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zepskies · 10 months

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Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. 😘

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

“Where is she?” Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car.

Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they weren’t slaughtered, they’d be taken into custody.

Ben knew he could’ve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperate…

Anyway, Black Noir hadn’t been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that you’d stuck to it…but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

“She was brought to the Tower,” Frank informed him.

Ben smirked. “Good. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew I’d be coming.”

He looked over and noticed Frank’s frown as he drove.

“Unless he’s not at the Tower,” Frank said.

Ben’s smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there if…

“We have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,” Frank said. “Or she’s improvising.”

Ben frowned.

That didn’t change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didn’t matter.

The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of “good guys vs. bad guys.” It was just defense and siege.

And in front of them all was Black Noir.

“There you are,” Ben said, but the other supe didn’t even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission.

When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stan’s office.

Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man.

Meanwhile, Ben and Noir’s fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way.

Once they reached near the floor below Stan’s office, Ben got an arm around Black Noir’s neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.

But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Ben’s helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.

When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears.

He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someone…

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear.

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this.

Right fucking now.

That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.

His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.

Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.

Meanwhile, you were holding your own…but you were also getting beat to hell.

You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit.

You were still standing though.

“You’ve gotten soft,” Jon remarked. He’d broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again.

“I gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappointing.”

When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table.

You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.

But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic.

He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldn’t crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you.

“What you need now is what you’ve always needed. A firm hand,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. I promise, I will.”

The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain.

But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested.

Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.

Still, you struggled to breathe.

Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.

To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms.

You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you.

Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height.

And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead.

You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was.

“What are you, some kind of hero?” you managed to quip, offering a small smile.

Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. “Something like that.”

When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.

“Hold on,” he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. “We’re getting the fuck outta here.”

Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“He…knew,” you managed to say. “Knew I was lying.”

“I know,” said Ben. “I should’ve fucking known better.”

You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldn’t help it anymore.

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

“Yeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,” he said.

You could’ve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile.

“Guess not,” you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice.

“Just relax,” he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice.

Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings.

All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“It’s about fucking time,” you eventually heard Ben grouse.

You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.

“I take it Stan Edgar isn’t here,” said Frank.

“You could fucking say that,” Ben snarked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Sir.” Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.

Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frank’s arms.

“Get her out of here,” Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.

“He shouldn’t face Noir alone,” you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest.

“He’ll meet us after,” Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.

Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy.

“You can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but it’s not going to stop me from killing you,” Ben taunted.

Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Ben’s shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasn’t hot.

It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasn’t diffusing his power completely…it just made it even harder to control.

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.

Glancing down, he realized he’d been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell.

Fuck.

At least it was better than a frigid coffin…but in his mind, not by much.

He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet.

Why’s it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?

He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell.

Stan Edgar.

The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms.

“We did hope you would remain on sabbatical,” said Stan. “But I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.”

Stan gestured to the large cell. “This was our contingency plan.”

Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.

“A light mist of Novichok,” Stan explained. “Enough to keep you docile.”

“And if I’m not?” Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution.

“We can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,” Stan replied. “But you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?”

“The conversation I planned on having was…a little different,” Ben said darkly. “But first, let’s start with what you used to clone Black Noir.”

“I suppose there’s no real harm in telling you,” Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Ben’s ears, the smug prick.

“We kept some of Homelander’s blood as an insurance policy. But, we’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

“This Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. He’s under our control,” Stan said.

“Until he isn’t,” Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.

“And that new gun?” he asked. “Don’t tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.”

Stan’s lips made a wry turn.

“It was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.” Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. “A reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.”

“So what’s the play here?” Ben said. He was getting impatient. “You know, when I break out, things aren’t gonna be pretty.”

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat.

“In the meantime,” he said, “you won’t be alone.”

Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like you’d been bandaged up, at least.

“You also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fine…if a bit worse for wear,” Stan informed him.

Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He should’ve made sure that bastard was dead.

“That’s cute, considering he’s the demented fuck who beat her to hell,” Ben said.

Stan rose a solitary brow. “And at whose behest did she enter the lion’s den?”

Ben had nothing to say to that.

You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt.

Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that you’d been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.

You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room.

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked.

Ben chuckled a little. “You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot.

You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.

“Go slow,” he warned. “Bet you’re missing that Temp. V right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad.

The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.

You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.

That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest.

Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captor’s gun.

You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story.

Bottom line: Frank’s death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didn’t seem to hold it against you.

“Good on ya, Frank,” Ben murmured. “You went down fucking swingin’.”

“What about you? What happened with Black Noir?” you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Ben’s eyes.

He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.

“Makes you wonder what else they’ve been cooking up in that lab,” you muttered.

“Other than Noir?” Ben quipped. He told you about that too.

“We can figure this out,” you said. “If nothing else, my team, the CIA, they’re looking for both of us…if for different reasons.”

Ben scoffed at that. “A silver lining there. Make no mistake, we’re getting the fuck out of here. Just…need a minute to think.”

But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief.

Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when he’d wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.

“Aaah, fuck!” he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.

You noticed, biting your lip in concern…until an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked.

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.

“Because they’re easy to catch,” you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. “Buddum-ch.”

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

“Okay, not a fan of that one. Let me see…okay,” you raised a finger. “What does a baby computer call its father?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t tell if you were serious.

“Data!” you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Ben’s lips, but he was stubborn.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked.

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered.

“Because 7’s a dick, that’s why,” you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Ben’s face.

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk.

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk.

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you).

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile.

It made you smile in return.

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?”

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?”

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled.

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.”

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze.

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs.

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government.

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted.

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair.

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said.

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.”

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best.

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked.

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said.

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell.

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

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#The Lion's Den #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 11 #zepskies writes

399 notes · View notes

semisolidmind · 7 months

Note

For the Lion’s Den AU, what was it like when Wukong and Macaque first met Peaches? Love at first sight? Didn’t really notice her until she did/said something? Did they meet her separately or together?

(i briefly mention how they met in one of the earlier lion's den posts, but i guess i should give it some explanation)

reader attends her first meeting understandably apprehensive. she was told explicitly by azure not to draw too much attention to herself, given the nature of his comrades. he would defend her if needed, of course, but she would have to be prepared for their... disapproval, if it arose. she began to imagine what truly frightening beings may be behind the gilded doors that lead to the council hall.

the three demons already seated at the large table were not at all what reader was expecting.

they were worse.

azure failed to mention that his allies were none other than the dreaded monkey king, the six-eared macaque, and the demon bull king. anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention to local gossip had at least heard of these three; the tales of the bloodshed and ruin that followed in their wake were known across the land.

reader had seen it firsthand when the occasional survivors of their conquests would make their way (bloodied, broken, and burned) into her village begging for shelter.

truly a terrifying band.

even more terrifying was the way reader made accidental eye contact with the monkey king every time she dared to glance upward. she'd look down as soon as his golden pupils shot over to her, but reader could feel them on her for a few moments afterwards. even looking away, she could sense the way his sight would drift over to her every time he would address azure; the seating arrangement (azure on one end of the table, reader right next to him, with the monkey king on the other) didn't give her anywhere to hide.

she had to admit, the simian demon was more... upbeat? than she expected? despite his appearance, he acted not as a conquering warlord meeting with his allies to discuss how best to subdue their enemies, but as a man sharing a table with his friends. he joked, he laughed, he talked about old stories.

and what surprised reader the most... was that the demons around him joined in.

were reader not horribly aware that she sat among some of the most powerful demon lords in the world, she'd have felt as though she were back in her village listening to the farmhands after a hard day's work.

it was unsettling knowing that these were the monsters who had killed many innocent people just like those farmhands, and felt no remorse.

reader couldn't wait for this meeting to be over.

---

wukong couldn't wait for this meeting to be over.

as much as he enjoyed talking with azure and the brotherhood, he was much more interested in the human woman azure had brought with him. he could tell macaque was interested, too; any mortal that could catch the interest of one so goal-driven as azure lion must be something special.

wukong really wanted to know what her deal was. but, as much as he would've liked to call on her during the meeting, he got the feeling she'd freeze in fear if he brought attention to her that way. she looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

there were little tears at the corner of her eyes the last time she accidentally looked at him.

...it was kinda adorable.

the monkey king glanced over at his brother, finding him staring at the woman as well; seems he'd had the same idea. it also seemed like reader hadn't noticed macaque looking at her in favor of keeping tabs on wukong (which was kinda flattering; he half-jokingly decided that meant she liked him more).

wukong came up with a spilt-second plan. he hid his mouth behind thoughtfully steepled fingers (he was only pretending to listen to the battle strategies being discussed anyway) and whispered it so that only his ever-vigilant brother could hear him.

once the meeting was over, the brotherhood had dispersed outside to get some fresh air. the monkey king crossed the courtyard, intent on distracting azure. he asked the general to take stock of a recent battle so that he and a nearby scribe could make note of it. though azure was a tad confused (shouldn't they have done that right after the battle happened?), he begins to list off information such as casualties, equipment lost, rations used, etc.

conveniently taking the lion's attention away from his little companion, who seemed to be wandering off toward a grove of fruit trees a ways away from the courtyard.

wukong flicked his tail in a certain way, meaningless to anyone but his brother, who took that as his signal.

the shadowmaster sunk into his namesake as soon as eyes were no longer on him.

wukong will join up with them later, once his side of the plan is complete.

---

macaque usually didn't pay much attention to mortals, aside from when he was killing them.

but the fact that the ever-so-honorable (more like hypocritical) azure lion had a little mortal woman at his side? well...that was certainly interesting.

macaque knew that azure was much gentler when it came to human commoners, letting them escape before raiding their towns. the shadowy simian found it amusing that the lion believed he was being merciful; a crowd of defenseless humans with nowhere to go, out in the wilderness? they were basically a demon buffet. and if demons didn't get them, wild animals or the elements would.

deciding to keep that observation in his back pocket for the next time azure nagged him about killing villagers, macaque stepped out of the shadows. the human sat a short distance away, leaned back against a flowering tree. it looked like she was admiring the scenery, completely unaware of him.

what did azure call her...? reader?

hm. azure could've picked anything to give her as a protective pseudonym, and he chose that? wonder what that could possibly say about her. she doesn't really look the academic type.

although, now that he's able to see her a little closer...

perhaps the six-eared demon could understand why the lion was taken with this human, at least physically. she's pretty, she's got nice proportions...but if looks were all that mattered, there's definitely more outwardly attractive humans to choose. her appearance can't be all there is. so, macaque decides to speak to her.

he calls out, casually asking her how she's enjoying the view. she startles and begins to rush out apologies and promises that she didn't mean to come here, she didn't realize she wasn't supposed be here, she didn't mean any harm by it, she'll leave—

macaque laughs, genuinely. she definitely used to be a servant or lower class, no one of any sort of status would apologize just for being somewhere. he goes and sits himself down next to her before she can stand and run away.

he can practically feel her trembling—oh. oh, she's starting to tear up a little...but she's putting on such a brave face.

macaque's pupils dilate a little.

she's just too precious.

after assuring her she's not in trouble, he asks her about herself; where'd she come from, what was her life like before, how did she meet azure?

now that was an interesting story. she actually nursed the stupid cat back to health, despite the fact that he's a big, scary demon? she's brave, he'll give her that. her story would certainly explain why azure took a shine to her. macaque jokingly asks reader if she regularly took demons in, or if azure was just a special case—because he really wouldn't mind being taken care of by her, he says flirtatiously. reader laughs a little at that.

the demons' six ears twitch. he likes that sound, he decides.

macaque can tell reader's getting more comfortable with him. she's opening up, even joking back at him. the attractive blush on her face makes him want to tease her more. the darker-furred demon finds that he likes it when she flusters at a compliment.

he kinda...doesn't want to stop talking with her. it's so easy, like he's always known her.

of course, that's when wukong shows up.

---

wukong had managed to sit through all of azure lion's report without falling asleep, which was an accomplishment all on it's own. afterwards, he managed to get yellowtusk on a long-winded lecture on...something or other, which he always insisted his brothers sit for.

having successfully trapped azure and peng in a manners-mandated lesson (one he knew would keep them for a good while; once the old elephant got started talking, he was difficult to stop), wukong excused himself to "check on dinner preparations." he sped off on his cloud toward where the kitchens were, intent on making a u-turn where the others couldn't see.

if azure wanted to follow, he'd have to interrupt his brother; something wukong knew he'd be hesitant to do.

with that taken care of, the simian ruler quickly tracked his little mark, finding her and his brother under a flowering peach tree. deciding to eavesdrop on their conversation, he stepped gently from his cloud onto the branches above them.

after a moment listening to them (and getting a little jealous that mac had managed to get her to laugh, which was a pretty sound he wanted aimed at him), wukong swung down, shaking some flower petals free, landing gracefully in a crouch at reader's feet. he cheekily apologizes for "dropping in" so unexpectedly.

at her frightened gasp and backpedal, wukong rushes to reassure her he means no harm. he's just curious, he wants to hear her story too, honest! he keeps his tone gentle and playful, and attempts to be as non-threatening as possible (which is tough, since he knows his reputation precedes him).

when reader finally manages to speak (thanks to a little encouragement from macaque), wukong perks up. she doesn't seem as scared of his brother anymore at least, which is a very good sign. as she tells her story, he takes in her features up close.

after hearing how she cared for azure, wukong unknowingly echoes his brother's earlier sentiment; he kinda wants reader to take care of him, too.

he sees how her eyes shine with dewy unshed tears, her face flushed at the demons' proximity (they're both in her space, macaque practically leaning against her shoulder and wukong sitting so close in front that their knees were touching). he notices the way the dappled sunlight hits her skin, the way her lashes frame her eyes. he notes the way loose peach blossom petals decorate her hair. he has to stop himself from reaching out to tuck the little strands that have escaped her updo back into place.

wukong finds himself becoming a bit enamored. his tail curls a bit, and his smile becomes gentler the longer he looks at her.

after talking with her for a while and sharing his and macaque's own stories, wukong realizes that they've been gone for a few hours; the sun is beginning to set, the grove taking on a golden hue. they should probably actually go check on dinner, and (regrettably) return reader to azure.

buuuuut....maybe not right away.

wukong offers reader a tour of the stone palace before she leaves.

---

reader didn't know what was happening.

why was she able to speak with these— these murderers so easily? she should be running away, she should be excusing herself back to azure's side as politely and quickly as she could!

but...but she was having fun. she was having a friendly chat with the monkey king and six-eared macaque of all demons—and laughing, for heaven's sake.

though most of it stemmed from her fear of offending them, the fact that she's speaking with them at all feels like a betrayal of her race. these two, on their own, had killed hundreds, possibly thousands of humans. they could change their minds about playing nice at any moment.

but—but in this light, in this context...they were almost like any ordinary men. were it not for their obviously demon appearances (though reader couldn't say the two were unattractive; the soft glow of the evening light did them many favors), their status, their bloody history—reader could consider them good company.

thinking about it made her want to cry, like she'd been on the verge of the entire time she'd been on this mountain. she wanted to go home and have that cry in the privacy of her bedchambers.

so when the monkey king (he insisted she call him wukong) offered to take her on a tour of the palace, reader thoroughly considered refusing, politeness be damned. she should really just go back to the monster she knows, not run off with one she doesn't.

however, she was curious about what the rest of the cave looked like. she and azure had entered through the massive water curtain, been lead through a large foliage-infested pavilion full of wukong's chattering simian subjects, into the reception hall, and then immediately into the council room. she hadn't gotten to see much, but what she did see she considered very beautiful.

reader, through her anxiety, had marveled at everything she saw. flower fruit mountain was so...alive compared to camel ridge. she preferred it here, at least in that way.

maybe...maybe going on a little tour wouldn't be so bad. it'd give her an excuse for her absence from azure's side, for one (though it wasn't like she was doing anything wrong by not being next to her kidnapper every second). he could stand to not have her near for a few more hours. plus, how could he say no to something as innocent as a tour? and if the eager look on the monkey king's face along with the coaxing smile on macaque's were any indication, they probably weren't going to take "no" for an answer.

well, reader thought in a resigned manner, she'd already gotten this far. what was the harm in spending a little more time with these two?

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au #lion's den au #this got long

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