#I hope I get the energy to draw an actual thing soon. sigh

[hyperkitten224]

since digital circus episode 2 is coming out soon and I haven't drawn in a while, here's a short doodle dump of things I never posted (most of them are design tests and/or made after the announcement video)

doodle and design test of Princess Loolilalu. she was hard to draw, and I might do a lil retake of this design when episode 2 happens and we actually see this character doing stuff

lil doodle of that one Ragatha concept design. idk man she just looks adorable

Martha Mildenhall doodles. she is much simpler than the candy princess I tells you what

a few doodles of Ragatha and Gangle being cute together. tbh idk why I drew Gangle that tiny

and lastly, humanoid the Sun and the Moon designs. I'm not sure what to think of how I designed the Moon, I feel like you can tell I'm a Daycare Attendant fan from her design alone >.>

[bbyquokka]

fizzy pop

– yn has a habit of bottling up their emotions, chan comforts them & explains the importance of communicating about feelings/emotions.

pairing | bang chan x gender neutral reader

genre | angst w comfort – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | established relationship, mental health (low moods, low/no motivation, lose of interest in hobbies/things), pet names.

words | 2k ~ ( 2,042 )

notes | idk why but i've been putting off on posting this for months, maybe bc im nervous 🤔 don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it's just another day. another day of just being there. another day of feeling like you have no purpose in life except to please others. another day of wondering “what is the purpose of me being here?” you fake smiles, say you're "ok" because saying how you actually feel is exhausting.

aside from it feeling exhausting, you also don't want to draw attention to yourself and when you do speak, you feel stupid for doing so, so you keep it all in, bottle it up until it's too much for you to handle. some days you wonder why you even bother to get out off bed.

is it because of the birds you hear outside? the sun's heat that you want to feel on your skin? could it be the laughter and chitter chatter of others? or maybe you want to hear the rain on the leaves–who knows. all you know is that everyday is the same and it's tiring.

the days merge into one. what day is it even? monday? tuesday? oh wait, it's saturday morning. time doesn't exist anymore. in your mind you see no point in getting up out of bed because again, what's the point? 

so why is it that your boyfriend is gently shaking you, asking, no, begging you to get up.

“darlin'. please get up.” chan whispers as he gently shakes you by the shoulders. you sigh deeply, a tired sigh that causes chan to swallow and his suspicions to come to light.

you pull the duvet over your head, body curled in a small and fragile ball. the curtains are still drawn providing darkness despite the morning rays that wish to peak inside. 

chan has been up since the crack of dawn. he has showered, made breakfast and managed to get dressed. he gave you some extra time to sleep in because he knows you're not a morning person but when the number nine on his watch turned to twelve and you're still not up and out, does he grow concerned.

he's had his suspicions for a while. he's noticed how defeated you sound. how there is little to no energy in the words you speak. he's tried everything to cheer you up, thinking, hoping you were just having an off day. but that off day turned into an off week which slowly, but surely, turned into an off month.

you lost your passion for being creative, lost the will to make anything which you despise. being creative is one of the many pleasures you have in life, to be able to make something and share your creations with others is exhilarating but when you feel like this, your mood turns bitter and cold towards everything you do which results in you resenting everything you create.

you lost the energy to speak to people. to pick up the phone and just talk. you're not deliberately ignoring nor trying to be difficult but keeping conversations flowing is just too hard right now and when you think they're giving you the same energy back do you feel so guilty. 

what have i done to deserve this? why am i forced to feel like this. you find yourself questioning everything late at night. your head loud as soon as it hits the pillow and no amount of music you blast down your ears can silence those thoughts.

everything is so exhausting. everything is the same. you just want to disappear whether that be for a few days or forever, you're not quite sure, but certain people around you wont allow that to happen. they are keeping you afloat, head above water. you desperately and silently wish they never let you go, no matter how hard you fight and push them away.

“baby, please.” chan's words dripped with desperation. his knees on the bed behind you as he kneels causing the mattress to dip. his hands on your shoulders gently as his eyes bore into the duvet, burning holes into it until he is burning holes into you. tears threaten to spill down his soft cheeks as he becomes increasingly worried for you.

“chan..“ you whisper, your words shaking. “please.. leave me alone.” 

he swallows. those three last words he hates to hear. now he is left in a difficult position. should he do as you say and leave you? leave you to fester and rot in your own thoughts and feelings. watch you melt into the mattress and become nothing but a lifeless shell. or should he force himself, force you to acknowledge him. show you, tell you that's it's going to be ok–even if you don't believe him in the beginning.

but this is chan and you know more than anyone how stubborn chan can be.

“lets go take a shower yn, together! and maybe we can go out and get lunch at that café you love so much?”

silence. 

“or how about we go to that art shop! pick up those water colours you've been eyeing up for months?”

silence.

“ok well, what about some new cloth–”

“chan please!” you snap, causing him to jump. “what part of leave me alone don't you understand?!”

you don't mean to sound harsh and you hope chan doesn't take it to heart. the last thing you want is to hurt the one person you adore so much. luckily, chan knows you don't mean it but it doesn't hurt him any less.

“all of it.” he softly speaks. you feel the weight being lifted up off the mattress and footsteps against the wood flooring before the bedroom door squeaks open at the hinges.

your heart breaks. hot angry tears finally being set free and rolling down the bridge of your nose and cheeks, soaking into the material of your pillow. you sob, curling up into a ball even more as your heart aches in your chest. you grip onto the pillow as you silently cry out for chan, thinking he has completely left you alone.

but you did ask for it so why do you feel so guilty?

the duvet gets pulled back from you, the cold air hitting your hot and sweaty skin. the mattress dips once again as an arm snakes over your midriff. chest being pressed against your back as chan spoons you.

“don't cry, darlin'. i'm here, your channie is here.” his soft words provide you with a sense of comfort and an indescribable feeling of warmth as well as relief. his hand strokes your soft stomach, his lips kissing your neck so tenderly you worry that he isn't really there. 

“c-chan…” you sob through your words as a way of confirmation. you can't breathe, the pain of everything that's built up over the past months is making it impossible for you to breathe. your mind fogs over as your chest heaves up and down.

you struggle to take breaths as tears stream down your face. your pillow becomes soaked with your tears. chan strokes your unwashed hair gently, hushing you and singing softly to help ground you.

“sh sh sh. you're ok, you're safe.” he whispers.

“sorry! i'm sorry!” you repeat over and over again in your fits of tears. chan continues to hush you, noticing that it's not working so he gently rolls you over to face him and pulls you into his naked chest. 

the warmth and softness of his skin calms you down in an instant. his natural scent hugs your nostrils and sinks into your heart, soothing your heartbeat as well as your mind. you grip onto him, desperately trying to cling onto something before resulting in wrapping your arms around him tightly. 

he gives you a bear hug. arms around your shoulders gently, fingers raking and massaging your scalp. his chest wet with tears as he continues to hush you through your episode.

there isn't much he can do when you're crying like this except wait. wait for it to pass–and it does, fifteen minutes later.

“better?” he gently asks. you peer up at him to notice that his own cheeks are wet with a few tears slowly falling.

“you're crying..” you whisper as you reach up and wipe the tears away. chan laughs softly before leaning into your touch. “why?”

“because it pains me to see you like this, my love.” that guilt comes back, settling in your stomach and wrapping itself around your heart, like black fog. you look down, tears falling from your lower lash line.

“sorry..” you mumble.

“hey.” chan unwraps his arms from you to gently lift up your head. “it hurts because i can't do anything about it. it hurts because i love you! seeing you in so much pain is rough darling. and it's not physical pain either, it's not like i can put a band aid on your wound.”

“i'm sorry i'm like this, chan. sorry i'm so difficult and such a disappointment.”

“oi.” his tone of voice turns stern which causes you to look up at him. his brows furrowed together as he reaches and strokes your cheek. “you're not a disappointment or difficult baby. it's ok to feel like this, to have off days and feel like nothing is right, however, you have to come to me when you feel like this! or if you can't come to me, talk to a friend.”

“but i hate talking about my feelings, chan.. i feel like a burden and that it just bores people and when i do confined in people, it feels like i don't get the comfort i expect to get so i'm left thinking if it's worth it and if i just expect too much from people.”

“what have i told you about bottling things up, mhm?”

“that it's just going to keep building and building until i explode.” you mumble to which chan hums and nods too

“imagine you're a bottle of fizzy pop. your body is the bottle, your feelings are the fizzy liquid. what happens when you shake a bottle of fizzy pop?”

“it bubbles and explodes, creating a huge mess.”

“and what happens when you bottle your feelings up?”

“i get shaken up by the smallest of things, which causes me to bubble and explode..”

“mhm. you have to remember, my darling, that how you feel is valid. your feelings are valid. you might seem like it's something so small or stupid, but that something small could build and build and build.”

“so i should come to you whenever i feel negative?”

“yes.”

“even if i'm frustrated at a piece of work? even if i can't get a recipe right and it annoys me?”

“yes.”

“but that is so small and not as important..”

“yn, if it's bothering you then it's big. if it's bothering you, it's important to me. if you feel angry, upset, energy less, i beg that you come to me or to a friend! it's important that we voice these things, let it be known because you'll feel better.” he tucks your hair behind your ear gently before you nuzzle into his chest, thinking about what he's saying.

he is correct. he always is and that's the thing that sometimes bothers you, but in a good way! it just means that you can't hide anything from chan, whether it's good or bad and when you are feeling down, chan is always there to pick you back up and dust you off, providing you with love and comfort.

“shall we go shower together to start the day?”

“isnt it a bit late for that? besides, hasn't your day already started?” you mumble against his chest.

“it's never too late to start the day and besides, i don't mind ‘restarting’ my day if it means i get to do it with you.” he kisses the top of your head gently, stroking your back as you tangle your legs with his.

“soon.”

“soon?” he questions.

“i just want to spend some more minutes with you..”

“we can spend as many minutes together as you like, my darling. as long as you're happy and content.”

“i'm always happy and content with you, chan. you're my safe space.”

“and i hope i continue to be and provide you with that safe space, yn.”

[specialagentlokitty]

Tony DiNozzo x reader - stay with you

I was wondering if you could please write something about NCIS. Perhaps Tony helps you..his girlfriend or what he hopes could be a potential girlfriend... fall asleep as he found out the reader has been having bad insomnia for the past 4 nights and maybe at most you've gotten 3 hours of sleep a night since Friday night but now it's Monday night and enough is enough - @happygirl-0408 💜

Tony had a huge flirt, everybody knew that, and so did you because he spent most of his time flirting with you.

Which meant he also spent a lot of time admiring you, and being near you.

So when he noticed a huge dip in your energy, how snappy you were and how drained you seemed to be he immediately became worried.

Sitting across from you, he watched as you patted around your desk, seemingly lost in your own world or unable to focus on what you were doing.

You finally grabbed your up and picked it up, bringing it to your mouth before you stopped a looked in it with a sigh.

“Want a coffee?” You asked.

“No, I’m good thanks.”

Tony watched as you slowly stood, bumping into your desk.

“Alright thats it.”

Walking over, he took your cup and set it down, easing you back into your seat.

“What’s going on with you?” He asked.

“Huh? Nothing.”

Tony frowned.

“That is the fifth coffee you’ve had in the past hour, you’re hardly paying attention and you just walked into your desk.”

“Sometimes people walk into things DiNozzo..” you grumbled.

“I have known you for nearly five years and you have never, ever, walked into that desk.”

You glanced at him before immediately looking away, and he caught the redness of your eyes.

It clicked pretty quickly after that.

“When was the last time you slept?”

You shrugged a little.

“Not long ago.”

“When?”

You let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know three… four days maybe…”

“Jesus Christ, why? Why haven’t you slept? Why did you come in?”

“Cause I got bored of sitting in bed trying to sleep.” You snapped.

He looked at his watch before grabbing your bag and jacket, turning your computer screen off.

“It’s that time anyway, come on.”

“Where?”

Tony held your jacket out for you.

“Just come on, did you drive here? Please tell me for the love of everything you didn’t.”

“I’m not that stupid, I got a cab.”

He nodded, helping you into your jacket before walking you to the elevator, swinging his keys from his finger.

Despite you asking again and again he refused to tell you what he was planning, and you were just to tired to push it any further.

He helped you into his car, and drove you to your apartment, helping you inside.

“Right, go change.”

He walked away and you padded to the bedroom, throwing yourself in the bed again.

You could hear the bath running, and soon Tony came through and looked at you.

“If you choose what to sleep in I’m choosing for you.”

You grumbled a little, burying your face into the pillow.

“I warned you.”

Tony wasn’t actually going to rummage through your draws, but he knew you liked to hang up your hoodies and sweatpants in the wardrobe, so that’s where he went.

“I’m not getting anything else, here.”

He dropped them on you and left the room, letting you gather the rest of your clothes and you padded into the bathroom.

He had run you a hot bath, and filled it with bubbles.

“Have a bath, I’ll figure something out for dinner, then we’ll watch some of those horrible films you love so much.”

You laughed weakly, and nodded, closing the door as he left the bathroom and you happily climbed into the hot water.

It eased some of the tension in your muscles, and it was relaxing, but still not enough to sleep.

But true to his word Tony made you a light dinner, then he covered you in a blanket and got you to lay down.

He sat in front of you on the floor, silently, hoping you would sleep but you wouldn’t.

With a sigh, he got up, lifted your head and sat down, putting a pillow on his lap then resting your head on it, gently messaging your head.

“You need to sleep..” he whispered.

“Don’t leave..” you mumbled.

Tony smile a little.

“I won’t I promise, just try sleep.”

You nodded and closed your eyes.

Tony didn’t know if you were going to sleep, but he would sleep on your couch until he was sure you had slept enough

[khristie16]

Your daddy Carlos paid for your visit to Paris as a birthday present for you and in order to make it better, he travels to you to show a side of himself not many people know

Warnings: just sweet asf

Based on this request ^^ : Meow

I’ll pick you up at seven at your place;)

You just were at your solo trip to Paris to explore the city you’ve always wanted since you were a kid. And today you were supposed to see your boyfriend. Just last week you had your birthday and Carlos made you decide on what you wanted for the gift. You liked jewelry and beautiful piece of clothes but you were really feeling to go travelling instead and that is why you’re right now in a fancy hotel at 15 place Vendôme.

Carlos wanted to spend your birthday with you and had a nice plan to visit you on your last two days to enjoy the time together.

You’ve put the last pieces to your fabulous outfit and waited for Carlos to arrive, already excited about what he planned for the two of you. You cannot wait much longer to see his beautiful big brown eyes and get lost in the warmth of them, as now when you finally meeting him in front of his car waiting for you. You kissed softly as he had a hold on you laying his hand on your waist to keep you close to him. You chuckled at his actions scratching your nails on the back of his neck. He groaned in response and closed his eyes.

“I missed you”

You smile and plant a kiss on his right cheek.

“Me too”

Smile was the first thing he saw after opening his eyes again and the light sparkled in them it warmed your heart.

“Let’s go”

Carlos opened the doors for you to hop in and be excited about what’s to come.

After few minutes the engine turned down and it made you wonder why you’re stopping. You turned your head to your handsome boyfriend to get some answers.

He was already smiling. “We’re here already”

The air outside was getting colder with each passing second as it was early spring. You hugged your arms and looked around. The moment you realised where he took you, he was already reading your mind and responding to you.

“I hope you haven’t been there yet?”

You shook your head with a smile on your lit up face.

Goosebumps on your skin disappeared the minute you went inside and walked together through the security X-ray.

“I didn’t know you liked art?”

A soft smile on his face and eyes on the floor signalled you it was not something he talks about much and your curiosity with this fact only grew. He had to chuckle to see you that way because he loved your curious nature.

“I’ve actually studied Art History back in home”

Your mouth fell open as you couldn’t put Carlos and Art together, but you closed it as soon as it opened so he doesn’t feel bad he told you. He just shook his head and shrugged.

“Let me show it to you my way”

Light beautiful decorations all around the space you two were right now standing in made you feel like you’re breathing a different type of air in here and lift you up with a different energy you immediately sensed all the possible symbolisms and meaning displayed on the canvas.

“That’s Luig Loir”

He nodded towards the painting on his right.

“Loir was a master of capturing everyday scenes with a touch of enchantment. Notice how his use of vibrant colors and soft brushstrokes brings life to the bustling streets and tranquil landscapes.”

You take a look properly on the painting and try to concentrate on those colors and contrast they give. You tilt your head slightly to see more.

“Do you like it?”

He suddenly asked you which made you frown and wonder where the urgency came from. When you looked at him you saw a slight worry on his face.

“Y-yes of course! It’s a masterpiece.”

You’ve heard a light sigh left his lips and his composure relaxed a bit.

“Whether it's a bustling Parisian street corner or a peaceful countryside vista, his attention to detail draws you into it and you can see how effortlessly he worked with lights and shadows”

You cannot hold back yourself to observe Carlos instead because you’ve never seen him like this. It made you feel intrigued?

“Does it make you feel anything ?”

Answer came to your conscious as you narrowed your eyes some more back on the painting.

“It all look so slow and simple. I feel kinda nostalgic to be honest.”

With the last words you snapped to him as if waiting to be corrected from your teacher. He smirked a little and nodded. You felt immense sense of pride filling your veins and you had to blush for yourself. Damn this guy is so much more than he let you know.

“In essence, Luig Loir's style can be described as a harmonious blend of realism and romanticism, capturing the beauty and charm of everyday life with a touch of poetic flair.”

His warm eyes landed on yours with a serious undertone.

“That’s why I like you. You’re like a piece from this old man. Real yet charming as the fairytale itself”

His broad shoulders were now facing you and closing the distance between the two of you. His hands cupped your face. Your eyes on contrary were wide open with so much admiration for this man and for the way he makes you feel. The presence of his eyes on your lips made you lick them.

“No, baby”

Frown appeared on your face, searching for answers in his warm eyes.

“If I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

You bite your lower lip because you’re a brat that likes to play with your daddy Carlos. And he loves it. His low groan and amusement in his voice made you melt and wetter by the passing second as his scent filled your nostrils and let your imagination run wild as all those paintings here.

[starwarsmum]

Chapter 6 of Introducing: Mousinette! Results Day 😁

After Marinette left Gotham behind (hopefully temporarily) she braced herself for the final school term. She woke on the first morning back at school and felt melancholic - this was the last time she would start a fresh term with her current friends. Sure, it wasn't like she'd never see them again but still.

“Tikki, why is change so hard? I had a wonderful time in Gotham, but how is it possible that lycée is over so soon?” she sighed, ruffling her fingers through her hair as she took a final look in the mirror. Tikki gave her some encouraging words and she smiled, grabbing her backpack as she walked out of the room.

Approaching the lycée, Marinette slowed down and checked her phone for messages. Now that she was back in Europe, her new American friends were unlikely to message her during her morning routines and school - they should either be sleeping or working. But Adrien had found time to message her, asking about her trip and whether she was ready for school again.

She smiled and sent him a short text saying that she was happy but also sad and nervous about the next step after this. The rest of this term was about preparing students for their next step in life, rather than learning about topics. She kept her smile all the way to her desk, thankfully able to block out Lila's high pitched (and likely false) recounting of her break.

Sadly, she could only ignore it for so long, Alya dragging her into the conversation by asking how her break was.

“Isn't it crazy that you were both in Gotham? Lila was just saying that she spent most of her break with the Waynes, which is so cool! Didn't you say you went to view the Gotham U campus with your aunt and uncle?”

“Yeah, and we met up with my online friend's family. She has a younger brother planning to go to GU, same as me! He's a bit of a jerk, but you know, I don't have to spend time with him if I get accepted. I've already started researching fashion internships, in case. How was your break?”

“My break was boring, mostly spent it babysitting and being relieved that there's no more tests! Ooh, your online friend that sent you flowers on Valentine's Day? Did sparks fly when you finally met face to face?”

“Um, no, I think I traumatised her, actually. And she definitely only sees me as a little sister, so I spent some of my time getting over the tiny crush I had,” Marinette shrugged. She had grown massively from when she would sob about how unfair it was that someone didn't love her back. She had a better sense of her own self-worth and wasn't going to waste her energy on trying to force things to change. “Besides, she's almost twice my age, I'm not sure I would have liked her as much if she did have feelings for me.”

“Oh, that's such a shame, Marinette!” Lila cooed, drawing Alya’s attention back to her. “I'm sure you'll find someone eventually , some people are just unlucky like that. Like my friend, Damian, he told me he has feelings for someone, but she doesn't feel the same. I've told him I'll help him confess but he won't even tell me who it is.”

“Ooh, girl, you don't think he could be crushing on you , do you?” Alya had taken the bait, and Marinette had to work not to audibly groan. She knew it was all lies, because after spending two evenings with Barbara's not-quite-family, she had worked out that they were the same Waynes that Lila had been bragging about for the past few months. When she had asked about her, they had claimed confusion and she let it go.

“Oh, I hope not,” Lila replied, managing to sound both flattered and crestfallen. Honestly, if Marinette didn't detest her so much she would be impressed. “I would hate to hurt a friend, just because I don't feel the same. I mean, we all know how certain people,” she added significantly, eyes darting to Marinette, “can't handle when people don't return feelings. Our friendship might not be the same again!”

Gritting her teeth, Marinette turned away as Alya continued the conversation and tried to get a handle on the flash of anger that had flickered through her. It's my last term with the lying witch, she consoled herself. And then I'll be away from here, actually friends with some of the Waynes and she'll drop into obscurity.

_ _ _

Barbara was in the batcave when her phone started belting out Katrina and the Waves’ Walking on Sunshine. The others around her, getting ready to call it a night after patrol, glanced over to her, quizzical looks on most faces. Damian was scowling, but given that was his usual look, she paid it no mind.

“Hey Mari, what's up?” Barbara said as she answered the phone. Jason snorted at the ringtone and Damian seemed to freeze before shrugging it off. She eyed him speculatively for a moment, before focussing back on the call.

“I got in!” Came the shriek from the other end of the line. “I got my BAC score today, and I got a freaking 19 and I only needed a 16 to get in so I'm going to Gotham University!”

“That's incredible, way to go Mari! Does that mean it's time to apply for those internships? Oh my god, you have to promise me we'll do girls nights when you're here,” she was babbling, but she wasn't used to having civilian friends any more. It would be nice to let loose with Marinette, even if it was only once in a while.

“Obviously we will, but I have to go for now, I need to go down and tell my parents! Talk to you on Saturday.” And the dial tone rang in Barbara's ear suddenly. She grinned, shaking her head. Chances were, Marinette would realise she had called Barbara at 3 in the morning, Gotham time, but she was pleased that she had wanted to tell her so much that the time difference hadn't even crossed her mind.

“I take it that your…friend will be attending the same university as me this fall?” Damian said suddenly, standing to the side. He huffed slightly at her brisk nod and walked away without another word. She glanced around and caught Dick's eye, but he only shrugged as he walked over to her.

“I don't know what that was about, he hasn't mentioned her to me since the day we went to tour the college,” he said. “You know what he's like with new people though, he's probably just worried we're going to make them hang out.”

Barbara hummed in agreement, picking up her phone again when a message chimed. She smiled when she saw that Marinette had indeed realised the time in Gotham and was both apologetic and a little concerned that Barbara had still been awake.

Across the world in Paris, Marinette had messaged Chloe, Kagami, Adrien and Alya to let them know the good news. She was grinning from ear to ear, bouncing around her room and squealing every now and then. She had already started packing almost everything, regardless of if she would need it between now and when she moved to Gotham.

“Tikki, it's really happening! Oh my God, it's going to be so incredible, we can move into the dorms, make friends and learn so much! And I need to find an internship, God that's going to be so stressful!” She threw herself into her desk chair and let it wheel her to her computer, throwing herself onto her arms.

“Marinette, I'm so proud of you! You worked so hard on your BAC, and you have so many options with internships thanks to the work you've put into commissions!” Tikki was fluttering around her head, smiling and squealing. “We’ll need to consider our options because we can't let any dorm mates know about me.”

“Ugh, right, magical secrets,” Marinette moaned, thinking hard. “The dorms we looked at were pretty small, not a lot of privacy and no soundproofing. That doesn't sound like I'd be able to keep you out of the box…okay, new plan! We're going to secure an internship and get an apartment, that way it's our space. It'll probably be easier doing commissions anyway.”

Now that she had made the first decision, it was easy to see what next steps to take. She started looking at the listings near the university for 1 or 2 bedroom apartments, writing off several that looked beautiful but had ridiculously low prices. She settled on two or three that seemed reasonable and sent emails to them.

She then started to scout out internships, checking the employees testimonies and looking at potential salaries. She sent emails to all of them, but took extra care on the ones she wanted. Wayne Enterprises was at the top of her list, both because she knew them personally and because it was high on the list for employee treatment. 

She sighed and stretched again, checking her phone and grinning at her new messages. She opened the one from Kagami first, the slightly formal manner making her glow with pride at how well she had done. Chloe's was more relaxed but just as proud. Alya hadn't messaged back yet, but Adrien’s was sweet.

Hey Bug, that's so awesome! I knew you could do it, you've always been the perfect one of the two of us. Let me know if I can help at all with the changes etc. <3

Although it had been a hard decision at the time, breaking up was the right thing to do. When they had revealed their identities after catching Hawkmoth, it had been awkward and tense. They had decided together that there was too much between them now, and that being friends was better than trying to force it to work.

They had both made token arguments, trying to keep the relationship, if only because it turned out they were Ladybug and Chat Noir, Marinette and Adrien; their friends shipped them so hard, they had practically cried when the pair finally started dating (Alya totally cried when they stopped dating, too). 

Their new friendship was built on the solid foundation of having spent time fighting a supervillain, shared stresses of hidden identities and dealing with mini gods. But moving in with his aunt in England meant that Adrien had had to break up with another person - Plagg. Plagg was getting some much needed rest in the Miracle Box, coming out occasionally to chat with the Guardian and Tikki.

Now that she was out of texts and tasks, Marinette decided it was time to do some designing again. She had a free day from lycée and planned to utilise it properly. All of the joyous energy that had flooded her was ready to be honed, and she wanted to see what she came up with. 

So it was several hours later that she heard the chime of her emails, and realised that she hadn't moved in that time. Cursing softly, she made her way to the bathroom, went down to the kitchen to grab a drink and a snack, before settling down in front of the computer again. She opened the new email, squealing when she saw it was from Wayne Enterprises.

Dear Miss Dupain-Cheng, 

It was a pleasure to receive your application for the internship offered here at Wayne Enterprises and we are considering your application currently. We do wish to clarify some things regarding your experience up to this point.

You have successfully worked with Mme Audrey Bourgeois, and won a competition with the brand previously known as Gabriel. Based on those, we would just like to discuss what you have worked on since your brand ceased trading in the past year.

We look forward to hearing from you,

The Office of Timothy Drake-Wayne

Co-CEO

Marinette chewed her lip, wondering if she was ready to out the face behind MDC. On one hand, this was why she had rebranded, she needed to get her work out there and make it easier to break onto the fashion scene later. On the other…the anonymity meant that she didn't have to deal with paparazzi, or people trying to be friendly with her just because she was kind of famous. Her hands hovered over the keyboard before deciding, and starting the email back. She checked the time and saw that it was still early in the day in Gotham.

Good morning,

Thank you for your speedy reply, I appreciate that you are a very busy company so it means a lot that you have taken the time this morning.

In regards to my brand, I rebranded in December last year. Prior to the rebrand, I had kept my connection to Jagged Stone secret as I am still 17, and did not wish to present myself to the media yet. As this is still the case, I trust that you will treat this information with discretion.

All of my current work can be found under my new website, mdcdesigns.fr  

If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to contact me, either by email or phone,

Marinette Dupain-Cheng (MDC)

She tried to relax but was checking her emails every few minutes. She figured they would need to check her claims out, but she so badly wanted this internship. It was the best paid - ie, not volunteer work - and the company had raving reviews from long standing employees.

After what felt like hours, but was only minutes, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She picked it up hastily, not bothering to look at the screen as she did so. She felt herself physically deflate when Alya responded to her greeting.

“Girl, a 19? That's crazy amazing! We have to celebrate, like immediately! I can have the girls ready to go in half an hour, tops, and we can do whatever you want. I'll bet the others will want to celebrate their scores too, and anyone who doesn't can commiserate!” Alya was so enthusiastic that Marinette couldn't help laughing.

“Als, it's, like, Wednesday. We should wait until Friday, that way we can plan something spectacular,” Marinette mused, already jotting down a couple of ideas. “Now, I'm not 18 yet, so that vetoes a couple of options, but we could go for a meal, get glammed up and head to this new dance club, it allows 16 and up, you just can't drink without ID. Oh, or we could go listen to a band somewhere, although Kitty Section is obviously a no, since they'll want to relax too. Hmmm, why don't we- oh, sorry, that's another call, can I catch you back in a little bit? Thanks, Alya, speak soon!”

She switched calls while Alya was still laughing and went to say hello when someone else interrupted immediately.

“How could you not tell us you were MDC?” came Tim's voice. He sounded highly affronted, and Marinette choked back a nervous giggle. “You knew we wanted to know, Babs must have told you we were fans, so why didn't you say anything?”

“Uh, hi Tim, nice to hear from you,” she replied awkwardly. “Well, first off, I said in my email why I didn't say anything. Also I know Babs pretty well but I only met you that week? Anyway, Babs was the one that wanted it kept a surprise.”

“I didn't think you were so malicious, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Tim said gravely, although he undercut the gravity with a snort a moment later. “God, no wonder we couldn't find out though, I bet she designed your website, didn't she? I knew the code was familiar when I struggled to crack it, but she didn't say anything so I didn't put it together.”

“She did, and off the record, the reason I needed a new site is because someone started spreading rumours that I was stealing someone else's work, so I had to shut my old one down. That's why I needed Babs' help to set up a new one, I couldn't trust my friend to do it without blabbing.”

“Oh, well, that sucks. Whatever, I already talked to Babs and she confirmed that you are who you say you are so I wanted to call personally and offer you a job.”

“Don't I need to interview for the internship? Aren't there, I don't know, a bazillion other candidates that need to be sorted through?” Marinette was alarmed at how quickly it was all moving.

“An internship? Oh, hell no, I want to hire you as the fashion consultant for Wayne Enterprises. We don't have one currently, just sort of pick up the odd suit and have Alfred tailor it, but if you're willing, we could give you a job to be in charge of our public event wardrobes.”

“...you know I'm going to be a student in the fall, right? And that I can't be a full time employee because I'm not even 18 yet?”

“Oh, well, sure, but there's no point giving you an internship when we could take you on part time. My understanding is that you're getting a full ride to GU and therefore don't need the money for school fees, but I promise as a part time employee, your pay would be significantly better than an intern’s. Plus, that leaves the internship open to someone who needs it.”

“How do you even know about the scholarship?” Marinette was stunned. He wanted to hire her? No awful internship, she could do what she loved for people she knew and liked? It sounded too good to be true. “Wait, no, that's not the point. I mean, yes, obviously I want the job, when do you want me to start? I can't move to Gotham right now, because I have to finish the year, and my birthday isn't until July, but then I could make my way over in August?”

“Okay, awesome, what if we hired MDC as a independent consultant, through your website, for the next 2 months, you can start making some designs for everyone, and then you can sign an actual contract just after your birthday, then whenever you move to Gotham, we can set you up with an office and creative space?”

It was more than Marinette could have dreamed of, and she was quick to agree. They hashed out the logistics, but he sounded just as gleeful as she felt when the call disconnected. She squealed and did a happy dance, picking up her phone to call Alya back. 

_ _ _

Once Damian knew that he would be seeing Marinette again, he decided that he needed to change his behaviour. It was not a sudden revelation, he had been thinking about their interactions more often than he would admit ever since she had gone back to Europe. So over the next week or so, Damian made an effort to improve his conversational skills. He spoke to random students at his high school, worked on being more patient with Kent, and asked his father to find him some work at his company to spend time with a range of different personality types. 

He of course did not relay this particular reason to his father, giving a more general explanation of wanting to get a feel for the business before he began working towards his economics degree. His father readily agreed and Damian found that he was more than capable of marshaling his temper around buffoons.

He did not want his brothers to make more of his change of behaviour than there was, and so he seldom interacted with others at the same time as them. Even so, Grayson had commented more than once that his patience had improved drastically, most likely referring to the fact that he had not threatened anyone who had been overly familiar with him.

He was determined to make a better impression on Marinette the next time they met.

[happyanderes]

⚠︎𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎⚠︎

☎︎001-001

Yandere!housekeeper x Artist!reader

⚠︎Warnings: Yandere content, drug usage(for sleep), non-consensual touches, reader is a famous artist

Word count: 1.8k

Still getting the hang of writing shorter stuff👉👈

“I can’t believe you got me a housekeeper!” You yell into the phone at your agent.

“Oh come on! When’s the last time you cleaned your room?” They replied.

“I just removed distractions from my life to keep a clear head! Steve Jobs wears the same-“

“-I’ve heard the same thing enough times already, yes, he removed choices from his life to focus on greater things with that brilliant brain of his, and I’m sure he has a housekeeper to clean out that pigsty of his.”

They say with a sigh, then before you can say anything, they continue.

“I saw how you work before, and you are distracted by your stuff all the time. He’s coming at 3 o’clock.” You check the clock, that bastard, it’s three minutes from now!

You hear the locked door click open.

As you glance at the doorway, you find yourself surprised to see a young male, who looks boyish, as if he’s fresh out of college. His pearly whites are almost glowing as a bright smile can be seen.

Your eyes trail to the bag of cleaning supplies in his bag.

“Great, he’s here……he looks so young, you sure he’s the right guy?” you mutter into the phone.

“Glad that those spare keys work! Now be polite, being a famous artist doesn’t mean you get a pass to be mean to others.” You turn away from the young man and stick your tongue out towards the phone secretly.

“That means no blowing raspberries, see you tomorrow.” And like that, they hung up.

You turn towards the young man, who looks energetic, excited, even, about working here.

“Pleased to meet you! My name’s Kyle!” with a peppy voice, his bright red hair bouncing along with his vivid movements. His pretty green eyes remind you of the shade of sunflower leaves. He reaches a hand out for you to hold.

You did not budge.

All he could do was awkwardly retract his hand.

“I’m looking forward to working in this lovely place!” He still says, with a bit less energy than before, making you almost feel pitying him. Almost.

“My room,” you point at it. His eyes trailed down your arm and to your pointer finger, then to the closed wooden door.

“It’s off limits.” That’s all you said before you sat down in front of your easel and continued working on your piece.

“Make yourself at home.”

You say absentmindedly and insincerely as a yellow stroke of paint spreads on the canvas. You lean back and a frustrated sigh leaves your lips. The phone call gave enough time for your acrylics to dry, thus making it hard to work with to get the result you wanted.

You’ve only laid the base color down, but it’s already clear that you’re drawing a field of sunflowers under a bright blue sky. Fluffy clouds and an ocean of gorgeous yellows simply waiting to be refined and brought to life.

Completely opposite from what you’re feeling.

“Okie dokie!” He said with a little salute, then his eyes scanned the room.

“Well, where should I start?” He asks you.

“Do whatever you want,” you answer. “If you don’t feel like cleaning you can go get a drink to have or something.” You say. You are actually hoping he’d listen and slack off so you’d have a quiet working space, and a reason to fire him, he doesn’t look like someone who’d really do his work anyways.

“Got it!” And then as soon as he said that, he left your house.

You hum now that it’s silent and continue working, thank goodness that went smoothly.

What you didn’t know was that twenty minutes later, you’d have a cup of ice cold coffee pressed to your cheek.

You squeal, as you didn’t expect him to come back, Kyle laughs softly and places the drink in your palms, you wrap your fingers around it out of instinct and look up at him, silently questioning.

“You said to get a drink,” he chuckled as he wiped the sweat on his forehead off with his sleeve, his chest heaving up and down as he puffed out those words. He seems to have run to and from the coffee shop.

“Sorry I was late, had to call your agent to ask what to get.”

You just stare at him, as if he’d grown two heads, then you look back at the coffee, and then to his bare hands.

“Where’s yours?”

Now it’s his turn to be confused, his lips form into a confused little smile.

“Mine……? I thought you wanted the drink.”

All you can do is blink, and look into his eyes, they’re filled with admiration, and an eagerness to please you. Almost like one of your fans you’d meet once in a while. Those fans who want to pry you open and see everything inside. Your frown deepens, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he watches you sip on your drink, with that cheery smile.

You only shrug and ignore him completely as he got to work, touring the house himself because you didn’t bother to.

Through time, you learned to tolerate him, you can’t fire him, not with your agent under his spell and him doing more than he’s paid for, but you begin to spend more time in your own room than outside of it, working nonstop, and by the time the three month monument hits, you finally start to open up just a little bit, mostly because he makes good food.

“Dinner time!” You hear Kyle shout from out of the room, breaking you out of your focus, you did not answer, only washed your brush and headed to your dining room. You always preferred sitting at the bar while you eat your food, the feeling of solidarity is nice. But Kyle tends to take his seat next to you, you don’t know if it’s appropriate, since you’ve never had a housekeeper before, but you’d just listen to him talk and talk and talk as you eat.

You know what your food is going to be, since he came to you this morning about the menu, apparently it’s a rich people thing, to have your personal chef decide the menu depending on your mood. He made you something light, a simple sandwich with freshly made juice on the side as you requested. It’s nutritious, as he says.

You take a bite of the sandwich as you listen to him rambling on about little things he has to say in life, sometimes about his life outside of your house, sometimes about his life inside of your house, but what he says the most is about you, how he’d ask you little questions and tell you some things you might’ve not noticed about yourself.

You usually listen to his ramble absentmindedly, creepy as it is, that’s probably how he became such a good housekeeper anyways. He has the eye of an artist, at least that’s how you write it off as.

The sandwich is on the drier side, so you have to mix it with your juice. It's mixed fruits, tastes like mango and apples, but the color is a bit more on the red side. You wonder what paints to mix to create this lovely shade, almost fitting to draw a sunset.

You feel his gaze on you as the liquid inside your cup decreases, as the drink is finished, you yawn.

Perhaps it’s because your body is getting used to this new balanced and healthy eating habit, you get terribly tired after dinner.

“You can go home for today, I have to—“ you pause for a yawn, “—get some more work done……”

He only chuckles.

“Oh, but you look tired.” He says, holding your arm as you stand up from the chair rather wobbly. You notice a little cut on his wrist, and you mindlessly trace your finger down it. He jolts a bit, but doesn’t pull away.

“This should’ve healed long ago……” you mumble.

“I have a bad habit of picking it.” He laughed it off and places his other palm on your back, it feels unnecessarily intimate, but is what you need when your legs feel so wobbly. What did you do to feel so tired all of a sudden?

“What was in that drink……?” You say, words dragging on.

“Well—“

He wasn’t able to finish, as you fell in his embrace, eyes closed and your breathing even.

“Love, and a special ingredient, might’ve put too much in there this time.” He whispers as he wraps his arms around you and picks you up gently, holding you tightly in his arms and burying his nose in the crook of your neck. He’s in ecstasy as he realized that you are using the shampoo and body wash he got for you. Now the two of you share the same scent.

Slowly, he carries you to your bedroom, this is an emergency, surely it’s good enough of a reason to break your rule?

And he walks into your room with caution, watching his feet as he tries to keep you in a comfortable position in his arms. He loves it when you need him, even though you’re sleeping. As he puts you on your bed, he observes your sleeping face, everything else in the world seemed to have just melted away.

“It’s so worth it, that secret ingredient. I get to see your face so close every night!” He almost squeals, carefully climbing on top of you and brushing his fingers along your jawline. There isn’t any light, only the light from outside of your room, illuminating the rim of the both of you. His breath grows heavy as he feels his cheeks turn hot. Leaning down, Kyle faces you, the distance between is so small to the point he can count your eyelashes, he would if he doesn’t have something else important to do.

“Now you may kiss the bride……” he can hear his own heart pounding in his ears, even if he knows it’s not possible, he imagines you to open your eyes and jump, he’s sure that your budding feelings towards him would perish as soon as you see him straddling you.

Slowly, shakily, he closes his eyes and places a kiss on the lid of your eyes, then on your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth, then finally, your lips. His tongue enters easily, toying with your unresponsive one, the pink muscle almost skillfully maneuvering around in your mouth, something only experience can bring. His grip on your jaw tightens by a fraction as he tugs your jaw down a bit more for better access.

After what felt like forever, he pulls away, desperately gasping for breath. He wishes he doesn’t need to breathe at all, so that he can simply kiss you for the rest of eternity, or at least until you wake up.

He stole a few more kisses, then, he leaves your room, secretly taking note to add less of the special medicine and a bit more of the other special ingredient.

“See you tomorrow.” he says with the biggest smile as he closes the door, leaving you completely in the dark.

[qqtxt]

[🍬] home will come home soon [🦊]

[!] this is for the 500 followers mini fics. click here to find out more! ✿ pairing: yeonjun x reader / idol!txt / non.idol!you / fluff / 531 words / minor cursing (none with ill-intention!) ✿ request: “you feel like home to me.” + yeonjun ✿ goodness, i tried not to make it sad but like... i listened to this cover of ‘home’ and i just :”) [main masterlist ���] / [event masterlist] / [tag: #qqtxt: 500]

yeonjun wonders if he knows how pathetic this is or if he was being a hopeful romantic. the kind he hadn’t anticipated to be but... 

“sleeping now?” his voice is soft, despite being alone in a hotel room staring at the person through a phone he wants to reach out and pull through to be in his arms. having turned down invitations to have fun after one of their concert tour performances, here choi yeonjun is: in bed. on a saturday night while it was a sunday night for you; thousands of miles apart, connected through the shitty wi-fi of his hotel and the crisp internet speed from the comfort of your own home.

“mhm, you? i have energy left in me to keep my eyes open if you wanna talk,” you offer, though sleepily (trying your best to sound enthusiastic), yeonjun knows you like the back of his hand that you want nothing more than to just sleep.

he shakes his head into his pillow, hugging the spare one to his chest, “it’s okay. let’s just sleep.”

“okay,” you quickly give in, eyes already fluttering shut but it’s like you know how to draw him out when he lets out a soft sound between a groan and a whine at how fast you were to dismiss him. he gapes at the sight of you tucked in and looking like you’re ready to drift off to dreamland but–”gotchu, didn’t i?” one of your eyes peek open and a cheeky smile lines your lips that sets everything straight in his entire life just looking at you smile.

“c’mon, i know you have something you wanna say first,” you lean up closer to the phone, and yeonjun subconsciously does the same.

slowly, the hilarity dies down and yeonjun watches how your eyes mimic his own. it’s... the heaviness, the sadness. the longing of wanting to be beside each other physically but sometimes life gets in the way of things. it’s inevitable, and it surely isn’t the first time you and yeonjun have spent time apart but it never ever gets easier when you two felt so much a whole together.

"you feel like home to me and...” he murmurs, taking a deep breath before continuing, “i miss you..." the soft crack in his voice is what makes you hug yourself tighter. 

the frown already takes over as you sigh, nodding along, “i miss you too...”

“stop that,” he huffs, now mirroring your expression as his brows furrow.

“you stop that,” you counter, now pointing with your chin.

one, two, three.

“okay,”–”okay,” the two of you say simultaneously, a little choppy because of the internet connection but it’ll do. it’ll always do.

“goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, jun-ah.”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

although each sentence one after another got softer and softer, the amount of love that you two had for each other never ceased to diminish. even though you two were apart in reality, emotionally and spiritually, perhaps digitally, you two were constantly together. and that, this piece of home that yeonjun’s able to take with him is enough to keep him through the tour before he’ll actually, physically return home (to you).

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 26: In Which Soft Turns Sharp

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

"I have been in IT for years and I've never once actually seen this happen."

"How does this even happen?"

"It blew up, literally."

"Yo! That's uh... that's a mess."

You were currently standing in the middle of a category 5 disaster. The bottom half of your pants and all of your shoes were completely black; powder-coated by your lovely office printer you were just having words with.

Toner was spewed all over the ugly grey carpet like the remanence of a cartoon explosion. The coworkers and IT tech were standing around amused and befuddled by the whole thing.

Jeff nudged your arm with a giant grin on his face, "did you at least say 'bless you'?"

You wanted to groan.

"No, really though..." Jade, the IT guy asked, "what were you doing again before this happened?"

Another exasperated sigh.

"I've been having communication issues all morning with it and my computer, so after I got sick of trying to repair the connection through my server I came back here to see if perhaps the ethernet was disconnected. It wasn't. Then I was going to get into the settings to see if there was something wrong there, but the screen went all blinky and wobbly, then the fucker shit itself. That's it."

Kind of.

You left out the part where you grabbed the sides of the operating screen in a threat to rip it off it's hinges, then it exploded.

Jade mused on your explanation one more time while the other two morons were drawing finger pictures on the side of the printer with toner.

"Ok - as exciting as this is I'm gunna go and see if I can save my shoes from being stained forever. Bye."

With a huff you kicked off as much toner as you could and immediately headed out the door.

In truth technology had been acting really funky the past few days. First your phone started acting up; the screen would randomly black out while you were using it (the thing was barely a year old so you hoped it wasn't frying already), the location changed on you twice (once it threw you to Paris, the second time to Idaho), and getting your keyboard to work properly was an entire fight all on it's own. You finally turned it off for a couple hours and it seemed to help a little. Then, the clock on your desk started sucking batteries to death. Twice this week you had to change them to keep the damn thing correct. Your work computer had had a couple hiccups and now the printer. Was Mercury in fucking retrograde or some shit???

You didn't bother to tell your boss you were leaving and left the building without saying anything to anyone.

8 days had gone by without Alcina and you were missing her so badly. The bouts of unusual aggression were sporadic and it really wasn't like you, but you just weren't used to such strong feelings about someone and it must be making you a little weird. You guess.

A calmer energy seemed to be following you now but it didn't completely phase out the worry or aggravation. You began to feel better overall since the random muscle attack in your back which helped ease a lot of your tension, but still, you couldn't help but... wonder. You didn't know where she was but somehow she felt closer. You hoped she would be back soon. Sooner than later.

Suddenly your phone began to ring and you reached for it out of your bag.

It was Louis.

"Heyyy man, what's up?"

"I got you another cassette my friend; Miss D and the Pallboys in a rare recording done at a live event - interested?"

"What kind of question is that; hell yes I am - I'll be there in half an hour!"

"See you soon."

Ok, today was not a total bust.

-

The mirror was not as kind today as she was hoping.

Alcina looked at her naked body with a twinge of scrutiny.

She'd gone through all of this with no fruits for her labor. 

After Dmitri and her troops arrived 5 days ago the trail of evidence and any leads went dead. It had gone completely silent. No more attacks, no more sightings, not even a hint of action. While everyone was relieved it didn't sit well with anyone, but what were they to do? They'd scoured every inch of the territory through the sector where everything had taken place, and miles around that. 

Nothing. Anywhere.

The 'cave' itself proved pointless; it was caved in not a thousand feet from the entrance. Still, no one was convinced this was over and Alcina agreed. Dmitri and Sylvia kept several outposts active and would continue to do so for as long as they deemed fit.

The deceased mutated vampire lay in the bin hollowing out with nothing more of interest to study it seemed. No bugs, no worms, nothing exited his body to help Joel in his quest to understand him. His tests came up with very little information outside of a strange anomaly in the dead blood he'd collected, however it was nothing he had seen and without a live sample of possibly another mutated specimen he was hitting a dead end as well. How could he research a dead, dying crumb of evidence? Oddly though, when they put his body out to disintegrate in the sun, he didn't crumble to pure ash as he should have. His bones remained slightly in tact, which Joel collected to see if that could lead him anywhere instead.

Mother Miranda had finally been reached; she had indeed been on travel to Romania which is where Donna was finally able to speak with her. Her reaction was... limited at best. Unconcerned and satisfied they had it under control. Donna was unamused by her stance and Alcina couldn't have scoffed harder at her dismissal. She was nothing if not flippant unless it directly concerned her these days. She could rot in hell or Romania for all Alcina cared.

The suspiciousness of the ordeal had everyone who was aware remaining on high alert. This was far from over and neither clan was backing down from their posts to make sure whatever, if ever, something came next, they'd be more than prepared.

Thankfully no word had seeped into the underground and everything was carrying on as normal it seemed.

Alcina had returned home yesterday and was getting ready for a good nights rest in her own bed where it was quiet, and private.

Well, a little.

Donning her nightgown she clicked off the light to her bathroom and exited.

"Ai dormit pe partea asta aseară, e rândul meu," Daniela stated flatly. (You slept on this side last night, it's my turn)

"Conteaza? Încă dormi lângă mama," Cassandra replied, "sunt două laturi, poate s-o lase pe Bela să doarmă lângă ea în seara asta.." (Does it matter? You're still sleeping next to mother, there's two sides, maybe let Bela sleep next to her tonight.)

Bela sighed as she situated at the end of the very large king size bed, "e în regulă, sunt bine aici jos. Atâta timp cât suntem cu toții împreună, nu-mi pasă." (It's fine, I'm fine down here. As long as we're all together I don't care.)

"Dani este doar un nebun, vino să dormi aici." (Dani is just being a brat, you come sleep up here.)

"Nu sunt un nebun!" (I'm not being a brat!)

"Fetelor..." Alcina intervened as she approached softly, "într-adevăr acum, am destul pat și timp și cu mine să merg. Vă rugăm să încetați să vă certați." (Girls... really now, there's plenty of bed and time and me to go around. Please stop bickering.)

They smiled at her as she began crawling under the covers with them, nestling down with a smile of her own.

When Alcina returned home she hadn't had a moments peace since she walked through the door. Her daughters had warm blood waiting for her, not the wine, and tended to her every unspoken need. Which, they apparently seemed to make for her by the dozens. Donna had of course informed them of her attack and they were more fretful than she at the news. It was only expected they would be exceptionally doting to their beloved mother when she arrived home. They had nearly lost her once, many many years ago and the memories were still fresh and vivid in their hearts. The bond the 4 of them shared was deeply rooted and strong; Alcina may not be their biological mother in the human sense, but she was their rock and anchor, their protector and very much the loving, nurturing, caring and doting mother figure. While the girls were quite old as far as human standards go, somehow deep inside of them was still a childlike need and fondness with Alcina.

Cassandra had run her a bath, Bela washed the clothes Dani had packed and sent with Dmitri for her, Dani continued to bring warm blood on the hour and while the house was never truly a mess, it was spotless. Spot. Less. Alcina couldn't help but grin at their attentiveness. She jested perhaps she should get wounded more often... they didn't find it humorous in the least.

"Acum, fiicele mele... noapte bună, vă iubesc, dormiți bine," she cooed, caressing their beautiful faces one by one. (Now, my daughters... goodnight, I love you, sleep well.)

Exchanging kisses to the cheek they settled in, snuggling close to their mother as the silence of the room seeped in.

Cassandra, now on the right side of Alcina, caressed her arm softly, "esti bine mama?" (You're alright, mother?)

Alcina smiled, "da, draga. Dormi. Sunt acasă, în siguranță cu fetele mele. Totul este în regulă în lume," she whispered and kissed her forehead once more. (Yes, darling. Sleep. I'm home, safe and sound with my girls. All is right in the world.)

She felt complete. 

Almost.

She missed you. She needed you.

Tomorrow she would venture out to see you. She couldn't stand the distance from you any longer.

-

"More goodies for the pests, ey?"

You gave Malka a raised eyebrow as she scanned the bag of mixed nuts and dried berries.

"Those pests were here waaay before us, it's not their fault we moved in on their territory."

Malka broke her stern visage and smiled brightly at you, "yes yes, good good, you have a Yiddishe Kop my girl."

Malka was an old Jewish woman who ran and owned the tiny corner store a couple blocks from your apartment. It was your favorite place to get groceries and oddities. The produce was always fresh and she was constantly stocking the shelves with fun, niche little snacks from all over Europe and her home in the Netherlands. She'd adopted you as the neighborhood stray long ago and you happily claimed her as your long lost Bubbeh - her chosen term. She was small but a pure spitfire. Her hair was long and white with fading pepper streaks that she wore in a braided bun high on her head. Malka was a darling.

"I still think you should ween them off the dried fruit and give them fresh - it's good for the soul, you know," she advised knowingly.

You chuckled, "they like what they like, who am I to argue? Getting them off the pastries was hard enough!"

She placed the last of your things in your tweed bag and handed it over to you, "my pastries were the cause of several village wars, I'll have you know."

"Yes, yes, I know Sophia Petrillo. I doubt I'll ever see another twenty dropped on my doorstep until I treat them again."

"Ahaha," she cackled, "off with you now, enjoy your evening and give my best to the birds. Tell them Bubbeh wants a twenty dollar bill too next time."

By the time you made it to your block you caught their shadows overhead as they swarmed and landed in the trees in the courtyard. You smiled and treaded around back to the grass and benches on the other side. They followed with happy caws and grunts and coos.

You sat on the bench and watched them gracefully land at your feet as you opened the bag and began divvying out the goods.

You still couldn't tell them all apart yet but there was a considerably bigger one and a runt that stuck out the most. The smallest was easily the most vocal and it was skittish. The biggest one was very regal but had a playful side, you'd noticed. He, or she, would play with the baby squirrels in the neighboring tree, almost a game of tag, it was quite amusing to watch.

The gathering usually gave you odd looks from the passerby's but you got used to ignoring it. So you had a tiny army of crows, so what? 

Without giving away the whole bag you watched them trek around the grounds for a while enjoying the falling evening. It was getting a little cooler now, autumn was around the corner. Every season in New York was pretty, except winter. Winter could fuck all the way off in your opinion. 

You sighed. As the darkness shifted the hue in the sky your heart silently wished upon the universe that your Alcina was safe and would be back in your arms before too long. 9 days was a really, really long time at this point.

~

There was no way to accurately describe the sensation that coated you like warm molasses; it was slow in enveloping you and you became light headed, a fuzzy heat trickled through your system and your limbs felt numb and tingly. A smile erupted on your face and you instantly knew this feeling.

In a split second you were off your couch and headed for your room.

There creeping through your doorway was that tall black silhouette you longed and craved to see and touch for 9 too long goddamn days.

"Alcina," you whimpered as you ran to her and collected her in your arms.

She sighed long and heavy as her own strong arms enfolded you with haste. Your scent wafted through her sweeter than a summer breeze offering reprieve from the hot sun and she drove her nose deep in your hair.

"Oh... how I've missed you, draga mea," she whispered near your ear, feeling her own relief and satiation of having you back within her grasp, "I have missed you so much."

"I've missed you so much," your muffled reply came as you slowly inched your face around to claim her lips.

The two of you moaned softly and satisfyingly at the connection. Yes. This felt like home, this felt too good to be lost for so long.

Alcina carefully grasped your face in her cool hands, which you noticed were slightly trembling, and you looked deep into her stumbling slate colored eyes. Pools of ethereal eternity. Somewhere you wanted to be for the rest of your days.

"Hi beautiful," you smiled.

"Hello, dragul meu," she smiled right back.

You snaked your arms back around her torso and clung to her like she might slip away again. Not today Satan, not to-fucking-day.

Although, there was something amiss. Something not quite right. You weren't completely sure what it was but somehow your hands began to pull higher up her back where you found, under her leather jacket, an unnatural heat. And raised ridges of... something.

Alcina hitched as your hands splayed over her wounds and grabbed for your arms and pulled you away. The concern and confusion was not hidden on your face and she sighed, forced a smile and hoped there could have been at least an hour pass before this came to light.

Feeling the hesitation peel off her like layers of a wilted rose you stepped in a little closer to her, taking her hands in yours.

You could throw the thoughts of her absence dealing with something dangerous out the window all you'd like; they would return like a handful of sand to the wind and back in your eyes every time. You knew. You knew.

With a short breath you swallowed your worry, "I know you can't tell me everything, or maybe anything at all for that matter, but... what did I just feel?"

Exasperation was now the most common emotion she was friends with these days. Alcina didn't know how to tell you. It wasn't as if she could hide this forever. But she wanted to. Her healing was so slow - they should be gone by now, but they weren't, and she didn't want to be away from you any longer. Somehow this made her feel too vulnerable to you, a desperation to keep it locked away and never let you into this dark corner of her world.

"Draga..." she started, tossing her eyes away from you.

This was not something you would receive well, in fact she feared for how it would affect you period. How was she supposed to just brush this off as a; 'well, you see draga mea, I was attacked by a mutated vampire that nearly killed me and more lycans than I care to count, that may or may not have many other mates running loose that we can't find, and truly that's just where the story ends for the moment,' and expect you to have a normal reaction. And, at the same time, how could she just say; 'I can't tell you what happened and I'm sorry you have to look at these scars that looks like I fought 8 meet hooks, you'll just have to accept that,' and move on.

Alcina's pause made you lean in closer. You understood the barrage of thoughts you couldn't hear her fighting all too well, so, softly and carefully, you began to remove her jacket and moved to her tight black turtleneck.

Her body immediately tensed and an anxiousness wrapped around her, but what was she to do. 

Well, here we go, Alcina thought.

She allowed you to continue and it actually surprised you. You half expected her to grab for your arms again and immobilize your efforts, but she didn't.

As you stood behind her and lifted the soft cloth, the sight that assaulted your eyes sunk your heart to the pits of your stomach like a deflated lead balloon.

Did you gasp? No clue. But you felt ice shoot through your veins at the sight.

"My god..." you whispered, "Alcina... what - who did this to you?"

Your fingers were so gentle as they passed over the raised dark purple scars Alcina almost buckled. The caress didn't hurt but it felt like little sparks of electricity passing through her. Somehow your touch was the most soothing thing she'd felt so far in her healing, or, maybe, she was just starving for your touch more than she had been aware.

As your eyes wandered you could now see in the dim light that there were fully healed scars all over her. All in swipes of 4, like sets of claws. Eventually you just removed the turtleneck all together and rounded her to look back into her eyes. She wasn't completely dodging your glance, but she wasn't seeking it out either.

You tried to choke out more questions as you softly trailed your fingers over her arms, chest, and abdomen. What was there to say, how were you to say it? Suddenly another rushing wave of icy water pelted over you as the memories of that night you had your little 'muscle attack' just about drowned you. 

Did you feel this happen to her? 

Who or what could have done this? Was the war between vampires and lycans returning?

Your visage torqued the twinge in Alcina's heart. You were so concerned, plighted by a tied tongue. But also, something else. Alcina gently reached out to cup your jaw and offer a soft smile. Truth be told she didn't know what to say either. She didn't want to answer your question. 

In your short lived elation to see her you were unable to address the tiredness about her, but now you saw it loud and clear. Her eyes lacked the sparkle of light, her skin looked worn, her lips, thinner, her trembling hands alone should have told you how lacking her energy was.

Taking her beautiful long fingers to your lips you kissed them gently, repeatedly, locking her eyes with yours as you then began to move your hair away from your neck.

Alcina grabbed you up in her arms and held you, "dragul meu, please, I didn't come here to feed off you -"

"I know you didn't but you're depleted, I can tell," you shut down her argument softly, "please, drink," you urged, "I don't like seeing you like this. Please... I want you to."

She didn't budge.

Stubborn ass.

Accepting her refusal you secured your arms even more tightly around her bare torso and held her back. She may have won for now but you would give her your blood before she left, you wouldn't have it any other way. Softly you began pressing your warm lips against her bare collarbone and kissing her cool skin with revered tenderness.

Alcina closed her eyes and leaned into you, feeling you against her seemed to bring down all the pillars of worry and concern around her. But you, your offer, it panged her with guilt and remorse.

Pressing her lips to the shell of your ear she whispered softly, "you are not for my consumption, draga mea, you are more to me than what I think you realize and it pains me to think if I have lead you astray in that... you are not for the taking, for use, for simply delectable taste and pleasure. I love you, I never want you to feel less than my equal, for all sense and purpose of our differences."

You sighed.

"You big dummy," you muttered, pulling back to look into her eyes once more, "I love you too, I love you so much... you're my vampire and I'm your human; I belong to you because I want to. I'm not offering my blood out of - fuck, I don't know - pressure, duty, some form of guilt - no! I love you, I want you to feed because I want to take care of you, because I don't want to see you drained and weak, because your wellbeing is not only my job as your lover but my honor. You're a mighty Matriarch. You fight battles and command armies and rule over a literal underground city of vampires and lycans. I am a chaotic, dysfunctional, boring as fuck but loving human who was just lucky enough to be chosen by you - I can't offer you much, literally, I have like nothing of real value... but you've got my love, my dedication, my heart and blood and whatever else you want or need, ok?"

What have I done to deserve you? Alcina mused in the silence. You were the unintended enigma that was never-ending.

Carefully tracing her fingertips along the outlines of your face, Alcina leaned in gracefully to kiss you. Each caress of your lips together grew a little deeper and a little deeper, everything outside of this room ceasing to exist as she was once again back in the safest place she could ever imagine. Your arms. Your embrace. Your love.

Feeling the inevitable plume of heat deep inside of you, gorging yourself on everything that was this glorious woman, you urged and silently begged for her bite; pressing your body so close into hers, pulling her as near as possible, arching your neck as your lips escaped to graze her jawline. And then you felt the shudder within her; the release of the tiger that was prowling for blood with no need to chase.

Her teeth were sharp and precise and the painful pleasure coursed through you like your blood into her. Bliss, euphoric release; a chaotic intertwining of black and white, up and down, hot and cold.

As the sensation of heat poured down her throat, Alcina groaned out her long-awaited desire to taste you again. Your blood fed fuel to her fire like nothing else in this world, but within the rush this time something else was taking place. Her body began to burn. Her senses thrown into a frenzy. The striking, piercing sensation of an itch so violently unable to scratch tore through her and she ripped her mouth away from your neck with a pained wail.

Alcina's knees buckled and she fell to the floor with a thud.

[bloodofthepen]

Lachesis Pt IV-1 (Obey Me!)

Rating: T

Ship: Barbatos/MC

POV: Second Person

Chapters: 3.5/4 (Part I here)

[Read on AO3; Chapter 4 not currently posted]

Since it has been two years now since I’ve updated, I decided to post the first half of chapter IV here on Tumblr until I’ve finished the whole thing. I’m in the final stretch, but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before I’ve finished (I have actually been working pretty consistently on this for two years) but I really wanted to get something posted; I’ll be waiting to update on AO3 until the whole thing is complete. My word count for the entirety of Part IV is 41k words so far, so you can see why it could potentially be split into two.

Warning in this chapter for: blood, graphic description of injury

Part IV (1/2): You

You’re snuggled beneath familiar blankets. Take one, deep breath, then another, letting the air stretch your lungs comfortably, languidly—it feels like decadence. You become slowly aware of the vine-tangled ceiling of your room, and then, of Lucifer, sitting beside the bed. His eyes are dark with lack of sleep, but he offers a smile. Down by your feet, you can feel a weight, a soft, radiating warmth… ah, it's Mammon curled up and snoring atop your coverlet. 

“He refused to leave after I sent the rest of them to bed,” Lucifer rumbles, eyes  crinkled in a fondness he’d never let his brother see were he awake. 

You smile. “He’s a good boy.”  Gingerly, you try sitting up, moving slowly to your forearms, and then up, sliding back against the rugged headboard. There appears to be no pain at all, which is… strange.

“Simeon healed you completely,” supplies Lucifer. “But such extended exposure to magic and that much trauma left you exhausted.” 

You flex your fingers; the silvery bands of Mammon’s pact catch the low light.  “I feel completely fine…” Take another deep breath, and search Lucifer’s face. “But what about Barbatos?”

“He was also exhausted by that evening’s efforts; right now he is resting in his own room at the castle.” 

“May I speak with him?”

Lucifer’s brows pinch. “Barbatos is not conscious.” 

“Is he all right?” Push the blankets down, struggling to untangle yourself from the sheets without jostling Mammon, heart racing against your ribs. “Please—”

“Stop.” Firm hands tug the blankets back up, arresting your wrists. “You may be healed, but you can’t go running off.” He frowns, glowering, but you meet his gaze with a sharp glare of your own. He huffs. “Yes, Barbatos will be fine. He used a tremendous amount of energy and overexerted himself, but it would take a great deal more than a bit of exhaustion to kill that demon.” 

“Then…” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “He’ll be awake soon?”

Lucifer sighs, releasing your hands. “I don’t know.” 

“May I see him?” 

“We’ll discuss it with Diavolo in the morning.” 

“What time is it?” 

“Nearly three.” 

Ah… you draw your legs up, blankets wrinkling. Perhaps it would be silly to try running off to the castle at this hour, no matter how much your being calls for it. You bury your forehead against your knees. 

A gentle hand touches your shoulder, and, begrudgingly, you turn your face to look at Lucifer. “My brothers have become very fond of you. And—” His gaze shifts slightly away. “—so have I, of course. They have been worried, and I need to ask…”

Your brow furrows. “Yes?”

“How were you able to call Beelzebub? You shouldn’t have been able to communicate through the pact that way, no matter how close you may be. You didn’t summon him. You’ve never shown any magical ability that advanced; it should not have been possible.” 

 Oh. Yes, that’s… “You’re right—I never would have been able to do it without help.” You take a slow, deep breath. “Lilith—” The startled, reflexive pain in his eyes prompts you to rest your hand on his arm. “I had a vision. She’s been here, worrying for you since her mortal life ended.”

Hope, desperation. “Where? Is she—?”

“I… don’t know. I don’t know if even she does. She told me she can’t remember how to reach the Celestial Realm, and—I’m sorry.” You squeeze his wrist gently. “She lent me her power, called me her successor, though I don’t know what that means, exactly. I...” you wet your lips, chest tightening. “I don’t know if she’ll speak to me again.”   

Lucifer presses a hand to his chest, squeezes his eyes shut. “Excuse me.” He remains that way for a moment, and when he opens his eyes again, they are clear and calm. “I should have—” He shakes his head. “It makes sense now; her power was always based in communication, in emotion. Given a choice, of course she would pick you; you’d be naturally receptive. Do you suppose…?" He hesitates, brow creasing. "I wonder if it wasn’t an accident.” 

“If what wasn’t?”

He takes a deep breath. “When I chose you for the exchange program… I was so sick of reading applications that, after a breeze scattered my paperwork over the floor, I just picked up the application that landed by my feet and decided that whomever it was would be the second student… and it was you.” He looks at your hand on his sleeve. “I wonder now if it wasn’t chance at all. If Lilith...” Her name catches in his throat. “If that’s so…” He smiles. “She made a good choice.”

There’s a pang in your chest. You had always thought Lord Diavolo had made the decision, but after that night in the restaurant, you had thought it had been Lucifer’s. And now... Now, you find—all this time… have they considered you an accident? Not just Lucifer, but Diavolo and Barbatos? Your presence, mere chance? But now, in this moment… is it Fate? Or Lilith’s will? Does Lilith’s involvement make it different than if Lucifer had chosen you himself, on some kind of merit? 

“Now, then—” he sits back, folds his arms across his chest. “I imagine you want to know what happened that night.” 

Fingers curl tight into the blankets. It doesn’t matter how you came to be in the Devildom, really, not right now. What matters is this. “Yes.”

“After you left with Barbatos, my brothers were… encouraged to go into the garden to wait, while Diavolo and I spoke. Once that was concluded, we joined them, but it was only a few moments later that Beel—” He frowns, looks away. “He almost collapsed, started shouting, called for you, and—briefly, I believe the others were hit with some sensation or pain before everything stopped. Diavolo must have summoned Barbatos immediately, instantly, because I was only briefly aware of Barbatos’ power before it was over. The next thing I knew, Diavolo was catching his breath on one of the benches as Time resumed, and his first order was for me to accompany him to the House of Lamentation.”

“Barbatos told me Diavolo was lending him energy.”

Lucifer’s brows arch. “You were awake, then?”

“Only briefly. He and Simeon were there, and… Barbatos didn’t seem well.”

A chuckle settles in his chest, a gloved hand pinching his brows. “Barbatos didn’t seem well. You were dying.” His fingers ruffle his bangs, sharp and frustrated. “And all because—” 

Silence.

“I cannot repay you.”

There’s a pang in your heart. “Lucifer, there’s no need to—”

“You didn’t have to do it.” He drops his hand, letting it clench into a fist in his lap. “There was nothing personal to be gained, yet you risked your relationships, your life, without thinking. Why? It makes no sense. You owe us nothing. In fact, your safety has been threatened numerous times as a result of my brothers’ actions; I have personally lost my temper with you on no less than three occasions. You should have abandoned Belphegor, should have left me to my punishment; why didn’t you?” 

“Hmngh?” 

Lucifer freezes. Mammon snuffles, rolls, his shirt riding over his ribs, but remains asleep. You release your breath, and slowly, lean back against the pillows. 

“I might be a bit more selfish than you believe.” Close your eyes. “I’ve come to care very much for your family, and to think that they consider me any part of it is… far more than I would have thought to hope for. But when all of this started—” How to say it? “I thought… when I discovered Belphegor…” You wet your lips. “I thought I could sort it out. On my own, of course.” Stupid. “I’ve never been able to fix my own... familial issues, but for some reason I thought I had an opportunity with yours, that it was… that it was a chance for me to—to use what I had learned from my own mistakes. Maybe to pay for them. Maybe to heal them.” Bury your face in your knees again, feel your mouth turn in a wry grin. “It’s terrible being this self-aware. Makes confessing more embarrassing because you know where you went wrong… there’s no ‘I don’t know’.” Fingers curl, tight, into palms. “I know why I did it. I felt like I had learned enough, knew enough. But I still misjudged.” Take a deep breath, meet his stunned gaze. “And… I apologize. For the worry I’ve caused. For not speaking with you sooner.” 

“You—” He bites his tongue, wrinkles his brows, looks at the floor. 

And then you’re buried in dark silk, inhaling the sharp scent of ash and honey and warm, bitter myrrh. 

“Don’t you have any sense at all?” 

You chuckle, but it gets stuck behind the tears constricting your throat. “Didn’t I ask you that today?”

“Three days ago,” he rumbles. “I believe you also called me an idiot.” 

“Is that next?” You sniffle, smiling against his vest.

“Yes.” You feel an amused huff against the top of your head. “You’re an idiot. This time, I’ll waive the punishment, but if you do something like that again, you’ll find yourself strung up in the stairwell with Mammon.” 

“H—hmmn—h-hey! WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA, HUH?” 

You can feel Lucifer’s sigh perfectly timed with your own, which peters off into a wet chuckle as Mammon paws at both your and his brother’s shoulders. 

“Mammon—” But Lucifer releases you just in time for you to be crushed against Mammon’s chest. 

“I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YA, DON’T YOU DARE DO THAT TO ME AGAIN, YA HEAR?” He hides his face in your shoulder, and you gain enough balance to wrap your arms around his back. 

“I’m sorry, Mammon.”

“You’d better be!” but his voice is muffled. “Why didn’t you call us sooner, huh? Why didn’t you call me?” His fingers dig into your shoulder blades. “We—we could feel it, you know? When you…” Under your hands, he heaves a shuddering breath. “It wasn’t okay.”  

Hold him tighter. “I’m sorry, Mammon… it really wasn’t.” You run a soothing hand up and down his spine. “If it makes you feel better, now that I know how, I should be able to call you immediately if something happens.” 

“You’d better.” He makes a sound suspiciously like a sniffle, and you let a couple more tears roll down your cheeks, just for good measure, before you have to compose yourself. 

“Enough, Mammon.” Lucifer’s voice is terse, but Mammon just clings tighter. “I said enough. Are you really going to make them take care of you after everything that happened?” 

He pops his head off your shoulder. “Wh—no! No, I’m takin’ care of them, ya see? You’re the one that made me their guardian, now let me do some guardin’!” 

“They need rest. I’ve allowed you to stay until they woke. Now return to your room for the night; you’ll see Ambrose in the morning.”  

“But—”

“Now, Mammon.” 

You sit back just a little, and ruffle Mammon’s hair. “I’ll be all right for the night. I feel better—no pain at all, I promise.” He pouts, ready with another retort, but you embrace him again. “And I’ll call you right away if I need anything, okay?” 

When you look him in the face again, his cheeks are flushed, and he won’t meet your eyes. “Okay. But I’m comin’ first thing in the morning.” 

“Thank you, Mammon.” You give his hand a brief squeeze.

He stops before climbing out of the bed. “And you’ll call me first?”

“First, I promise.” 

He beams. “Okay. And—”

“And I’m going to make sure Lucifer goes to sleep, too.” 

“O—oh. I mean—good! Yeah! Okay. You should!”  

“Good night, Mammon.” Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest.

You smile. “Good night Mammon.” 

“G’night, Ambrose! ...Lucifer.” And the door closes behind him. 

You sigh, straightening out your blankets. “You know I really didn’t mind. He needs comfort, too… that was a bad night for everyone.” 

“It was, he does, and I let him have it.” Lucifer leans back in his chair, folds one leg over the other. “But you shouldn’t be taking care of anyone this evening.”

“But—”

“I do believe it is my job.” He tilts his head with a mischievous half-smile. “I am the eldest here.” 

Fondness and irritation are at war on your face, with neither quite winning out, so you huff and lean back against the pillows. “Then you should sort out your brothers—I’m sure Mammon needs a little more reassurance.”

“After I’m finished here; you are part of our number as well.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that you’re stunned into silence even as your heart does a very impressive acrobatic routine, activating the tears still ready and waiting behind your eyes. You rub your face with your sleeves. “Lucifer—”

“I will be staying until you go back to sleep. Then, I will tend to the rest… so if you’d like me to get on with them, I suggest you lie down.” 

You try for a disgruntled, defeated sigh as you snuggle into the blankets, but it comes out as a pitifully tearful wheeze. “Well-played.” 

“Did you really expect anything less?” He brushes a gloved hand across your forehead. “Rest. I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity to level the playing field tomorrow.”

You close your eyes, and find the bed is much more comfortable than usual. 

“And Ambrose…”

“Hm?”

“Wait for Mammon to fetch you for breakfast in the morning.”

“Mm.”

----

You wake to the sound of clattering from the kitchen. Someone calls out, laughs brightly, and you find the hint of a smile on your lips before your eyes are even open. Another clatter, a shout. Loud, normal. The air smells of woodsmoke and eggs and bacon, and you’re up and on your feet in moments, pawing through the wardrobe before bothering to wonder what day it is, but—

Oh. You’re... probably exempt from classes no matter what day of the week this might be. Still, your DDD is lying on the table, and a quick look says it’s Tuesday. Tuesday, and no notifications. A lump rises in your throat.

You need to see Barbatos. Push your uniforms aside in favor of something appropriate for the palace, though not especially showy. Short, high waisted slacks, boots, and the loose-sleeved, purple garment that Asmo gifted you a few weeks ago are both comfortable and serviceable. 

As you peel off your nightshirt, a series of dark, even marks catch your eye, scattered across the skin of your forearm. It’s a band of runes, a spiral beginning just below your elbow, stopping halfway to your wrist; they’re black, with a deep, green sheen that catches the light when you move… wrath is there, and fire, and—”mutual,” you think? And is that… protection? You recognize power, and… “united against the Enemy?” You’ll have to get your notes out for the rest, and maybe talk to Satan about the cohesive meaning of the piece. No one else’s has looked quite like this, not even in their most basic form… the pact seals that each of the others’ started from were simply the rune of their particular sin within a pentagram surrounded by a basic iteration of their promise.  

You face the mirror to look at the other pacts, and it seems they’ve all morphed further after the… events. Beelzebub’s mark on your stomach is now a full sunburst, glittering in red and orange and yellow alongside the bold, black stripes that make up the geometric rays, its pattern grown more complex, doubling back on itself in detailed artistry. The seal on your hip has blossomed into a delicate, black and pink rosebud with drops of dew gathered upon the petals. Leviathan’s is more difficult to see, but twisting around and craning your neck reveals that the serpentine rune has transformed into a proper serpent with navy and orange scales, its tail winding in upon itself as it follows your spine. And Mammon…

You’re not sure why you didn’t notice last night, but one of the rings upon your hand has turned to gold. With a soft smile, you return to your task, and finish getting dressed. 

For a moment, you hesitate in front of the mirror. There are a few flamboyant ruffles over one shoulder, and the material of your shirt is very fine (gargantuan spider-silk, you think Asmo said? Best not think too hard about the implications of that), with a good gradient of translucence and texture, fitted just enough at the bottom to tuck into the trousers. But… no cravat. Of course, any necktie would clash with the ruffling. In fact—perhaps—this might be too flamboyant. After all, you won’t be at the palace to take tea. You could change into—

“BEEL! Don’t you want there to be enough bacon for Ambrose?” 

A mumbled response. 

One nice thing about sharing a wall with the kitchen is always knowing what’s for breakfast—

Wait. Not hell-swine bacon, Erymanthian bacon, or gloson bacon? Just—bacon?

In your stomach, a roiling hunger makes itself known, perhaps one to rival Beelzebub’s, and the question of formality disappears completely from your mind. You snatch your DDD from the table, pocket it, and start toward the dining room. It does smell sweet and mild here in the hall, like human food—it must be! 

You’re one step away from a full jog when you push the dining room doors open to find the table piled high with food, but only one face—

Dark hair streaked with white. Indigo eyes heavy with sleep, mouth twisted wryly.

Your feet refuse to move as surely as the blood freezes in your veins. “What are you doing here?”

He blinks, stirs drowsily, squints across the room from his seat at the table. The seat that was always empty before. “Me? They told me I had time to eat. Weren’t you supposed to wait for Mammon?”

Wait for…?

Oh.

You do dimly recall Lucifer’s instructions before—and that means...

Lucifer was well aware this would happen.

A slow, bright burn creeps along your forearm, lighting the band of runes there. And Belphegor just. Sits. Leaning his elbow on the table like this is a perfectly ordinary morning, like absolutely nothing happened, like—

“I will ask again.” Nails dig into palms, your spine arrow-straight. “What are you—”

“Ambrose!” Satan darts out of the kitchen, a plate of eggs in one hand, Beelzebub hot on his heels. “Where’s Mamm—”

“You knew about this?” Your heart sinks, and the runes just glow brighter, hotter. “What is he doing here?”

“I live here.” 

Blood on the blankets, a single tear gliding down your neck. We could feel it. Trembling breaths. It wasn’t okay. Lips, too pale; skin, too hot. I would do it a thousand more times. 

White-hot rage settles in your chest, burning your stomach, your fingertips, humming along your skin.

You come face-to-chest with Beelzebub. Take a long, slow, breath. “Beel. Step aside.”

“Ambrose, maybe you should wait—”

“I just want to talk.” Your fingers flex at your sides. Curling, uncurling. It’s been a few months since your last bout, and you’ve never fought out of anger, and never with a sharpened blade, but you’re wishing, wishing for a familiar weight in your hand. The runes whisper on your skin like flames. 

Beel’s brows wrinkle. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. You’re really angry right—”

“Oh, really?”  Your shoulders pull tight, square, perfectly straight. “And what else am I supposed to be? Don’t you know what he did?” 

He folds a hand over his wrist, shakes his head. “I know, and I’m… I know, but he’s—”

“He’s your brother, and that’s the only reason I’m willing to speak with that liar, now move.” Nails cut into palms. “Please.” 

“I… no.” His shoulders hunch. “I can’t.” 

Mouth curls, baring your teeth. “I don’t want to make you.” 

Beelzebub shakes his head, eyes soft. “I won’t.” You can feel a ripple of sadness, of hesitation, a knot of conflict. 

Tighten your jaw, release a slow breath. “Beelzebub, step aside, and don’t move.” 

He obeys without resisting, eyes squeezed shut, head hanging low. 

You approach the table. 

“Ambrose—”

“Satan, stop.” From the corner of your eye, you can see his face twisted with anger, but he does not move, and you continue your steady pace.

Belphegor meets your gaze with alert interest, but hasn’t picked up his head from the palm of his hand, shoulders slumped unevenly, like he doesn’t consider you a threat at all. 

The runes on your skin burn brighter. How dare he. Perhaps you hold little enough power on your own, but you could have commanded that his own brothers combat Belphegor for you.

Not that you would ever consider it. That would be cruel beyond compare, not simply to him, but to Beelzebub and Satan, and you care too much, always too much, even with wrath swimming through your veins. 

But you could. And he should respect that.

“GUYS, WHERE’S—oh, Ambrose, hey! ...what’s goin’ on?”

“Don’t move, Mammon.”

“Wait, why—”

“Shhh.”

You stop before the table, staring across at the youngest of the demons. He says nothing, but his mouth curls up in a condescending smile. Slowly, you place your palms upon the polished wood, and lean forward, so that you’re nearly nose-to-nose, only the span of the table separating you from the Demon of Sloth. “Why are you here?”

“I suppose I should be thanking you for that,” he says, eyes glimmering. 

There are several implements within reach, but none are quite what you want. “Explain.” 

“You went back in time to free me. Not just from the attic, but from Diavolo, too.” He chuckles, brightly, and a shiver dances down your spine, but you hold your breath, bite your cheek, keep steady, even as your lungs feel the phantom pang of lacerations, as your very bones begin to ache. “Awfully nice of you. It would’ve been perfect if the prince’s pet hadn’t interfered, but I understand he’s pretty bad-off himself.” 

Your fingers twitch.

But Belphegor just smiles. “Maybe there is something to what you said. About being friends.” He yawns, makes a show of covering his mouth. “And if Barbatos doesn’t wake up for the next sixty years, it serves him right for defending a human.”

A black-gloved hand snatches the platter from the air before it can collide with Belphegor’s face. Your fists slam on the table, rattling silverware. “Lucifer—!” 

 “You have no power over me, so don’t waste your energy.” He narrows his eyes at his brother, ruby irises flashing. “And you—you ought to be begging this human’s forgiveness, not antagonizing them.” 

Belphegor shrugs asymmetrically. “It’s not my fault they’re so stupid—aaaow!” 

Distantly, Lucifer examines the crack down the platter’s middle. “Ruined,” he tuts. 

The youngest rubs his head, jaw tight. “What the f—”

This time, the hefty porcelain shatters. 

“Lucifer, what is he doing here?”

A slow, weary sigh, as he meets your eyes. “He’s here because of the deal you made; you released him—as you saved me from serving my own sentence—through your actions. You fulfilled your end of the bargain made with Lord Dialvolo, and in return, Diavolo had to keep his.” He folds his arms tightly across his chest, looks down at the table. “No matter what Belphegor had done.”   

Oh, this would be funny if it weren’t so very painful. 

Squeeze your eyes shut. Draw a trembling breath. For the next sixty years. He could be winding you up. He’s probably winding you up, but—

You can still see the feverish shine of Barbatos’ eyes, the wan, sickly cast of his skin. The tremble of fingers uncomfortably hot against yours. The soft, gentle nuzzle along your jaw. Nykin, he called you nykin, and if you never find out what that means, you—

Swallow the lump in your throat. 

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you open your eyes to find Asmodeus offering a handkerchief. You bury your face in its blush folds; it smells of lilac and roses and clove. Cheeks dry, you fix your attention on the arched windows, on the hazy, green day outside. The high, iron fence, crawling with ivy. “Beelzebub, Satan, Mammon… I release you from my previous commands.” 

Another slow, shaking breath, swallowing back the thick remnants of tears. You cast a sidelong glance at Lucifer, but don’t linger too long. It’s time. Well past time. “I have a phone call to make. You needn’t wait on me for breakfast.”

Turn on your heel, head back the way you had come.

“H—hey, wait!” But you don’t hesitate, not even for Mammon. 

The eldest steps into your path. “You must eat. I will have food brought to your room if—”

“No, thank you; I won’t have time.” You do not slow, simply stepping around the demon. 

“Ambrose—”

“I said no.” Your blood quickens.

You can’t recall the last time you said that.

----

A demon you’ve never seen before opens the castle doors. She bows low when she sees you, low enough to give you a view of the crown of her head, wrapped tightly with a braid of silver hair from which tiny, graceful little mushrooms of various shapes and colors sprout. “Ser.” 

“I—” Your ears are hot. “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to call me—”

She straightens. “You have my master’s respect.” 

“Er… I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” You fuss with your sleeves, but the loose fit means there are no cuffs to adjust. “I don’t think I’ve ever met you before.” 

The medal on her uniform, the crest marking her a member of Diavolo’s household, tinkles as she bows again. “You’ve never had a reason to; I am Arbianock, Barbatos’ second, and butler in his absence.”  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“It isn’t.” You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, and the lamplight catches her lilac eyes, the plain expression on her face unchanging. “You have only met me because Barbatos is unable to perform his duties; you do not need to pretend the occasion is pleasurable.”  

“Well, I—” There’s an ache in your chest. 

“Ambrose!”

Arbianock bows deeply in greeting, and steps aside. “Lord Diavolo.”

You work up a smile for the prince, who approaches with open arms, beaming. He seizes your shoulders. “It’s wonderful to see you! And to see you so well…!” His brow creases. “We were very worried about you. In fact, I was almost afraid Barbatos wouldn’t make it in time, but—well, he would’ve done whatever was necessary. There was no real need to fret, and this was certainly a dramatic resolution, wasn’t it! May I embrace you? I’d like to embrace you.” You’ve barely nodded before you’re swept up in a crushing grip. “Oh! You are a lucky, lucky human, Ambrose! Our Barbatos would never have attempted something so complex for anyone else. And you…! You performed admirably!” Diavolo drops you back on your feet, and Arbianock catches your arm before you stagger. “I’m of a mind to name you Ambassador. But—!” He must see the dazed look of trepidation on your face, because he waves both hands in a dismissive manner. “That can wait. I know you want to see him. Come!” He offers his arm, and you take it, your brain too overtaxed at the moment to do anything else. “And, Arbia, please fetch us some tea and bring it to Barbatos’ quarters.” 

She bows. “Yes, my lord.” 

“I’ll take you the proper way, so that you can find your way back if you’d like,” says Diavolo, leading you swiftly through the entrance hall and into a familiar corridor. “I imagine you’ll be visiting with some frequency.”

You can feel your cheeks getting warm again. Maybe you could convince him to lay off just a little bit; you haven’t even discussed such matters with Barbatos… all the world standing absolutely still, and yet there hadn’t been time. 

“Lord Diavlolo—”

“Just ‘Diavolo’ while you’re here, please.” 

Heave a deep sigh. “Diavolo. How is he?”

A long, musing hum as he sobers. “Barbatos is recovering; he hasn’t been responsive since he returned from the House of Lamentation three days ago. It’s really nothing to worry about, considering a demon’s regenerative capabilities—particularly Barbatos’—but… well, I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time, and… hmm... I understand that humans don’t really do this unless they’re near death.”

Your mouth is dry. “That’s correct.” 

“Well, don’t worry!” The smile is back on his face as he leads you up a side-stairwell that curves into yet another lamp-lit hallway, the walls covered in plaster, dotted with paintings in gilded frames of all shapes and sizes. “It’s perfectly natural for demons, and Barbatos is nowhere near expiration.”

It’s very easy to think of the demons as indestructible, and Barbatos, especially, as absolutely untouchable. Distant, apart from all things, ever observing, above the petty squabbles, offering a solution, an act of service for every whim. Ever-present upon the stage while the eye is trained to pass him over and find him invisible.

And yet—

A gentle touch upon your hand. Quilted jackets folded together in the crook of an elbow. The taste of tea upon your tongue, malty-sweet, warm like the pastries as fresh and light as an early-morning rain. Lips upon your skin.

Your heart is heavy, and it burns so, so much hotter than any sin.

A heavy hand pats your arm, bright and warm through your silk sleeve. “I think I’m not very good at this,” Diavolo confesses.

“Pardon me… at what?”

The prince hums, and rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “The… comforting thing. Am I doing it wrong? Demons aren’t really known for being reassuring. Persuasive is easy, but… this really isn’t the same.”

Another stairwell, this one a spiral, its marble steps carpeted in wine velvet, lit with cool, blue-white orbs of light hovering at intervals along the plaster walls, divided every seven steps with a thin, doric column. The wisps of light seem to sing, lowly, a melody that hums along your skin in the now-familiar pattern of magic, sustained, perhaps, by their own, soft resonance. 

“You’ve made me feel a little bit better, but being unable to allay my fears entirely isn’t a failure on your part.” Gently, you nudge Diavolo’s side with the elbow tucked into his. “I’m too worried for anything anyone says to keep me from it. And… there’s so much more.”

He nods. “Yes—there’s always more, isn’t there?” The door at the top of the stairs swings open at your approach, with no signal at all from the prince. “But it does make me—well, saying ‘happy’ might be inappropriate, but!—it makes me happy to know that there’s someone aside from me that worries for Barbatos. Hell knows he doesn’t do it himself.”

You manage a chuckle alongside him; that bright laugh is truly infectious, sunshine in the darkness. It’s a wonder sometimes that Diavolo is a demon at all. 

“And here we are.”

The hall goes on for several more feet, but there are no doors beyond this one, only a latticed window at the end of the corridor looking into the morning’s grey-green sky. The door that Diavolo indicates is a heavy, black slab of wood divided into six rectangular segments surrounded by a pattern of vines that, upon closer inspection, don’t seem to be plants at all, but… you squint, focus a little harder. Abstractions? Of clouds, perhaps, wind, almost… and stars? The tail of a great beast, winding—

The door swings open into a sitting room, nearly Georgian in appearance, wooden panels of the walls painted with alien landscapes, a high-backed chair, a corner desk, one loveseat patterned with purple and cream and green in scrolling patterns of foliage, and, above the empty fireplace, the portrait of three shrouded figures, each holding a tool of their trade: the golden spindle, the silver hourglass, and the bronze knife.

“I’ve been here before.” 

Diavolo’s brows arch. “Oh?”

“We just didn’t come the normal way, I suppose. It was after the trial—Barbatos brought me here for tea.”

He’s grinning now, like he’s caught on to something and wants to share, practically nudging you with his eyes, but you’re certain you’ve missed the memo for whatever it is. “I didn’t think anyone knew what this room looked like.”

“No one…?”

“Nobody.” A devilish smile pulls at his lips, and you certainly can’t mistake him for anything else now. “This is Barbatos’ private drawing room.” 

You have no idea what to do with this information beyond feel uncomfortably warm. “Oh.” 

“And it’s the only entrance to his bedroom.” He leads you to the door opposite the fireplace, and pushes it open. 

The rooms are perfectly matched; here, the dark panels are lit by the glow of the false sun streaming through a wall of high, paned windows that overlook the garden, curtained with purple damask and velvet. Opposite, is the bed, draped in maroon and turquoise, nestled in an alcove between large, ionic columns set into the wall, four-poster, with thick, wine curtains tied at each corner. Strangely, it begins somewhat narrowly at the head and tapers outward to the foot, almost like a paper fan. It becomes clear quickly why, as Barbatos himself rests in the center, lying on his side, pillows tucked carefully around his form, one in particular supporting his tail, which curls outward and down, taking up almost more space than the rest of him. 

He is dressed in simple, light clothing, loose around his arms and legs, cool and comfortable and—you avert your eyes automatically. He seems so… vulnerable. Underdressed. Inert. 

“I do hate seeing him like this,” Diavolo murmurs, and you’re grateful for the excuse to look at him instead. His mouth is pulled in a solemn line, no trace of any earlier joviality, a heavy weight upon his shoulders. “He is well. I even had my own physicians in to make sure there weren’t any complications. But Barbatos is… he’s been with me for a very long time. Since I was a fledgling demon. And that was—well... I don’t think a human can imagine how long ago that was. He’s always there, always unflappable, reliable Barbatos. To have him removed…” Diavolo sighs. “I always notice. When I was young, that constant presence used to chafe, but—”

Three brisk knocks on the door. 

“Enter.”

Arbianock does so with all the swift efficiency you’ve come to expect of the prince’s butler, pushing a low tea cart set with china you haven’t seen before. These dishes are glossy, the sheen faintly holographic over a black wash; swimming through the darkness are grey mists and flecks that look like stars, and each teacup sits tall and thin on wide feet. At a small table near the windows, already set with two chairs, Arbianock begins swiftly ordering the teapot, cups, saucers, and two plates piled high with dainty sandwiches and small, flaky pastries. Your stomach makes a most unsavory sound.

Diavolo chuckles, lightly. “You’ve been spending too much time with Beelzebub… or, maybe, you ran out of the house without eating, despite the breakfast waiting for you.”

Of course he’d heard. “Is that how Lucifer put it?”

He shrugs in the wake of your irritable frown and moves to the table, where Arbianock waits silently. “Something like that.”

“So you both made sure there was food here for me.” You sigh, and take your place and his behest. “I—thank you. I’d… forgotten I was hungry.” The way your stomach is gnawing and roiling with a vengeance, you suspect you ate nothing of substance during your bout of unconsciousness. 

“Think nothing of it! Barbatos would never forgive me if I let you go hungry. Ah—thank you, Arbia.”

The demoness bows her head and moves to fill your cup next, pouring the tea with grace; it whispers in the porcelain. “I have prepared a morning blend with nighttyme and citrus that should compliment both the cured meat in the sandwiches and the light sweetness of the puff pastries, which have been made with human-word apples.” 

Your heart feels like it’s held tight in a fist. You recognize the scent of the tea; it is the same Barbatos had first prepared for you in the RAD courtyard, months ago. And the comfort of human-world fruit… “Thank you.” If you move your eyes from the table, you won’t be able to maintain control. 

She finishes pouring, serves you and Diavolo each a triangular sandwich and a flaky, cubed pastry. The plating is almost identical to what you’ve come to expect, but the aesthetics differ slightly; this palette is very muted, with an emphasis on shape, where Barbatos’ plates are accented by space and subtle flashes of color. 

You hadn’t realized you knew that. 

“Eat,” urges Diavolo, “and we can discuss something pleasant.”

One bite of the sandwich you’ve been served only makes you hungrier and you finish it before you’re able to even consider that the gesture is less than polite—certainly not fit for the prince’s table—but another finds its way onto your plate before you can even ask for another. Arbianock’s facial expression does not change when you thank her quietly, nor does she seem to mind that the second sandwich disappears as quickly as the first, despite your best efforts. 

“I’m… hungrier than I thought.” You can’t raise your eyes from the plate as another sandwich takes its place. “Please excuse me.”

“Nonsense, eat as much as you like!” Diavolo laughs heartily. “There’s more than enough here for both of us.”

You might feel better if you could at least properly compliment the food, but even after the third sandwich, you realize that you have no idea what they even taste like beyond good and that you require more. Cured meat, she had said, and you trust that, but anything else? Not even a guess. 

The conversation witters on as you eat your fill; what Diavolo talked about, much like the flavor and content of the sandwiches, you really could not say. What you spoke, when required, you cannot recall. But the warm, sharp flavor of the tea, with slightest lingering spice on your tongue to compliment the first crisp, sweet bite of an apple square—

“...but, of course, Arbia has been around at least that long, and—you’ve met Mephistopheles before, haven’t you?”

It tastes of sunshine and home and it brings you back to your mind, to your stomach, which has ceased its complaints, to the warning edge of a burn in the lines of Beelzebub’s pact upon your skin. 

“Yes… Satan had taken me to the newspaper club meeting on a few occasions before Mephistopheles was removed as Chief Editor.”  

“Ah, yes—a shame, that, but I couldn’t dissuade Lucifer. Don’t worry, though; he’ll have another opportunity next year.” Diavolo leans back slightly in his chair and pops a pastry thoughtfully into his mouth. “Do you suppose I could get Asmodeus to do another design? Those stickers were darling!” 

Fondness stirs in your chest, but doesn’t quite make its way to your face. “I’m sure Asmo could be persuaded. We would have a whole collection of tiny demon lords.”

His eyes glitter. “Yes, exactly! Why we could—”

The hollow sound of a great bell reverberates through the air, hums through your bones.

A deep sigh, and Diavolo seizes his teacup. “Unfortunately, that means I am needed.” He tips it back in one go, and rises, but as you move to do the same, he raises a hand. “No, please; you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I’m certain Barbatos could use a bit of company.”

There’s a lump in your throat again. “Thank you, Diavolo.” 

He casts a glance back at his friend, and gives you a gentle smile. “I’ve left a comfortable chair near the bed; you’re more than welcome to make use of it. I don’t know how long my business will take, but if you wish, you can see yourself out at any time, and should you need anything…” The prince reaches into his jacket and draws out a small, silver bell that gleams in the low light. He sets it on the table amongst the tea setting. “Ringing this will summon help; if Arbianock is busy assisting me, someone else will answer your call. The staff have instructions to obey you as they would Lucifer, so please, don’t hesitate to ask for anything you desire.”  

It sounds like entirely too much, but you nod as graciously as you can manage. “Thank you. I doubt I’ll need anything, but I’m grateful.”

“I’ll return when I’m finished to see how you’re doing, and you’ll be quite welcome to join me for dinner if you wish to stay. Now, don’t hesitate if you need more tea—or water! I think I recall humans need quite a lot of it.”

Arbianock stands stiffly at his side. “My lord…”

“Yes, of course! We can’t linger.” The bright, brilliant grin finds its way again to the prince’s face. “Good morning, Ambrose.”

It doesn’t feel right to remain seated, but you offer a small, half-bow from your chair. “Good morning, Diavolo.”

He and Arbianock file neatly through the door, and it clicks softly shut, leaving you in silence. Upon the bed, Barbatos has not shifted in the slightest, but, as Diavolo had said, there is an armchair within reach. It matches the rest of the room: dark, carved wood upholstered in teal and seafoam green, giving a bright spot of color to the alcove. You… you would like to sit with him.

Your hands are shaking. 

Take a deep breath, and raise your teacup to your lips, tip back the full contents in an effort to steady your nerves. With another long, slow breath, you stand. Why are you nervous? There’s no one around to ask questions, and Barbatos—

Slowly, you approach the bed. He lies atop the comforter, but a blanket folded in an aesthetically haphazard triangle has been draped across his legs at the knee. It brings to mind the feverish heat of his skin when last you met; perhaps they’ve left the comforter off in an effort to lower his temperature. His forked tail curls around his form, over the folded throw, dull against the black and maroon and lavender, missing its usual, luminescent luster.

You settle into the waiting chair, perched on its edge so that your knees press close against the mattress. The expression Barbatos wears is gentle, peaceful repose; surely, a blessing. Could you stand it if it seemed he was in pain? That he should be in any discomfort seems unbearable, especially if he must lie here for another—

Fingers curl against your thighs.

You can’t think about that. Watch instead the slow breath that moves his chest, lifts, subtly, the arm draped across over his side; consider the way his hair falls across his brow and upon the pillow, a gentle wave of emerald that fades to turquoise. The slight, spindly shadows that cross his forehead, beneath the winglike horns perched there. The absence of a knowing glance—though even in sleep, it seems, his mouth remains turned up at the edge, ever keeping a secret. Just beneath his chin, his other hand lies upon the comforter, open and bare. Your own is halfway to it before you realize what you’re doing. 

You hover there, hand outstretched, fingertips almost, almost finding his. They tremble. The breath aches in your chest. 

“You are free to touch me, if you so wish.”

“Barbatos!” 

His eyes glitter and you—

Your fingers wrap around his, thread them together, palms kissing. 

“How—” Too much, too much, not enough. Tug his hand a little closer, press your forehead to the back of his fingers. His skin is warm, but not feverish. “How long have you been awake?” 

“Since you entered the room.” Mischief in his voice, but you can’t find it in your heart to be irritated. 

Your grip tightens. It doesn’t matter why he didn’t speak earlier, you just—”How are you?” Press your cheek fast to the back of his hand, open your eyes to find him watching, watching so tenderly that a lump forms in your throat. 

“Seeing you well, I find my condition inconsequential.” Your cheeks heat, but before you can admonish his lack of proper answer, Barbatos’ thumb caresses the edge of your palm. He smiles. “I am tired. I feel like I could sleep for a decade, but I am simply too busy for such a diversion.” 

Huff a soft laugh. Relief washes through your chest, and you nuzzle his skin. Soft—his hands are so soft…

“I trust Lucifer and the others have taken good care of you?” 

Belphegor sitting at the table, lazily malicious, springs to your mind and knots your stomach, but you can’t… not now. “Yes. When I woke up, it was like nothing at all had happened; I’m perfectly healthy.” 

Barbatos hums, closing his eyes. “I shall have to thank Simeon.” His thumb begins a slow pattern again, up and down, brushing your cheek along the way.

Press closer to his touch. “And I need to thank you.” 

"I am at your service; that you are here is thanks enough." His gaze is bright, a gentle viridian, ivy graced by the morning dew. "But... if you would stay for a while, until I sleep again, I would consider it a reciprocal gesture.” There is a strange weight in those words, a precision of diction and careful hesitation, like an offering, quiet and so hopeful—

“Of course I’ll stay.”

You wish to do nothing else. 

He smiles, the soft crease of his eyes, the smallest flash of glassen teeth, and you can’t breathe for the flood of emotion behind your breast. Gently, Barbatos untangles his fingers from yours, cups your cheek, lets his fingertips run across your jaw and chin, carefully searching your face. “All of time, every possibility, and I never would have thought this…” The smile that graces his lips is wistful, coloring his voice. “I’m glad now that I never looked; it’s much better as a surprise.” 

Your cheeks burn almost as bright as your heart. There’s nothing in your mind, nothing you know how to say, so you turn into his palm, and press a lingering kiss to his skin, earning the pleasure of a short, sharp gasp. You smile as his cheeks flush darker than you’ve seen before, painted a dusky rose, and, emboldened, kiss him softly again upon the heel of his hand. 

Barbatos chuckles, brightly, and steals your hand to press his own kiss to your fingers, lips lingering, warm and soft. His breath huffs lightly over your skin as a giggle morphs into full laughter, and your heart stutters; you’ve never heard anything quite like it from him before. It’s contagious, light and rich and warm as steam curling from the teapot, drawing a chuckle from your chest, but all too soon he covers his mouth, stifling the sound to something more controlled. 

“What is it?” you ask.

“Six of the most powerful demon lords vying for your attention. I know that was not your intention, but after what you’ve done, you could have had your choice.” His eyes scrunch in a dark sort of delight. “Six demon lords, and you’re lavishing your affection on the royal butler.” He’s giggling again, this time in that bubbling, caramel tone you’ve enjoyed before. “The Brothers are going to be exceptionally envious.” 

You’d like to feel guilty, or at least sympathetic, if what Barbatos says is true. But after this morning… “I suppose they’ll just have to come to terms with that.” Gently, you squeeze the hand that still holds yours. Affection. Something light and sweet blossoms behind your ribs. 

He returns the gesture, eyes drifting closed, though a devious smile still curls his mouth. “If that is what you wish.” 

The fluttering of your heart goes straight to your head in a soft, gentle hum, and you smooth your thumb over the back of Barbatos’ hand. Slowly, contentedly, he returns the gesture.

You watch for a moment, the steady rise and fall of his every breath. “Do you need to sleep again?”

Barbatos sighs, tugging your hand close to his chest. “Soon. I will likely rest…” He considers, glancing off into space as though trying to recall some minute detail. “...four more days.” 

Four days? “Then—why are you awake now?” Surely he should be sleeping, shouldn’t have woken at all...

“I wanted to see you,” he says, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, and you think the flush that has spread to the tips of your ears might just become permanent. “And I waited to do so until Diavolo departed as his… exuberance would have exhausted me faster.” 

Yes, you can easily imagine Diavolo’s boisterous, high energy wearing you thin if he had been the one to greet you last night. A smile tugs at your lips. “Should I not mention that I’ve spoken with you?”

“There is no need to keep it secret; I suspect he understands the situation.” Ah, and there is the all-knowing, little smile. 

“Diavolo did make some… insinuations,” you recall.

“Does that trouble you?”

“Well… not exactly. It did bother me that I hadn’t spoken with you yet, while he seemed to think—” Oh. Oh. You’d been distracted, but when the prince gave you that look after you admitted that you had been to Barbatos’ drawing room before... 

“Yes?”

“I…” Clear your throat, which suddenly seems a little inadequate for the oxygen and words you’re looking for. “I think he’s under the impression that we’ve… been seeing each other.”

His brow creases for half a moment before softening with amusement. “Ah.” He closes his eyes again. “My lord would think that was the natural progression of things; this has developed rather quickly, and out of order, from our perspective.” He draws a deep, slow breath, like the kind that appears halfway to sleep. “A demon’s perspective.” 

You have at least four questions now, but you don’t want to keep him awake, so you squeeze his hand lightly. “You should rest.”

Barbatos makes a soft sound of affirmation. “You may join me, if you wish.” He looks at you just in time to witness what must be an impressive mess of shapes without sound as your mouth opens and closes, unable to find any words. Gently, he tugs at your wrist. “You must require more rest.” 

He isn’t wrong; you find you’re more drained than normal, and you’ve only been up a few hours, but—is this not a bit fast? Then again… how many times have you fallen asleep in a pile of demons already? And, really, Barbatos is wearing more clothes than Mammon sometimes wears to sleep. Yet—you feel as though he’s entirely naked. 

You’re interrupted by a light, polite laugh. “You needn’t if you do not wish to.” 

“I’m overthinking,” you confess. After all, you share a bed with your friends regularly. This isn’t different just because you feel so tenderly for him. 

He relinquishes your hand with a soft smile, and closes his eyes again. “Take your time, nykin.” 

Five questions. But you slip out of your boots, and take a deep breath, then, carefully, climb onto the bed, knees sinking almost immediately into the mattress, much softer than you’re accustomed. You think you see Barbatos’ mouth curve upward just a little more, but he doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t peek, as you retrieve one of the unused pillows and settle on your side—but not too close. 

There’s a small shift in weight on the bed, and it’s not until you feel fabric creeping over your legs that you realize it is his tail moving sluggishly to tug the blanket up and over your hips. But it doesn’t move back down the foot of the bed once that task is complete; instead, his tail settles heavily, gently across your thighs, rolls lightly up your spine, nestled against your back.

“Is that all right?” He’s watching your reaction intently. 

You nod against the pillow, and reach for his hand again, which he relinquishes easily, folding into yours. “Sleep well, darling.” 

The words are long gone before you realize what you’ve said, but Barbatos’ eyes are closed, and a smile lingers on his lips.

----

It’s the scent, first, of ashes and ink, of early morning mist and winter’s clean edge. You don’t recognize it immediately, beyond demon, but when you open your eyes, well, it certainly couldn’t have been anyone else. The weight of Barbatos’ embrace still presses into the small of your back, his fingers still soft against yours; you hadn’t moved at all in your sleep, probably worried about disturbing him. There is still enough light from the windows to soften the edges of his face, to highlight the curve of his mouth, to smooth away the lines around his eyes. He looks… happier, now, than when you arrived, and you’re inclined to believe you’re not imagining it. Absently, you let your fingers run across the skin of his palm, down to the wrist, and linger there a while under a silken sleeve. 

Your stomach rudely reminds you that it’s time to eat again, but you’re not ready to move just yet, so you turn only a little, and take in the rest of the room properly. While the drawing room was fairly small, and sparsely furnished, this one hardly resembles the room of a servant—these are the quarters of a duke brought into the prince’s palace. Beyond the foot of the bed, amongst the paned, Georgian windows is a massive bay window with a soft perch nestled below for lounging, complete with pillows of myriad shapes and a small duvet. 

On the far wall, beyond where Barbatos lies, there is a large armoire, countless shelves, and several chests. While it is apparent that everything has a place, there are strange devices and artifacts of all kinds scattered about—many appear to be some variety of time-keeping instrument. An interesting thought, that, since—

“I knew he would recognize you!” The voice does its best to be hushed, but there’s too much damned told-you-so sunshiny glee crammed into it to make such attempts effective. 

You freeze, trying not to roll over abruptly, though you’re sure you couldn’t wake Barbatos now if you tried. You open your mouth to say something, but what? Please excuse me for getting into bed with your butler, I swear I can explain? “Lord Diavolo—”

“Sorry! Sorry…” He’s whisper-yelling now. “I was just hoping you’d join me for dinner.” 

That had been the plan. “Yes, I’ll just…” You absolutely cannot look at him. “Give me a moment, please.”

“Of course, of course! I’ll wait in the drawing room; we have much to discuss.” 

You don’t move until you hear the door shut, and even then, you do so slowly, gradually, giving first a light squeeze to Barbatos’ fingers before letting them go, inching your hands gently back to your sides, leveraging yourself up and out from under his tail. Your ears burn when you realize you’ll have to use your hands to help move the weight off your legs, as you’ve run out of mattress, and you try your best to be… clinical and prudent about it. But you can’t help noticing how smooth the skin of his tail is, like soft, supple leather; there is a light texture to it, not unlike that of silk, no scales to speak of, just…

You adjust the blanket carefully, try to make sure he’s still comfortable, and don’t consider it any further. But it makes no difference as you join Lord Diavolo in the sitting room, for your face is burning to the tips of your ears anyway. 

The prince is half-lounging on the loveseat so he can see you over its back, smirking in a manner that is one raised brow from lascivious. “So, how is he?” 

Perhaps one day you’ll learn a spell that will allow you to melt yourself into the floor. “Still tired. He only spoke to me for a few minutes and went back to sleep.” 

He nods, and pushes himself off the seat with a stretch. “That’s to be expected. Did he mention how long he would need?”

“Four days.”

“Oh—that’s not long at all! Nothing to worry about, then.” He gestures toward the door, and you exit through it into a hall on the ground floor. “I’m glad you got the chance to talk with him. For dinner, I’m afraid we have more… unpleasant matters to discuss. If you wish to refresh yourself, please feel free to do so; I’ll be in the dining hall—we still have about fifteen minutes before dinner service.”

----

You’re seated almost directly at Lord Diavolo’s right hand; there is one empty chair occupying that space, but you are next, and, while the table is set fully and formally, no one comes to take the seat, nor to take Lucifer’s on his left. Upon the banquet table lays a feast fit to feed ten, and, dimly, you wonder what will happen to the food that shall surely go uneaten. There’s roast wyvern and a grilled fish you don’t recognize that’s almost as big as you are, and Arbianock flits about the room like the shadow of a moth, refilling your glass, serving whatever you want before you even ask for it. Even if you can’t name every side dish, you’re sure you’ve tasted them all before, and accept portions gratefully… but you can’t seem to taste much of what’s on your plate over the measured, grave pace of the prince’s voice: 

“I avoided mentioning it this morning—” He fixes you beneath a golden gaze, cutting his food without even glancing at it. “—but I know you’re already aware that Belphegor has been released, as agreed, to his normal life in the House of Lamentation. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that these were the agreed terms for your successful mission.” 

“You do not.”

“And it wasn’t all for nothing; this did clear up a great many questions for me, beyond who opened the door. Suspicions about your lineage are confirmed, and—”

“My lineage?”

“Hm? Yes, it seems Lilith not only shared her power with you, but you are a distant descendant of her human incarnation.” 

Suspected lineage. The fork’s handle digs into your forefinger. “Did you know? Excuse me; I apologize for interrupting, but did you know when I was selected for the program that I was… somehow linked to Lilith?” 

Diavolo shakes his head. “No. Your lineage wasn’t even a thought until you borrowed Solomon’s magic, and he commented on your ability to invoke more power than you’d shown aptitude for previously—and I had no suspicions about you being Lilith’s descendant until Belphegor reappeared.”

Descended. Is that really all you are? An accident of Fate? Lilith never used that word, never said… 

“It was quite the surprise, but… these things do have a habit of coming back around.” 

You had both been served a glass of water and a glass of demonus; it is the demonus he sips from now, as his words settle over the table like fog. 

“What do you mean?”

“All things are made up of patterns.” He hums. “The universe exists in a state of raw discord—call that chaos, if you will—and Existence is the movement of this energy, this matter, into comprehensible patterns. For instance, a simple thing: fire. All its parts exist, latent, in the atmosphere, but when circumstances push them together in a set, predictable pattern—” He snaps, and a small flame dances between his fingers. “—it springs into being. People, animals, plants, thoughts, every element you can conceive, whole worlds… just like this.” Scarlet and saffron, it licks across his skin. “Patterns. We call it magic, angels call it order; humans, I think, are calling it ‘science’ nowadays.” With a careless wave, the flame winks out. “So, when I transformed Lilith’s Being into a human shape… of course the action would come back here, where it started. Like the tide, everything craves balance; a push, a pull, the elements fall back into disarray but find another pattern. Without it, there is nothing.” Thoughtfully, he examines the space where the flame once was. “And yet… we have the power to create patterns of our own. In a whirling existence of order and discord, we can decide what it all means. Call that… Destiny.” 

You’re my successor, Ambrose, because you chose to try. You think you can almost touch the edge of what’s known like this. A strange turn in the pit of your stomach, like you’ve contemplated what nonexistence would feel like for a little too long. 

“Ah, but I don’t mean to lecture you! How dreadfully dull.” Diavolo chuckles. “Listen to me; I’m starting to sound like Barbatos—please don’t tell him! Now, I started all this because… aha! Yes.” He sobers. “I cannot remove Belphegor from the House of Lamentation because of the deal you and I made. And frankly, I don’t want to. It would benefit him not at all to misbehave now, so I doubt he’ll try anything further; from his perspective, there’s no sense in jeopardizing his extraordinarily good fortune. However, if it would make you more comfortable, I can have you moved to Purgatory Hall either temporarily, or for the remainder of the year.” Here, the prince straightens, and leans slightly toward you over the table. “But I hope you don’t doubt that Lucifer and his brothers care for you.”

Your heart aches, protesting in your chest. “I don’t.” You know they care, but you know they’re loyal to their brother, too. That, maybe, their loyalty should be to him first. And that you…

You…

You used the pacts against them without even thinking. 

“Good! After all, half the Devildom would like to be you right now, if only for the benefits. And yet, you seem to be completely unaware of or care not at all for that kind of thing. Power? You ask for nothing. Riches, sex, unlimited knowledge? Not a single bargain, not one favor. Your complete lack of ambition is truly a marvel!” His smile is radiant. Your head is spinning. You’re not sure whether you’ve been insulted or praised or a bit of both, and just can’t bring yourself to bother untangling it. 

You used the pacts to strip your friends of their will. 

“Still... all the same, would you like me to have your quarters moved for a while?”

“N—” Tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. “No. Thank you. I… have to go back.”

Diavolo hums, the sound resonating in his chest. “I respect your decision, though you needn’t return to the House until you’re ready. After all, you are, of course, welcome to stay here for as long as you like during Barbatos’ recovery. You are free to come and go as you please.” 

The temptation is very real. You need to—you want… you wish to confide in someone, to ask about what you’ve done, seek advice on the course of action, but Barbatos isn’t available. Reach for your water goblet, stomach heavy with knots. 

“I can have someone fetch anything you need for this evening,” the prince suggests, slowly, and you realize with no small embarrassment that you haven’t responded to him at all. 

“I’m sorry.” Concentrate on a long, warm sip of water, feel the way it restores your dry throat. “I am very grateful for the invitation, Lord Diavolo, but I… I’ll need to at least fetch my own things. I have to at least apologize.”

His brow arches. “Apologize? What for? The way I heard it, Belphegor antagonized you.” 

Fingers curl tight around the goblet’s stem. “I won’t be apologizing to Belphegor.” There’s a whisper of sensation curling around your forearm.

“Ah, of course; I heard that your rage was quite something.”

It disappears without a trace, and you find your hand shaking, so you set the glass upon the table, and let your arm rest there, gaze fixed on the silk of your sleeve, contrasting sharply against the black tablecloth. “It shouldn’t have happened.” 

“You’re… going to apologize for... being angry?” 

Well, it looks like you’re confessing to the prince himself, and it’s too late to stop now. “I used the pacts to keep them all from interfering.” You avoid covering your face, though only just, by shoving your hands into your lap. Like a naughty child. But isn’t that what you are for letting your anger control you? “I was so angry, I… I just took away their ability to act. Made what I wanted more important.”

“Everyone?”

Struggle to think back. “All… except Asmodeus and Leviathan, because they weren’t there, or—I didn’t notice they were there. And Lucifer, of course, but…” Your heart seizes. “Only because I couldn’t.” 

Diavolo is silent for a moment. “And you think that was... wrong?” 

"Of course it was wrong!" 

But Diavolo looks dumbfounded. "Then was it wrong to use your pact with Beelzebub to keep him from fighting me back in Purgatory Hall?" 

"That's nowhere near the same thing. I was stopping a fight, not starting one." 

"So the issue is that you wanted to fight, and decided to prevent anyone from stopping you?" He tilts his head. "Well, you didn't intend to try to kill Belphegor this morning, did you? If so, I would like to suggest that a porcelain serving platter is perhaps not the best method you could have chosen." He has the audacity to giggle. "I would like to have seen it, though."

"Of course I wouldn't try to kill him, and—" Your stomach rolls dangerously. "—certainly not while they watched. He's their brother."

"And yet, you would have been well within your rights to try. He tried to kill you, and is now beyond formal punishment from the crown for that action. Taking it into your own hands is not inappropriate." 

"Diavolo, I prevented them from being able to stop me even if they wanted to more than anything. Is that not cruel? I enforced my will over theirs. Their bodies wouldn’t obey them, they couldn’t—couldn’t even speak—"

"Now stop that."

Your cheeks light with shame even as you balk at the command. 

"They gave you that power in order to put you on more equal footing with them, and with other demons. Do you think they did it without expecting that you could use it as a tool of wrath or envy or greed? Tell me, how is utilizing your power different from any one of them restraining you physically to prevent your will from being enacted?"

When laid out that way—

Even so… "I shouldn't have done it out of anger." 

"Ambrose, for a demon, your intentions matter. In Purgatory Hall, you invoked the pact to protect Beelzebub from himself. This morning, you used the pacts to protect your completely justified desire to confront Belphegor. I don’t believe you would ever intend to harm the brothers, and you certainly didn't today, if this guilt is any indication." 

"No, I didn't." It eases some of the pain in your chest, until you recall the wrath that swam through your blood. "Well... except Belphegor.” Fingers curl into palms. “But now I'm just… tired. And I'm sorry I didn't even let them have the opportunity to stand up for him." 

Diavolo leans back in his chair. "Then apologize. Humans seem so… tangled up in what they ‘should’ and ‘shouldn't’ be allowed to feel that they stop thinking about why they’re feeling. Nearly every one of the brothers has threatened your well-being in a moment of passion, and yet, you act like keeping them rooted to the floor for a moment is some grave injustice because you did it while you were angry." He folds his arms across his chest. "Sometimes, I wonder if you just believe you don't have the right to your own Destiny." 

Your nails are cutting into your palms. Lamplight glints, blood-red and bright through an untouched glass of demonus. “Do you… consider Destiny and Fate different things, Diavolo?”

“Yes. I believe Destiny is precisely what I told you: creation and change through will. It is your choice, your power over the shape of your life. Fate, on the other hand, is how you start. It’s the circumstances you’re given and the world you live in, and it is where you will be at the end of all things. But Destiny is how you arrive there, how you’ll shape what that final Fate may be; nobody has a say in how they begin, but they do have a hand in how it ends.”

“That must be very easy for you to say.”

“It wasn’t always.” 

When you look up, the half-smile on his lips has the character of a grimace, distant and self-deprecating, disarming in its sincerity. But then it’s gone, blown away on the faint breeze stirred by the opening of a door. 

“Would you like to take dessert and tea in the parlor, my lord?” 

You hadn’t even noticed Arbianock was gone.

Diavolo glances sidelong at you, but you find you have no opinion on the matter. With a sigh, the prince shakes his head. “No, I think we’ll both be tending to our own business this evening, but I’ll take some in my office. Ambrose… if you change your mind about moving your quarters or requesting assistance, please, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

----

When you left the House of Lamentation this morning, you hadn’t even had time to consider that you were walking the streets unescorted for the first time since your arrival in the Devildom. Now, as the scant evening light begins to fade into night, you’re painfully aware of every shadow, each unfamiliar face that lingers on every street-corner. And…

They’re studiously avoiding eye-contact. That seems rather backward, but you’re certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, nor slow your steps, as much as you dread arriving at the estate. 

The house’s slouching gables seem more grievous than unusual beneath the silver moon, the spire painfully lonesome. Would anyone notice, do you suppose, if you just turned around and retraced your steps into town? There’s not a single insect chirping tonight, no mournful breeze. The house sits, uncharacteristically silent. Perhaps no one is even home. 

Your stomach turns. Is it because you fear you won’t have the opportunity to see them, or because you might? 

The air has taken on a chill edge, and you’re not dressed for it; you can’t stand on the street forever. So, with a miserably unfortifying breath, you try the door, and find it unlocked. 

The entrance hall is dark, and silent, but the halls beyond are lit… someone must be home. You make your steps as light as possible. Should you stop by your room first? If you do, what next? What if no one wants to speak with you? What if—

“Good evening, Ambrose.” Lucifer’s hands rest on the balcony rail, at the top of the stairs. 

There’s no hiding the way you flinched. “Good evening.” 

He makes no move toward the stairs. “How was your visit?” 

“Good.” Anything else sticks in your throat.

“Mm.”

Silence.

Your heart sinks; you had rather thought you two were beyond this. Perhaps you returned too soon… or, too late. 

“Are you… here to retrieve your things?” He’s not looking at you, not quite.

Take a deep breath, curl your fingers into your palms. “I wanted to talk to you. Everyone. But—I’m—well... I’m sorry.” You look at your feet. “For this morning.” 

Lucifer sighs wearily. “Let’s not stand in the hall.” He descends the stairs briskly, gloved fingers lingering lightly on the rail. “Come along.” 

You follow close on his heels to the common room, where he lights a fire with a careless flick of his wrist. As you pass him to find a seat on the sofa, his brow quirks, nose wrinkled, but says only: “I trust you weren’t harassed in the streets on the way back?”

“No.” You sit on the edge of the leather cushion, not quite willing to be comfortable. “Actually, I noticed… they seemed to want to avoid me.”

“Yes; I didn’t worry this morning, as the wrath rolling off of you was plenty potent enough to make any lesser demon think twice, to make no mention of your pacts.” He paces in front of the fire, blocking the heat for a moment, casting long, wavering shadows across carpet and wood. “I also suspect that the story of what happened—some version of it, anyway—has made its rounds. If anyone does touch you now that you can reach the power of your pacts, knowing what you’re willing to risk… what we are willing to risk… I’ll be shocked.”

“What I’m willing to risk?” 

Lucifer nods. “It would be like plucking wings to get most demons to outright admit it, but humans are widely regarded as dangerous. Yes, you had no magic of your own when you came here, and required protection because you would have been eaten, and you know now—” He turns away, light from the flames flickering across his face until you see only his back. “You know how easily we can kill. But a human willing to risk their life for something is formidable, even without magic—such willingness is remarkable, a novelty to demons. A human willing to die for their cause is unpredictable, able to do things even a demon or an angel cannot, under normal circumstances, achieve.”

That just… doesn’t seem possible. “Surely a demon or an angel has to be even more dangerous than a human when they’re risking their lives for something they believe is right.” 

He looks back at you, a small smirk drawing his lips. “Yes.” Then his brow furrows; he shakes his head. “But you don’t understand. We don’t risk our well-being lightly, and our lives… perhaps a single instance across the realms, once an eon, and rarely for another being.” 

That doesn’t seem right at all. Didn’t every one of the brothers risk their lives for Lilith? Didn’t Barbatos sacrifice, not his life, but his health, to keep you alive? 

“I know what you’re thinking, but my family shares an unusually strong bond; what we did, even as angels, was unprecedented. For a demon, even risking one’s well-being is tantamount to love. Risking one’s life, to a demon or angel, is… it’s an expression of utmost devotion, the purest gesture of love we know.” Finally, he settles in a high-backed chair. “And yet… humans, with their short lives, their little blink of existence… so many of them do it all the time.” Lucifer folds his arms, shakes his head. “You did it for a few demons you’ve known for even fewer months; that, I suspect, I will never understand. But it doesn’t mean that I am not… grateful.” 

The fire crackles. He sighs deeply. 

“I did intend to tell you about Belphegor this morning.” 

That shatters your daze. You fold your hands tightly in your lap, study a scuff along side-table from what you suspect was a pair of Asmodeus’ heels. “Why didn’t you?”

“You were meant to wait for Mammon, who would escort you to breakfast once Belphegor had gotten his plate. I would have warned you once the rest of us sat down and had something to eat.”

“I didn’t follow the plan.” 

“You rarely do. I should have sent Mammon earlier. Or gone myself. Or made Belphegor wait for his breakfast until the rest of us had eaten.” He crosses his legs at the ankle. “Yes—you didn’t follow instructions, but by now I should be prepared for that.” 

Wring your fingers together, cracking the joints. “I was hungry, and I completely forgot you said it... I think I was nearly asleep when you told me to wait for Mammon. I didn’t intend to ignore you.” 

“I won’t hold it against you.”

That's… unexpected. You look up to meet his eyes, but he can’t hold your gaze for more than a moment before tilting his head, glancing away. 

“I… understand if you don’t wish to return, but we’ll have to break the news to my brothers carefully.” A heaviness in the air, like poorly masked despair. 

All this time, he thought…? “Lucifer, I’m not leaving. Well—I am, tonight, but I’m not moving out. I’m only staying at the castle a couple days, until Barbatos is well.”

“Oh.” His brows arch. “I see. That’s good. I mean to say, I am glad that you won’t be leaving; it saves me the trouble of consoling my brothers.” But he’s smiling; you both know what he really means. 

Your heart is lighter, but—“I still need to apologize to them.”

A nod. “Before I summon them… how was Barbatos when you saw him?”

“He was sleeping, but he woke briefly to talk with me; he said he would need to sleep for four more days.”

“And you’ll be staying at the castle during that time?”

“Yes.”

“With him?” 

His eyes are scarlet, blood-red, black, and your throat sticks. “More or less.” 

Lucifer holds your gaze for a moment. Two. Three. He rises from his seat by the fire. “You know this is… highly unusual.”

“Yes.” 

He stops, rests his hand on the back of the chaise, halfway to the door, brows pinched thoughtfully. “Did Barbatos say anything else?” 

You are free to touch me.  If you would stay for a while, until I sleep again, I would consider it a reciprocal gesture. I’m glad now that I never looked; it’s much better as a surprise. The brothers are going to be exceptionally envious. You may join me, if you wish. Ineffectively adjust your cuff-less sleeves. “A few things… why?”

“Did he say why he did it?” 

There’s only one thing Lucifer could be talking about. “No, but I thanked him.”

He nods, drums his fingers on the polished wood, and turns away. 

“But—” There is something that has been nagging at your mind. Lucifer returns his attention to you. “—Lord Diavolo did suggest… even though Barbatos was certainly acting in the Exchange Program’s interests… that he didn’t have to do things the way he did. What does that mean?”

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. “That is a question for Barbatos himself.” And he closes the distance to the door. 

----

“Hey.” Beelzebub hovers awkwardly in your doorway, so you pause after tucking another set of socks into the duffel bag Leviathan had graciously loaned you (TSL-themed, with the pattern from Henry’s armor on it; he’d stuttered that he had another in pristine condition anyway, so there was no reason for you not to borrow it).   

“You can come in, Beel.” 

There’s a nervous churn in your stomach that most definitely isn’t yours; you need to learn how to filter these things out when you don’t need them sooner rather than later. Some of the others appear to be able to shield their feelings, but Beelzebub…

He keeps looking at the table and the books you've placed there, at the bed where your clothes are laid out. After a moment, he settles on staring at the floor. "I wish you wouldn't go." 

Your heart softens. "Beel… it's only for a few days."

"I know." He tucks his hands against his chest, fingers hugging one wrist. When you gently nudge his elbow, he meets your eyes. "I'm sorry."

But… he didn't do anything wrong. "For what?"

"Belphie." He looks at the floor again. "I should've known. I wish… I wish I'd pressed Lucifer harder about getting to talk to him or—I should've known. He's my brother. And now you're leaving because—" He swallows. "...I'm sorry." 

“I’m not leaving forever.” There's a lump in your throat. "Beel… it's not your fault. It's not your fault you didn't know where Belphegor was, that you trusted Lucifer, and certainly not… not what Belphegor did." 

“I’m trying to talk to him.” He draws a deep breath through his nose. “I wish I could say I didn’t get it. Why he did it.”

A sharp pain in your chest. “Beel, you’d never—”

But he shakes his head, slowly. “Belphie doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care. It’s just like when you first came here… I didn’t care, either. Nobody did. You’re just—just a thing that reminds him of…” A deep crease settles between his brows, around the corners of his mouth. “Of what we lost. Of when Lilith died. And he hates it. And—I’m sorry.” 

You look at the floor, and pull a chair out from the table, sit heavily in it, stomach in knots that don’t belong to you. “Please don't keep apologizing.” Your head is starting to hurt. “I—” Sigh. Fold your hands together tightly. “I can’t pretend I know what it feels like. But… there is a difference between you and your brother: you gave me a chance. Belphegor had the opportunity to get to know me a little; I visited him. But I suppose… it just wasn’t enough. He doesn’t want to care, Beel, but you gave me a chance.” There’s a slight tremble in your fingers, so you twine them further together. “And… yes; Belphegor and I will have to talk eventually if I’m going to be here—and I do want to be here. But… not today.”

Slowly, he nods. “Okay. ...okay.” He reaches for the other chair, hesitates—but you nod, and he folds himself into it. 

You try giving him a small smile, but judging by the half-grimace he returns, it wasn’t a particularly successful effort. In the silence that follows, you take turns staring at the dark wood of the table, at the neatly stacked textbooks. Devildom History on the bottom. Introduction to Infernal next, with the supplemental workbook, Runes, Sigils, and Script. On top, a thin volume of Hex and Mutability: the Theoretical Groundwork.   

“It hurt so much.” 

There’s such a pain in your chest that it takes your breath away, and your hand finds his arm, grips it tightly over the table. 

Beelzebub doesn’t look up, hair shadowing his face. “I haven’t told Belphie yet. He’s not ready. But it—it hurt so much when you called me. He hurt you. You were going to die.” His large hand covers yours, squeezing over his arm, a pressure you can latch onto. “I know why you were angry at him today, but I still couldn’t let you…” Finally, he meets your eyes, gaze burning, shining with unshed tears. “I don’t want anyone else to hurt.” 

Damn it. You rest your other hand on top of Beel’s. Swallow the dampness in your throat, threatening your eyes. “I don’t, either. But—” A single tear that isn’t yours, lingering on your skin. “I can’t stay right now.” 

He nods, slowly. “You’re worried about Barbatos.”

Oh. 

“I… am, yes.” 

Beelzebub squeezes your hand one more time, and lets it return to your lap. 

“How do you know that?” Your unspoken communication isn’t going both directions when you don’t mean to, is it?

“You’re not going to Purgatory Hall.” He shrugs. “And before everything, he was giving you lots of sweets. I know, because you shared, and you’d go all pink when I asked how you got them, just like you are now.” He smiles—but then his stomach makes a terrible gurgle. “Oh, no… now I’m hungry.” 

He’s right, but you’re smiling now, too. “Go get something to eat, and if you want… you can help me pack up. I might even have a sweet stashed away, though it’ll be a little old, I suppo—”

“You do. I can smell it.” 

The giggle that draws is stuttering, but genuine. “Go get your snack, Beel.”

----

Arbianock absolutely insisted upon carrying the duffel bag to your temporary quarters, but you managed to hold on to your backpack. The room—can it be simply called a room, with arching windows and gossamer curtains?—to which she leads you is easily twice the size of your bedroom at the House of Lamentation, with your own bathroom and… is that door open to a sitting room?

“This is extremely generous,” you manage, as the butler sets your borrowed bag on a chest at the foot of a king-sized, sleigh bed done in soft, dove grey and jewel tones of green and blue.

But she doesn’t crack even the slightest smile, her face resting in pleasant neutrality. “Lord Diavolo respects you a great deal, and he has no other guests.” Immediately, she sets about sorting your clothes into an elaborate chestnut dresser with scrolling embellishments along its edges, not hearing a single word of your protest. “And though you refused to stay with Master Barbatos, we would not consider giving you anything less than quarters of equal status.” 

There goes the thought of possibly insisting that you don’t need such an extravagant set of rooms for three days. But the ceiling is frescoed. Frescoed! Your head is hurting again. You’re quite sure you weren’t even this stressed the first time someone tried to kill you. 

The first time. 

Oh, dear. 

“I’ve also taken the liberty of drawing you a bath; I’m sure you’re ready to retire.” 

Arbianock definitely hasn’t left your side since you arrived... “How did you know when I would arrive and that I’d be staying in this room rather than with Barbatos as Lord Diavolo expected?”

“I had prepared two baths, just to be sure, perhaps an hour ago.” 

“And they don’t get cold?” You really shouldn’t be surprised by magic bathtubs in the castle, but...

This time, she does let her mouth relax into the slightest smirk, lavender eyes glinting. “They wouldn’t dare.” 

The tea won’t get cold if it knows what’s good for it. Clearly, Barbatos taught her everything she knows. You nod, slowly, and set your backpack beside the chest at the foot of the bed, and close your eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Would you like me to assist you?”

“In the bath?”

“Yes.” 

“No, thank you—that’s…” You fold your hands together and meet her eyes. “You’ve helped me a great deal; thank you. I’ll just bathe and get some sleep.” 

She bows, giving you a full view of the ring of braids woven amongst the mushrooms at the crown of her head, orange and brown and purple and red-speckled. “There is a selection of soaps and salts at the edge of the tub, and should you require assistance, there is a bell within reach; if you require anything in the night, even if it’s simply a cup of tea, do ring. You are quite safe, but wandering about the castle at night, alone, is not advisable.” 

“Thank you, Arbianock, for everything. I’ll call if I need something.” You won’t. But not because her offer doesn’t seem genuine. 

“Good night, Ser.” 

“You really don’t need to—” 

But she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her. 

You sigh. The carpet beneath your feet is cream and turquoise and you really feel like you shouldn’t be standing on it with shoes. A fire already flickering merrily in a hearth that opens into the sitting room means it isn’t too cold to strip and make your way to the bath without further thought, though you do tuck your boots and dirty clothes into the empty duffel bag that Arbianock stored in the large chest. 

The bathroom is… just as extravagant as the bedroom. The bathtub—plenty large enough to seat twelve—is set into the floor below another fireplace, this one shielded with fanciful wire mesh that allows light to play through a delicate depiction of climbing roses. The tub itself is marble, with several perches below the water’s surface, and, as promised, various soaps, salts, and other products sit lined on a marble shelf within easy reach. Dark tiles cross the floor, perhaps basalt, and the walls are the same cream-colored plaster as the bedroom, accented with subtle reliefs in the shape of arches, painted with bronze. 

You try to ignore the opulence as you slip into the water, bypassing the salts and soaps… deciding what to add to the bath would be entirely too much effort. Water envelops your body, almost too hot to be comfortable; carefully, you settle on a perch that leaves you submerged to your neck, and close your eyes. 

The air smells faintly spicy—of the fire above which casts dancing shadows behind your eyelids—and sweet—of subtle, floral notes probably drifting from the shelf of soap and salt. There’s… lilac in it, and roses, like Asmodeus’ perfumed handkerchief. 

All of them forgave you, quickly, as Diavolo had predicted, but your cheeks still burn with shame: it should never have happened. You must hold yourself to a higher standard; you always have, always must. You can’t afford to lose your temper. The damage you do is greater than whatever petty relief you might feel from lashing out. 

Take a slow, deep breath, and release it amid the heavy steam. 

Look, nobody’s mad at ya for bein’ angry, you know? 

We’re all angry.

And we told ya, you’re family now. That didn’t change. 

An ache in your chest. They were so kind, more forgiving than most humans. And you left. And all because...

Plunge beneath the surface. The gentle, muffled sound of space folds over your ears, the slow hum of water drowning the phantom sensation of nerves alight with pain, of limbs that won’t move, of slicing breaths. Stay, enveloped in the warmth until your lungs begin to burn instead, and push yourself upright, where the air strikes your skin, pleasantly cool. 

It’s not fair. The burn along the base of your spine blends with the bath. 

You’re envious of… of what, all the things that could have been? 

Everything had been going so well! Belphegor would have been free, the bond of the seven brothers strengthened after learning the truth about Lilith, the House of Lamentation pieced back together... and you’d return to Barbatos, waiting for you on the other side of the door, relieved, perfectly well, not too exhausted to lift his head, nor—

It’s not fair. You were happy. You were so, so happy before Belphegor left the attic, before you admitted what you’d done, just attending classes and waking up to breakfast with your friends, going into town with Mammon and Asmo, trading books with Satan, settling in for a TSL marathon with Levi, making midnight kitchen runs with Beel, playing chess with Lucifer and Diavolo. Looking forward to stealing a glance in the hallway from Barbatos before tea, where you could savor his smile, to continue sitting slowly closer and closer together each week—

Is it such a sin—is it such a sin to just be happy? To be simple and happy for just a little while? Must it go awry? Must it be complicated? Must you be punished? Must you die for it?

It’s not fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.

Your eyes are hot, wet, spilling tears in that easy, warm way that they do while you’re bathing, blending with the damp already on your cheeks until they’re so diluted you can’t tell your tears from the bathwater. And then you’re coughing, then choking out racking sobs that echo sharp, too sharp, off the stone and marble and plaster. Clap your hands over your mouth, but it doesn’t stop the shake of your shoulders, the uncontrolled rock of your body in the water.

----

“...Ambrose?”

“Hm?” You glance up from the bone-china cup clasped between your fingers.

“You seem distracted.” Simeon’s brow creases. “And you look very tired; is everything all right?” 

“Yes! I’m sorry.” Take another sip; it tastes like mint and something floral, with the bright flavor that accompanies most teas from the Celestial Realm which would, ordinarily, feel energizing. “I just… didn’t sleep very well last night. I apologize.” Actually, you’re not sure you slept at all in your plush, borrowed bed, visions of that day flickering through your mind, tangled up amongst yesterday’s guilt and turmoil. 

“You don’t need to apologize for that. I can make a more restorative tea, if it’ll help, but it’s no replacement for real sleep.” 

Smile. “No, thank you, that’s all right; I’m enjoying this one… I’ll just try to go to bed earlier tonight.” It seems you’re nothing but a disaster lately. “You’ve done quite enough to help me recently—I’m supposed to be here thanking you.” 

“And I already told you that you don’t need to thank me.” The lamps in his room imitate the sun, and when he shakes his head, they light on his dark hair, glowing radiantly. “Do you really think I wouldn’t help you, knowing that I have the ability to do it?” 

Your cheeks heat. “No.” 

“Then don’t fret.” He chuckles lightly, musically. “I only did what you’d do if the roles were reversed. It was the right thing.” 

“I—I’m glad you think so highly of me.” Take another drink of your tea, already growing cold. “Are you sure you’re all right? Lucifer mentioned that you were exhausted afterward, too.” 

“Of course; I’m perfectly fine now. You were… well—there was quite a lot of damage. The Belphegor I knew...” He purses his lips, a shadow falling over his face. “The Belphegor I knew would never have done such a thing, and certainly not to a human.” He drinks from his own cup, frowns into it. “But even so, I didn’t have to do quite as much work as Barbatos did, and the healing process took more out of you than it did of me.”  

“When you say ‘not to a human’, you mean because he loved them so much?” 

“Yes... I suppose his brothers already told you about that.”

“They did but it’s… somewhat difficult to imagine now. I can only assume he placed the blame on humanity because it was the only target he could reach, after…” Your fingers tighten in your lap. “Even so—doesn’t he hate the angels that sided against his brothers?” His inner iris seems to contract, blues and greens swirling tempestuously. “I—I’m sorry; I wouldn’t wish it on you. I know you cared very much about Lucifer before, and it couldn’t have been—”

Simeon smiles, waving his hand, but the lines around his eyes are terse, tense. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended. It is rather strange to think he doesn’t, but I suspect he hasn’t completely forgiven us, even if he does seem to hate humanity more than heaven.”

“Even so, it wasn’t very considerate of me.”

“Things have been very hard for you,” he says firmly, a definite argument against your apology. “None of this is your fault, and it’s not fair that you were drawn into our ancient business.” The room is suddenly a little brighter, you think, a little warmer, like you caught a bit of sunlight on your skin. “Give yourself more credit,” he murmurs, warmly, and oh, no, you’re going to cry again. 

“Ambrose!” 

You don’t get the chance as a solid weight comes careening into the back of your chair, noisily sloshing the tea in your cup.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over!” 

Swallow over the remaining lump in your throat. “Sorry, Luke. I didn’t know you wouldn’t be here, and when Simeon said you’d be home soon, I thought it would be a good surprise.”

The angel slides around your chair and throws his arms about your neck, smooshing your head against his chest, where the brooch that holds his necktie in place sticks painfully into your cheek, but… the comfort radiating from the rest of his little being is well worth that small ache. “I’m so happy you’re okay!” 

Simeon, thankfully, takes your tea so that you can return the embrace. “And I’m happy to see you.” Hugs from Luke feel just like seeing a rainbow as it stretches through the sky on a summer afternoon, the breeze cool, and the air, gold. 

“I wanted to see you right away, but they said you still needed rest and then you wanted to see Barbatos, and is Barbatos okay? They wouldn’t let me see him, either! They told me he’s just resting, but is he really okay?” 

You’re not going to tease him just now about worrying after the well-being of a demon but you do smile into his jacket when he refuses to release you, cheek pressed against the top of your head. “He’s really okay, Luke; I talked to him for a few minutes yesterday and he said he just needed to sleep for a few more days. Three days, after this one.” 

“But are you sure he wasn’t pretending to be okay? He’s really good at not letting people know how he feels. And Simeon said he had to be in his angelic form to heal you! Celestial magic is bad for demons. Divine Radiance like he has—”

Luke must feel you stiffen, because his hands move to your shoulders, pushing you back to look at your face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

But you look at Simeon, whose gloved hand rubs the top of his shoulder. “What is he talking about, Simeon? I remember that you said you had to change forms that night, but… it was physically painful for Barbatos?” 

Damn it; you should have put it together. He had flinched back from the golden light, just before—

“I’m sorry, I… didn’t realize you wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t necessary, but in order to utilize my full power, I had to shift to my angelic form, which… I’ve never used here, not at any of the parties when everyone else is in their demonic form, because our aura can be painful to look at. When using magic the way I was that night, I… we… have this Radiance that can pain or injure creatures from this realm. It’s defensive and involuntary. Even humans find it difficult to look upon an angel; they find themselves slow or unable to move, discover their wicked thoughts are confused and muddled, and… some go mad.”

You’re an idiot.

“He couldn’t even lift his head,” you mumble. It’s probably a miracle he could move at all yesterday, let alone… “Does Diavolo know about this?” 

“Yes, of course; I disclosed everything.” 

Which means Diavolo lied.

“And he’s fine, right?” Luke demands.

You’re so sick of being lied to. 

“If Barbatos said he’ll be up and about in three days, then yes. There’s no reason not to take his word.” Simeon’s brows draw in a troubled curve. “But, Ambrose…” His eye is drawn to the troubled tremor of your knee, bouncing up and down; for how long, you don’t know. “Maybe you should rest.” 

Force yourself to sit still. You thought you’d gotten over that habit. “Simeon, I’ve already slept for three—”

Your stomach drops. 

“Ambrose…” Simeon’s voice lilts, slow.

Luke squeezes your hand. “Hey, it’s okay. Simeon is right; maybe—”

“I was asleep for three days.” Try to wet your lips, but your mouth is dry. “Barbatos said four more, which means he’ll have been out for a week.”

“Yes…”

“A week! One of the most powerful beings in the Realms.” There’s an ache starting up behind your eyes, but this is important. “I was mostly dead but I—”

Three soft taps on the open door. “Excuse me.” You turn to see Solomon hovering there, smiling in the most obtusely friendly fashion possible, shrugging out of his RAD jacket. “Is everything all right? It’s nice to see you up and about, Ambrose.” 

You’ve never liked the feel of his words, insubstantial as smoke, and you find it grates on your already fraying nerves, despite the warmth Luke emits, half perched on the arm of your chair. “Thank you… it’s nice to be up.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem pretty upset.” 

“I—”

“About Barbatos, I presume?” His coat hangs in the crook of his arm, but he still curls a hand under his chin. 

Luke’s brow wrinkles. “How did you know that?”

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know,” says Simeon mildly. 

But Solomon chuckles, a soft little hiccup of laughter. “I didn’t have to… if someone raises their voice, I don’t think that really counts. Did I hear it right? Barbatos won’t be rejoining us for a week?” 

You’d like to lie. “He said he’ll be up in three days.”

“Ahh, which makes a week, total.” He hums. “And you feel… guilty, I imagine?” 

You feel cold. Don’t even open your mouth to reply.

“Well, you shouldn’t!” Solomon smiles brightly. “Barbatos resolved the situation in the way he saw fit. It’s not the play I would have made, but it wasn’t my decision. Now, I still haven’t actually heard it from him; did he happen to tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Oh.” With a frown, he shakes out his jacket, resituates it over his elbow before folding his arms. “Well, I was hoping he explained what he was thinking. It was an unnecessarily risky maneuver, you know?”

“No, Solomon, I don’t know.” You can feel the tension creeping into your voice. You know it came off as more than a little irritable but, quite frankly, things are perplexing enough at the moment without a blasted sorcerer being cryptic on purpose.

He blinks. “Oh. Well, let’s start with… what do you know about Barbatos’ powers?”

Teachable moment, your mind supplies, and you huff a shallow sigh. “He can see both the past and future—as well as what might be and what could have been. Apparently, he can also stop the flow of Time temporarily, and manipulate how individuals experience Time to some degree. He can also create doors to other times and places.”

“Very good. That’s all?”

As though that isn’t enough power?

“That’s all I know.”

“Hm. I suppose I ought to let Barbatos handle telling you the rest.” His brow creases, mouth curving in a smile that feels… genuinely apologetic. “But you should know that he doesn’t do things on a whim. I don’t know why, but Barbatos gave you a gift, so don’t disrespect it with guilt or regret.”

A gift. 

“What kind of gift?” Luke’s nose is wrinkled. “Life? Or is this like… a metaphor?”

He was giving you lots of sweets. 

Solomon tilts his head. “Not a metaphor, no, but ‘life’ is certainly one way to put it.” 

You risked your life for a few demons, Lucifer is saying in the back of your mind, as he had in the living room, in front of the fireplace. To a demon, even risking your well-being is tantamount to—

The room is suddenly too bright, the world tilting on its axis. 

“You know, Simeon, I think… maybe I do need to get some rest.”

----

Barbatos’ room is just as it was yesterday, with the addition of a covered plate, a note in neat script from Arbianock, identifying the platter as lunch whenever you’re ready to eat it, and that same, silver bell weighing down the paper’s closing remark to “call for anything you require.” But you aren’t hungry, so you bypass the table for the armchair beside his bed, where Barbatos rests in precisely the same position he had before, moved not an inch. 

This has developed rather quickly, and out of order, from a demon’s perspective.

Yes, now that you understand, you’d say it rather has. 

“I suppose you must have thought I knew what it meant,” you say softly, into the quiet of the room. Green-orange afternoon daylight filters through the many-paned windows, casting his fair skin in a gentle, bronze-silver glow. “Or were you being subtle and cryptic on purpose?” His hand remains outstretched on the maroon comforter, where you’d so carefully let him go yesterday. You hesitate only half a moment before twining your fingers together again. After all... you do, you suppose, still have permission. “I know you enjoy a playful tête-à-tête, but something more straightforward wouldn’t have gone amiss. Now I have to wait three days to ask you a whole stream of questions.” 

Trace your thumb over his knuckles, marvel at the cool, silk-softness of his skin.

“What made you decide? That’s what they all want to know. Diavolo, Solomon… even Lucifer. He didn’t say it, but I think he knew. Solomon is actually the reason I put it together, as much as I find him… untrustworthy. I won’t say unpleasant; he’s polite enough, even fun sometimes, especially with Asmodeus, but—as you said, he’s one to watch for. And yet, he spoke directly enough for me to solve this… because he’s curious? Or is it because he respects you? You’re both so silent about your pact, and I understand it’s no one’s business, but—” You pillow your other arm, and rest your head, fingers lazily laced with his. “It’s silly, and rude, I know, but it... makes me jealous. That pact. The secrecy. Neither of you owe me that knowledge, yet, all the same…” Huff a shallow sigh. “I was refusing to think about it, but now I know why.” Let your eyes drift closed a moment. Just for a moment. “I should be telling you all this when you’re awake. Well, maybe not the last bit. You don’t owe me that.”

The feel of his skin on yours is a marvel, warmed by your touch. 

“But I want to tell you—I want to say… even though I still have to return home—“ The words stick in your throat, and you squeeze his fingers lightly. “I’d like you to know, even if you already do.”

----

“You know, lying in the bed is generally more comfortable.” 

Sharp inhale. “Wasn’ ‘nvited.” 

“I don’t know… you seemed quite comfortable yesterday.” There’s a teasing smile in Diavolo’s voice.

You’re not even properly awake and you can feel your cheeks burning as you struggle to an upright position, hissing as several of your vertebrae pop, zipping up your spine like a xylophone. “Wasn’t invited today.”

That seems to give him pause as you carefully slide your hand out of Barbatos’. 

“You don’t have a… standing invitation?” 

Scrub at your face with your sleeve, blinking blearily. “Lord Diavolo—”

“Diavolo, please.”

“Diavolo, yesterday was the first time I’ve ever shared the same bed with him.” 

“Oh.” He glances away, brow furrowed. “Then… you mean you haven’t—”

You meet his eyes, mildly perturbed, an ache settling in your shoulders. “Certainly not.” 

“Oh.” He frowns, tilts his head, golden gaze cast somewhere in the distance. Folds his arms across his chest, nods a bit, side to side. “I see.” 

You’re not sure that he does, and you wait, expectantly. 

“Well—I do understand Barbatos doesn’t have much interest, but I would have thought a partner—a human partner, especially—would bring their own appetites to the table.”

You feel like you know where this is going, and you don’t like it. “...why a human partner?”

“Humans are very driven to reproduce. Or… have I understood that wrong? Demons are very emotional, and humans are similar, but they’re driven by corporeal need as well as passion.” You can see the moment he hears what he just said, golden eyes widening. “Of course, you are a very controlled individual! I don’t mean to imply that humans are driven only by need, but, well, maybe I’ve just been listening too much to Asmodeus’ escapades. Please excuse me. I don’t mean to offend.” 

You honestly had never thought about it, with Barbatos. Your pact with the Avatar of Lust has yet to ever bother you with even the smallest twinge of warning; Asmodeus has complained many times that it’s absolutely boring. The closest you’ve ever come is idly thinking, every once in a while, what it might be like to kiss the faithful steward, and your pacts have decided to mark that train of thought, when it gets out of hand, as Greed. 

And Diavolo said Barbatos hasn’t much interest, either. It’s a pleasant thought. 

“I’m not offended… many, maybe even most humans are compelled by what, erm, Asmodeus might call carnal passions but they’re certainly not entirely driven by them, and some just don’t feel them at all, or very rarely.” You fold your arms over your chest, and try to get the rest out before the surrealism of this conversation can get the best of you. “I don’t have all that much interest in it myself. Not that I couldn’t… I just don’t feel the need.” 

“Oh.” He settles back into deep thought for a moment, then brightens. “So, you’re like Barbatos, then!” 

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with the prince in the unconscious presence of your—your something with whom you haven’t even had this discussion yet!  

“We haven’t talked about it.” 

Diavolo’s face scrunches, and he ruffles the hair on the back of his head with a hum. “This is… very strange.”

“I quite agree.” 

“I hope I haven’t overstepped any boundaries, Ambrose, it’s just—” His eyes settle on Barbatos, still at rest. “You make him so happy. Ever since you started spending time here, he’s happier than I’ve seen him in… well, I can’t remember when. It’s not that he’s been unhappy these last millenia—no, he’s usually quite content, but… that isn’t the same thing.” His golden gaze shifts to you. ”Do you know what I mean?” 

Your heart stutters. I’m so happy here, you’d told Barbatos one night. It isn’t that you were never happy at home, that you don’t have happy moments, but before coming here, when was the last time you woke up each morning, cheerful, ready and wanting to see what the day will bring? The last time you sat down and felt the bright, gentle glow of happiness—not contentment, not peaceful acceptance, not calm as you rise to carry out your responsibilities, but genuine happiness? 

And to think… to think you may have been able to give Barbatos this brilliant, selfsame simple feeling…?

“Yes… yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

----

After midnight, the fresco on the ceiling begins to make sense. 

You've stared at it off and on for hours, last night and again tonight when it became clear that your mind wasn't going to shut itself off long enough to rest. The scene, for a while, seemed incomprehensible, as though you lacked the correct context to interpret the dark figures. If it had depicted a story similar to those in the human world, you could draw on knowledge of mythology or archetypal characters to find a narrative about kings and gods, or perhaps a legend about soldiers and lovers. But the painted shapes refused to yield any familiar symbolism. 

But now, one overlooked wreath of greenery gives you something. The longer you stare, the more certain you become that the white, trifold blossoms topping a tangle of spidery tendrils are a plant you've seen depicted before—one carved into a cabinet door in the castle’s tea room. And now that you're looking for it… the strange flower appears in every segment of the ceiling, its vine-like roots or leaves weaving an interconnected web. Perhaps… it shows the order in which the images should be read? 

Roll over, and fetch your DDD from where it sits, charging in the silvery moonlight. With a steady hand, you zoom in on the plant above your head—the one that seems to crown a vaguely humanoid figure, its face veiled—and snap a picture. You send it to Satan, with the accompanying message: “What flower is this?” 

The response is almost immediate: 

Satan: Shouldn’t you be asleep? 

You: I’m an adult who took a nap this afternoon.

Satan: You’re a human who had a harrowing experience and, according to every book I’ve consulted on the subject, needs rest in order to remain functional. 

You huff. He isn’t wrong, per se, but you’re plenty old enough to know when your sleep schedule has gotten out of hand. Besides, you’ll be back to a normal routine in… two more days.

You: Should I ask someone else my question?

Satan: No.

Satan: It’s a Bloodtide Laris. Culturally significant for demons, as I’m sure you guessed. 

You: Does it have any special symbolism, particularly in storytelling or historical record?

Satan: What exactly are you looking at?

You: There’s a fresco on the ceiling in this guest room. Can you tell me what it means?

Satan: Show me. 

You turn on the lamp with a touch of your hand this time, so you can get a proper series of pictures, starting above your bed and moving to each corner of the room, bare feet padding on plush carpet. You send them one at a time, and settle back into bed. The air has gotten a little chilly since you let the fire go out a couple hours ago.

Your DDD pings.

Satan: It isn’t a pleasant story.

You: That doesn’t change my request.

Indeed, it only increases your curiosity, sparks a need to know, fluttering like butterflies.

Satan: You’ll get into a lot of trouble one day.

You: Already done.

Satan: ...yes. Sorry.

Satan: But I see it didn’t make you any more cautious. 

You’re ready to ask again when the ellipsis appears to let you know he’s typing. So, you try to wait patiently, eyes roving over the ceiling again, the veiled figures, the painstakingly detailed trees and mountain-sides. 

Satan: It’s a story about a powerful artefact forged in a shaky alliance between human and demon. The first section, there, with two Bloodtide Laris shows its creation—the Demon King from that time is present, crowned with the flower and veiled in the presence of the human, who made a pact for knowledge and the power to enchant the blade. The dagger is between them, but it probably doesn’t look like one to you. It’s represented by the second Laris with a star nestled in its roots. 

You: That’s a strange way to depict a knife.

Satan: The important thing about the knife isn’t the blade—it’s the enchantment. The Bloodtide Laris grasps a star—a popular symbol for the soul—in its carnivorous root system.

You select an appropriately alarmed demoji.

You: Maybe you could tell me more about the flower before we continue?

Satan: Right. 

Satan: It was given the name “Bloodtide” because it first grew on the banks of the Styx, which were always awash with the blood of the damned. 

You: I don’t remember reading that in the Inferno.

Satan: Dante was never physically here.

You: I’ll ask about that at a later time, I suppose.

Satan: The flowers drank the blood and purified the river. They keep it clean to this day, drinking the blood of humans and demons alike, not discriminating. An early king ordered the collection of some of the flowers for study and found that they will break down any flesh given to them. They say he even stole the spilled blood of an angel from battle and the flower drank it up just the same.

You: That’s… eerie, but the flowers don’t go searching for blood. They just eat what’s available, like other plants? Absorbing nutrients from the soil.

Satan: Indeed, though some reports have been made that people who settle among the flowers or go wading in the Styx never return. 

You: And they started being associated with the royal line because of their bloody inclinations?

Satan: Initially, yes. But Diavolo started a campaign some time ago to change people’s perception of the flower. He wants to be associated with its purifying properties. As you said, the flowers aren’t weapons or murderers; they’re a necessary part of our ecosystem. They’re white, not blood-red. He’s had limited success changing the minds of the old nobility, but younger demons are more receptive. Either way, the Bloodtide Laris is used less and less in heraldry. 

Satan: So, to understand why the blade is depicted with a carnivorous flower, you have to know that the blade was designed to be so sharp that its edge would rend a soul. It drinks the essence and power of whomever it kills. Legend says that it can destroy any being—human, demon, or even angel.

You’re almost afraid to ask.

You: Is it real?

Satan: Yes, and it is the single most dangerous weapon known to the three realms. And yet, why a human and demon would collaborate to create such a thing has been lost.

Satan: Fortunately, the dagger never saw battle on a celestial scale. The Demon King was deposed due to infighting in the Devildom, and in the fourth picture, you can see a sorcerer trick the dagger out of the first human’s possession… but not before they use it to slaughter countless of their own kind. 

The roots of the flower, indeed, spread far across the scene, its web holding a veritable constellation of souls. 

Satan: Time passes and the sorcerer, with nowhere to turn, his enemies seeking the dagger’s power, summons a demon—the effort almost killing him. The demon agrees to a pact and the dagger is returned to the Devildom, where, in the last scene, it rests, hidden, under the demon’s guard. A pact between demon and human created the blade, but another sealed it away. 

You: Is the demon anyone we know?

Satan: Quite probably. There are few demons powerful enough to secret away such an artefact and keep it hidden. But the affiliated symbols of this demon aren’t known to me. 

You: Thank you, Satan.

Satan: You’re quite welcome. But now you should get some rest.

You: You, too. I kept you up past the midnight reading hour.

Satan: Anyone else and I’d have their head.

You: I know. Thank you… I’ll owe you a coffee. 

Satan: A double espresso seems fair. 

A winking demoji arrives.

Satan: Good night, Ambrose. 

But you don’t go to sleep. Instead, you spend some indefinable amount of time staring at the ceiling as the moonlight creeps further and further down your comforter. Just below the first painted scene is the last, joining up the story like a great cycle, beginning to end to beginning. The dagger, represented as before with a Bloodtide Laris, a star ensnared in its roots, is shrouded by dark mist in some forgotten place of stone and water. The artist took great pains to represent minute, green refractions of light and shadow amongst the blue waters flowing up toward what you assume is the ceiling of the cavern, each brushstroke a meditation on a thousand impeccable textures of stone and liquid. 

Off to the side, almost removed from his own scene, ready to fade into the background, stands the demon, gesturing with clawed fingers to seal the dagger away. His four-fold gossamer wings are spread wide, and unlike the Demon King, his features are hidden only because he does not face the viewer. Indeed—nowhere does he appear that his wings are not in view, and nowhere is his face revealed. And, while he appears before the sorcerer robed in bronze and black, girded with an emerald sash, he seems to wear nothing at all in the final scene. 

Yet… the demon never registered as naked in your mind, perhaps because he doesn’t appear naked in the fashion that a human would represent himself. There is, instead, a sense of formlessness to the body through some method of painting that, you believe, must be achieved by magic. The longer you stare, the less the blended shapes and fine brushstrokes seem inclined to sort themselves into a recognizable picture. The demon is aquatic, you think, and yet, human-shaped—but somehow as insectoid as his wings, which are the only features that stay stable, glimmering in the moonlight. But, perhaps… perhaps you see something death-like, too, bones stripped bare of flesh, obsidian and white. Then the feeling is gone again, and the figure is simply an inconstant wisp of paint, no more substantial than smoke. 

There’s something familiar about it that pulls at your gut.

And then, by morning, it has retreated to the back of your mind, where all lost things go, with only the faded imprint of realization, like a dream forgotten upon waking.

----

When you touch Barbatos’ hand, it is pleasantly cool. His hair falls on the pillow in a gentle wave, and his chest rises and falls slowly. The mid-morning’s golden-green light is good to him, highlighting the planes of his face, the soft slope of his nose, the curve of pale lips, slightly parted. He looks gentle, harmless.

But soft cheeks and a tepid smile hide teeth like a nightmare from the ocean’s crushing depths... and that’s why you must decide what to do with Belphegor. Now. Before Barbatos wakes and realizes you’ve chosen to continue living in the House with your would-be murderer. Based on what he would have done to Namurta…

You can’t be sure he’ll listen to you again, and you’re not sure it would be fair to dissuade him from vengeance without a plan of your own.

“Tea?”

You flinch, and Arbianock catches the silver bell, folds it in a long-fingered hand as it leaps from the side-table. “Please excuse me. I knocked, but you did not answer.”

“I’m sorry; I was just… startled. Lost in thought.”

She hums, a creaking sound like branches disturbed by the wind, and replaces the bell. “Shall I serve tea here or in the drawing room?”

You don’t want to leave. “Here, please; thank you.” 

Arbianock bows slightly and moves back to the table beneath the window, and with a brisk and efficient pace, begins setting one place for you from the cart near the door. The teaset is another you haven’t seen before, with a geometric motif, triangles painted in thick, broad strokes and delicate, spidery lines. The mouth of the teacup and the spout of the pot have a sort of crimped effect that plays into the angular pattern painted across the porcelain. 

“My lord has sent you some Human Realm tea this afternoon,” she says, sparing only the barest glance, pupils flashing just slightly as the light from the window falls through the lens, bright white and orange, not unlike a wild cat or bear. “He requested a blend to keep your energy up for the day, and fruit paired with the sandwiches and pastries—as he has been reading that humans require a carefully balanced diet to function well.” 

You think you can feel the beginnings of a tension headache starting at the base of your skull. “Why?”

“He is concerned that you aren’t sleeping.” Her tone is flat and frank, a startling enough change from the formal and measured pace you’ve become accustomed to that you blink dumbly for a moment. 

A bowl of diced fruit is set, all from the Devildom, and the demoness removes the cover from an artfully arranged triple tier of sandwiches and small, fluffy cakes. Your stomach needles you, like it’s been ignored for too long.

“I slept last night.” 

“Which implies you didn’t sleep every night during your stay.” 

Arbianock stands back from the table expectantly as you sit with your mouth slightly agape, which isn’t helping your case at all. She holds your stare levelly until you figure out that you’re meant to get up and take your seat at the table so she can serve.

That tension headache is full-blown now. 

“It’ll work itself out,” you mumble as you sit, and the demoness sets briskly to work. “But I’ll have to thank him; I appreciate the thought.” 

Tea whispers in your cup and the hearty, warm scent of it ought to have your shoulders relaxing but your mind is overfull. 

“Arbianock… may I ask you a question?” 

She sets the teapot aside, serves a small sandwich from the tiered dish onto your plate. “You will be given whatever you ask.” With a silver spoon, she adds a small serving of fruit alongside the triangular sandwich. 

You’re not sure how to react to that. “Well… if you’re not comfortable with my questions, you don’t have to answer them.” 

Her amethyst eyes shift to glance at you sidelong, but she says nothing, only replaces the spoon and stands at attention, folding her hands over her soft waist. She doesn’t wear a cumberbund as Barbatos does for his uniform, but a strange, suede apron a little darker in tone than her skin. Her thumb brushes over one of its pockets. 

You stop staring and busy yourself with a three-tined fork and select a piece of lavafruit, juicy and refreshing despite the name. It’s a variety you ask for every time Lucifer places an order from the market, and you wonder if they know. 

Take a slow, steadying breath. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you known Barbatos?”

“I have been serving Master Barbatos almost my entire life.” 

“Oh—” You wish you’d made an effort to sound less surprised but—“You serve Barbatos, not just Lord Diavolo?”

Her expression remains passionless, attentive but aloof. She must have learned that from him, but her mask is not a smiling one; it is cold, distantly polite. “Barbatos is my master but Lord Diavolo is our Prince, and master of my master. I serve Lord Diavolo because he does.” 

“And… you’re that much younger than Barbatos? I hope I don’t sound rude. I have trouble telling demons' age, and you live so much longer than humans that the exact number seems almost… insignificant. Lucifer and his brothers can’t even give me a number. Not that I need it, I just…” You trail off, but when she doesn’t take her level gaze off you, does not prepare to speak, you struggle to finish the thought. “I just... wonder.” 

Her eyes linger for another moment, then Arbianock moves at last, fingers lacing together. “Barbatos is older than everyone. And younger.” She bows slightly, almost levelling your gaze, head tilted, silver brows lowered. “He walks halls that haven’t been tread in millenia and he knows all the secret spaces that haven’t yet been carved. He was born ages before our time, and never at all. He saw your heavens when they were black and he shall see them fall again into the darkness behind the stars, and what do you think we are, human and ephemeral Ambrose? What do you think he is?” 

You can’t move. You can’t move an inch, though every fiber in your body is screaming to run, screaming danger, like being alone in the dark, like a spider on your skin, like the sound you don’t know and cannot see. The demon hasn’t transformed, hasn’t touched her magic at all, but it’s like you suddenly know: a sharp, sick-sweet scent reaching your nose that you hadn’t noticed before, clinging to her skin. 

“We aren’t creatures of love, human; we are the stuff that spawned your nightmares. You cannot wholly perceive us without losing everything you are.” The shadows seem deeper, taller, the cloying stench stronger, but she never moves, never blinks, the mushrooms that crown her head gleaming like blackened stars. “Even angels are your foil, so terrible your mind would snap if you glimpsed one as it truly is. We are not gentle. We are not forgiving.” 

The seconds slip by, silent, unwavering.

Arbianock straightens, slowly, tucks her hands behind her back. The scant afternoon light again glints on silver, and the scent fades away, making room for the comforting warmth of the tea. “And so, you have a choice to make.” 

What kind of choice? Is the obvious question, but don’t you already know? You came here with one decision in mind and stayed because there’s another that you know, in your heart, you’ve already made. 

You take the teacup into your hand, and you draw a long, slow sip. It clears your mind, warms your throat, thaws the icy fear that had settled in your chest. 

“Yes.” The porcelain handle cuts into the edge of your fingers, into the tip of your thumb. “I have a decision to make, but you’re wrong about yourselves. Everything that I’ve seen the Seven do, everything of consequence since I’ve come here, they’ve done because they love. They still love Lilith—they never stopped, and it’s the pain that drives them to foolish things. And they love one another, so much that they let it blind them.” Something bright races with your blood, feeds your words, brings them to your lips. “Simeon loves those he used to call his brothers even now, even when they do their best to avoid him. Even Lord Diavolo, wanting what he does for the Realms, doesn’t hold hope and confidence and drive without a love for his people. And Barbatos didn’t save my life because he was ordered to do it.” Your stomach is in knots, but your hand is steady as it sets the cup back into the saucer. “What do you believe you are, Arbianock, reeking of decay? Does knowing, intimately, that I will die, put your people in stark relief when you stand next to me? Are we so different that I couldn’t possibly understand their loyalties, their despair?” Fingers curl into palms, and you draw yourself up straight in the chair. “I will reconcile with Belphegor. I will reconcile with his brothers. I will do what I set out to do before; I may have freed Belphegor, but I’m not finished yet.”

The corner of Arbianock’s mouth sneaks up in an uneven smile, one eye creased, the other open and glittering. “Lord Diavolo was quite right about you.” She bows. “Please, eat. Now that you have decided, you will need the energy.” 

“I—” Whatever bolstered you moments ago suddenly fizzles out, lacking a proper target. You sit, blinking at the teaset. “Excuse me.” Usually there’s much more to facing down a demon’s challenge… at least, in your previous experience. They don’t normally act so blasé about the whole thing—there’s some humiliation or biting back or a concession. Something. But the demoness goes about her business like nothing at all happened, refilling your cup, straightening a tea towel on the cart. 

No, this wasn’t a fight. What happened here is quite simple: you've been had. 

"Did Diavolo send you here to antagonize me into making a decision?" 

She tilts her head but continues with her business, exuding an air of amusement that has your fingers curling into your palms. “It has been noted that you work well under pressure. Your marks tend to go up during exams. The only times you’ve spoken strongly or acted in support of what you want are when there are things greater than yourself at stake, and time is of the essence.” She reaches, graceful and practiced, across the table to resituate your plate, as though to remind you of your untouched food, but you have no interest, and refuse to give it a second glance. “We are not the only ones to notice; word gets around quickly. Every citizen of the Devildom is interested in the exchange students and how they will fare; many are constantly listening for any sign of weakness, any opportunity to snap you up and claim victory against Lord Diavolo’s efforts, to get the credit and the reward that is a shining, human soul. But others find it in their best interest to make sure they know instead the circumstances that can bring you, bring this program, success.”  

Your stomach turns, a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. “Like you?”

“I, personally, have no interest.” Arbianock smiles, distantly. “I am only looking after my master.”

----

A background radiation of wrath and frustration stirs your steps, shames you as your thoughts become muddled. You know the decision you made early this afternoon was not rash, though spurred by a backlash of emotions you’re not ready to sort out, not to mention Arbianock’s dubious motives and methods. If you never have to think about politics again, it’ll be too soon.

You pass the twins’ room for the sixth time.

You’ve already thought about what you’re going to say, analyzed it from every angle, but each time you think you’ll knock on the door, your mind goes completely blank. 

And so you pace the hallway again. 

You have to do it. Once you do it, it’ll be done. But your stomach turns, and your jaw trembles, and your limbs feel like they’re going to seize up and drift away. Adrenaline is not doing you any favors today. 

Satan’s room across the hall. Asmo’s room. The shared bathroom. The door to the twins’ room that you’d always thought of as Beel’s. 

“Oh.” You hadn’t even raised your hand to knock before the door swung open, leaving you blinking just as wide-eyed at Beelzebub as he is at you right now. “...are you looking for me?” 

“Yes. Well, no.” Tuck your hands into your pockets and fist them there, trying to stop your jaw from jittering. “I’m actually looking for Belphegor, but I thought you would know where he is.” It doesn’t help. The moment you stop talking, the muscles continue to twitch.

“Oh…” A crease appears between Beelzebub’s eyes. “He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”

No. “Yes. I think I should.” 

He nods, slowly, but his worry doesn’t smooth. “I was going to get some food… Do you want me to stay? I’ll be right back and we can go in together.” 

Tempting. Very tempting. “Thank you, Beel, but… I think I should try to talk to him alone first. If I need you, I’ll call you, okay?” 

Beelzebub steps completely into the hall, and pulls the door shut behind him, leveling you with a careful stare. “I want you to call me before you need me. I don’t think Belphie will hurt you, but…” He glances away, down the hall, and then at the floor. “I don’t want you there alone if he gets angry.” 

You tug your hand from your pocket and reach out to squeeze his arm, and, thankfully, your fingers don’t shake. “I promise I’ll call. I don’t want a fight, either; I’m trying to do this… peacefully.” 

Strong arms tug you into a warm chest, squeezing without hesitation. “Thank you. He hasn’t been himself since… everything.” 

That’s what you’re counting on. You’re counting on the truth of the little brother all alone in the attic, trying not to cry even as he rails against everything Lucifer stands for. The child who still loves his family. “I know.” 

When Beelzebub releases you at last, he pokes his head back into the room. “Ambrose is here to see you.”

A muffled reply.

“Yeah. Please, Belphie, be nice.” 

He leaves the door cracked, and squeezing your shoulder, softly says, “I know you can do it.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in front of the door, an ache in your chest, and a small swell of pride. You hope he’s right.

“Well, come in if you’re going to come in!” grumbles Belphegor’s voice, and you’re suddenly reminded of every time you’ve spoken through a door before. A time when you thought you might like him. A time you came armed with confidence.

Not today.

You push through. Belphegor is lounging on his bed in a mess of pillows, hair sticking up every which-way, looking bored. The resemblance to Namurta’s lackadaisical demeanor is startling. Guilt settles in your stomach. 

“Good afternoon.” Your hands are trembling again, so you fold them behind your back.

“Cut to the chase.”

A deep breath. “I’m here to talk to you; I don’t want us to have any problems while I’m living here.” 

“So it’s true. You really decided to stay? Guess you’re stronger than I gave you credit for.” Slowly, he sits up, one shoulder leading the other like his body is on the axis of a thread, the lazy slump of a rag doll pulled taut. “So. What should I do now? What’s gonna make you change your mind? Maybe I killed you too nicely last time by letting you sleep. Should’ve just finished the job, but…” He yawns, jaw stretching wide enough to show off his broad teeth, each overlarge molar topped with jagged points. “It seemed like more trouble than you were worth. Humans are fragile—you were already bleeding inside. You remember that, don’t you?” 

Long, slow breaths, even as your stomach turns and a phantom burn flickers in your lungs. Not now. You can’t think about it now. He’s trying to upset you. You can do this. Turn your mind to another memory: the taste of devilmint, cooled by cream and a sprinkle of sugar. The moon was silver and Barbatos smiled like the distant glimmer of a star. “I don’t regret letting you out of the attic.” 

“What?” His expression melts into confusion, almost comical, if not for your heart still hammering in your chest, starkly aware of the delicacy of this conversation. 

“I stand by what I said before. You shouldn’t have been locked in there; it was a mistake.” Belphegor’s eyes are wide and bright, mouth halfway to an expression like fascinated disgust. “I may have changed the way I went about it, but I would do it again. I’d free you again.”

“Why.”

“Because it wasn’t fair. You were suffering, and your brothers were suffering without you—especially Beel. And I know that nothing would ever get better if you’d been left up there; it would all remain the same.” 

He opens his mouth, closes it again. Furrows his brow. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Set your jaw. “Because it’s the right thing to do.” 

“Ugh.” The demon throws himself back on the bed. “Why don’t you go hang out with the angels? Nobody wants that here. Self-righteous prick.” 

“No, you don’t understand.” Your hands untwine and one rakes itself through your hair. Yes, of course that wouldn’t work, though true... you have something else. “It’s not the right thing to do in an abstract, moral sense. It’s because you’re owed an explanation.” 

“...you owe me an explanation? That’s a good one. Has anybody told you that you’re really fucking weird?” 

You can feel an involuntary half-smile tug at your lips, melancholy. “You haven’t stopped saying it since I offered to help you.” And then, a realization: “It’s almost like you wanted me to know that helping you was dangerous.”

He scoffs. “I was just surprised how stupid you were. Dumber than most humans. I think you’re potentially the most gullible I’ve ever met.”

“Gullible, maybe,” you muse. “Guileless, almost certainly, if only because I always hope people are telling me the truth. That they always want to be the best of themselves.” A bitter taste reaches your tongue. “But that’s not what I’m here to tell you. I came to tell you that I’m alive because of Lilith—”

“Don’t you dare say her name—”

“—and I’m here because she still believes in you.” 

Belphegor snarls, teeth bared.

Your pulse quickens, a phantom pain in your chest. Fingers curl into palms, slow your breaths. You must continue. “Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to believe in your brother when he’s lost all faith in himself.” 

A deep, violet energy crawls along his skin.

“If you do anything to threaten me, I’ll call Beel.” 

“I can kill you before you can say a word, human.”

“That’s the thing, Belphegor; I don’t have to say anything. Can you kill me more quickly than I can feel fear? Because that’s what it’ll take.” All the same, your fingers move to your pocket. Inside that pocket is a silver bell. 

“Nobody can summon a demon without an incantation, and you can’t even do that. I already know they found a human too useless to do real magic. You can’t bluff; I’ve been listening.” 

“Not closely enough.” 

“Even if you’re still borrowing Solomon’s power, you can’t call anybody before I snap your pathetic neck. Even with all of us in the same house, you still won’t be able to shout a name fast enough.” 

Irritation crawls along your skin, an itch, and you set your jaw. “What, exactly, do you think happened that night? How did they know where to find me?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out! They sent you back in time to the attic, and you didn’t come back. It doesn’t take a detective. Barbatos wouldn’t even have to use his powers for that one.” 

You set your shoulders. This is it. “They would have found me too late; they were still waiting for me to return when I called. And before I did, Belphegor, while I was unconscious, I had a vision—and in that vision, your sister spoke to me.”

“Shut up!” He makes a lunge, eyes glittering, flaring black and venomous indigo, and you stumble back, knocking yourself off-balance—

Solidly, into a broad chest and arms tight around your shoulders. “Belphie, no!” 

The mark over your stomach prickles like pins and needles. One flicker of thought toward Beelzebub had been enough. 

Belphegor snarls, overlarge teeth glinting. “They started it!” But he must not like what he sees on his brother’s face and shifts seamlessly to wide, doe-eyes, genuinely hurt, perhaps, but the growl doesn’t leave his voice. “You’re really going to side with a human, Beel, a human over me?” 

“Not over you, Belphie,” he replies, softly. Never over you.” 

“Then give them to me.”

A deep hum thrums against your back. “No. You need to listen. Please. Ambrose has to tell you—”

“No, you listen—humans lie. You’re protecting nothing but a miserable sack of lies. They tell you exactly what you want to hear, and then—”

“Belphegor, that’s enough.” 

“No, not you—not you, it’s none of your business,” he hisses, as every eye turns toward the bedroom door.

Lucifer looks from Belphegor to you, still firmly clasped to Beelzebub’s chest. 

“Belphie—” his twin tries again. 

“It’s not my fault!” he insists, with the edge of a whine that sets your teeth grinding. “They keep telling me they’ve seen Lilith. It’s impossible.” He wheels on you now, that dangerous light, black and sugilite, the edge of a nightmare, dancing in his eyes. “She can’t speak to you—she’s gone!” 

You draw yourself up, pressing gently against Beelzebub’s hold until he slowly lets you stand on your own. “Have you spoken with your brothers since you left the attic? With Lucifer? With Beel?” Belphegor bares his teeth, looks away. “What did they tell you?” 

He says nothing.

“They told you she lived a happy, human life with her lover, didn’t they?” 

“That doesn’t change anything!” 

“Nothing at all? Doesn’t it matter that her life was saved?”

“She still died. She died a mortal, and she died without us. So no. It didn’t change anything, and it definitely means she didn’t visit you.” 

A deep sigh drags its way out of your chest. You had hoped—well, it doesn’t matter now. “Belphegor, do you remember a time in the Celestial Realm when you played hide and seek, and you weren’t able to find Lilith? For whatever reason, that day, it distressed you. You searched and searched—and when you did finally find Lilith, hiding in her room, you were so sad... but she didn’t know why; you wouldn’t say. But it didn’t matter why; to cheer you up, she invited you to sneak over to the observatory—you, Beel, and Lilith, all together.”  

As a human might turn white as a sheet, Belphegor’s skin fades to grey. “H—how did you—”

“I had a vision about that, too, just before she visited me in the attic. She asked me to help all of you, in any way I could.” You approach, carefully, and settle on the edge of Beelzebub’s bed. “She called you out by name, Belphegor, even though you’d... done what you did already. You almost toppled everything, and she still believed you’re worth the effort, with forgiving, or at least worth trying.” Something catches in your throat, something familiar. Who would you be, to tell someone else that their brother isn’t worth forgiving? “So here I am, and I’m willing to at least try. Are you?” 

Belphegor’s face is blank, but his eyes are shining. “Go away.” 

“I—”

“I said go away I won’t hurt you again now GO AWAY!” 

The other bed creaks under his weight as he buries himself in the comforter, bent in an awful, unnatural curve, fingers curled in his hair. “Go away go away go away go away go away—” The words are muffled, but clear enough to feel their intent. Beel goes to the side of his twin’s bed and sits on the floor, doesn’t take his eyes off him, and as for you—

You glance at Lucifer, who nods, face carefully impassive save for the furrow of his brow. Quietly as you can, you climb off the bed to make your exit, and you can hear Belphegor continue: 

“It’s my fault.” 

The invisible shudder of pain from his brothers is enough to put a tremor in the air, piercing your chest, but this isn’t your place now. It is best to give them some privacy.

---

“In the bed.” 

You know the words but they don’t… make sense... 

“Ambrose.” 

Tired.

“Then get into the bed.”

Bed? Right, somebody said…

There’s a warm, firm pressure on your shoulder, and your body jerks to one side, head popping off the… pillow? No, not a pillow, that’s a comforter, and…

A deep, sharp inhale. Yawn. “Hm?”

The rumbling chuckle could only belong to Diavolo, and, yes, this is Barbatos’ bedroom, where you’d fallen asleep in the armchair again. “You didn’t come to dinner.” 

Your brain is full of cottonseed and humidity. “I apologize.” Is that the right thing to say? 

Diavolo pats your shoulder. “Think nothing of it! Are you hungry?”

“No.” You rub your hand across your forehead and cheeks. “No, thank you.” That bit is important. The polite bit.

“Just tired, then.” He’s smiling, but things are a little blurry. 

Your eyes don’t want to focus, so you’ll just rest them a moment, clear them up… “Yeah.” 

“Arbianock delivered your nightclothes, right here.” Indeed, they’re on the end of the bed—a set of cotton drawers and long-sleeved shirt, ideal for whatever the Devildom’s weather. Very considerate. But…

“This isn’t my room.” Things are swimming into focus. Your body is still sleep-heavy, but another deep breath keeps your gaze steady on the demon prince. “I can go to my quarters.” 

“You can if you’re feeling up to it, of course.” Diavolo folds his arms, mouth curled halfway to a smile. 

You are just awake enough to feel a prickle of suspicion. He says it too lightly, too casually. “You’re not going to argue with me.” 

He feigns a look of hurt. “Why should I? You’re obviously very tired, and you can sleep wherever you want.” 

“Including here,” you observe, dryly.

“Including here.” He smiles, devilishly. 

Rub your face with the heel of your hand, and draw a deep, slow breath that stretches your ribs. 

“You’ve been so busy getting things sorted… it really is admirable, you know. But you need a proper sleep, and I don’t think you’re going to get it slumped over in a chair or in that grand, empty room in the other wing, do you?” 

You’d like to bury your face in the comforter and stop thinking, let the sand-weight of your extremities pull you back under. There’s a sort of nebulous headache in the cotton-fog of your skull, but even so—“You’re being very transparent.” 

Diavolo gives a hearty chuckle. “Only because you don’t seem inclined to consider it on your own. Is it nightmares?” Your expression must change because he shakes his head. “Even I have nightmares sometimes, you know? If you can’t sleep, and you don’t want company, at least call for help; you don’t have to solve all your problems alone. Arbia can prepare a draught that will keep you in bed all night.” 

“I’ll… think about it.” 

“Good.” He rests a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry I missed tea this afternoon; I had planned to talk to you over dinner, but once you have some rest, we can discuss things over breakfast. Lucifer told me what you did. It’s really remarkable… you could have done anything and you chose to try to work with Belphegor—and he’s agreed. Only a human could be so devoted to a better way. A new way. I’ve never seen a people so willing to practice forgiveness! You’re a credit to your species, Ambrose... I couldn’t ask for a better candidate.”

Distantly, your mind is spinning, buzzing uncomfortably, but there’s a warm rush in your chest. “I… thank you.” 

He smiles brightly, pats your shoulder lightly. “Now, have a good night, and get some sleep! Sleep promotes healing!” 

You’re quite sure he’s parroting that phrase directly from a text about human health, but you don’t get the chance to call him on it, as Diavolo dismisses himself swiftly while your mind is still working to catch up. Candidate for what? The exchange program? You suppose that doesn’t matter right now. 

Belphegor agreed. He must have said something else after you had gone, after he spoke with Lucifer and Beel. He had only said he would not harm you—and you’d thought that was enough, inclined to believe him, supposing he probably wouldn’t even want to look at you for the rest of the semester, knowing you know what you do. You were willing to settle for just that. But now? Now, you’ll just have to wait until morning to understand what happened.

A weary sigh escapes your lips. How did you get here?

Your eyes fall on him at last.

Barbatos, still more peaceful than you’ve ever seen him, supported by dark pillows, nestled among silken blankets in loose, layered clothing, and you envy that undisturbed sleep. A sleep that you need. A sleep you won’t get unless you—

There’s heat rising in your cheeks, with no one to witness it. You can’t pretend it would be like sharing the bed with Mammon or Beel. If you stay tonight, it’s like asserting that you belong. 

And… you want to. Hells, you want to. You want it so desperately that your heart constricts your throat, as though it could crawl right up and out of your chest and settle down with him. 

Your gaze falls upon the clothes on the end of the bed. You can still scoop them up and make your way down the hall. Down the hall to that huge, empty room that certainly isn’t your own. Would you stare at the ceiling again, with its masterful brushstrokes and foreign storytelling while your heart yearns? Would you lie awake as your mind refuses to settle down, reliving one sensation after another, would you feel the blankets heavy on your skin, a thousand textures so, so loud in the night? 

Or will you stay, where you’ve been invited, where you’re wanted? Have you only been avoiding it because you’re afraid?

Afraid that you’ll grow accustomed to the sensation? 

 The nightclothes find your fingers, but you make no move to leave. Your body decides without you, limbs heavily slouching in and out of place in practiced motion, shirt, pants, boots, socks, pants and shirt again. Dressing is easy. The difficult thing will be getting into the bed, and too quickly that is what you must do. 

You stand for a moment, just staring, despite the protest of unsteady legs, feeling the fine, soft fibers of the carpet on bare feet. Warm, unnaturally so, unless the floor is somehow being heated... Your eyes rake the perimeter to find what looks almost like a wrought iron radiator system winding about the nook, only slender and a bit green like oxidized copper, passing behind the headboard against the dark wainscoting. Does he have trouble keeping warm, you wonder? You know his skin to be cool to the touch, but you had assumed that he wouldn’t have different needs from a human or even other demons. No one in the House of Lamentation has—

You’re letting your mind wander. You’re stalling, overthinking.

Take a deep breath.

Slowly, you inch toward the mattress. Slowly, you brace one knee on the bed, shifting your weight with careful control, hardly disturbing his side at all. The pillow that you’d used before is still in place, and the blanket is within reach to share. Snuggling hesitantly into the mattress, over the duvet, you reach for the blanket’s corner—a whole extra length folded there alongside his body like it’s been waiting for you—avoiding brushing Barbatos’ tail as you tug it up and over your middle. 

You’re facing him. Your cheeks still burn as you watch the rise and fall of his chest, the serene expression on his lips. Smooth skin, catching the silver glow of the moon through the window-panes in fine contours, uninterrupted by lines of age, supple and soft as something just-born, almost aglow himself. Even your hand, where it rests between you, ceases at the wrist in lateral lines. There’s a thin, white scar under your thumb where you nearly fell out of a tree, many years ago, and there, a small pockmark over the main artery where an IV had slipped beneath the skin, much later. The veins show blue-green and purple, curling up toward your knuckles, branching like a tree, and one day, this skin, already creased, already scarred, will be paper-thin and wrinkled and stained with age. 

How ephemeral you are, indeed, beside something ancient and so new. 

You close your eyes. Your heart still beats.

----

The complete lack of sun when you awake is no longer a surprise, but it remains disorienting as you blink your eyes into focus. Your mind doesn’t know what to expect anymore between your room at the House of Lamentation, the guest room with its frescoed ceiling, and… You inhale the scent of ash and ink and mist clinging to grass as the first rays of sun pierce the chill air of morning. Barbatos’ bedroom. A deep, slow, hot huff of breath sounds against the pillow as you roll your shoulders and snuggle further into the plush mattress. You’re not ready to get up, though you really should. This is the best sleep you’ve had in days.

Faced with the empty armchair and its teal velvet, you know you need to get up and get breakfast and figure out what you’re going to say. What you’re going to do. You can’t stay here, as much as it feels like this is exactly the place you’re meant to be right now, surrounded by Barbatos’ sharp scent, his slow, steady breaths at your back—

“Good afternoon.” Your body freezes all at once, violently, but melts as soon as you hear the soft, honey chuckle that accompanies the words. 

“Barbatos.” You roll quickly over, and, faced with the fathomless verdance of his eyes, the open softness in his smile, your heart can’t decide whether to stop entirely or break record speed. 

“You stayed,” he observes, his hand finding yours, fingers tangling together on the comforter. 

“I did,” is all that finds voice, everything else too heavy to leave your mouth.

“I am glad.” Gently, he presses your palms together. “But you must have been exhausted to sleep so late into the day… or did you return after breakfast?” 

You shake your head; you’ll figure out what you’re going to do about the fact that you missed breakfast with Lord Diavolo later. "I was more tired than usual."

“That won’t do,” Barbatos murmurs. “You must eat.” But his hand traces your arm, cool fingers skating across your elbow, down to your wrist. Beneath the blankets, something else slides smoothly over your thigh, unfurling along your spine just as it did four days ago. “Is this all right?” 

“Yes… thank you.” You lace his fingers tightly with yours, as you did four days ago. “How are you feeling?”

“Well.” He hums, and a faint flush dusts his cheeks. “Quite well. Certainly well enough to resume my duties, but I find myself unwilling to end this moment.” 

“I’m sure you shouldn’t go directly back to your duties today no matter how well you feel.” Your hand tightens around his. “I seem to recall you saying that you wanted to sleep for a decade.”

“I did. And you’re right; Lord Diavolo would almost certainly object if I returned to my duties before tomorrow.” Then, his mouth curls ever so slightly, his head tilting against the pillow. “But fetching breakfast would be no burden.” 

“I’d be happy to—” 

“Nonsense.” His thumb begins tracing a soft pattern from your wrist to fingertip, skin tingling at the attention. “I will fetch us refreshment; just first allow me to look at you.”

If your face wasn’t hot before, it certainly is now, flushing as though it could make you invisible. The way he looks at you—the gentle turn of his mouth, lips parted just so, as though he isn’t aware of what he’s doing, the lively crease of his eyes, the light that dances in them the way a candle cheers a room. You had thought it was the formality missing from his clothing that had made him seem naked, but you realize it’s really this: the role removed entirely from his countenance.

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen anything quite so beautiful. 

His thumb brushes the top of your hand, the air charged with something like mischief. “I have a request, if you’re amenable.” 

Oh, you’d agree to just about anything right now, his face framed by dark wisps of hair, hand clasping yours, held in a half-embrace by the weight of his tail, comfortable, safe— 

Happy.

Barbatos smiles, and it crinkles his eyes, flashes his glassen teeth in the afternoon light. “Please refrain from finding yourself in life-threatening situations from now on, cynamome.” 

The heat on your cheeks shifts from bashfulness to shame. “I—I really didn’t intend—”

“I know.” He pulls your hand closer, presses a kiss beneath your thumb at the hollow of the wrist. “Forgive me; I should not have implied otherwise.” When the sinking feeling in your chest doesn’t subside, he meets your gaze seriously, all traces of mirth gone. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Reflexively, in time with the stutter of your heart, you squeeze his fingers, but no words leave your mouth. You can’t hold his gaze, so you drop it to where your hands are intertwined, pillowed on the satiny blankets.

 You can feel the shift as he raises himself slightly off the mattress, and his tail traces its way up your back, a shiver dancing across your skin. One of its tips glides along your jaw, guides your chin up, leather-smooth and warm—warmed, you realize, by your own body heat—to meet his eyes again. The open softness is there in the curve of his mouth, the apple rounding of his cheeks. “You’ve done your best with the hand Fate has dealt you, Ambrose, and what you have done is admirable.” In his eyes… moonlight through water green with lilies and grasses that know no mark of hours, no seasons, only the heat of night reflected through rain, ceaseless, like the promise of the heart’s steady drum. 

“I only did what I thought anyone should,” leaves your lips in honesty before any thought can overtake it.  

Barbatos smiles; the moonlight dances. “And that is what makes it remarkable. You are remarkable, Ambrose; do not forget it. You have brought sunlight to this world, to your friends, to my master, and, indeed—” His cheeks flush a dusky rose. “—to me. I do not regret how this week has transpired… perhaps you’ll forgive me for that, too.” 

“What is there to forgive?” you ask, and his tail, still cradling your face, moves in time to each word.

“You were nearly lost, forever, to everyone. You were caused great pain, yet… I don’t find myself wishing that it never happened; I only find myself grateful that it brought you here.” 

There’s no remorse in his gaze, either, only that tangible gentleness as your jaw trembles, and you’re overwhelmed with the desire to sit up, face him properly, so you do, and he lets you, relinquishing your hand, mirroring your movements, letting his tail settle down upon your shoulder and across your lap, loathe, perhaps, to let go entirely. That is a feeling you can well appreciate.

Barbatos waits upon your judgment, patient, but there’s a flicker of apprehension, too, like a spark of electricity in the air. 

“Why should I forgive something that requires none?” You find his hand again and clasp it tightly. “I don’t regret what happened to me. I only wish…” The words die in your throat, knowing how foolish they sound. How real they are. How shameful. 

His thumb traces a circle across the top of your hand. “If it is within my power, I can grant it.” 

A hot coil of shame seizes your neck and chest. “You’ve done too much for me already, Barbatos. And… it isn’t something you can change. I just—wish I’d done better.” The words sound even worse than they had in your head. You know how childish they are, how silly it is to wish for something like that; what’s done is done and the outcome isn’t bad, not by far, not at all. You’ve accomplished almost everything you’d set out to do. It just… wasn’t to plan. It was a mess. It—

A hum, low in Barbatos’ chest, interrupts your thoughts. “Do you remember,” he asks, when he has your attention again, his thumb still tracing that comforting pattern on your skin, “during the first term, I invited you to tea—with apricot jam, muffins, diomese leaves—and I asked you a question. I asked if there was anything from your past that you would, given the chance, go back and change. Do you remember what you said?”

Of course you do. That day is as treasured a memory as those before and after. “That I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Because you feared a single change would have diverted your path from the destination, from being here, and now.” Barbatos lifts your hand, presses his lips to where he’d traced circles before, but does not avert his eyes from yours. “Why not this time?” he whispers against your skin. 

Your heart flutters, trembles. If he isn’t sorry for the choices he made, why should you be? “I don’t like to see you suffer for me.” Before he can open his mouth to voice the protest you can read in the crease of his brow, you continue: “You don’t regret it, but I…” A lump settles in your throat. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” 

He straightens up, slowly, mouth pulling into an expression you’ve seen only once before, something like shame, something like guilt, eyes soft, his frame struggling against some great, invisible weight. “What else could I have done?” he asks. “Selected another course of events, another reality, while you die in this one? It would have been easy, yes, certainly easier than manipulating individual timelines.” Barbatos must see the lack of comprehension on your face, because he continues: “Perhaps my greatest power is the ability to choose which sequence of events, which timeline, becomes the true reality. I could have let you die there in the attic, cut the timeline, and moved another into its place like a weaver drawing together two lengths of thread; you would die, and yet live, because you were drawn from a series of events where you remained unharmed.” His gaze, fathomless, wretched, searches your features. “And every day after, I would look into the eyes of a stranger wearing your face. Though they’d be granted your memories as the timelines synchronized... I would know. I would always know.” 

Heart aching, you pull him into an embrace, never mind that he doesn’t respond immediately, a soft murmur of astonishment in his throat. But then, Barbatos buries his face against your neck, arms tugging you close, tail unwinding so quickly from your lap and shoulder that it runs like silk, only to loop around the small of your back, secure. You hold him tighter. And then tighter still when you think you can feel his heartbeat in your chest. His breath, warm on your skin. A soft nuzzle against the hollow between neck and shoulder. 

Time stills in the gravity of relief and affection, quietly, unnoticed. 

“I love you.” It’s a confession, made nestled in the sharp scent of him, to the breath you feel leaving his chest when he hears it, for the heart racing against your ribs. “I don’t know if that’s the proper response, but it’s a human one.” 

There’s a hesitant smile on your lips as Barbatos draws back just enough to look you in the face, and there’s a smile on his, too, soft with solemn, tortured delight. “I would ask for nothing else. But please—don’t say it again. Once said, it cannot be undone.”

You open your mouth but he stops it with a hand on your cheek, thumb across your lips. “Please—consider that before deciding to say it again, in your own time. I will never ask, nor expect that sentiment from you; only… take the time to think on it before speaking it again.” There’s something in his eyes, a flicker akin to flame—not the tame dance of candlelight but the reckless abandon of wildfire. “When you do, you won’t be able to take it back.” 

Something sticks in your throat. “...I understand.” And you do, intuitively, that it means something more to a demon, that such a thing would not be easy for Barbatos, and, indeed, it cannot be so easy for you. The feelings are true, yes. The words are from your heart, words that have been present in each affection for some time now, and—perhaps they were always there? But still, you must return home. And still, Barbatos is beholden to his master. 

The rings around your fingers burn as you draw him close again.

He settles his chin atop your head, letting you bury your face against his throat in the wintry-crisp, ash-and-ink scent of him, and the sound of contentment he makes leaves you giddy in spite of the sullen mood that had gripped your heart. 

“Thank you, nykin.” His voice hums against your cheek, its thrum buzzing in your chest. 

You close your eyes. “Will you tell me what that means?” 

“The endearment?” Thoughtfully, he traces your arm over your long shirtsleeves, with, you think, his fingertips, until you realize his hands are still settled upon your back. “Has it already fallen out of fashion in your realm?” 

“For quite some time, I suspect.” 

“A pity,” Barbatos murmurs, tilting his head so that his cheek rests on the crown of your head. “I believe it’s the only one that appropriately conveys a concept that otherwise remains only in our language. Kin, the suffix: akin, ‘related,’ ‘close,’—and nigh: ’near,’ as in both space and time.” He nuzzles into your hair and, distinctly, you feel the lingering press of his lips. “You are with me, you are now, you are the space between this breath and the next. Near to me, my present, my impending moment. Nykin.”  

You’re not sure when the tears started. You just know by the time you feel them, hot on your cheeks, cool, gentle kisses follow in their wake, catching them where they fall. Barbatos does so silently, cradling your head, never shushing, never asking for your calm, and the tears come faster, and you’re laughing, and you’re not quite sure why, heart full to bursting. Your fingers tangle in his hair, at last, as they wanted to before, weaving through silken strands, and when you find his cheeks to kiss them, when you find his mouth, you’re not sure whose salt-sweet tears have settled upon your tongue.

----

@mysterypotatoink

[berry-nonnie]

So for the promt from @egganonman, I was going to do a little animation of Berry pacing and freaking out about the vote. But it turns out today I can't draw anything :/

Here's a written thing instead, I think it'll have the right kind of spiral feeling that I wanted :]

Cut due to length

...

Silence, just for a moment while the weight of this choice pressed down on everyone involved. This wasn't the same choice as it was last time, not nearly as easy to decide the right answer. Of course She would make it much harder, so much harder.

"What do we pick?"

And just like that, the silence shattered and chaos unfolded. Voices drowned each other, though many of them had similar opinions on the matter. Panic filled the air for some, afterall who could decide which of two evils were the worse? To tell someone we care for to either give up his freedom without a fight, or to let him fight something that he had no real chance of winning against.

Words were shared amongst the anons, beings that were on a different plane of existence. Votes cast, some with an explanation as to why they leaned the way they did, others silently. The numbers were adding up, so many were putting their vote to fight, and whether it was to show Hetch that they believed in him or to watch him go down swinging, it was unknown for most.

And though it already cast its vote, once away from the others, one of the anons would begin a spiral into its own fears about what its choice would become.

"I voted too fast, I was too quick! Oh, he's going to be torn to shreds. The new toy that She was talking about must've been Security," it muttered into the silence of its solitude. One step, another, pause, and then two more steps. "He's doomed. I voted already, I can't change it."

"Not like it would matter if we could. It's a choice between giving up or fighting, nearly everyone would choose to die fighting. And they did choose," it sighed in response to itself. One hand pushed violet hair out of its blank eyes, its ears pulled back and the anxious energy pooling in its body left its tail flicking.

"Did we make the right choice? Is it really better for us to let him fight when I'm positive that he can't win?" It asked, and though there was nobody there with it, it was like it was asking another. "I should've stuck with my plan to wait an hour before voting."

A silence covered the space, only interrupted by footsteps. In the middle of another pacing step, it paused as if someone had said something outrageous.

"Of course it matters! I care about those people, and if I can help them, I'll do my damn best," its tone biting, but the deep sigh that followed implied a feeling of helplessness. "You know, it's only been 3 or 4 days for us, but for them? We've all been gone for TWO whole months! Something traumatic happened to a 17-year-old, another kid DIED, and as soon as all that happens, we all just disappeared. Radio silence! Nothing at all, for two fucking months!"

"Hetch probably thought we left, just up and abandoned him. Not just him, but all of them. I know how it feels for someone to just dissappear for months, and it sucks ass. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone," it hesitated for a moment after that, "actually, I hope that the Founder is abandoned by everyone. She deserves absolutely nothing good."

"I'm not being harsh. Am I? No, I'm not," it shook its head, as if clearing unwanted thoughts from its mind. "Hush, I'm perfectly reasonable to hoping She gets what she deserves."

"Listen, I'm trying to say that Hetch needed us but we were gone. And now we're all back, and he was about to get out of there with his kid, Sneeg, and Charlie. But then they get caught, right as we return. That's suspicious, right?" it resumed its anxious pacing, chewing on its nails as its mind was plauged with thoughts. "The timing was too on the nose. She's got to be behind it."

"Yeah, you're right. That was obvious, She's behind everything. Man, I kind of regret my vote. If we told him to just take the mask, he'd probably think we hate him, wouldn't he?" it mused. "I mean, I might just be overthinking. But if he puts on the mask without a fight, he would have more energy to resist it, right? We'd have a chance to snap him out of it, or at least a slightly better one."

It paused its pacing again and tilted its head.

"Yeah, I guess I should get some rest... Alright, I'll leave this for me to worry about in the morning. Goodnight."

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

we’re gonna try a new less structured/more casual format. (and then immediately forget about it for a month cuz a hundred other things needed my extremely limited energy...........)

I did read a lot of the tags and stuff and I still love getting to see them all! but I can only write and format so much these days :’(

on [the last roundup] @northeasternwind said: SJHDFKSDHFKJSDH THERE IT IS!!! YOU DID IT!!! YOU'RE FIVE STEPS AHEAD

lol I gotchu

on [wallpaper] @ceylonsilvergirl said: this is how I need to be living my life instead of whatever insanity is happening in reality. can things just be chill for 30 seconds!? I’m tryna sit down on this beanbag chair!!

right??? honestly it’s been A Fuckin Year dude, at least we can commiserate together lol

@softnoobgirl asked: April is atusim awareness/acceptance month and it can be really hard for atustic people because of all the atusim speaks and light it up blue stuff that basically tells us "ya we want you dead." As an atustic kirby fan it would make me super happy if you would draw kirby holding up a sigh with a blue puzzle peice crossed out and text that says "don't light it up blue,  go red instead.

The world blue being in blue and the world red being in red. It would mean the world to me to see you support atustic people and not the organizations against us.

I think that would be a neat idea! (I’m actually autistic myself as well, so I’m like. totally with you on this. that does not guarantee I will remember come april, but I can at least tell you with confidence that it’s a good idea! it is totally okay to remind me of your idea with another ask in late march or april if you would like to.)

@autistic-sack-of-friends asked: the Kirby. it's gorby :> good job on the gorb!!!

thank you!!

@a-pansexual-she-them asked: Eats your art/pos

:0 omg thanks!

on [surprise nap] @ceylonsilvergirl said: If your body made you nap that means you needed a nap. Sorry to hear about the wonky sleep schedule tonight tho

lol I promise you falling asleep for an hour does not at all affect how likely I am to fall asleep again later. unfortunately.

@pourpresky asked: i’ve told you this before but i don’t know if you got my previous asks. i love this acc so much i love your drawings a lot. it brings me happiness it gives me serotonin i hope that you’re doing well everyday

aww thank you! I do remember you sending me a nice ask like this at least once before, although maybe my reply got lost in the clutter of the roundups >n< (not that this is any less cluttered...)

on [lights] @ceylonsilvergirl said: this is Christmas, but it’s also disco. and Kirby realizing he entered a skating rink. or a karaoke bar. yesterday someone asked me if Kirby was a girl or a boy, and I just had to be like “does it matter? will it change anything?’’ asker was a teenage boy so I don’t think he quite got it, but hopefully he’ll think about it

sometimes the most significant thing we can do is just plant an idea and give it time to grow. and kirby would be delighted to go to a rollerskating rink. do you think he’s really graceful or taking full advantage of his squishy marshmallow frame to pad his falls lol (also re: [wrapping paper opinions], I don’t really do a lot of birthday gifts or anything anyway but someday when we have space I want a few different rolls of solid color kraft paper so I can hand-design new paper every year because I am Craft Feral)

on [wrists] @northeasternwind said: I feel like you don't need this advice but please do the stretchies. be like Kirby's very stretchy body

my connective tissue is all fucked so my joints don’t really work the way they’re supposed to lol but as soon as I stopped working every waking hour my wrist stopped hurting overnight like, instantly, so *thumbs up* (thank you for your concern tho <3 )

on [struggle] @macro-microcosm said: good job making it through the year! happy you're still here. I hope things get better.

I was like, kinda surprised by how touched I was when I first saw this one. thanks for that.

I also think it’s so cute how every time I post a sleeping kirby so many people reblog it with some variation of either “me” or “god I wish that was me”

on [triumph] @chaosinanutshell said: YA KIRBO!!! Im almost done with all my assessments this week. then this thursday Im finally gonna have a break. IM ALMOST THERE!! Good job with all u did :DD

I took so long to write this that you already made it by now! I hope you get to do so many fun restorative things with your break! (I am reading lots of manga, which is restorative for me -u- )

on [love] @ceylonsilvergirl said: there are those times when you feel love so profoundly that it completely knocks you over. it’s really what’s keeping me going lately. I’m not getting paid, I’m working my ass off, but then someone says “I see you. I appreciate you. you’re doing a good job’’

honestly support is in all the little things. big gestures are great and all but they aren’t what keeps things going, it’s stuff like acknowledging the hard work you’ve done or making sure the hand soap is always full. Love Is Stored In The Small Everyday Kindness.

[ostensiblywhump]

Hare and Kit

Augusnippets day 9: hypothermia | overheating | dehydration

Word count: 496

Trigger warnings: implied/referenced death, description of corpses, implied/referenced child death

——————(0)——————

“You,” Archaios says, “are not just shivering from pain, are you.”

The child, predictably, shivers in response.

“Fuck,” Archaios says, and picks up speed. “Look, in my defense, you were getting shredded from the inside-out by curse energy, I had other things on my mind! Like keeping you un-shredded! I forgot that humans are—squishy! Don’t like being cold! Fuck!”

Because he’s reveled in blizzards before, only to come across blanched, stiff corpses, squirreled in little snow-dens that they thought would save them. He’s tried to save ones that were still breathing by feeding on their cold, hoping that drawing it away would help keep them warm. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

“I hate doing that on children, you know?” he murmurs into the child’s forehead. “It’s filthy, feeding from the young. And you shouldn’t have to be so close to death, anyways. You should—”

Be with your parents, laughing and loved, free of curse marks, not small and alone. Be warm.

Too many things this child should have instead of some inhuman hermit that came upon them by happenstance; it all crowds Archaios’ throat and clogs there.

His next step echoes, warps; his own wards welcome him as he slows his run into the cave to a purposeful stride. He has pelts stored away, despite his best efforts to foist everything he hunts on humans that actually need it. Humans always bundle themselves up in the cold, surely those will help.

He has two pelts … well, one is a cloak. He wraps that first around the child, then the second, until only the child’s pale face and baby wisps of their white hair show. Then—and this is the hard part—he sits back until only a comforting hand is touching the swaddled child.

“Fenn always told me my skin was icy,” he tells them. “I don’t think holding you will help, no matter how it’ll make me feel better. But ….”

He’s bundled up the child, stopped touching them with his cold hands. Is there anything else? How will he know this is helping? How soon? He’s always known his knowledge on humans is essentially a dark, unknown chasm, but never has it yawned deeper, faced with a child he must save.

“Maybe,” he starts, then looks at the black marks crawling up the child’s cheeks, and stops. Bringing this child to humans, to anyone that knows better, will only get them killed.

Then a realization clicks, followed by his heart dropping.

“Fire,” Archaios says. “You need fire. Except I … I don’t know how to light one.”

He’s never really needed it—he needs cold, not heat. And he’s never committed to saving a cold victim like this child, so he’s never thought of it before.

Wait, no. He has.

He sighs and heaves himself up. “I hope Tiana forgives me,” he mutters. “And you. For using a practice meant to invite ambient magic to light funeral pyres for you.”

He goes to find sticks.

[bi-bard]

The Line - Peter Parker Imagine (The Amazing Spider-Man)

Title: The Line

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader

Word Count: 1,322 words

Warning(s): fighting, mentions of slight violence

Summary: After trying to be understanding, (Y/n) draws a line and Peter has to figure out how to handle that.

Author's Note: Now... I am a DC fan. I have been for years. However... I do love Andrew Garfield. Go watch Tick... Tick... Boom! on Netflix.

------------------------------------

I let out a sigh as I slammed my door.

Three dates. Three dates were suddenly canceled or ended about five minutes in because Peter had a whole city to save. To put it politely... I was pissed.

I tried to be understanding but there were only so many times that I could forgive and forget. I could not always sacrifice so much energy and never get anything back for it. It made me feel selfish, but I was starting to let myself be angry about it.

I walked over to close my blinds, so I could go to bed.

I didn't want to call Peter or read or work on anything. I had notecards covering one wall with half of a plot written out and I didn't have the energy to add to it.

As soon as my hands grabbed the curtains, Peter's head popped in front of my window. I yelled but covered my mouth quickly. He pulled the mask off his head and gave me a cheesy smile.

I pushed the window up and glared at him. I wanted to make my anger obvious. He seemed confused about all of this. It only made me more upset. With a roll of my eyes, I turned away from him and walked away from the window.

"What's wrong," he asked, climbing through my window slowly.

"You aren't stupid enough to actually ask me that question," I sighed, turning to face him and pinching the bridge of my nose.

He was still acting like he was confused. I rolled my eyes.

"Last Wednesday, a movie we both wanted to see comes out in theaters and we go," I explained. "Ten minutes in, you went to the bathroom because you ignored when I told you that you should go before... and then you never came back because you heard police sirens. On Saturday, I waited in the front area of a restaurant for two hours before you sent me a very half-assed text... without an apology, I might add-"

"You know why I-"

"I am not done," I snapped. "And tonight. You were supposed to take me out for my birthday. And you sprinted out in about twenty minutes because of an emergency. You said it should have been a fast thing, so I wasted my birthday by waiting for you again!"

"I was saving people-"

"Then stop setting dates with me!"

"What?"

"I am sick and tired of being let down, Peter," I tried to ignore the feeling of tears in my eyes. "Stop making promises. Please. I can't do it anymore."

"Hey, I'm sorry," Peter stepped forward and cupped the sides of my face, pulling me closer. "I'm so, so sorry."

He kept mumbling that he was sorry as he leaned over and kissed me. He pecked my lips over and over. It took me a moment to come to my senses and push him back.

"Stop," I muttered. He leaned forward again and pressed his lips to mine again. It made me angry all over again. I should him back roughly and stumble backward, "Stop!"

Peter looked down and frowned.

"I... I want you to go," I pointed to the window. When he didn't move, I shouted, "Now!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," he mumbled again before crawling out the window.

I slammed it shut and locked it behind him. Peter turned around and looked at me in shock. I just clenched my jaw and closed my curtains.

I rubbed my hands over my face and sighed.

I just needed to sleep. Let this bad night roll off... and hope that the best relationship I've ever had didn't just go completely sour.

--time skip--

I woke up the next morning, curled up around one of my pillows. My nose was pressed into the fabric. The one that Peter would lay on whenever he was here.

It brought back memories. Waking up after a nap and seeing him smile at me. Making him read to me when I didn't have the energy. Studying together where he'd relax up by my headboard and I'd sit on the other end.

I put the pillow back where it belonged and sat up. I pulled my knees up so I can rest my elbows on them. I let out a sigh.

I should call him, I thought. No, no. He messed up. Make him call you. But that might be a waste of time... which will prove that we're... over.

I looked up to my window, hoping to find something else to focus on.

There was something on the window.

I stood up and walked over. It was a heart traced on my window. A heart made of spider webs. I couldn't help it... I smiled.

I jumped when Peter dropped in front of me. He seemed shocked to see me too. I was up earlier than usual. He held up a coffee cup holder with a small grin. He brought breakfast.

I was going to open the window but froze. I didn't want to wreck his work. I touched the window lightly and looked back at him.

I shook my head.

His face turned sad.

I pointed for him to go around. He nodded.

I took the moment of privacy to clean up a little. Just to look a little less messy. I walked over to the door to let Peter in.

"Happy... late birthday," he said with a guilty smile.

I grinned awkwardly and let him in. He walked in slowly before finally putting the coffee on the table. He turned back to me.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know that I let you down. I never meant to do that. I didn't think about what I was doing to you by going completely silent and leaving you on your own. I'm... I'm so sorry."

I stood there for a second.

"I can just leave this stuff here and leave-"

I wrapped him in a hug before he could continue talking.

"Am I forgiven," Peter chuckled as he hugged me back.

"I think so," I smiled as I stepped back enough to look at him. "I... umm..."

I froze right at the last moment.

"What is it," he asked. I shook my head, stepping away from him and looking down nervously. "No, no, no. We were having a moment. Don't back out of it now."

"I... I love you," I muttered.

Peter stepped forward and cupped the sides of my face. When our eyes met, he gave me a sweet smile. I felt like shying away again just so I could avoid the intensity in this moment. He was close enough that the slightest move would press our lips together.

"Guess what," he asked quietly.

I hummed in response. I was lost in his eyes and being so close seemed to make my mind fog up.

"I love you too," he said before closing the distance between us. "So. Much."

I wouldn't have the strength to pull away if I wanted to. It was such an intense and intimate moment. My entire body felt like it was heating up. It was a trance. And I was happy to be in it.

"You brought coffee," I asked, finally pulling away.

"Always have the priorities in order."

"Absolutely," I replied.

"Go sit down," Peter pushed me toward one of the chairs at the table. "I'll serve breakfast."

He must have sensed that I was uneasy.

"No, I'm not cooking," he promised. "I have food in my backpack."

"Thank God," I chuckled.

"Hey!"

"You almost burned down my kitchen-"

"I forgot to set the timer," he laughed as he tried to explain himself.

We both fell silent after a minute.

"I love you," I repeated, no hesitation this time.

"I love you too," he said.

At that moment, the entire city disappeared. It was just the two of us. And that moment of peace was perfect for me.

------------------------------------

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[raggaraddy]

Can you please do a yandere hyung line reaction to MC being jealous and tries to hide it ( For jin could you please make it as his wife has come back for a short holiday or something)

A/N: My brain did not want to do the writing thing the last couple of days, but I got there. I think these stories are good? but somehow they all ended up a bit soft. I hope you like them though 🤞 because it was a great request! Thank you 💜💜💜

@blacksnow160

Summary: Hyung line reaction when you get jealous.

Trigger warning: Smut, violence, blood-drinking, murder, abuse, yandere themes.

Alpha! Namjoon

Normally you didn't consider yourself clingy. You enjoyed your personal space and your time alone. But at the same time, you've also become accustomed to Namjoon dropping everything to take care of you. This entire week though, he's been preoccupied with a territorial issue, and the last 3 nights he hasn't even come to bed.

Leaving you feeling a little discarded, to say the least.

Nevertheless, you're a mature adult, and you were able to let it go with the knowledge that Namjoon is an Alpha who has responsibilities and knowing that he would still rather be with you.

It is, however, a comfort that you have trouble holding on to whenever you see the new girl around him. It's not like you're jealous. It's just that she doesn't seem to know how to behave respectfully or appropriately around Namjoon. She always stands too close or looks at him a bit too much, and she's way too touchy. Only his elbow, arm, or shoulder. But it's like, get your fucking hands off him.

Rationally, you know Joon is your mate and you own his heart, mind, and body. Still, it doesn't stop you from tossing restlessly, laying in bed at 2 am, once again alone. The two things added together making you feeling sour. Feeling sick of being sent away while this other girl gets to stick around being way too familiar with your Boyfriend.

Coming downstairs in your pyjamas, you weave in among the wolves working your way to Namjoon. Standing at the dining table, looking over a mess of paper, he notices you right away a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Y/n, what are you doing up?"He asks, checking his watch.

There she is again, right next to him. Her hand casually coming off his shoulder when she sees you.

"It's late. Go back to bed, Beautiful." he coos.

You ignore his instruction. Wrapping to his side by pushing yourself between him and this girl, creating space for yourself with a not-so-subtle shoving of your elbow into her arm. Smiling up at him sweetly as he accepts your presence, hugging you tightly.

"We're going to be busy most of the night. You should go to bed." he leans down to whisper, his breath tickling your ear. He's trying not to draw the focus from the rest of the table into your personal discussion.

"I'll go up when you come with me." You whisper back.

"It's going to be a few more hours still baby." He sighs, seeming frustrated with the circumstances.

"Then I'm staying here."

"You shouldn't-"

"Don't argue with me Kim Namjoon. You're not going to win this one." While it's said in jest, you also mean it. He'll have to drag you upstairs to make you go. And if he steps foot in that bedroom, you both know you'll be able to make him stay.

"Oh really?" He challenges, fighting the smile growing on his face, not wanting to encourage your mischievous behaviour.

Grabbing the collar of his black tee, you pull him down to your height, smacking your lips against his. Kissing him passionately and longingly. Something you haven't been able to do for nearly a full week.

Letting his shirt go, his smile is fully grown. His dimples on display.

"Really." You finalize, looking up at him coquettishly.

You can see the struggle playing in his mind. He's extremely tempted to throw you over his shoulder and take you upstairs right now, his wolf fighting to shirk his responsibilities and give in to desire. His chest rumbling lowly as he winks down at you.

"Okay baby." his fingers dig into your hips, "If you're gonna play dirty, you can stay." He teases with a chuckle. Resisting the bait.

Feeling calmed and relaxed on the warmth of his hold again, a smug sense of pride fills your chest. From the corner of your eye, you can see her attention on the two of you. Your ego is not able to resist, and you shoot a cold pointed glare at her. A smirk creeping onto your face as she looks down, avoiding your eye line.

"Seeing as it's late, do you wanna make coffee for everyone?" You order her in the form of a question, speaking loudly enough for both her and Namjoon to hear your sassy, obvious tone.

She looks a little stunned. She'd just been promoted to the inner circle for this problem-solving session, and she doesn't seem pleased at being asked to perform menial tasks. Trying to go over your head, she looks at the Alpha for confirmation. But he doesn't give it to her. Instead, you can feel him nod, supporting your order. A full smile filling your face as you get his backing.

"Of course, Luna." she obeys, looking a little dejected.

"Thank you." you shoo her to action with a sing-song voice. Curling into Namjoons side, you can't help but feel authoritative. And a little bit victorious.

King! Seokjin

It had been nearly two weeks since you had seen Jin last. As frustrating as it was, you were genuinely missing him. There was a kind of energy he had when it was just the two of you. Something that filled you, and without him you were feeling like your own spirit was draining away.

It would be okay though, today Jin was coming back from visiting his wife and children. You're sure he missed you just as much as you missed him. That he was as excited to see you, as you were to see him. You were a little worried knowing that you would have to satisfy his sadism first, but you can tolerate it, thinking that at least you'll get to see his smile.

As the day is drawing to an end, you've finished all your tasks but you refuse to retire for the night, certain the King is going to call for you at any minute. Feeling a mix of excitement and relief when the staff manager comes to collect you.

Nearly skipping you rush to the dining hall, having been instructed to serve dinner to the King and his guest. Working with another maid to bring the meals from the kitchen.

Walking in, the smile you were trying to conceal disappears completely. Your stomach dropping. Jin's guest is the Princess. His wife.

You have to control your expression to hide your distress, feeling sick while serving him. His wife never comes down. She hasn't in a year and a half. Jin doesn't even really like her. It doesn't make sense why she's here.

With a curt bow, you remove the closh and place the plate down. Meeting the King's eye for a moment, you do your best to placify your appearance. Your efforts cracking when you see his lips pulling ever so slightly into a knowing smile.

He dismisses the other maid, but not you. Sending you to the waiting station by the wall. You're stuck watching over their conversation. Feeling more and more insecure as you look at the Princess's regality and beauty. Getting more frustrated as your mind runs rampant.

How long is she going to stay? It doesn't seem like they brought the Princes, so she has to go back soon. And what kind of mother leaves her children alone? It doesn't even matter that she's here, you know Jin likes you more. So what if she is really pretty, he can't hurt her like he can you. You make him happy. She's just a prop he was given to secure a treaty. He actually chose you.

Slowly, you're building yourself into a craze. Making yourself feel sad until the very end of the meal. Finally, their dinner date ends and he stands, kindly bowing to see her off. Leaving only you and him in the hall.

Relaxing back in his seat, he finishes the remainder of his drink.

"Y/n." Holding his empty glass to the side, he calls you over. You follow his gesture and top up his cup. Avoiding looking directly at him again. Pacing back to your place when he stops you.

"Come here." He grins, enjoying how uncomfortable you are. "You met my wife today." He pushes the difficult topic, again probing for your reaction.

Nodding softly, you're trying to not let your bitterness out. You know Jin doesn't like it when you pout.

"Are you jealous Princess?" He holds his hand out for you to take, leading you closer to him. Leaning back to create a space for you on his lap. Guiding you over him with your legs spread.

"No, your Majesty." You shake your head, your pause and hesitation giving away the truth.

Jin's gentle touch comes off your hand, his grip instead ripping back your hair, arching your back and nearly yanking you off of his lap. Biting back a shriek, you can't keep entirely quiet, whimpering as his fist curls tighter and closer to your scalp.

"Are you lying to me?" His mouth latches onto your shoulder, biting into your muscle vindictively. Unbridling that scream you had tried to smother.

"Yes. I'm sorry your Majesty!" you cry out, tears building in your eyes. "I'm jealous. I missed you. I want you-" all the truth is pouring out, but you hesitate worried you're being too bold, "all to myself."

His grip comes out of your hair. His hand instead raking down your chest, leaving painful red marks as each nail digs along the skin. Continuing lower, tearing the buttons on your dress. Yanking down your bra also, exposing your breasts. His other hand hikes the fabric up around your thighs, stopping on your waist, lowering your hips into him.

Pinching your nipple, he draws you closer until his lips are just off yours. Gasping through the initial pain, you can only whine and bite your lip to further keep quiet.

"Go on Princess. Prove to me why I should have missed you."

Assassin! Yoongi

Over the past couple of weeks, Yoongi would be gone for days at a time. Coming back in a strangely talkative and happy mood. You were as miserable and depressed as always, but his vigour was somehow revitalizing and comforting. It made him easier to deal with. It made him less moody. And it made your life easier. So to begin with you were very happy that he was happy.

That was until he mentioned a name in passing. A woman's name. Someone he was working with on a project.

As soon as you heard him talking positively about her, a pang of anxiety spiked through your stomach. From then on it rested in your gut, making you irritated, uncomfortable, and flustered every time you heard about or thought about her.

It was the strangest thing. You hated Yoongi, you're sure of it. But he was all you had. And hearing him talk about another woman, even though it sounded platonic, the adoration in his voice was hurting you in a way you never expected.

Slowly you had to work through this feeling on your own. You couldn't bear to let Yoongi know, not certain what he would do with the information that you were, in lack of a better word, jealous.

The more you heard about this woman, you knew you could never be as impressive as her. Every detail sounding equally terrifying and awe-inspiring. To be honest the specifics slipped your mind, as you were mostly wrapped up in self-pity when Yoongi spoke about her.

All you know is that you felt inferior, and you were craving, longing to feel that kind of importance to Yoongi, also. Resenting the fact that this other person was so easily able to bring joy and energy out of him.

Over the next couple of weeks, you spent every waking moment thinking about how to make Yoongi happy. Not just avoiding annoying him, like you usually did, but instead thinking about how to bring him genuine enjoyment.

One time you spent hours making him a meal. Making something you knew he would love. But, unfortunately, he only complained about the mess. He said he wasn't hungry and left you to throw the food away and clean up.

Another time, you had planned a full evening of activities. Movies, snacks, games that would help you get to know each other better, anything fun you could organize with your limited resources. Only, he wasn't in the mood to play, or talk. He only wanted one thing, and when he was done, he left you alone in your room, feeling used and a bit sore.

However, that gave you an idea. Maybe you could connect with him physically first. Then that might give you a way for something, anything more to develop.

This time, you set the house up with candles, music, wine, chocolate strawberries, everything you'd seen in movies. Waiting for him on the couch in something a little provocative. But, as soon as he comes in from the garage he looks more annoyed than impressed. Rolling his eyes, ordering you to your room.

By this stage it's late, you're tired, and you're losing your mind trying to make him happy. You were fighting so hard for his attention, and he was barely tolerating you. You aren't thinking clearly as you snap at him.

"Why?!" You yell, stomping your foot down. "I'm working so hard and you're just being an asshole!"

The words come out and you instantly regret them. His straight expression hardening.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You rush to him, wrapping your arms around his chest trying to soothe any reaction. "Just tell me what I can do." You plead. Exasperated by so many failed attempts.

"That depends. What do you want?" He honestly questions, looking down at you.

You weren't exactly prepared to answer this question. You're not sure you really know.

"I'm your's right?" you say with big eyes, your voice coming out so softly, feeling embarrassed even though you're mimicking his words. "I get that I have to be yours. But then you have to be mine too." Your voice trembles.

Finally, it makes sense to Yoongi. Your change in demeanour, and in behaviour. Why you've been so needy. Why you've been trying to get his attention. He understands now. And that was most of what was annoying him. Not knowing why you were acting differently.

He steps out of your grasp, calling for you to follow him upstairs. You're not so nervous as you do. Surprisingly, the revelation has given Yoongi has a warm smile.

Falling back onto his bed, he taps the space beside him, inviting you to join him. You climb into the middle of the bed, resting in the place he set for you, his arm laid out under your head. He curls into you, gently wrapping his arm over your waist. Hugging you.

For the first time ever, he is showing you some kind of affection. For the first time, he's actually making a gesture of warmth and comfort. You couldn't even let yourself think that Yoongi could be capable of this. Having spent so many months isolated and alone. Even when you weren't locked up.

Hating yourself for not being stronger, you break into silent tears. Biting your thumb to stifle any sobs.

While reason is battling in your head, telling you that it's a bad idea to form any kind of emotional attachment to him, you don't want to listen to logic right now. Letting yourself cling to Yoongi and the desperately needed human connection.

Vampire! Hoseok

There was a delicate balance to your relationship with Hoseok. You couldn't exactly rely on his moods to be stable, but you could rely on his obsession with you. It was the only thing that kept you feeling secure. Feeling certain that when he bit you next he wouldn't let you bleed out. Or that when he hit you or cut you or hurt you, that he wasn't going to leave you to suffer in agony but would heal you. Because he wanted to keep you. You were his.

It was a twisted kind of reassurance. But it's what you had, so it's what you worked with.

You knew the source of his obsession. It was you as a person, sure. But you weren't kidding yourself. Mostly, his infatuation was with your blood. Hoseok wasn't specific about it, but you had overheard some of the other Vampires discussing you. Apparently, you smell delicious, and that's why he never lets you wander the house with any cuts. That's why you were locked away every 28 days. And that's why you were his only.

It didn't make sense to you, there was nothing different about you.

But somehow you'd fallen in and become the star of your very own YA horror story.

Whatever the cause though, you were aware that Hoseok's addiction to your blood was the reason that he kept you. Without that, he might simply kill you, or worse, he might throw you to one of the other bloodsuckers who look at you like a happy meal they want to fuck.

Which is probably why you were so defensive when you saw him biting another girl.

Sitting on the back terrace looking over the gated property, Hoseok and a few of his creations were sitting in the moonlight enjoying a drink. You'd come downstairs expecting to be his refill when you see him sinking his fangs into the arm of one of the human pets.

Frustration floods through your body, a new kind of anger making your hands shake. A malicious and honestly, not-all-together thought out idea springs into your head. You've never seen him drink from anyone else before, and you need to remind him that he should only want you.

Taking a serrated peeler from the bar at the side of the terrace, you hold it concealed in your palm, going up to the first Vampire leaning there.

"Are you thirsty?" you ask, speaking lowly. He, like all the others, know you're Hoseok's, and so he rightfully looks uncomfortable being near you. Stepping into his personal space, you raise your arm under his chin and run the sharp blade across the top of your forearm. His eyes immediately going black, his fangs bared. Unable to resist what you're offering.

Behind you, every single one of them turns their heads, smelling you the second blood gathers on your skin.

In a flash, Hoseok is between the two of you. Ripping his teeth into the guy's neck, tearing his throat out. Killing him in an instant.

Breathing heavily, he turns to you with blood washed down his front. His eyes murderous and cold.

Retaliating, you storm towards the human-pet and shove her with all of your might, pushing her down the stone tile steps onto the grass. Watching her tumble into a heap.

Those around you have gone dead quiet, none of them even daring to look directly at either of you.

"How dare you?" He seethes, stalking towards you. But you're not backing down. You know better than to retreat from him when he charges.

"How dare I?" you scream. "How dare you drink from that skank!" An enraged Hoseok is something all of his offspring know to fear. Steadily you can see them clearing the space around the two of you. Withdrawing from whatever this is leading to.

"You want to tell me who I can eat?!" He growls, his hand shooting around your neck, holding you but not choking you. "You're a blood bag that I keep as a toy!"

"If that's all, then I'll let all of them feed on me too."

His hand constricts, restricting your air. "I'll kill anyone that tries."

"Then," you gasp, your words coming out short. "only me." you pull your hair off your shoulder, turning your neck as far to the side as you can. Throwing his head back, he takes the invitation, sinking his fangs into your jugular, swallowing down mouthfuls of your blood.

Holding onto his shoulders, you jump up wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. Hoseok's arms wrapping around your ass, keeping you up.

Pushed back by your momentum, he stumbles a few steps, dropping down onto the open sofa chair. You landing on his lap, straddling his thighs.

As more of your blood is drained, and you get lightheaded, the pain starts to slip and your body starts to float. A euphoric sensation, akin to being high consuming you.

You tangle your hands up into his hair tugging it, massaging his scalp. You've become so accustomed to him fucking you when he feeds from you, that whenever he bites you, you get turned on. Your body reacting out of instinct. Slowly grinding down, rocking your hips into him as you start to get him hard. The friction feeling good making you moan. Making you move faster with pleasure tingling through your core also.

"Hobi," you moan. Shivering, as his tongue runs up your wounds.

Your gentle whine catches his attention. A surprised expression on his face that shifts into a smile as he leans back to watch you. His focus on you making you feel slightly embarrassed, slowing your motions until they stop altogether.

Biting his tongue, your eyes meet for a moment before he kisses his blood into your mouth, the copper taste feeling soothing and familiar. Your body relaxing completely knowing you'll wake up healed.

"Mine." He whispers into your lips.

The blood loss pulls you into unconsciousness, your head dropping onto his shoulder. The euphoric feeling swallowing you up as you purr back. "Mine."

[notanotherreidgirl]

Dreams Come True

Summary: Spencer is a tease and Reader teaches him a lesson

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, thigh riding, oral sex (female receiving), spanking, choking, restraints (handcuffs), degradation, gagging, mommy kink

Word Count: 1460

A/N: This is a part 2 to Wake Me Up but it can be read as a stand-alone. It was actually requested by @thatsonezesty13 and I got a little carried away - I hope you like it!

Spencer had been insatiable after your confession. That day you had him in the kitchen, the shower, and a vacant office at the BAU. He couldn’t keep his hands off you. Usually, you wouldn’t mind at all but the team had been called away to Arizona for a case. 

You had a strict no sex rule during cases, absolutely no exceptions. Lives were at stake and you channeled all your energy into finding the unsub. Also, the team didn’t know about your relationship and sneaking into each other’s motel rooms would be a dead giveaway. It wasn’t that you really wanted to keep it from them but there was something exciting about sneaking behind the backs of the best profilers in the country. 

Spencer was not a fan of your rule but he knew to pick his battles. Normally, he used it as motivation to get the unsub as quickly as possible. Except this time. This time he couldn’t be in the same room as you for 5 minutes without having to physically restrain himself from kissing you. It was hot and you had exchanged your blazers and dress pants for sleeveless blouses and skirts. And this case was long. They had been there in the sweltering heat for a week. A whole week of sleeping alone in his motel room. So Spencer made a plan.

If looks could kill, everyone within a 10 foot radius of you would be dropping like flies including that pretty officer with the local police swooning over your boyfriend. He had been doing this all day - being overly sympathetic with female witnesses, asking them to call him Spencer, wearing those adorable glasses. At first you found it amusing and made a mental note to tease him about how transparent he was when you were back home but now he had you seeing red. You tried to act unbothered but you were seething and Spencer could tell. He knows you inside and out. The officer was leaning over his shoulder and asking idiotic questions like What’s a geographic profile? or So how high is an IQ of 187? 

You finally had enough when she grabbed the end of his tie - the purple and white tie he had worn on your first date. You were out of your seat and across the room in no time. Spencer looked at you innocently but you weren’t having it. “Reid, I need to show you something.”

You never called him Reid but he was never such a brat. Smugly, he followed you to the end of a vacant hallway. “Are you enjoying yourself?” you asked.

“I don’t know what you mean” his mischievous smile gave him away. 

“You don’t? And here I was thinking you were a genius. But you’re not. You’re just a dumb, desperate baby, aren’t you?” you toyed with his tie, tightening it around his neck until it was just a little uncomfortable. “You need me to remind you who you belong to? Have you forgotten?”

“No, Mommy” he gasped. You closed the distance between you, feeling his erection against your stomach. Satisfied, you undid his tie and harshly pulled it from his neck.

“My room. Tonight” you turned on your heels and left him there, breathless and hard. Despite the promise of punishment, Spencer was over the moon. He won. Or so he thought.

That night you absentmindedly flicked through case files while contemplating your plans for Spencer. In truth, you were excited. He had been such a good boy recently, you could hardly remember the last time you had to punish him. His knock shook you from your reverie. “Come in.”

As soon as he entered you were on him, harshly turning and pushing him against the door so you could deftly handcuff him behind his back. You pulled the cuffs back so they dug into his wrists and pushed him on the bed facedown. 

“Is this what you wanted? You needy brat” you reached between his legs and palmed him over his pants, applying just a little too much pressure. “You think that little officer could do this to you?”

“No, she couldn’t. I’m sorry, Mommy. I don’t know what I was thinking” his earlier arrogance was nowhere to be found. 

“You weren’t thinking. That’s the problem. If you want to be a stupid, little slut then that’s how I’ll treat you” you gagged him with the purple tie you had taken and threaded his belt from his pants before tugging them down. Without warning you swatted him with the belt and he lurched forward, struggling against the cuffs. With every blow his hips ground into the bed and the handcuffs chafed the skin of his wrists. When you were satisfied with your work you turned him over. He winced as his raw behind came into contact with the scratchy motel sheets. You slowly pulled the tie from his mouth. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, I have!” he squeaked, upset that he couldn’t touch you. 

“Good, now you can make it up to me.” You pulled the hem of your oversized shirt over your head and straddled his face, holding yourself just out of reach. He craned his head up and his arms thrashed behind his back, the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Frustrated, he let out a pitiful whine. “Use your manners, baby. Or have you forgotten those too?” 

“Please, Mommy. I want to be good. I’ll do anything” he had gotten himself so worked up over the course of the day and having you just out of reach brought tears to his eyes. As you lowered your dripping core to his face, you let a hand drift down and wipe a stray tear from his face. You knew your punishment was his fantasy brought to life but you couldn’t help yourself. The poor thing just wanted to get your attention, just wanted to be with you all the time.

He was ravenous, licking a stripe up your slit before pressing an open mouth kiss to your core. He loved eating you out - loved how your thighs quivered, how you tasted, how you pulled his hair and made incomprehensible little noises. His tongue found your entrance and he took his time licking around it before pushing in, savoring the string of curses you let out. You were unbearably close and you grinded down, practically suffocating him. Spencer latched onto your clit and sucked hard, triggering your release. You convulsed over him, having to brace yourself with your arms as you rode out your high. He hummed happily and made no move to stop. His head was off the bed at this point, tongue laving over your sensitive sex and drawing out your second orgasm with ease. 

Shakily, you pulled away from him, pushing his face into the bed to keep him back. He looked at you with dazed eyes, his chin glistening from your arousal. Did I do good?

“There’s my sweet baby boy. I knew he was in there” you kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue as you undid the handcuffs. Immediately his hands came up around your face, deepening the kiss as if to say I want you, only you. It wasn’t a part of your plan but you pulled him up into your lap and slid a knee between his legs. “Go on, baby. Come for Mommy”

His eyes screwed shut as he rode your thigh. It didn’t take long, you had him on the edge nearly all day. Once, twice and then he was coming all over your thigh. You showered him with praise and reached over to the nightstand to grab some Kleenex and the bottle of lotion you had put out. You took your time, gently massaging in the lotion and pulling the covers up over him. He tucked himself into your side and rested his head on your breasts, his arms circling your waist and pulling you in close. 

“I’m so sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I miss you when we’re on cases.” he murmured into your chest. 

“I know, baby. I miss you too but you know why we don’t have sex on cases.” you sighed and threaded a hand through his hair. He gave you a reluctant nod and buried his face into your chest. You could feel your resolve crumbling. God, you were going so soft for this boy. Was this his plan all along? Probably. 

“But maybe on long cases like this one or when you’re being especially good, I could make an exception. Does that sound ok?” He smiled into the soft skin of your shoulder and sleepily littered a trail of kisses up your neck. 

“That sounds like a dream come true”

[heavenbarnes]

PLEASE STAND BY: Love is strange

Wanda Maximoff x female reader

Warning/Contains: spoilers for “WandaVision”, aspects of mind-control meaning reader isn’t truly consenting, parts of this don’t make sense and are designed to make you feel strange, alcohol, arguments, cheating, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), some good old fashioned 1950s gender rolls

Word Count: 3.8k

it was a given that i would be writing for wanda, but i never expected to get to do something so exciting, i really hope you all enjoy! it’s going to get sexy, get retro, and get creepy x

MASTERLIST

The day you met Mr. Vision at the end of your driveway, he was on his way to work in the early morning, you’d only spoken to him for a second but he seemed to draw a feeling from you that you hadn’t ever seen around here. He had to be the first man you’d spoken to in a while who wasn’t two-dimensional, he had to be the first neighbor you’d ever actually spoken to.

“We’ve only just moved in, how long have you been here?” He lent against your letterbox where you’d just been checking for mail, you’d seen the postman hanging around but he’d never dropped anything off for you.

“Well,” You thought on it for a moment, face going thoughtful as you tried to draw on the memory of first arriving in this town. “You know sometimes it feels like a lifetime and others it feels like barely any time has passed!”

He shared a chuckle with you, nodding in agreement at how strange a thing like time can be. “You live with your husband?”

“Yes, my husband James, we moved here once he’d returned from service.”

“Ah, and what does he do now?”

Again, your eyes narrowed and lips turned down slightly as you thought over what your husband did in a day. “Well he, you see-”

Thinking of it, your husband wakes in the morning and goes to work, he returns to your home cooked meal and you never really discuss it past that. “I’m not really too sure, he goes to his office and then he comes home.”

Mr. Vision reassures you with a shared chuckle, nodding at how strange a thing like work can be. “Sometimes I feel the same, and I’m the one doing the job!”

“Yes, I’m not too convinced that he doesn’t cease to exist once he leaves our home, at least till he comes back looking for food!”

Your laughter tapered off into sighs of agreement slowly, nodding quietly but both still overcome with even the slightest expressions of confusion, unable to shake that there just might be something you’re both missing.

It seemed to break quickly enough, smiles both back on your faces as you gave Mr. Vision the chance to continue his way to work. He called over his shoulder as he was leaving, “I’m sure my wife would like a new friend, you must go introduce yourself.”

Now, didn’t that sound like a dream.

Every day for you was like the one before and the next, you woke and you tidied and you cooked and went to bed. Sometimes it felt like you were a background character in someone’s life, like they were out doing the fun things you longed for whilst you milled about tending to a rosebush and kissing your husband on the cheek on your front porch.

There were also the, well simply the things you couldn’t explain. The way there was always food in your fridge despite the fact you’d never bought a single grocery, and the way-

The way that- the what? What were you talking about?

You shook your head with a smile, turning back into the house to freshen yourself for a moment. Your hair was perfectly set but you had the urge to tuck a piece behind your ear, straightening the skirt of your dress before going to the kitchen.

Taking some of the biscuits you’d made maybe a day ago, you lay them on a plate, before draping a tea towel across them. Carrying them down the street, you made your way to the Vision residence, gingerly bringing your hand to the door to wrap your knuckles against.

Mrs. Vision would be the first neighbor you really spoke to your whole time being here, what if she was like the others, didn’t wish to make pleasant conversation and enjoy company together. The fear seemed to break quickly enough as the door swung open.

Seeing her, it was like you were on stage and had forgotten your lines, she took all the breath out of your lungs. Round eyes that seemed to sparkle even in a town with the dullest hue, her cheeks drew up as she smiled at you. She looked like, well, a Vision.

“Good morning, can I help?”

Brought back to reality, you offered your plate of biscuits forward as you spoke. “Good morning, I live just down the street and met your husband this morning on his way to work this morning,” You smiled kindly to match her own expression. “So I thought I’d come say hello, Mrs. Vision.”

She stepped aside to allow you the chance to step into her beautiful home. “What a lovely surprise, and please, call me Wanda.”

Wanda was a wonderful host, dipping into the kitchen for a moment before returning with a tray of coffee. “Wow,” You remarked, taking the steaming cup from her hand. “It’s almost like you knew I was coming.”

She dropped an eye into a wink as she made her own cup. “A good housewife is always prepared.”

Wanda made things seem perfect, she made you laugh and she made you feel like you were truly a part of things. This town was lovely, you were very lucky to be where you are but everything did seem to be so black-and-white, like your whole life was written out before you with no chance to change.

You didn’t feel that way around this woman, it was like she was made from that wonderful energy that ran through this town, like she was capable of the change and excitement that you needed.

“Tell me about yourself, you have a husband?”

“Yes, James!” You smiled as you thought of him and all his loveliness. “He provides for us and is a real whizz at fixing the Television set when it gives me jiff.”

Wanda laughed as you took a sip from your coffee, it was the most perfect temperature and so rich as it ran across your tongue. You were beginning to think Wanda held a secret, the secret to being the most perfect housewife.

“And Mr. Vision, he seems really nice?”

She smiled fondly as she thought of her husband. “He is, a really great man, the kind you just couldn’t live without.”

A somewhat strange thing to say but you agreed with her nonetheless, you loved your James with the whole of your heart, you weren’t sure what you’d do if he was plucked from your grasp. Wanda continued, “But even then he does do some very “man” things.”

You gave her a small confused chuckle as she laughed along with you, shrugging her shoulders. “You know how they can be? So oblivious to things!”

Still not quite catching on, eyebrows furrowing just a tad as you implored her to elaborate a bit more. She threw one of her hands in the air, the other still holding her coffee as she spoke, “We could lay across the table in nothing but our shoes and they would still ask if we were putting dinner on it later!”

Your cheeks ran hot at her words, a hand coming to cover your mouth in shock as Wanda just laughed. She had to have been a truly modern woman to come up with things such as those, you couldn’t believe how she spoke, it was so...exciting?

“You know what I mean?” She asked, tilting her head gently.

You shook yours, thinking of your husband fondly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt, uh, neglected by him-”

Wanda was gently tapping a finger on her coffee cup, the sound being lost at the back of your mind as a thought suddenly overcame you. You most certainly wished your husband was more attentive, it was almost as if he didn’t notice you sometimes. Your tongue moved before you could control it.

“Some nights I think James is more interested in the sports section than he is in me, and I’m right beside him in our bed!” 

You couldn’t believe your own words, how you seemed to forget yourself in that moment. Beginning to apologize profusely, Wanda laid a hand against your own to calm you down. It worked like a treat, the embarrassment fading from you in an instant.

“Men have a way of doing that, don’t they?” She took your coffee and placed it with her own on the table. “Sometimes, we just need a bit of attention.”

Like you had no control over your own mind, you were nodding in agreement. Plucking up the courage to look Wanda in the eye, that heat that had settled in your cheeks had spread across your whole being. She looked so kind, so interested in you, like the only person to really see you this whole time.

The feelings that came over you were unexplainable, you’d felt this way but only looking at your husband, somehow those feelings were rearing their heads every time Wanda moved beside you. It became clear to you that she still hadn’t moved that hand that was resting on your skin, she was still gently holding you and you weren’t doing a thing to stop it.

“Look at us,” Wanda sighed, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. “All this free time on our hands, enough time for attention.”

Your eyes flickered from her touch, to her lips as she spoke. Drawing them up to her eyes, without her saying a word you just knew what she was implying.

“Mr. Vision, he wouldn’t mind?”

“He’s a good man, he wants me happy, I know he wouldn’t mind.”

“My James-”

“He loves you doesn’t he? Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely?”

The feeling of reassurance was warm as it cast over you, wrapped around your shoulders and held you tightly. James would want you happy, making friends, feeling cared for. Something told you that he’d want this for you, he’d be pleased for you.

Nodding gently, Wanda slowly bridged the gap as she lent in towards you. Her lips were so soft as they pressed to the plush of your own. Such a gentle kiss, unrushed with all the time in the world, just perfect. Her tongue nearly moved inside your mouth, but drew back at the last minute, another gentle kiss lay against your lips before she drew back.

“It’s getting late, we should carry this on another time.”

Looking at the clock on her wall, it was already the afternoon, your husband would be home soon and dinner wasn’t even on! You’d sworn you had only been here an hour, but you must’ve let time get away on you.

Wanda showed you to the door, a sweet kiss pressed against your cheek as she said her goodbyes. “I hope I get to see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course you can.” You quietly looked forward to tomorrow already, you didn’t have to say a thing but from the look in her eyes, Wanda knew.

As you placed the meatloaf on the table before James, you sat before him, knife and fork in hand as you felt the urge to tell him about your day. “I made friends with our new neighbors today.”

“I’m really happy for you, doll.” He smiled back at you, taking a single bite of his dinner.

“She really gets me, understands me,” You too took a single bite of the food. “She even gave me quite a lovely kiss.”

James didn’t really react, he placed his cutlery down and smiled kindly. “Did you enjoy it?”

Dabbing your lips with a napkin and pushing your plate forward you nodded. “I really did, I cannot wait to see her tomorrow.”

“That’s great news, my love,” He stood from the table, collecting your plates. “How about we hit the hay, it’s been a long day.”

You were about to nod in agreement before you furrowed your brow for a moment. “Has it?”

James stopped for a second, looking at your almost full plates before back to you. “I- yes, I think it has been.”

You stood from the table and came to press a kiss on your cheek. “Good idea, I’ll go draw back the bed covers.”

-

Sitting in the sunshine with Wanda, they had the most glorious outdoor area, beautiful roses surrounding the space with a cobbled courtyard. You both sipped at the lemonade she’d made earlier as you simply enjoyed each others company. 

That feeling of freedom was back to wash over you, the way she made you feel the most like yourself that you’d felt in some time. Sitting beside her on the lounger, you rolled your head towards her as she spoke, the cat eye sunglasses resting gentle on her button rose making her look like something out of a dream.

Your heart swelled as she spoke of nothing in particular, just happy to be around her and in good company, as she finished her sentence she let out a long draw of breath. Quietly, she took you in for a moment before tilting her glasses down a tad.

“Have you ever been with a woman before?”

“Never, James was my first,” You answered rather quickly before pausing. “I think.”

“Would you like me to show you what it’s like? How lovely it can be?”

You felt no hesitation, no doubt in your mind, you felt the words leaving your lips before Wanda had even finished her question. “Yes, please.”

Joining you on your lounger, she rested between your legs as her lips came to gently press to your own. She tasted of the lemonade and her own sweet taste, the way she moved against your mouth was enough to make you gasp into her mouth.

Her hands moved against your sides, gently tickling you and making just about every hair stand up on end. Wanda’s touch was nearly electric, so tantalizing and so new, unlike anything you’d felt. It was still so gentle and so loving, but there was something about what she knew, like it’d take you years to ever learn to do what she could. Like she was before her time.

Your head swirled with everything surrounding you, the pleasure, the excitement, the unknown. It was such a vulnerable position, laying beneath her as she moved down your body, pushing your skirt up your hips - yet it was almost as if you forgot to feel shame.

Maybe it was Wanda, when you were around her you were unable to feel embarrassment, she made everything feel so easy and so right, like you were always meant to end up here with her. She ran her touch along the skin of your thighs, making your breath jump as she brought her fingers to the high waistband of your underwear.

You allowed her to go wherever you wanted, you felt like you needed her all over you. Wanda was magnetic, pulled you in and captivated every one of your senses until you couldn’t stand it. You ran your hand along the side of her face as she smiled up at you, leaning into your touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” She bared her teeth as she spoke. “I’m so glad to have you here.”

The comment got lost in the air as her mouth lay against your most sensitive area, lips pursing against you as her tongue ran a long line along you. Your head pressed back into the cushions, a quite whimper escaping your lips as her tongue dove between your legs quickly.

Now this was nothing like you’d ever felt, the feeling was consuming, heat rising over your body and not just from the stream of sun that cast over the both of you. Wanda’s mouth worked expertly over you as your whole body tensed against her. She was magic, her mouth was magic, her touch was magic. 

You cooed her name, fingers slotting into her perfectly done hair, seemingly not even messing it a bit as you gently pulled. Wanda moaned against you, tongue diving further into you, trying ardently to pull all sounds and reactions out of you. 

Her hands ran up beneath your clothes, splaying across your belly and moving to the wire of your brassiere. You couldn’t remember the last time James touched you in this way, let alone a time ever where a woman had held you like this.

A woman’s touch was so gentle, it was so careful and so considered that it was enough to make your head spin. Wanda pulled you back in, mouth closing around that sensitive little bud that made your eyes roll back in your head. She suckled just enough to make you mewl, your chest rising so quickly with every ministration.

The feeling took over you so quickly, body locking up tight as she was sure to draw you straight to the edge and drive you crazy on the way there. Your eyes squeezed tight and you gripped Wanda’s shoulders, your mouth opening with a cry as you felt the tight band in your core snap.

She gently worked you down from your high, the flush of heat that had consumed you slowly dissipating as she sat up in front of you. Another sweet kiss against your mouth, gently and lovingly working against your lips.

“We should probably get ready, our men will be home soon.” She winked at you, the both of you giggling quietly to yourselves.

Sitting around the Vision’s dining table, the Steak Diane that Wanda had prepared looked incredibly inviting. James turned to Mr. Vision with a smile, “It’s very kind of you both to invite us to dinner.”

“We had to, after all our wives are getting along swimmingly.” He gestured to yourself and to Wanda, raising his wine glass without taking a sip.

You shared a coy look with Wanda, smiling and raising your brows as she chuckled, before the four of you picked up your cutlery to take a bite of the food. James finished his mouthful, turning to the lady of the house to make polite conversation as he placed his cutlery on his plate. “This was delicious, thank you.”

Agreeing as you finished your own mouthful, laying your napkin on the table, “Truly, Wanda, you are talented!”

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling bashfully as she turned to her husband who hadn’t touched his. “Ah, just one of my little tricks.”

James turned to Mr. Vision with a smile, nodding towards their plates. “What is it with wives and being so talented in the kitchen?”

“You’re absolutely right,” He laughed in agreement before looking to you. “You like to cook?”

“I do rather, I’m forever at the stove making something new.” It was your turn to sport a bashful grin.

“What’s your favorite meal to make? Wanda is always whipping up some incredible creations.”

“I quite like meatloaf, I-” You stopped for a moment, turning slowly to your husband. “I make it every night.”

Unsure of why you’d expressed your love for making “something new”, it dawned on you that you made the same meal every evening without fail. James’ expression seemed to match yours, remembering the dinner that you’d had the night before, and the one before that.

A strange feeling tightened in your chest, unease, a feeling that you weren’t able to shake. You looked to Wanda, and the feeling only grew. You’d never seen her look like that before, it wasn’t a look of anger, but one of discontent.

Quickly turning away from her, you looked between her husband and your own. “I make the same dinner every night.” You repeated, shaking your head slightly.

Mr. Vision looked confused, turning to his wife and furrowing his brow at the look she was casting over the table. He darted back to you, before crossing his gaze to James. Wanda spoke up finally, “Well if that’s your favorite meal, you tend to do that, completely normal.”

She pushed her plate back, lifting her wine glass to her lips as she locked eyes with her husband. “Completely normal.”

“But every night?” Mr. Vision spoke up, eyes flickering back to your visible unease. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m just not feeling my self this moment.” You explained, fiddling with your napkin as your chest still felt just as heavy.

“It’s really okay, nothing to get upset over,” Wanda nearly snapped, just enough control over her voice. “Don’t fuss it, Vis.”

“We do have it every night,” James joined, looking to you with wide eyes. “The same meatloaf, the same sides-”

Wanda cut him off with a curt laugh, “It is just meatloaf, it really doesn’t need this much issue.”

“But, my love, it seems to be affecting them a bit more than-”

“Well, that is only because you won’t leave it alone!”

In the heat of the conversation, you tried to readjust your plate but the action cause your wine glass to tip, the red wine falling and spraying across James’ crisp white shirt.

“Oh my word, I am so sorry, I really have forgotten myself.” You rushed up to dab your napkin against his shirt but it was no use, it was only setting.

“What is going on here, Wanda?” Mr. Vision seemed less fazed about the spill and more about the previous conversation.

“Oh, Vision! Would you please just drop it and get Bucky a damp cloth!”

Your frantic hands stopped in an instant, eyes snapping open wide as your husband’s hand came to wrap around your wrist. Eyes darting up to his, you both shared a look of sudden and unbridled fear.

Slowly turning to look at Wanda, her expression had fallen and that same look of discontent was taking over her. You felt a pressure in your head, right behind your eyes as you looked from her and back to your husband. Realization set in as he gripped tighter onto you.

It was as if you couldn’t move, shouldn’t move. Everything had changed in that moment, this thread of perfect that ran through the whole town had unraveled right in front of you, right across the dinner table.

“Wanda,” You began, voice shaking only slightly despite yourself. “I think you need-”

“No,” She spoke once and it held the air of being final. “No, thank you.” 

James finished his mouthful, turning to the lady of the house to make polite conversation as he placed his cutlery on his plate. “This was delicious, thank you.”

Agreeing as you finished your own mouthful, laying your napkin on the table, “Truly, Wanda, you are talented!”

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling bashfully as she turned to her husband who hadn’t touched his. “Ah, just one of my little tricks.”

-

“Did we get anything?”

“They were close, very close, but the scene seemed to reset itself and now all we have is this.”

The TV glowed bright with a slight crackle against it, the technicolor strips took over the space with a single black strip for the only words on screen. 

“PLEASE STAND BY.”