Noir's Pages

You have teeth. It’s the weirdest thing Bailey focuses on. Not your mouth, not the strength that threads and coils your body, not even your voice that speaks with that annoying steadiness as if you thought yourself anything but a nobody. No, it’s your teeth that gets him, that enters his brain like an unwanted parasite.

He knows the different angles of your teeth, of the blood drenched in them when you inevitably sink them into whatever unlucky fuck decided to try and get a hand on you. You don’t scream, you don’t call for help or look to anyone with wet eyes because you don’t think to do so. You just know you have teeth, and so you use them.

Bailey’s seen you rip flesh before. Like a wild, rabid animal that he got straight from the woods. But wild animals have voices. They howl, they scream and they growl. They make themselves known, slot their existence into the weaker minds of others with noise. But you? You let your teeth speak for you, let your hands talk a brutal tune, and let your eyes sing their apathy.

Sometimes, Bailey wonders if you remember any of the people you’ve scarred and taken chunks out of. He’s seen the way you’ve run your tongue over your teeth, the way you click them together near Robin’s ear just to scare him. You probably don’t. Why would you? As far as Bailey knows, they don’t matter to you so long as they leave you alone.

And if they don’t, you always turn those teeth right towards the throat.

It’s kinda funny to him that you somehow never killed anyone. At the same time, he wanted to barge into your room and wrap his hands around your throat. Or perhaps tie you up and toss you into the nearest police station because he knows those pigs hate you. But, that ain’t gonna lead anywhere besides more money leaking out of his pockets when you inevitably beat your way out.

Money, and probably his blood too. You don’t like him. You don’t like many things to be honest, hard to please little shit that you are, but you especially don’t like him, and Bailey’s content to keep it that way because why would he care? What matters is that the public think him decent. Not a saint, not a miracle worker, but decent enough. Kindly enough to be ignored, to turn a blind eye to because he likes nothing more than to count his every growing pile of notes.

That’s all he should care about, but when he’s in the middle of flicking through another week’s worth of notes, your teeth inevitably always flash by his head. Canines sinking into reaching fingers, snapping off the delicate joints with the ease of carrot sticks. Made Bailey’s own fingers ache and suddenly he can’t concentrate on his beloved numbers anymore.

…why sugarcoat it at all? Give you one bad day, one stupid idiot muttering his name like you were some empty-headed doll, and you’ll come right into his office and take all his fingers. Like he’d let you, but the idea would never leave and you wouldn’t stop. Not for anything, and he isn’t about to empty his own pockets just to sick someone on you. Get an extra goon just for you.

He’s not afraid of you and you’re not anything special. But you are trouble, and that Bailey is familiar with.

…he could get someone to bust your teeth, and have someone else pay extra to get a gummy, bloody blowjob. He could collect your teeth and have them plated in gold, arrange them in some fucked up sculpture to sell. At least then he could extract some worth from you after years of leeching off of him.

"You can't sleep again?" You pushed yourself up against the headboard when you saw large blue eyes on a chubby face peer over the staircase. This house didn't exactly have a guestroom, so you have to make do with this odd attic space the Tsukino's have. Usagi's cheeks were red, nose dribbling with clear snot as she sniffled.

"Mm-hmm." She rubbed at her eyes as she crawled over the last steps. She pushed herself upright, and in her little hand was a bunny plushy with colorful moon patches all over it. On her pink sleeve was tear stains. Probably been crying for a while, poor thing.

You parted the curtains, letting moonlight stream in so the kiddo doesn't trip. "Another nightmare?"

Mrs. Tsukino said she's been prone to those and has been at a loss as to what she should do. Usagi would simply wake up weeping, and would cry and cry until her face nearly turned purple. Completely inconsolable.

You never ask Usagi what scared her so much. You don't want to send her into another fit. If she ever wants to tell you, she'll tell you in her own time.

Usagi's eyes started watering again and you simply scooted to the side and patted your bed. Regardless of the clear light of the full moon, she did stumble, but luckily caught herself on the side of your bed. She struggled to climb up, right leg always catching the edge but failing to get over. You reached over and lifted her right up.

She crawled until she got to your legs, and used your thigh as a pillow.

"Another rough night, I get it," You've had your share of nightmares, as well as vivid dreams. Sad to say you've long grown used to it, but the same can't be said to this little girl. The world is already a confusing place, no need for her dreams to make her experiences worse. "Is there something you want to hear?"

She stayed quiet for a while, hand gripping your shirt tight as she quietly hiccuped. You patted her head and waited.

"Princess," Usagi finally mumbled out. She tugged at your shirt as she curled around her stuffed toy. "Can you tell me a story, about the moon princess?"

Ah, right right, the stories you've been working on. Usagi's been oh so fascinated with those, as a lot of kids do when they hear about anything magical. Though, you're pretty sure she's a little more obsessed with those stories than others. She refuses to have her hair in any other style other than the buns. Then there's the rabbits, the moon shapes charms and toys, and can't the cute star and moon stickers plastered all over her room.

Ikuko has never forgiven you for being the cause of this expensive phase. Whoops. But, what is this family to do other than spoil her? She's just a kid after all, she can be treasured like this for just a bit longer.

"Hmm, what kind of story, kiddo?" At the foot of your bed was Usagi's favorite blanket that she brought up here and never took back to her room. You wrapped her up in it and laid down, already feeling the strain of stretching your muscles weirdly. This body of yours certainly loves to randomly fail on you, doesn't it?

"Something," her eyes wavered again, probably remembering her nightmares before shaking her head, "something happy."

"That's pretty vague, but lucky for you, there are lots of happy moments to choose from," you gently massaged your neck, hoping it doesn't decide to seize up on you.

"Really?" Usagi's voice was muffled. She stuffed her face into her rabbit.

"Really, really. Now let's see… how about a story of the moon princess dancing in her first dress?"

"Mm-hmm." A big sniff. You pulled out a napkin and held it to her nose. She honked into it with all her might. "Does she dance with Sov…Sol…"

"Sovereign Serenity?"

"Yeah."

This skinny and rather pathetic sight of a man fell from the sky like a comet in nothing but bruises and underwear. Right in front of you, while you were enjoying a nice cold treat on this hot day. The weather and climbing temperatures had you pretty miffed most of the day, as this was one of your busiest days in university, so you figured you deserved a little treat from one of the many mobile carts and trucks that are always on the road towards the place.

The treat was nice and distracted you from the heat, but now you have this sight in front of you.

“Oh.” You said, because what else were you supposed to say? You’re not really a screaming or yelling kind of person. Lots of weird things happen and it’s always been your motto to just, take things in stride. You’ll be better for it.

You took another bite of your treat before it cooled down too much.

“You okay?” You poked the prone man with your shoe.

The man laying flat on the ground groaned and lifted his fluffy head. “Huh? Wha–” And then he ate rocks just as something else fell from the sky and landed gracefully on that poor dude’s head. He was out like a light.

“Ciao.” A very clear and very childish voice entered your ears, and your annoyance came back. Not in full force and certainly didn’t show on your face, lest you wanted a bullet between your brows.

“…” You took another bite of your treat as you started at little hitman Reborn. He didn’t say anything, but the smile on his face said all. Yeah, he’s not going to let you just walk away and attempt to find peace in this way too hot day. “So,” you took another bite, this stuff’s good, “This is the potential future Vongola Decimo, I take it?”

“Believe it or not,” Reborn kicked himself off this man and landed right in front of you, “this weak Tsunayoshi Sawada is the real deal, as unbelievable as that is. But, that’s why I’m here.”

You knelt and slipped a hand under this Vongola Decimo-to-be’s chin. You lifted his head and made sure to take a good look at what has been presented before you. Evidently, this was enough to bring this man’s consciousness back. He groaned, blinked, then realized you were right there.

Blood rushed to his cheeks, then over his ears, and soon his entire body was covered in a funny red flush like he just came back from a sunny beach sunburned. His eyes widened, his mouth stammered and his attempts to scramble were weighted down by all the bruises and likely heavily sore muscles.

Yikes, so this is what Reborn’s tutelage does to people. Glad you’re not on that side of the fence. But oh boy, this poor man.

You let go, let the squirming man have a break–passed out once more, jeez–then turned to Reborn. “He’s going to be eaten alive.”

“But he’ll survive,” Reborn jumped onto the nearest bench and sat down, petting his strange little lizard friend, “As long as he has the will, he has no choice but to improve. And you’ll be the one to record it all.”

“Yeah, yup, I know that,” You remember the ‘deal’ that was made between your family and Reborn. Well, it was less of a cordial deal and more Reborn just threatening your parents, and then them challenging him back because they can never resist the thrill of a good fight especially when they’re stuck archiving vasts amounts of information from the database crafted by your family. “Well, I better remember to fill up my pen later.”

The battle was lost, obviously since none of you are hitmen, but what Reborn wanted was strange. He wanted you, your eyes and your hands to record everything that is to happen regarding the future Vongola Decimo, even though he could’ve easily requested for free and unhindered access to your family’s database, or even several of your family’s observers and outfield recorders to help with the job.

You. Just you. Perhaps it has something to do with your status as family heir, or your family’s rather interesting history in regards to the Vongola’s. Well, honestly, you suspect Reborn’s trying to break your family’s vow of neutrality and have loyalties skew towards the Vongola’s, but you’ll never get a straight answer out of him.

“Don’t worry though,” said Reborn, black eyes ever observing through people’s veils, “I did promise that you won’t be bored. Just put up with him for a little bit and keep a very close eye on him.”

Is that really something he should be saying to you? You don’t even know this passed out man well enough to dislike him and therefore ‘put up’ with him.

Lucifer was someone you could only tolerate on a good day. He isn’t a bad person by all means. He meets the low low standard of not actively wanting your death, but the little things he does, the small demands he makes of you, they irritate you in such a way that makes you want to avoid him altogether.

Lucifer dropped a pen and he asked you to pick it up. There’s a book too far away and he asked you to get it for him. There are papers that need to be taken to the student council room and he asked you to take them there. You wouldn’t have minded doing these small things. They’re menial tasks that you can easily forget.

But then you began to truly understand him. By the time he asked you to wash his utensils after finishing his dinner, you understood that Lucifer never truly asked for anything. They’re demands wrapped in politeness, things he expected you to fulfill without question, because it fed his pride to have someone at his beck and call, no matter how small and insignificant the task may be.

You remember Mammon calling you paranoid when you told him these things, because understanding the subtly of intentions behind too-small actions was never his calling. But, it took a simple sigh for Mammon to stew in his brain for a little bit to see your point.

Either way, you avoided Lucifer when you could and it took weaponizing Diavolo’s favor towards you for Lucifer to start reigning in his pride just the slightest bit. Diavolo wanted to see you do your human things while Lucifer wanted to refine you to his specifications. Obviously, Diavolo was going to win out and Lucifer had to concede.

And it seems that that particular event actually stuck with Lucifer, because when he would catch himself slipping into old habits, he would clear his throat and either help you out or do these tiny tasks himself. He stopped trying to “perfect” you in those small ways.

Honestly, it wouldn’t mean much to you if it weren’t for the fact that were no other eyes beyond just you and Lucifer. This attempt at trying to treat you like an equal stretched beyond the gazes of everyone else.

So when Lucifer drunkenly texted you near the middle of the night for some company, you figured why not. The both of you are getting along better. You can even say he’s your friend by this point in time. Besides, you’re at that point where you do want to get to know him better.

That and it would probably be pretty fun to see drunk Lucifer in action.

“… and wouldn’t you know it, he came at full sprint. Without a single article of clothing on him,” Lucifer chuckled, pushing his hair back from his flushed face, “Mammon was lucky nobody saw him.”

You snorted, swirling the wine in your glass even though you weren’t going to drink it, “That’s evil, Lucifer.”

“It’s of no fault of my own that my phone misspelled ‘witches’ with ‘riches.’”

“But you didn’t correct it,” you put the glass down and picked up your own phone, wanting some music to fill this quiet air.

“That I didn’t.” Lucifer further slumped into his chair, digging his fingers into his tie before pulling it off.

You found an interesting pick and played some modern classical music. You can save your weirder picks for later. The swell of strings and light presses of piano keys had Lucifer tapping his finger.

Just as you were about to soak in the atmosphere, Lucifer stumbled to his feet.

“Have you ever danced?” Lucifer almost tripped backwards but caught the arms of the chair in time.

“Depends on the dance,” you leaned forward, smiling at this too drunk to function demon.

“Do you want to dance?” Even when you know his head must be swimming, Lucifer tried to be suave and held out his hand. He would’ve tipped forward had you not caught his palm.

“Might as well,” you stood up just to support him, letting him rest most of his weight on you, “Here, let me show you something fun.”

And so you pulled him into a dumb little jiggle of a dance that did not suit the music in the least. Just loud steps, awkward swinging of the arms, the kind of dances you’d do as a kid when coordination and social awareness was just not a thing.

It got Lucifer laughing and you couldn’t help your own chuckles.

Lucifer eventually fell into your arms, too drunk to properly stand and you adjusted his head on your shoulder.

“Whoa there,” you patted his back, guiding the both of you to your knees so you don’t fall, “I think you had enough wine for the night.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer leaned forward, hooking his arms under your shoulders for a hug. You let him. You didn’t mind giving hugs at all.

You let your hands lazily rest on his spine, just letting him be in the moment since you’re pretty sure this man hasn’t had a hug in a while. You’ll let him have this since he probably won’t ask again when he’s sober.

Lucifer further buried himself into your neck and you shifted your weight so your weren’t on your knees. He took a deep breath in and when his fingers trailed down and grabbed at your waist did you stiffen up.

For a moment, you thought you were misunderstanding him, that you were too paranoid and that this was some sensual affection he wanted, nothing more. But then he snuggled deeper, pressed his lips up your neck and rubbed his thumbs over your ribs.

It was a knee-jerk reaction, shoving him away and onto the carpet away from you like that. Honestly, this wasn’t the first time you had your waist grabbed like that by the other brothers in this house. Beelzebub pretty much did that all the time but you knew him. He never meant anything more than that. He’s just a naturally affectionate guy that likes some sensual affection as well.

Lucifer, however, was a different story. Face holding, hand caressing, getting lost in the smell of skin, waist grabbing, all those things aren’t just actions that he would do casually. He places meaning to just about everything he does, as he puts too much effort in refining himself.

Lucifer rose from the floor, hair a mess but eyes wide with surprise and a shocking amount of clarity.

“… sorry,” you murmured as you got up. You don’t want to think deeper on this. You just want to attribute this to him being too drunk and that’s it. There’s nothing hidden in him, nothing that he’s shoving down, no fantasies that he wants to come true. Any and all softness that he’s been showing is because he wants to be your friend and nothing more.

Because if there is more, then he’d have to find out how disgusted you are by that. And you don’t want him to find fault in himself just because that’s how you react. You don’t want to ruin this already fragile friendship.

“It seems…” Lucifer started when you helped him up and back into the chair, “I lost myself a bit there.”

“You did, but don't worry about it, okay?” you backed away, skin unable to stand the thought of touching anything. You need to be in bed, away from here. “Good night.”

Lucifer was… odd to you, to say the least, in terms of the lens you view him under. When not inflated with his pride, he’s someone you can generally tolerate and be able to have civil conversations with, but there’s a distance you want to keep with him.

It’s not out of fear, you can’t fear someone who’s pride gets so easily bruised that he flares up like a bird. No, you keep your distance because the longer you stay around him, the more Lucifer gets the idea that you’ll be happy to be subservient to him. To be his little assistant to bully as he pleases, like a dog hoping for a reward.

You can’t say you’re surprised. A demon of pride like him would value his own pride more than your own, and as such, would want for the taming of your pride with his presence.

You can’t even ask him for help. You just refuse to feed into his pride in any way.

You’re polite when you need to be, but that’s about the extent of it. It irritates you, how your status as a human being leads to Lucifer treating you like less than a capable adult and more an entertaining thing to press and prod.

It’s why you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Diavolo walk into the council room.

In an instant, Lucifer stopped with his teasing smile and lowered his head just a bit in a subtle but clear show of respect to a demon he deemed superior. It can easily be seen as him giving a friendly greeting, but you knew better.

“Ah, Lucifer!” And, of course, Diavolo presence and voice was as loud as ever.

You slipped out of your chair and past Lucifer. You felt a small flare of heat from him, probably for breaking one of his social taboos that he’s so stuck on, but he can’t full out show his anger.

Not when Diavolo was in the room, and certainly not when he’s focusing on you.

Alright, time to internally kill Lucifer.

“Hey there, Big Pup,” you reached your hands out, up into the air, and let your smile get softer when Diavolo instinctively lowered his head towards you, “how you doing?”

You sunk your fingers into his hair and ruffled it around, like you would with any good dog. You almost snorted when you heard Lucifer behind you choke on his own spit.

You didn’t start off with these kinds of friendly greetings with Diavolo, you’re not exactly a person that easily shows open affection. However, you are a pretty blunt person all things considered. You were zoning out and ended up focusing on Diavolo’s hair just because the color was so rich and told Diavolo as such when he asked you why you were staring.

And when Diavolo asked if you wanted to touch, the rest was history. Poor man, the first hair ruffling really left a number on him. His eyes went wide and you can just see the dopamine being shot into his veins. And for the rest of that meeting, his eyes kept drifting back to your hands.

It was silly as well as cute. And now you have the added bonus of it being endlessly entertaining because Diavolo has no qualms with getting your hands on his head with his friends watching.

“I’m doing quite fine, thank you,” Diavolo rumbled out after a delay, almost losing himself to your hands, “Barbatos has been working me to the bone. There’s so much to do.”

“How horrible, but there’s nothing to be done,” you sighed before backing away, pleased by the little sigh of disappointment that left Diavolo’s lips.

“Diavolo,” Lucifer finally recovered enough to speak up, “while it is only us here, it’s best for you to conduct yourself as someone befitting your position. What are you going to do if someone else witnessed you being pet like and called a ‘pup?’”

You just shrugged your shoulders, knowing full well Lucifer was not talking to you, “Hey, he’s the one that gave his stamp of approval. If he wants the pats, he gets the pats.”

His opinion doesn’t really matter and it’s nice to remind Lucifer of it.

“There’s no harm being done, Lucifer,” Diavolo laughed with some shame but you’re glad to see he didn’t give into it, “it’s just a cute human greeting. Perhaps you want to give it a try?”

You pulled your hands out of your pockets, shaping them into claws as though you’re ready to pounce on Lucifer’s head.

“Well?” You asked with a light tilt of your head, knowing he won’t say yes.

“I’ll have to pass,” the vein on Lucifer’s head thickened a bit, jaw tense, but ultimately let it go with a sigh. He’s fighting a losing battle.

You’re not really one to keep up with local news, at least not the news that floats around in your old university. You still get emails from that place, not because of morbid curiosity but because you’re just too lazy to make them shut up. You graduated and you’re glad you did, but occasionally, when you see a header of a notification that relates to anything regarding your final thesis, you end up hissing in a breath and locking yourself up in your private room.

“Idiot,” you swiped at your phone, clearing the latest news of another mage being sent to the hospital because they messed with the spell, “Backlash. It’s on top of the fucking page, bold, all caps!”

If you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t mess with the spell! What it is with mages ignoring that warning? A spell that continues to thrive on the entire existence of these magical pets with absolutely no signs of decaying is one that can and will lash out if one goes about poking at it wrong.

And yet, those old arrogant mages back at your university, they had the audacity to blame these accidents on you just to save their own faces. It’s not your fault their apprentices died. That’s their own fucking fault for not doing proper safety procedures. They really thought their own magic were enough to ensure that.

With a puff of red smoke, your concoction in your mini cauldron was done. You sneezed before reaching in and pulling out a royal red gummy in the shape of a cut jewel.

“There we go, this should be good,” a beautiful replica of an accident you had that led you to your thesis, “Come over here Diavolo, I’m done!”

You can see the hypocrisy of your statement, trying to get this spell off of your own pet. However, those people are not you, nor are they Diavolo. They’re not the ones that spent years carefully studying the layers upon layers of this species wide spell. You know what can and cannot be messed with, and Diavolo knows how to redirect backlash away from everyone.

Besides, Solomon is waiting by the door in case something ticks off his senses. You have many emergency buttons at the ready.

At your call, Diavolo eagerly turned away from the window and flapped right to your shoulder. You let reached out a palm and set him right on the ground.

“Just a small bite, okay?” You waved the treat in front of your nose. Diavolo sniffed it before taking a most delicate bite.

In just three chews, the sound of chains shattering echoed around you. The air, once cool and flowing, became heavy with both the sharp sting of magic and heat. A familiar burn, one that never fails to remind you of a broiling volcano.

You stepped back just as Diavolo glowed white. His form expanded, wings stretching out until they took up the length of your room.

The cocoon of heat only got stronger when the light show finally stopped. You stare up to gold eyes, glowing as his form nearly reached the ceiling.

“Yup,” you crossed your arms, leaning back, “still as big as ever." And bare. You really need to prepare a towel or something if this stays permanent. "You doing alright, Diavolo? Think you can say a few words for me?”

A large huff of breath sweeping over you was all the warning you got before he lowered his muscled form as much as he could under your chin. His wings fluttered when you scratched his head, knocking over some plastic bottles. He closed his eyes, clearly ready to go to sleep.

And not a single word came out of his mouth. Only a heavy clicking from his throat.

From outside your door, you heard Solomon ask, “Well? Did it work?”

You airily laughed. “Nope, another failure. Couldn’t get rid of that lock over his mind.”

Anytime you would enter a specific part of the house, particular the little room that Solomon swore he’d turn into his office one day but never bothered, there would be this pressure on your head. Nothing physical, it doesn’t weigh down in the same way with, say, a book upon your scalp, but more as though there’s a looming hand over your self, waiting to crush you down.

That, as you’ve come to know over the years, was the power behind a high demon’s stare that has rendered so many of your colleges numb with fear. A show of power that has permanently warped the perception of these little creatures that had forms that weren’t those common black blobs.

Honestly, to this day, you could never fully understand why such a stare had this much of an effect on the average person. It felt no different than dealing with a stoic mage who’s been in power for just a bit too long. You thought it was just simple exaggeration, but with what you were taught back in university, that was not the case.

You suppose this was just another privilege that comes with being favored by your little Diavolo.

“You’re not exactly the best at hiding,” you called out, lightly spinning the platter of food out of boredom, “you can come out of the bookshelf now. I know you’re hungry.”

Whenever you come face to face with this little feathered creature, you can tell he has no clue how to interact with you. You’ve bore witness to his glare when Diavolo first brought him here in this house, but that was only time he ever thinned his eyes so. You remember Diavolo widening his wings, just the slightest bit, and just like that, the black bird with peacock patterned feathers became complaint, in a way.

In a way, besides the horns, this demon reminded you of those beautiful sirens with their many vibrant feathers. Though, mostly, you have to say he looks like a corrupted version of those angel doves that have been rising in popularity. Though, compared to them, this poor critter was but a shadow. Whatever stress he was under before being brought here was apparent in his various bald spots and weak plumage.

You set the platter on and he still doesn’t look at you in the eyes. You stand before him as he settles himself on Solomon’s disused desk, eyes bouncing around your form rather than at it. He didn’t fear you, you would recognize that body language. Rather, it seems like this demon dove was trying to keep himself quiet in the way one would inside a temple.

This bird you have yet to name didn’t fear you, but he felt on the cusp of it.

“Oh, has he started eating yet?” And, of course, Solomon would pop his head in at an unfortunate time.

As though the food vanished out of existence, the little bird leveled a harsh glare to your roommate. His wings, shabby as they are, widened as though to flap him away, the peacock patterns in his feathers swirling in such a way that reminded you that, yes, this was in fact a demon. They reminded you of his own eyes.

Solomon, much like you, was unaffected by his hostility, though he didn’t cross into the room. Glad to see he’s keeping your advice in mind. One has to be delicate with these creatures that are full of distrust.

And, just so Solomon doesn’t try anything while you’re not looking, you push him back and closed the door.

You simply sighed. Solomon knows what he did wrong.

“You know…” he started.

You just hummed for him to continue.

“I have to say, this is my house and that little guest of yours makes me feel like I don’t belong here. He treats me like a bother, an unwanted vagabond, in my own home.”

“I mean, can you blame him?” you shrugged, “The first person he saw was me, so he probably thought this house was mine.”

“It just, such a shame,” Solomon shook his head, “First you steal Barbatos from me,”

“Buddy, I had no control over that one.” He’s never going to let that one go, huh?

“And now you have another powerful pet at your disposal with seemingly no effort at all. You have to understand my frustration with all this.”

You snorted. “I know and it’s funny for me.”

“Your cruelty knows no bounds, does it?”

Honestly, you could never understand the reverence a lot of your fellow ex-students would give towards their own pets. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it, but there’s something about the kind of worship they’d show that would put a bad taste in your mouth. You treat something like a untouchable god, you inevitably end up putting a distance that you’ll never want to cross.

Those students packed on so many rules, they never failed to stifle you just by hearing them. And oh, the amount of times you were forced through lecture after lecture about the “proper” way to respect your pet, like you haven’t had Diavolo for years. All because he just so happens to be a creature that all other pets bow down to.

You must always wait for him to eat before you do. You must give up your bed if he finds it suitable. Never sleep in the same space as him. Clean yourself up, as your conduct reflects his. Correct your stance, as you must hold up to the reputation such as creature has.

Fuck off.

You can imagine all those high class people clutching at their pearls when you woke up to Diavolo flat on the back of your head, all four wings spread right over your face and ears like he’s trying to keep the sun’s leaking rays out. His little claws were lightly hooked on your scalp, just to keep himself from sliding down.

You reached up, slowly nudging the dozing creature off your head and onto the pillow next to you. Naturally, the loss of warmth woke him up, though he wasn’t fully alert. He looked ready to fall back asleep but he could never sleep without you nearby. You sat up, allowing Diavolo to crawl and curl into your lap. His leathery wings twitched and flapped and you couldn’t resist smoothing your thumb over them.

“Mornin’ little guy,” you sighed out, patting his back of dark red scales with flecks of gold. "You're more tuckered out than usual, huh?"

No matter how many years have passed, you still find his pattern to be fascinating. The vibrancy of that gold was suiting for his status, though even with that fact made apparent to you time and time again, it still felt far away.

The most powerful pet known to anyone, as you’ve been told, and yet it has not clicked with you. Diavolo is just Diavolo to you. Nothing more than a small demonic dragon that wants to be spoiled by your touches.

“Hm?” the curtains of your room weren’t exactly the blackout kind, but there’s just enough darkness to highlight the vein-like patterns on a certain pet’s tail. “Oh, it’s you. Morning. Shouldn’t you be with Solomon?”

And, of course, the little critter with the odd skeletal wings for horns never said a word to you beyond a very slow blink.

“You here for Diavolo again?” you laid back down, losing all motivation to get up, “Well, you’re gonna have to wait. I’m still tired.”

After Solomon’s trip up a mountain for a specific flower for his potions, you need all the rest you can get. He may be letting you stay here in his house, but your body was a thing with limits and you’re not about to exceed them. He can stand to let you be a little selfish, especially since, if you ever wanted to leave, his little pet Barbatos would follow you.

Somehow or another, Diavolo managed to charm him and it’s been a thing Solomon has never let go of. It’s hilarious, really.

Rarely do you ever speak, but even more so does Muzan ever listen. When has your apparition appeared behind him? Was it a year after he deemed your attempts to heal him a failure? Or was it ten or a hundred? The years all start to blend together the farther he goes back in his memory, but your shadow was cast over him for as long as his blood became his weapon as well as his vice.

The existence of ghosts was a laughable concept to him, once upon a time. They weren’t as real as the illness that refused to leave his body be, but Muzan can see your eyes reflecting back at him from the burnt flask of another failed attempt to conquer the sun.

Muzan had a nightmare, once, a few years after the euphoria of his immortality was replaced with fear for the sun.

Where he can finally face the hated sun with his newly crafted self, only for the earth to break apart and swallow him. He clung to the ledge, dug his fingers into the bedrock because he refused to give into the fate the world always tries to press on him. Sharp stone cut into his palm and red spider lilies bloomed forth as though they were seeds. They trailed down, dripped into the cavernous maw with flames and ash waiting at the bottom, and when he looked up, his face was tickled by the elusive blue spider lilies.

He didn’t think. He reached out and grabbed, not caring if it sealed his fate into the underworld. But hands grasped his neck in a bruising vice. Nails dug into his skin and a voice, professional and familiar, whispered over the shell of his ear, “You and I will share in failure. I’ll make sure of it.”

He attacked the innkeeper that heard his night struggles. He created his first demon. A demon that did not survive the sun. Long after Muzan hid away from the rays, your figure lingered at the edge of his vision. You did not disappear, even now as he threw away the useless flask into the trash.

“It is a beautiful flower,” you spoke, clear and crisp in his ear as though you were only a few inches away despite you being on the other side of the room, “the blue spider lily. No other flower can ever replace it.”

The beaker in Muzan’s hand shattered, but the glass did nothing to his skin. He was not in a dream.

“Failure after failure, that’s how it will be,” Muzan knows he can’t make you speak, but he also knows he can’t make you shut up. The shards he threw at you simply passed through, “in that search of yours.”

“How cruel, you just let me fall…” He groaned on the floor, clutching the legs of a nearby nightstand to try and fail to get up. Little tears dot the edges of his eyes and all you can think is how pathetically adorable he is, even if this was all an act to bury his discomfort from your eyes.

Really, he can never be truly vulnerable with anyone, so for him to even struggle with walking, with someone to witness him as he flounders about, he has to place some humor in.

“You don’t learn lessons when they’re told to you,” you stated as you sipped your drink, “It’s not my fault you didn’t believe me when I said you’re not in any state of walking. Besides, I just like seeing you sprawled on the floor like that. It’s entertaining.”

Of course, you didn’t leave him there for long. After one or two attempts at trying to stand on his feet, you reached down and lugged the man back onto the bed that you really should replace. You’ve had it for too many years. You can tell too when Crusnik you saw his face pinch into a held back wince.

“I suppose you do like to see me in a fair bit of pain.” Oh, look at that, he can let go of his silly old man-ish tendencies. Though that smile of his was less subdued, as though joking with himself, it had a serenity to it that reminded you of the moons in the sky. It wasn’t a permanent sight though. He caught himself with a nervous waving of his hands. “Oh! Not that I’m suggesting that you’re a torturer or the like! Sorry, sorry.”

“No need to sugarcoat the truth at my expense, Crusnik,” you pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, just to be nice. He grabbed them, like a kid being put to bed though wanted more than anything to jump out. “I can’t deny any of it.”

“…Crusnik, huh?” Crusnik mumbled out, tasting his own code name. He looked a bit dour. “My name isn’t something forbidden. You can call me Abel. Or Father. Or Father Nightroad. I won’t be mad.”

You could. You could most certainly scream his name to the sea if you wanted to, in joy or in anger. It’s not as though you’ll receive some divine punishment if you do. And, the both of you are friends to one another, or a least amiable enough to warrant such a status.

“I’m aware, Crusnik. No need to worry your head over it.” You leaned over and lifted Abel’s head just to sweep his hair back from the jumbled mess it was.

However, you know him. Perhaps it’s because you’re eyes are too sharp or you’ve spent too many years around seedy terrans and methuselah alike to know when people are not truly open with you. Crusnik’s a good man. A funny man. An entertaining one certainly. But you know an act when you see it. He’s let himself slip one too many times for you to believe it didn’t exist.

Abel Nightroad is a good man, and will tell everyone who asks how dear of a friend you are to him. And yet, this very status is what makes him tighten up that mask of his. He really, truly doesn’t want you to poke into him too deeply, to see what makes Abel Nightroad the man that he is.

Nothing more than a suspicion, a rumor told to Raizel through the lips of the ever talkative Lord who so enjoys the gossips of the humans in these vast territories.

"'A calamity will be upon our shores' a fisherman once said, 'the sea, she whispers rather than roars. Something has her scared and I don't think I want to be anywhere near what it spits out. I'm taking my family and going.' Humans instincts are certainly interesting, don't you think?"

He never stated if it was a false rumor nor dismissed it as a humorous tale. Humans are weak, fearful beings with an inner strength that simply doesn't match their bodies. If they could, well what use would the nobles be? The purpose ingrained in them since birth would be denied at a such a thing, and Raizel can't think of a better way to go. A world of humans that simply don't need them anymore, a world where the shackles upon his being, upon the nobles that he silently protects, broken to do as they pleased.

Such a place does not exist, not at this moment. Perhaps the day will never come.

Humans gossip and share so many stories and fables. To the older nobles, they're laughable, but to those even older, to those ancient, they know how very real these tales are to the weaker beings. Truth can be dissected from the false and it is his purpose to watch, wait and discover the truth that many others would rather turn a blind eye to.

And so here Raizel stands, upon the white-gold sands that welcome the gentle ocean as it barely touches the tips of his shoes. There's not a single human in sight. The winds carry not a single whisper of their presence, however, it was not alone.

You were there, sitting on a wooden dock who's legs have long been eaten by the salt of the sea and by time. A well used dock that had witness to many a maiden voyage. A dock on the verge of collapsing, all it would need would be a strong wave. And yet there's not a single ripple of movement in the water around you. A perfectly silent sea, a makeshift pond, surrounded by an ocean that roared and rains that cut.

This spot could've been a paradise for the wind-chilled, but to Raizel, it reminded him of his own home. Many would call him a fool for walking and standing besides you. The Lord would join him with a gentle smile on his face. He's always so jubilant towards him and the other nobles while so gentle at the mention of humans.

Raizel also has a feeling he would still be gentle, even at beings that pretend to be human.

You didn't turn around, eyes empty of human understanding gazed into the horizon beyond.

"How do I tell them?" you asked, an arm resting on your knee, "How do I tell that cluster of humans, that 'family,' that their kin was consumed by me?"

"…why would you feel the need to?" This remark was not meant to sound callous. It's simple curiosity. A test, of sorts. In all his long life, Raizel is not ignorant of the monsters that may crawl in nature. To an extent, Raizel always felt there was something lurking just beneath his vision. However, Raizel was not a fighter, he was a guardian that turns into one if need be. He will not shun a guest, unless their intentions are less than neutral.

"…because this human deserves it." you touched your own face, as though missing the warmth it once held, "because the family that raised this human deserves it. This urge is weird. I'm not familiar with such feelings that are not hunger. And the cold."