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“You can come out, Marcus. I know it’s you,” you sighed, fingers poised over the cipher machine you’d been quietly busying yourself with for the last few minutes.
Your latest match had, thus far, been disturbingly quiet. In most cases, that would have been cause for worry -and a strong indication that someone was about to receive an axe to the skull via Dream Witch-, but ever since the arrival of the newest Hunter, the “Cueist”... more often than not, it meant you were about to be pestered.
“Marcus,” you called again, pulling away from the cipher entirely. You crossed your arms in a show of exasperation. “I can see your tail from around the corner.”
The tail in question gave one quick, indignant lash before being tucked away, and a moment later, the “Cueist” came into view. He stood stiff and upright, trying to retain some sense of decorum as he approached. “Good evening… little mouse,” he spoke, offering a polite nod in greeting.
You did not return it. “So… do you intend to do your job, or will this be another easy victory for my team?”
His tail lashed again at the accusation. “Don’t be ridiculous, I…!” He paused, coughing into his fist, and then continued, softer, “I will dispose of your teammates swiftly… in time. I am merely… giving them a false sense of hope first. Before I crush them.”
“Right,” you responded, tone half-hearted as you turned back to your cipher. A quiet noise, almost akin to a whimper, sounded behind you.
You had to fight the urge to groan, knowing exactly what was coming. “Would you… like to help?”
Almost instantly, Marcus set aside his cue stick and made a beeline for you, hooking his arms around your waist without any further need for invitation. It would have been almost cute if not for how often he did it.
“Here we go again,” you mumbled under your breath, but your demon-infused companion was hardly listening by that point. Rather, he was finding delight in nuzzling your back and shoulders, eyes closed and tail swishing lazily in a show of contentment. Soft chuffs soon followed.
You tried to ignore it and focus on your decoding, you really did, but after a few moments, you felt him tugging down the back of your collar, and then-
…slp… slp… slp…
Oh, wonderful.
He was licking you. Again. “Grooming”, as he called it.
The situation was so utterly absurd that you couldn’t help but laugh, doubling over the cipher. “Marcus!” You cried, shoulders sagging as he followed you down, curling over your hunched form. His warmth seeped into your back. “I’m trying to decode!”
“And I am not impeding you,” he retorted. His clawed thumb began tracing small, comforting circles into your hip.
Groaning, you smacked the back of his hand gently. “Yes, you are! You… you fiend… feline… fiendline!”
“Hmph… impudent mouse…”
The two of you remained in that position for a moment longer before you began squirming, which Marcus took as his cue to straighten up, albeit with his gangly arms still looped around your middle. You followed a second later.
“...You’re needy,” you whispered, turning around to lean against his chest. Marcus responded immediately by cradling the back of your head, mindful of his claws.
A huff, then a petulant correction: “I… care for you.”
A beat passed.
“If I give you attention, will you let my teammates go?”
“...Perhaps.”
The next time your fellow Survivors saw you, you were not strapped to a rocket chair or waiting by the exit gate as they’d expected. Rather, they came upon you a short distance away from it, sat on a bench with a very content Hunter laying beside you, head perched on your lap and chuffing as you pet his hair.
One hiss from Marcus was all the deterrent they needed to not disturb you.