he notices everything - the way you already know the outcome of an argument before it reaches its conclusion, the way you subtly steer conversations, the way your plans always seem to contain three more plans hidden beneath them, the way your conclusions arrive through routes entirely different from his own.

— he finds himself. . . becoming invested in these things in more ways than one.

— now that he thinks about it, it's surprisingly rare to encounter someone capable of matching him intellectually while remaining so approachable and jolly. unlike faust, conversations with you rarely feel like a contest of superiority - they feel natural. comfortable. like speaking with a genuine friend.

— and it's a comfort he grows increasingly fond of - he lets you know as much from time to time, though not always in a particularly direct manner.

— before long, conversations between the two of you can probably last for hours - one hypothetical leads into another, which leads into three more, until everyone else has long since given up attempting to understand what either of you is talking about.

— unlike faust, yi sang experiences no bruised pride whenever you outsmart him. if anything, he becomes more interested and curious.

— the moment you arrive at a conclusion he failed to consider, his eyes seem to brighten ever so slightly. as though you've presented him with a puzzle he hadn't realized existed.

— he enjoys being surprised by you, really.

— yi sang also becomes noticeably more talkative whenever you're around as time pass. granted, "talkative" remains a relative term.

— he still speaks in strange metaphors, still drifts into abstract observations, still somehow turns a simple discussion into something resembling philosophy.

— and if you happen to enthusiastically follow along with all of it ? well. it quickly becomes heaven for the two of you and absolute hell for everyone attempting to decipher the conversation from the outside.

— though he rarely admits it, yi sang can become uncharacteristically and surprisingly competitive when the mood strikes.

— it’s not all that subtly aggressive or open, but still the two of you have absolutely spent entire evenings attempting to outmaneuver one another through increasingly absurd thought experiments, neither willing to concede and neither willing to stop.

— and somehow, both of you leave the conversation feeling victorious anyway.

— speaking of mental games, he grows particularly fond of playing chess with you. not simply because he expects to win - quite the opposite, in fact.

— he is fully aware that you will likely defeat him most of the time - and that on occasion you are probably allowing him a victory out of kindness.

— still, he enjoys it - because to yi sang, the game itself is secondary. what matters is spending time with someone whose mind he genuinely admires.

— as your friendship deepens, you gradually notice him developing the habit of seeking your opinion - not intentionally nor consciously. it simply happens, like a plant naturally turning toward sunlight.

— whenever a problem arises, whenever a theory is proposed, whenever some unusual phenomenon catches his attention - his gaze drifts toward you almost automatically.

— waiting. curious about what you'll think. what you'll notice. what angle he'll inevitably miss.

— another thing worth noting is that yi sang is actually rather easy to impress - not through grand achievements or impossible feats all the time; rather, through perspective such as a single observation he never considered, a new interpretation, a different angle, and that is often enough.

— and those moments remain with him for a very long time afterward.

— similarly, he develops the habit of quietly remembering your ideas, your comments, and your observations.

— weeks later, he may casually reference something you once said, nearly word for word. not because he deliberately memorized it, but it simply stayed with him.

— your thoughts gradually become part of the collection of ideas he carries with him wherever he goes.

— if you're particularly good at reading people. . . . yi sang appreciates that more than he can properly express.

— despite appearances, he is not as passive as many assume. when circumstances demand it, he is fully capable of standing up for both himself and the people around him.

— that said, he is grateful whenever you notice the smaller things like the subjects that make him uncomfortable, the situations he'd rather avoid or the moments where he begins withdrawing into himself - it makes him feel understood.

― he finds your thought process beautiful - not necessarily because it's correct, but because it's yours. distinct, unpredictable and entirely separate from his own.

― there's something deeply comforting in discovering a distant mind he can't completely predict. no matter how much he observes, no matter how many conversations the two of you share, there always seems to be another layer waiting beneath the surface - another thought process, another perspective, another conclusion he never quite anticipated.

― thus, the habit of stealing glances in your direction develops all on its own. absentmindedly at first, then with increasing frequency. likewise, his smiles become more common whenever you're around - they may be faint and subtle, but undeniably there.

― and though your intelligence certainly plays a part in that fondness, it's not the sole reason. somewhere along the way, he found himself appreciating your presence just as much as the thoughts you bring forth.

― perhaps it's because a friendship built upon mutual understanding and shared curiosity has gradually begun to bloom into something more. something softer. something neither of you can quite name yet.

― to yi sang, discovering something beyond his expectations has always been one of life's greatest joys - and somehow, no matter how much time passes, you continue giving him new things to discover.

— however, from time to time, you'll catch him repeating the phrase under his breath later on. whether it's an attempt to commit it to memory or simply to better understand such a peculiar choice of words remains difficult to tell.

➤ THE MANAGER OF LA MANCHALAND DON QUIXOTE

— scoffs at you with her brows drawn together so tightly you'd almost think she genuinely despises being called pretty. she'll likely tell you to cut it out, too.

— in reality, however, it's less annoyance and more a poorly concealed attempt at handling her embarrassment. she simply doesn't know what to do with a compliment like that, especially when there are far more pressing matters demanding her attention.

— in short, she. . . kind of likes it. unfortunately that's a fact she'd sooner carry to her grave than admit out loud.

➤ BLADE OF HOUSE OF SPIDERS RYOSHU

— gets flustered for a brief moment, perhaps - just perhaps - even stopping dead in her tracks. it's almost amusing when compared to the composed, full-of-hatred image she usually carries herself with.

— fortunately for her, the lapse doesn't last long - she quickly regains her composure and firmly tells you not to say such things again, regardless of whether she enjoys hearing it or not.

➤ THE LORD OF HONGYUAN HONG LU

— if you happen to say it while he's in a particularly good mood and free from work, he'll simply flash you that infuriatingly smug smile and tease you right back and forth.

— however, should you catch him during one of his more serious moments - or before the two of you haven't grown particularly close yet - he'll merely tell you to stop spouting such absurd nonsense and focus on whatever task requires your attention instead.

➤ WILD HUNT HEATHCLIFF

— genuinely wonders what force in the universe compelled you to utter those words aloud, and to him of all people no less.

— surprisingly, the feeling it evokes is less embarrassment and more sorrow. in some distant, unpleasant way, it reminds him of her.

— as a result, he'll either fall completely silent - lost somewhere deep within his thoughts and regrets - or bluntly tell you never to call him that again.

➤THE PEQUOD CAPTAIN ISHMAEL

— repeats the phrase beneath her breath for a moment before letting out an amused laugh.

— she'd much prefer being called "captain" over "girl," but she'll let it slide this once.

— regardless, she finds the whole thing oddly amusing. in fact, despite herself, she has a surprisingly difficult time disliking the thought of hearing you say it again.

➤ THE ONE WHO SHALL GRIP SINCLAIR

— despite everything he's endured, sinclair would still be caught off guard and flustered much like his base self. after all, he's spent far more time being ordered to purge heretics than being called. . . whatever it was you just called him.

— he does try to process it - emphasis on try. as much as he wants to tell you to stop; to insist that of all the people deserving such a compliment, he certainly isn't one of them - the words never quite leave his mouth.

— because despite knowing full well he doesn't deserve to be called that, despite believing he shouldn't want to hear it - he can't help but let it happen.

— much to his own shame, he finds himself waiting for the next time you'll say it again.

➤ G. CORP MANAGAER CORPORAL GREGOR

— you? saying that? to him? him specifically?

— you really ought to get your eyes checked. or perhaps you're simply that much of a sadist, intent on rubbing salt into that bleeding and rotting wounds of his.

— because as far as he's concerned, being called a "repulsive pest" would make far more sense than whatever this is. there's no need to play tricks on him like that.

— and if you insist you're being genuine, he'll only laugh awkwardly and look away. perhaps some things are simply easier to dismiss as a joke than to hope might be true.

did he say something wrong? misspeak somewhere earlier perhaps?

“. . .yeah?” he answers after a second, giving a small nod. “why?”

you hum thoughtfully for dramatic effect before flashing him a thumbs-up.

“nice name.”

“huh?”

“i was just thinking,” you continue far too casually for whatever direction this conversation is apparently heading toward. “if our names were put together, would it sound good?”

sinclair stares at you with a completely dumbfounded expression.

“something like, emil [name].” you suggest ever so innocently. “doesn’t that sound kinda neat?”

for several seconds that feel equivalent to an eternity itself, sinclair genuinely forgets how to respond.

in reality, however, his face is rapidly adopting an alarming shade of red, conveying quite effectively that he is, in fact, internally combusting on the spot.

“what?!” he blurts out far louder than intended, eyes widening as he blinks frantically. “w-wait, why are you saying it like that all of a sudden?!”

“what’s the problem?” you ask innocently, as though you hadn’t just casually and passively proposed marriage in the middle of a conversation. “you don’t like it?”

“n-no, that’s not what i mean-”

the poor boy completely short-circuits halfway through his sentence, his entire system seemingly shutting down as both hands immediately fly up to cover a face now bearing an uncanny resemblance to a tomato.

meanwhile, you can’t help the amused grin tugging at your lips as you watch him struggle this hard over a single hypothetical name combination.

“. . . you’re doing this on purpose. .” sinclair mumbles weakly from behind his hands, unable to meet your gaze anymore.

“maybe,” you simply shrug.

“that’s so unfair.”

“and yet you still haven’t answered my question.”

the champagne-haired man lets out a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine.

“. . i-i think it sounds nice.”

“aw, really?” you giggle, absentmindedly poking at the makeshift shield of hands he’d raised in a futile attempt to hide his overly flustered state.

“d-don’t do that. . .”

“do what?”

“look so happy about it-!”

➤ FAUST ❝ an intriguing phenomenon. faust was previously unaware a human could vocalize in such a manner. ❞

faust’s reaction is less surprise and more immediate analysis.

rather than making a significant deal out of your. . . purring, she instead focuses on understanding how exactly you’re capable of producing such an unusual vocalization - especially considering no ordinary human should realistically be able to replicate a sound of that nature so naturally.

once she reaches a satisfactory conclusion, however, faust quickly relegates it into the category of harmless background noise and moves on without much further fuss.

➤ DON QUIXOTE ❝ most marvelous ! thou soundeth akin to a contented feline creature !! ❞

needless to say, she’s absolutely fascinated.

don quixote reacts as if you’d just unveiled some legendary hidden technique spoken of only in ancient tales, eyes practically sparkling with excitement the moment she hears the sound.

before long, she’s already asking you to do it again. and again. and perhaps one more time for confirmation.

whether you indulge her curiosity or refuse outright, the aftermath usually consists of don attempting to mimic the sound herself - with results ranging from terribly inaccurate to outright concerning.

➤ RYOSHU ❝ hmph. C.L. ❞

initially raises a brow, briefly wondering whether the sound had simply come from elsewhere before realizing it originated from you.

while she’d never openly admit it in plain terms, she does find the trait aesthetically appealing in its own strange way. enough to occasionally give your head a brief stroke if the mood strikes her.

unsurprisingly, she also ends up assigning you some cryptic cat-related nickname afterward and continues using it whenever referring to you.

➤ MEURSAULT ❝ empirical observation: you emit such sound 4.7 times per minute during affection, ±0.3 with hand placement. ❞

maybe he offers a short observation regarding the unusual sound. maybe not. either way, meursault ultimately treats the matter with the same level of neutrality he approaches most things with.

that said, due to his remarkably precise memory. should any of the sinners ever question when, why or under what conditions you tend to purr, meursault is capable of answering almost immediately - often with enough accuracy to make it seem as though he’d been silently documenting your behavior for research purposes all along.

➤ HONG LU ❝ ah, there’s that lovely sound again. ❞

he reacts rather similarly to don quixote, albeit far less explosively energetic about it.

and instead of confusion, hong lu accepts your purring surprisingly naturally. if anything, he seems amused and charmed by it more than anything else.

before long, he starts subtly encouraging the behavior too; resting beside you more often, absentmindedly playing with your hair, or speaking in that soft, gentle tone of his simply because he enjoys hearing the sound return afterward.

➤ HEATHCLIFF ❝ oi, knock it off already. ❞

definitely throws him off here and there at first, though heathcliff eventually reaches a point where he simply accepts it as another one of your strange little harmless habits, especially compared to the several far more concerning habits possessed by the rest of his colleagues aboard the bus.

that said, he still gets visibly flustered whenever you start purring because of him specifically. every single time. he’ll grumble and tell you to quit it already, regardless of whether he actually dislikes the sound or not.

➤ ISHMAEL ❝ wait, seriously ? humans can actually do that ? ❞

looks around. stares at you. then glances around the surroundings once more before narrowing her eyes at you again - visibly trying to process and confirm what exactly she’d just heard.

once she realizes the sound is genuinely, really, truly coming from you; however, her confusion gradually melts into reluctant fondness alongside a noticeable hint of bewilderment.

although she’d never openly make a huge fuss over it, she does slowly begin associating your purring with quieter, safer moments aboard the bus. maybe even coupled with a faint smile of hers that ishmael herself isn’t aware of.

➤ RODION ❝ aww, there it is again~ c’mon, lemme hear it one more time ! ❞

absolutely adores it from the very start.

the second rodion realizes you tend to purr whenever comfortable or affectionate, she immediately starts trying to coax the sound out of you on purpose - especially whenever she has nothing better to do. this usually involves excessive cuddling, cheek squishing, playing with your hair and invading your personal space with absolutely zero shame whatsoever.

and unfortunately for you, your reactions only amuse her even more afterward.

➤ SINCLAIR ❝ o-oh. that means you’re. . happy right now, right ? ❞

poor sinclair nearly short-circuits the first time he hears you purr.

he freezes completely for several seconds, a soft blush spreading like petals across his face - all the more once he understands it’s born from your comfort in his presence.

soon enough, he grows noticeably softer whenever it happens - partly because the endearing sound reminds him of normalcy, partly because it’s simply soothing to hear - though most of the time he’s far too flustered to mention it directly, of course.

➤ OUTIS ❝ you seem. . rather prone to making that sound around me lately. ❞

maybe a little mildly surprised at first, but that’s about the extent of it. you being able to purr isn’t exactly the end of the world or anything, is it ?

but you may catch those same subtle little reactions whenever you purr near her - or because of her purposefully - if your eyes happen to be sharp enough for it, though discerning whatever thoughts lie behind them remains practically impossible as always.

➤ GREGOR ❝ hah. . . guess that means you’re comfortable around me, huh? ❞

somewhat caught off guard the first few times he hears you purr just like the rest of the sinners, and he adjusts to it in a short time too.

before long, he starts finding the sound oddly soothing - enough for your presence itself to gradually become something nice to have around from time to time.

➤ ZWEI ASSOC. SOUTH SECTION 6

much like his base self, his kisses remain rather short-lived - restrained by both force of habit and lingering shyness alike.

however, if he so much as senses that his briefness left you even slightly disappointed, he’ll immediately try making up for it in other ways like bringing back small gifts from missions, remembering passing remarks about things you wanted weeks prior, or awkwardly offering another kiss later once the two of you are somewhere private and safe enough for him to properly gather his courage.

➤ LOBOTOMY E.G.O::RED SHEET

due to the e.g.o’s effects, both his kisses - and his personality as a whole - become noticeably bolder.

he likes tracing his lips along the shell of your ear, the corner of your mouth, your jaw - lingering just long enough to leave you flustered before finally pressing a kiss against your lips when you least expect it. there’s a subtle teasing streak to him now - one he hardly bothers concealing anyways - and he seems to take far more amusement in watching your reactions beneath his touch than he probably should.

➤ MOLAR BOATWORKS FIXER

his kisses tend to carry traces of seawater, mechanic oil, rusted metal, and the lingering scent of those crabs’ fluids clinging stubbornly onto his clothes and skin after work. because of that, he’d much rather clean himself up properly before kissing you, growing reasonably self-conscious over the thought of you having to deal with the grime and scent still lingering on him. 

however, if you still insist despite his protests, he’ll eventually give in with a sigh and a faintly embarrassed expression.

➤ BLADE LINEAGE SALSU

being within a syndicate such as the blade lineage leaves him tense more often than not, thus even something as simple as expressing affection through kissing you tends to make him noticeably nervous beforehand. he much prefers pressing soft kisses against your knuckles or forehead first - partially because they feel gentler, and partially because he’s not entirely certain he could withstand the overwhelming heat blooming across his face otherwise.

there’s also the lingering thought that his mentor may very well scold him later for indulging in such distractions for even a moment too long.

➤ THE ONE WHO SHALL GRIP

his kisses carry the faint taste of blood, assuming you manage to get him to kiss you at all. and no, it’s hardly ever on the lips, if ever. generally, he doesn’t believe himself deserving of something so intimate from you in the first place. his touches are fleeting to an almost painful degree; the very second his lips brush against your skin, he’s already pulling away again as though lingering any longer would be a sin in itself.

that said, on those rare occasions where everything becomes far too overwhelming - when the noise in his head grows unbearable enough for him to seek even the briefest distraction from it all - then perhaps, just perhaps, he’ll kiss you differently. not hesitant nor restrained this time, but desperate - intense in a way that borders on frightening, as if he’s trying to drown himself within the moment before guilt inevitably claws its way back into his chest afterward.

➤ CINQ ASSOC. SOUTH SECTION 4 DIRECTOR

perhaps the association’s influence rubbed off on him more than he initially realized - he delights taking your hand first, pressing kisses against your gloves or fingertips before eventually moving upward with slowly growing confidence in the manner of a knight. 

despite the ‘elegance’ he tries maintaining, however, nervousness still betrays him in smaller ways: the faint flush creeping onto his ears afterward, the way his gaze briefly darts away once he realizes how long he’s been staring at you, or how he quietly clears his throat before attempting another smooch as though mentally preparing himself for a level 3 duel.

in addition, he’d kiss you behind a hat like in those clinché scenes too - if only his hesitation didn’t stop him.

➤ DEVYAT’ ASSOC. NORTH SECTION 3

his kisses tend to happen in passing - brief moments stolen between work, travel, or conversations. there’s something oddly domestic about them despite the nature of his occupation; a quick kiss against your hair while organizing documents, another pressed absentmindedly against your shoulder while walking beside you, one more before disappearing off toward another assignment.

however, the longer he spends away from you, the more noticeable his clinginess becomes once he finally returns. then his busses grow considerably more lingering, almost reluctant to end as though trying to make up for every moment of absence all at once.

➤ THE MIDDLE LITTLE BROTHER

i get the feeling that while his kisses are usually shy and loving most of the time, sure, but there are occasions where they become noticeably rougher around the edges due to the environment he’s within - mainly whenever his temper gets the better of him.

in those moments, affection tends to happen impulsively - sudden grabs at your wrist before pulling you closer, sharp kisses pressed against your mouth or jaw with poorly concealed frustration still simmering beneath them. he also grows visibly irritated whenever those moments are interrupted midway through.

still, such hot-headed outbursts are rather uncommon for him overall - happening only once in a blue moon.

➤ THE THUMB EAST SOLDATO II

no matter how badly he wishes to shower you in affection, being a member of the thumb means obedience above all else. rules are followed with absolute precision there; even a single misplaced word may cost someone their tongue.

thereupon, before long, kisses - affection in general, really - become something tortuously difficult for him to express openly. at best, you receive brief touches against your temple, your knuckles, the back of your hand whenever his superior happens to be looking elsewhere that day.

still, there remains something undeniably tender about those fleeting moments - perhaps because you know exactly how much he risks merely to allow himself even that smallest indulgence.

➤ HEISHOU PACK - YOU BRANCH

now due to the effects of the bolus - which transformed his branch into the most bloodthirsty and battle-driven of all - even his gestures of closeness carry that same ferocity. what should be tender becomes violent equally to he’s starved to the bone. contact with him rarely leaves you unmarked; bruises, scratches, and streaks of blood often linger across your lips, neck, and exposed skin badly enough to nearly require medical bolus treatment afterward. 

and this is considered the ‘lighter’ version only because he still retains enough restraint not to completely lose himself at the sight of you stained beneath his hands. 

➤ THE PINKY APPRENTICE

affection is something he carves for so deeply, after all. his kisses are filled with nothing but devotion and extreme carefulness - treating the act with an almost sacred sort of gentleness, as if even the slightest roughness from him would taint something he cherishes so dearly.

afterward, especially during days spent alone, he often finds himself resurfacing those memories again and again, quietly clinging to the warmth of such evanescent moments in an attempt to soften the solitude slowly beginning to grow teeth.