cicada🪲

fav cheerleader for mc only

Solomon x reader, based on this request. I hope you like it, 📘 anon! I took a few creative liberties but tried to keep the essence of your request. <3

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Returning to the human world came with a period of adjustment. You had just  lived a life of adventure and experienced friendships and family bonds that surpassed anything you had ever known. There was nothing that could compare to it, not even close.

For an entire year, you lived under a roof with seven unruly brothers, all vying for your attention. Waking up to Mammon sleeping on your floor, being dragged into Asmo’s room for an impromptu spa day, quietly reading next to Satan. You didn’t just grow accustomed to it, you relied on it. So when you returned home to your small apartment in the city, you could hardly bear the change.

One day you were waking up to the smell of exotic foods being prepared in a lavish kitchen, the next you were awoken by the damp smell of a very old apartment. You had learned to love the sound of the brothers' petty bickering, laughing to yourself as you eavesdropped on their ridiculous arguments. Now you heard screaming matches and bottles breaking and the creaking of wood. 

But that was nothing compared to the silence. The silence was unbearable.

No records playing from the music room, no laughter, no Levi screaming at his screen as he got yet another bad ending. Rather than the comforting sound of chaos, there was silence. And it was wearing you down.

You bought new candles for the apartment and told yourself the vanilla scent helped. You rearranged your bookshelf. You made a list of things to look forward to that you had missed while away. Coffee from the place on the corner, the farmer's market on Saturdays, the way autumn was beginning to press golden light through the city windows.

The list sat untouched on your kitchen counter for weeks.

You went through the motions of a normal life. Work was fine. Your colleagues were nice enough. The city was the same city it had always been, full of noise and colour and the kind of human chaos that had once felt like more than enough. It wasn't enough anymore. 

The messages helped ease the painful longing. They came in at odd hours because none of the brothers had ever quite grasped the concept of time zones, and you suspected they simply didn't care. 

And then there was Solomon.

Solomon called, rather than texted. He would call and you would sit on your windowsill with your knees pulled to your chest and he would talk about his research, about a new spell that had gone interestingly wrong. He asked about you in a way that was never direct, slipping the question in between other sentences like he was hoping you might answer before you realised you'd been asked. Although he had returned back to the human world as well, he lived just as far. 

“It must be a breath of fresh air to be home again” he would say.

"It's quiet," you told him one evening, several weeks in. "I didn't realise how loud the House of Lamentation was until I wasn't in it anymore."

You could picture him, settled into some chair with his robe draped over the back of it, his expression easy and inquisitive.

"I know how it feels," he said eventually. "Although Luke and Simeon were much quieter, it’s odd not having someone to bounce my ideas off of. Or to sample my recipes."

You chuckled lightly at his last comment. The first sound of happiness since you had returned.

The calls continued, each one a little longer than the last. You talked about magic the way you had during your lessons in the Devildom, him explaining things with the chaos and disorganization of someone who understood a topic so entirely, they forgot how to explain it to a beginner. You would ask questions that were sometimes naive and sometimes not, both of you building on previous conversations until it had become a single, long discussion broken into chapters. 

He was an extraordinary teacher. Not warm in the way Simeon was warm, not enthusiastic in the way that Levi became enthusiastic about the things he loved. Solomon taught as though he was thinking things through again alongside you, and that your presence in that process was genuinely useful to him.

It was one of the things you had always liked most about him.

A month went by, then another. The apartment was still damp, quiet, and the radiator had begun making a sound like something small and miserable living inside the walls, which suited the general atmosphere. You ate whatever was cheapest and easiest, which was increasingly not much. The exchange program had not exactly left you as they found you, and readjusting to a salary that covered rent and utilities and very little else was difficult. You didn’t think about it much. There were larger things to feel grey about.

It was on a Thursday evening in the fourth month that the knock came at the door.

You were not expecting anyone. You were still in the state of not expecting anyone that involved having your dishes left in the sink and your textbooks open across the kitchen table alongside a meal that could barely be described as a meal. The knock came again.

Solomon looked exactly as he always had. Ageless, composed, and faintly amused by something he was choosing not to mention. He was in his long coat rather than his robe, which was the closest he came to human world dressing. His silver hair caught the light from the bare bulb in your hallway and his grey eyes took in the door frame, the hallway, and then you in a single sweep.

"You didn't tell me you were coming," you said.

"I didn't want to," he replied, which was a perfectly Solomon answer. Honest to the point of being slightly rude without any awareness that this was the case. 

"Come in," you stood aside, and he did.

He moved through the apartment, paying close attention to everything while appearing to pay attention to nothing. He didn’t comment on the dishes. He didn’t comment on the textbooks, the unfinished meal, or the radiator, which chose that moment to make one of its more expressive sounds. He looked at the window and at the ceiling, where a watermark from some previous tenant's leak had been painted over imperfectly. He looked at the small bookshelf where your Devildom texts were shelved next to your university books. He looked at the meal on the table.

You watched him look at all of it, and you felt faintly embarrassed. Not because you had not been aware of the state of the apartment, you had simply stopped seeing it as something worth fixing. But Solomon seeing it made it noticeable again. 

He sat down at your kitchen table without being invited, which was also very Solomon, and looked at you.

"How long have you been living like this?" he asked.

"Like what?" you asked, and even as you asked it you knew you were not going to convince him.

"The heating is practically nonexistant," he said in the same tone he might use to observe a spell circle that had been drawn incorrectly. "The walls are damp and cracked. And you've been eating," he glanced at the table, "that."

"It's soup."

"Maybe it used to be."

You sat down across from him and there was a pause you didn’t bother filling. You usually filled silences, it was something Solomon occasionally pointed out as an endearing quirk. You didn’t know how to fill this silence.

"I'm still readjusting to my old life," you said eventually.

"That’s not what I’m seeing…" An awkward pause filled the silence. You opened your mouth to speak. You weren’t sure what you were going to say, really. Scold him for judging your life, sarcastically thank him for his astute observations, or  politely lead him to the door. You already knew it wouldn’t be the last option. Before you could get a word out, he spoke.

"I came here with a proposal," Solomon said, and his voice shifted into something that was slightly more composed. "Your study of the magical arts is at a stage where it would benefit from more… intensive guidance. You have a natural talent that is currently going to waste in," he paused briefly, "these circumstances. Distractions are not conducive to meaningful progress, and financial and environmental distractions are especially hard to ignore."

You looked at him. He had his hands folded on the table, his expression giving absolutely nothing away. 

"Well… I can’t exactly make money appear out of thin air," you said. “And I can’t afford to move.”

"I know, which is why I’m here to offer you a room in my home. If you want to, of course. You would have proper accommodation, dedicated space for study, access to my library, and be able to continue your studies in peace. Your progress would not be hindered by," the same tactful pause "external stressors." Prick.

You met his eyes. There was something in his expression that made you shift in place. He wasn’t telling you something, wasn’t revealing the entire truth. But this was Solomon, your teacher and friend, the only other human who had been by your side as you learned to navigate a new realm. You trusted him.

"When?" 

"When you're ready."

"Give me a week."

"A week," he agreed.

He stayed for another hour, making tea using your kettle and the tea bags in your cupboard with an odd familiarity. He talked about the new inscription method he had been developing while you sat across from him. You let yourself be simply in his company, which was something you had not let yourself want openly until this moment. When he left, he paused in the doorway, and he looked at you one more time with those stormy eyes that seemed to uncover every hidden thing.

"A week," he said.

"A week," you confirmed.

The door closed and you stood in the hallway for a moment. You opened your D.D.D. and sent a quick message before seating yourself at the table. Something that had been very tightly held in your chest for months released just a fraction. Just enough. 

Your D.D.D. lit up before you had even set it down.

You had made a mistake, you realised immediately upon sending a brief message to the group chat explaining that you would soon be moving. With Solomon. 

Mammon: WJAT?? SOLOMON?? YOU CNT BE SERIOUS

Asmodeus: OHH~ I'm not saying Solomon has ulterior motives but I'm absolutely saying Solomon has ulterior motives ;)

Leviathan: this is literally a villain origin story. sorcerer isolates the protagonist from their support network. chapter one.

Asmodeus: also WHY does HE get to have you and we're just HERE 

Satan: If he does anything I would find objectionable, I demand to be contacted immediately. 

Belphegor: ...so you're going to go live with a weird old man?

Beelzebub: We miss you here. Please eat properly. 

Lucifer: I trust you are aware of what you are doing. I will say nothing further. 

You stared at your phone for a moment and giggled before sending back a single response.

You: He's helping me practice magic.

Mammon's reply came in under four seconds.

Mammon: THATS WHAT THEY ALL SAY

You set the D.D.D. face down on the table and went to find a box.

The move itself was not complicated, and you owned less than you had thought. The books were the most of it, and Solomon helped you carry everything through a portal, which you were grateful for.

What you had expected, however, was a house. Solomon lived alone, and there was something about his transient lifestyle that had conjured, in your mind, a modest place. A cottage maybe, with too many books and not enough furniture. The kind of home suited for a scholar because he had never thought to want more than four walls and a desk.

What you stepped out of the portal to face was not that.

The building rose in front of you in a way that felt never ending. Stone like old parchment with ivy climbing up the walls and windows tall enough to walk through standing upright. 

"You live here," you said breathily. It wasn't really a question. It came out flatter than you meant it to, mostly because your brain hadn't caught up with your mouth yet.

"I do," Solomon said, already walking toward the door as though this were as unremarkable as mentioning the weather. "Something the matter?"

"You never mentioned you lived in a palace."

"It's not a palace." He glanced back at you, amused, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "Palaces have staff. I have several irritable spirits bound to the east wing, and a garden that occasionally tries to eat itself."

"That's worse."

"At least it’s honest."

You supposed it made sense, once your mind had room to think about it properly. He had been alive for centuries, outliving kingdoms or even entire civilizations. Of course the house he'd built for himself somewhere along the way would have to be grand enough to hold his history. Still, rationalizing something and standing in front of it were very different experiences.

The inside didn’t ease your shock. Stone floors covered in rugs ranging across the eras, shelves climbing the walls with books from every corner of the Earth. There was an unlit chandelier hung with something that looked like enchanted glass.

"This way," Solomon said, and led you up a staircase that curved wide enough for three people to walk side by side, though it was only the two of you and the sound of your footsteps. He stopped in front of a door on the second floor, one of many along the long hallway.

"This is yours," he said, and opened it.

The room was larger than your entire apartment back home. Which, in all fairness, wasn’t hard to beat. A bed in deep blue linens sat beneath a window that overlooked the garden he'd mentioned, the one that apparently tried to eat itself, though from here it just looked like an ordinary garden. There was a writing desk already stocked with paper and ink, an empty bookshelf clearly waiting for you to fill it, and a wardrobe that seemed just large enough to fit all of your clothes.

You felt a bit overwhelmed, if you were being honest with yourself, and your throat tightened before you could even be embarrassed about it. 

"This is too much," you said honestly, voice quiet and taut.

"It's just a room," Solomon said. "Rooms are meant to be lived in, and this one was empty. Now it isn't." He said it plainly, like the logic was simple. Maybe it was. "There's a bathroom through that door, and if you don’t like this desk I have others."

"The desk is fine."

"Good." He lingered a moment in the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, watching you take it in with an expression that bordered smugness. Satisfaction. "Get settled. We'll start tomorrow."

The days folded into a comfortable rhythm you hadn't expected to find so quickly. Mornings were dedicated to your studies, the human kind, while Solomon tended to his own matters. The afternoons belonged to magic, spent with circles chalked and erased so many times the stone beneath had begun to hold a permanent outline of them all.

He would think out loud beside you rather than lecturing at you, correcting your hand placement with a familiarity that made you wonder how many students he'd had before you, and whether any of them had lasted this long.

"Again," he'd say, breath brushing against the shell of your ear when your circle wavered. You would draw it again, and again, and again until your wrist ached and the lines came easier.

He insisted that you didn’t work in a way that allowed no negotiation. He insisted that it would just become a distraction from what was most important.

"Think of it as a scholarship, of sorts," he told you when you'd hesitantly brought up the idea of paying rent. "Room, board, and my considerable expertise, in exchange for your undivided attention. That is your one obligation."

"That doesn't feel fair on your end."

"I disagree. In the Devildom, your attention was divided seven ways. Someone always wanted something from you, and you always gave it because that's simply the kind of person you are." He paused, something crossing his face before he tucked it away again. "Your full attention is more valuable than you realize, and now it’s mine alone." You dropped the topic after that. 

He also insisted you learn to make your own portals, rather than relying on his. "You cannot spend your whole life stepping through doors someone else has opened for you," he said on the day he finally decided you were ready to attempt one unsupervised. It went badly and continued to go badly for the next several attempts, some landing you in the wrong hallway, others in what you were fairly sure was a supply closet three streets from where you meant to be. 

He never once looked frustrated. If anything, he looked pleased by your attempts. Right up until the morning you opened a clean, correct portal straight to your lecture hall. That night he ordered food to the house and celebrated you for your achievement while you both laughed over your failed attempts.

You began leaving each afternoon through your own doorway, and each evening you would step back through it into a house that had somewhere along the line started to feel less like his and more like yours as well.

It was in the second month that you started to notice his habits more clearly, the parts that didn't show themselves in a single afternoon or conversation but only became visible once you'd lived alongside someone.

Solomon worked constantly. You had known that he was dedicated to his craft, but now you felt it. He was in his study before you woke and often still there when you went to bed. Meals happened around him rather than with him more often than not, and you'd started quietly leaving him something small and less distracting. Fruit, crackers, things he could eat without breaking his concentration.

Getting his attention outside the hours he'd set aside for your lessons had become a challenge. You would knock, he would tell you that he’d be just a moment, and that moment would stretch into forty minutes.

You didn't resent him for it, which somehow surprised you. There was something almost endearing about watching a man who had lived for centuries still lose himself so completely in the act of learning one more thing. But you missed him, you realized, even while sitting across from him.

So on the evenings your own studies ran late and you came home to find the light still on beneath the study door, you began, without quite deciding to, letting yourself in anyway.

This time it was nearing midnight when you got back. You'd stayed after your last class to finish an assignment you'd let slip further than you meant to, and by the time you cut your portal home your eyes were heavy and your bag felt like it had gained fifty pounds. The house was dark except for the one line of gold beneath his door. Same as always.

You didn't knock this time. You pushed the door open to find him seated on a cushion, hunched over the coffee table with a candle burning low and a page covered in his sharp, slanted handwriting. One hand steadied the parchment while the other hand scribbled words in a foreign language, murmuring something under his breath that might have been the words of the spell itself or might have just been him thinking out loud.

He didn't look up. "You're back late."

You dropped your bag by the door, gently enough not to disturb the candle, and crossed the room toward him. "You're up later."

"I'm close to something." He still hadn't looked up, his focus entirely on the page.

You didn't say anything else, knowing it would be pointless. You crossed the room quietly and knelt on the floor behind him instead, close enough that your knees pressed into the cushion at his back. Before he could ask what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around him from behind and rested your chin against his shoulder, letting your whole weight settle gently into him.

His pen paused, just barely, a hitch so small you might have missed it if you weren't already used to reading him.

"Comfortable?" he asked, and there was something in his voice that wasn't quite steady.

"Very," you said, and meant it. You could feel the warmth of him through his shirt and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. You let your eyes fall half shut, content simply to be near him after a day that had felt way too long.

He continued writing, and you let your hands slide down from where they'd settled at his chest, tracing along his forearms until you found the marks there, the pacts inked into his skin in symbols. You traced one gently with your fingertip, following the line of it the way he might trace a spell circle. Unhurried. Curious.

You'd seen his marks before in passing, but you'd never really looked. Not like this, not with the patience to let your eyes follow where they wanted to go. So slowly, giving him every chance to shift away or tell you to stop, you slid your hand beneath the hem of his shirt at the small of his back and eased the fabric up.

He let out a small exhale, sounding loud in the quiet room. He didn't stop writing. He didn't tell you to stop, either.

More marks traced up the plane of his back in an array of shapes and sizes. You touched them one at a time, unhurried, memorizing each the way you'd memorize a new spell. Then your fingers found one near the base of his spine and paused there entirely.

You knew that mark, the particular flourish at the tail of the line. It was unmistakably Asmodeus's, and you could recognize it anywhere because you carried one just like it yourself.

"This one," you said quietly, tracing the curve of it, "is Asmo's."

"Mm." He agreed without words. "He insisted on the placement himself. It was either there, or somewhere I won’t even mention."

"It's the same as mine."

"I know." The pen came to a halt between his fingers. "He told me. It was not a small distraction, either."

You let your palm rest flat over the mark, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your hand, and felt him hold very still beneath the touch.

"You're going to make me lose my place," he said, though he made no attempt to stop you, and his pen had been resting against the page for the last minute or so.

"Am I bothering you?"

"No," he said immediately, nearly cutting your sentence short. "You're not."

You smiled against his shoulder, tracing the mark a second time, slower. "You work too much."

"I know, and I’m sorry. I don’t mean to neglect my dear apprentice," he said lightly, almost teasing, as though he were trying to remove some of the tension.

"I miss you. Even when you're two rooms away."

His hand came up then, covering yours where it rested against his arm. He didn’t stop the movement so much as simply hold it there, the two of you still for a moment in the candlelight. "I know the feeling," he said, quiet enough that you almost missed it.

You stayed like that a while, your arms around him and his hand over yours, the candle burning lower, ink drying on the page he'd abandoned. Eventually he set the pen down entirely and turned just enough to look at you properly, and there was something in his expression you hadn't seen from him before. Something unguarded.

"Sit by me," he said. "Not draped over me like an affectionate scarf."

"I like being a scarf."

"I'm sure you do." He said as he was shifting regardless, turning enough to guide you around the edge of the cushion and into his lap gently, giving you time to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. You settled against him, head tucked beneath his chin, and felt his arms come around you.

"You know," you said, tracing one more slow line along his forearm, "you told me my one obligation here was to give you my undivided attention. Something about how valuable it was."

"I did say something along those lines, yes."

"That's a bit difficult to do when you spend most of your hours locked away." 

You tipped your head back against his shoulder, just enough to catch the edge of his expression. "I've been trying to hold up my end of the bargain. You haven't exactly made it easy to hold up yours."

You felt him laugh softly before you heard it. "A fair point," he admitted. "Though in my defense, some of us find it difficult to abandon three hundred years of habit for anything less than proper motivation."

"And what would count as proper motivation?"

"You're currently sitting in my lap tracing the pact marks on my skin. I'd say you've found it."

You laughed, and he tightened his arms around slightly, like he wasn't quite ready to let the moment end. The candle flickered low beside you, throwing shifting light across the abandoned page. You shifted slightly to look at him, to say something light and teasing, only to find his eyes already on you.

His eyes moved over your face like he was weighing the option of something. Then he reached up, brushing a strand of hair back from your face, fingers lingering at your jaw.

He kissed you then, slow and careful, like he was still giving you every opportunity to change your mind, right up until you didn't. Your hand came up to rest against his jaw, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, drawing you closer with the same unhurried patience he brought to everything he did. Like he had all the time in the world to memorize this too.

When he finally pulled back enough to look at you, his composure had visibly diminished. He looked almost startled by himself.

"Well," he said.

"Well," you repeated, smiling against the last inch of space between you.

He exhaled something that wasn't quite a laugh, resting his forehead against yours. "I had a whole explanation prepared, you know. For why I asked you to come live here."

"I remember. It was very convincing."

"It was mostly true." His thumb traced idle circles at the nape of your neck. "But not entirely."

"What was the rest of it?"

He was quiet again, and this time you let the silence linger for just a moment, watching the candlelight catch in his grey eyes as he worked toward whatever he'd been avoiding since the day he showed up uninvited at your apartment door.

"I was lonely," he said finally. Plainly. "I have been for a very long time. In a way I stopped mentioning because there was no one left to mention it to. And then you were a thousand miles away in a broken apartment, and I told myself I was simply concerned for your wellbeing." He paused. "I was. But it wasn't only that."

"Solomon."

"I missed you enough that it became all I could think about. I told myself many practical reasons for bringing you here. Most of them were true, but none were the real reason."

You reached up and pressed your palm flat against his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. Something about his confession resonated with you, and you knew you had needed him just as deeply as he had needed you.

"You could have told me the truth."

"I've lived a very long time without needing to tell the truth. I'm out of practice."

"You're doing fine so far."

That earned you the smallest smile. "High praise, from my one and only apprentice."

He kissed your forehead this time, and let his cheek rest there after. "Stay up with me tonight. Not for spellwork. Just this."

"Don’t you have a casting circle to finish?"

"It will be fine. It has kept for three centuries, and can certainly keep another few hours." 

His arms tightened around you, and beneath the humor you could hear something that sounded almost like relief. "I'd rather not be lonely tonight, if it's all the same to you."

After your birth control mysteriously vanishes, you find yourself unprepared as your first period in the Devildom creeps nearer. Hiding your pain from the brothers, you seek help from Barbatos, the calm butler whose quiet glances and stolen moments have slowly kindled something between you. In the Demon Lord’s Castle, his gentle care forces you to finally acknowledge the unspoken feelings that have been blooming for months.

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

“Fuck,” you cursed softly under your breath as you rummaged through the drawers of your dresser, vanity, and closet. Clothes and trinkets tumbled out in chaotic heaps until your room looked like the aftermath of a demolition zone. 

“No. No, no, no,” you muttered, panic clawing at your chest. Your birth control was gone. You were certain you still had at least three months’ worth left, yet the familiar packet was nowhere to be found. Last night you had completely forgotten to take your pill before going out with Asmo and Mammon, and you had planned to take the next one this morning before heading to RAD. Yet here you stood in the center of the mess, feeling like the main protagonist of some cruel divine comedy. How could you have been so careless?

A firm knock on your door jolted you from your spiral. 

“Y/N, breakfast began nearly ten minutes ago,” Lucifer’s voice carried through the wood. “I expect you in the dining hall in the next five minutes.”

You swallowed hard, forced a steady breath, and called back, “Coming!” 

There was no time to clean the chaos. You shoved what you could back into drawers, smoothed your uniform, and hurried downstairs, heart hammering like a war drum.

The dining hall buzzed with the usual morning energy. Plates clinked, voices overlapped in easy banter. Beelzebub was already halfway through a second helping of pancakes, Mammon was complaining loudly about the stock market, and Leviathan muttered something about a new game update between bites. Belphie wasn’t at the table, which wasn’t a rare occurrence for the demon of dreams. Asmodeus flashed you a bright smile as you slipped into your seat, and Satan offered a quiet nod from across the table. Lucifer presided at the head, ever the picture of composed authority.

For several minutes the chatter flowed around you light and familiar. You tried to laugh at the right moments, to nod along, but the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second. Your period hadn’t fully started yet, but the dread of it arriving unprepared made the food taste bitter on your tongue.

Mammon’s sharp eyes flicked toward you after a lull. “Oi, Y/N, you’ve been starin’ at your plate like it owes you some Grimm. You good?”

The table quieted a fraction. Beelzebub slowed his chewing, glancing over with a faint frown. Leviathan looked up from his D.D.D., thumb still hovering over the screen, his expression shifting from distracted to mildly concerned. 

Asmodeus leaned forward gracefully, resting his chin on the back of his hand, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Ooooh~ Is it boy drama? Come on, darling, spill. Big brother Asmo is all ears~”

Lucifer said nothing, but his crimson gaze lingered on you a beat longer than the others, sharp and assessing, as if he could already sense the lie forming on your tongue.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. How did you even begin? These were demons. Ancient, powerful, eternal. Do demonesses even experience menstrual cycles? The thought spun in your head. From everything you’d learned since arriving, there’d been no mention of it. No casual complaints, no hidden supplies, nothing. Would they understand, or would it just come across as some fragile human weakness? Could you even hide it from them? They had made passing comments about your “human scent,” so does that mean they’d be able to smell-

You shook your head, clearing the thought with mild embarrassment. No. Just play it cool.

“I’m… fine,” you managed, forcing a small smile. “Just tired. I stayed up late to study after we got back…”

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on you a beat longer, sharp and knowing, but he said nothing. The conversation picked back up, though the worried glances didn’t fully vanish. You excused yourself as soon as it was polite, murmuring something about needing air.

The walk to RAD felt longer than usual, even with the familiar chaos of the brothers surrounding you. Mammon kept pace at your left, shooting you sidelong glances every few steps. Leviathan trailed a little behind, but his eyes kept flicking toward you. Asmodeus linked arms with you for a moment, fussing about how pale you looked and offering to share his newest skincare routine “to fix that tired look of yours, darling~.” Even Beelzebub, usually focused on whatever snack he’d smuggled, slowed his munching to offer you a piece of his breakfast bar with a quiet, concerned frown.

You waved them all off with the same weak smile you’d used at breakfast. “Really, I’m okay. Just didn’t sleep well. Human thing.”

Lucifer walked at the front with perfect posture, but you caught the subtle tilt of his head whenever your footsteps faltered. Satan brought up the rear, book in hand, yet his sharp green eyes narrowed thoughtfully each time you shifted uncomfortably. The worried glances never fully stopped, no matter how many times you insisted you were fine. By the time you reached the grand gates of RAD, the knot in your stomach had tightened into something heavy and insistent.

Classes dragged. You sat through history with a faint headache blooming behind your eyes and a dull ache settling into your lower back like a warning. Mild nausea rolled through you in slow waves, making the scent of Devildom incense and chalk dust turn your stomach. You knew the signs. Your period was coming. Soon. And you had nothing. No sanitary products, no painkillers, no heating pad. The birth control you’d counted on was gone, vanished from this world alongside any preparation you could have had for this situation.

By lunch, the discomfort had grown enough that you slipped away from the group and headed to the girls’ locker room near the gym wing. A few demonesses were changing after PE, laughing and chatting in low, melodic voices. You approached one, an elegant succubus with sleek black horns and a friendly smile, who was retying her uniform ribbon.

“Excuse me,” you said, voice low and hesitant. “I need to ask something. Do you have any supplies for… you know, a period? Pads or… anything? I wasn’t prepared, and this is my first one here in the Devildom.”

The succubus blinked, her golden eyes widening in genuine confusion. “A… period?” She tilted her head as if tasting a foreign word before her eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! You mean… as in bleeding? Like, from your…?” She gestured vaguely at her own midsection, then laughed softly, surprised. “Humans still do that? I thought your kind had potions or spells to stop it entirely these days. We don’t have anything like that down here; our cycles are much different. Sorry, I don’t carry anything for it.”

Heat rushed to your face. The other demonesses nearby had fallen quiet, exchanging curious glances. One murmured something about how strange human anatomy was, not unkindly, but the embarrassment burned anyway. You thanked her quickly and backed out of the locker room, heart pounding. No supplies. No understanding. Just the creeping certainty that you couldn’t hide this much longer.

You needed help. Real help from someone who wouldn’t laugh or pry, and who might actually know what to do. Someone calm. Someone reliable.

Someone like Barbatos.

Your mind immediately latched onto him, heat rising to your face as your pulse skipped a beat. 

You weren’t entirely sure when it had begun; this quiet, unspoken thing between you.

Perhaps it had started the night you had wandered the moonlit gardens together after one of Diavolo’s late meetings. Barbatos had paused beside a rare starflower in bloom. His voice carried a rare, unguarded passion as he spoke of its delicate beauty. You had teased him gently, noting how unexpected it was for a demon of his repute to have such an affection for flowers. He had chuckled. The sound was low and private, meant for your ears alone, and he replied that even butlers were allowed small indulgences.

Over the past few months the moments had layered one atop the other. Secret glances across crowded Student Council rooms. The way his green eyes would find yours with the faintest spark of amusement, as if sharing a silent joke no one else could hear. Neither of you ever named it. Neither ever leaned in too close.

There had been the ball, though.

Diavolo’s latest event had spilled golden light and sweeping music across the castle’s grand ballroom. You had stood near the refreshment tables, trying not to feel out of place among demonic nobility, when Barbatos appeared at your side. He had offered his gloved hand without a word, the invitation quiet and unmistakable. You accepted, and for one slow, elegant song, he had guided you across the floor with flawless grace. His hand at the small of your back had been light, respectful, yet warm enough to linger in memory long after the music faded. When the final note faded, he had bowed slightly, lips brushing against your knuckles.

“Thank you for the dance, Y/N,” he had said, voice low enough that only you could hear. “It is rare to find a partner who follows so naturally… and smiles so genuinely.”

You had felt your cheeks warm then, just as they did now at the recollection. The thought steadied you even as another wave of cramps tightened low in your belly. You slipped out of the main building during the afternoon break and made your way toward the Student Council room, hoping he might be there preparing tea for Diavolo or assisting with the endless stream of paperwork. Your steps were slower now, one hand pressing subtly against your lower back as you walked the quiet corridor.

The Student Council room was quieter than usual, the distant chatter of RAD’s hallways muffled by heavy oak doors. You hesitated just beyond the threshold, one hand still pressed lightly to the small of your back where the dull ache had sharpened into something nagging. The fabric of your uniform felt too warm, too confining. Another faint cramp twisted low in your abdomen, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from wincing.

A soft rustle of fabric drew your gaze. Barbatos stood near the long table, arranging a golden tea set with the precise, graceful movements that always made everything he did look effortless. When he noticed you lingering in the doorway, his gloved hand paused mid-pour. Those calm teal eyes met yours without surprise, only polite recognition.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he greeted, voice smooth and low, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. “I did not expect to see you here during break. Lord Diavolo is currently in a meeting with faculty. Is there something I can assist you with?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. The words stuck somewhere between embarrassment and desperation. How did one casually explain to an ancient and powerful demon butler that your human body had decided to betray you in the most inconvenient way possible at the worst time imaginable? 

Barbatos set the teapot down with a delicate clink. The quiet stretched between you, polite and patient, as if he had all the time in the three realms to wait for you to find your voice.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. The movement sent another small ripple of discomfort through your core, and you couldn’t quite suppress the tiny grimace that flickered across your face.

Barbatos’s gaze sharpened, though his expression remained serenely composed. He took one measured step closer, head tilting ever so slightly as he studied you, your slightly hunched posture, the way your fingers curled against the hem of your blazer, the faint paleness you knew had crept into your cheeks.

“Are you quite alright, Y/N?” he asked gently, the teasing lilt he sometimes allowed himself absent. “You appear… unwell. If you are feeling ill, I would strongly advise you to take the remainder of the day off. It is important to rest when your body requires it.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a weak smile. “I’m not sick,” you insisted, though the words came out thinner than you’d intended. “Really, it’s nothing like that. I just… I’ll be fine.”

Barbatos’s polite smile remained in place, but something knowing flickered behind his eyes. “Humans are resilient in many ways,” he said, tone mild yet firm, “yet you still require more rest than we demons do. Overexertion will only make matters worse. Please, do not push yourself too far.”

Another cramp chose that moment to bloom, sharper this time, stealing your breath for half a second. You pressed your lips together, eyes flicking away from his steady gaze as heat crawled up your neck.

Barbatos’ gloved hand reached towards you before pausing midair. The calm mask he always wore remained perfectly in place, yet the faint crease between his brows betrayed the worry beneath it.

“You’re in pain, Y/N,” he said, voice low and measured, the way one might speak to a startled fawn, “I will escort you to a physician at once. Lord Diavolo keeps an excellent healer on call for such matters.”

You waved him off quickly, the motion a little too sharp, and immediately regretted it as another faint twinge rippled through your abdomen. “No! No, really, it’s not like that. I’m not sick. I just…” The words tangled on your tongue. Heat flooded your cheeks. You stared at the polished floorboards rather than meet those steady teal eyes. “Since before coming here to the Devildom, up until yesterday, I had been taking a certain medication. It… it kept my cycles from happening. Menstrual cycles, to be clear… I thought I still had months left, but it vanished.” You glanced up at him briefly. He was staring at you with calm patience that made your heart skip a beat. “I’m unprepared. And I felt too embarrassed to tell the brothers. They already worry enough.”

The confession hung in the quiet room. You braced for confusion or polite dismissal.

Instead, Barbatos’s expression softened by the smallest degree, the corner of his mouth tilting in a way that was almost fond. He stepped closer, careful not to crowd you, and folded his hands behind his back with the effortless grace of someone who had served royalty for centuries.

“I am aware of human fertility cycles,” he murmured, tone gentle, almost scholarly. “Though I confess I have little personal experience with them. Most demons do not share the same rhythms, and my duties rarely require such intimate knowledge of mortal biology.” His gaze flicked briefly to the door, ensuring it remained closed, then returned to you. “But what I do know is that you are in a vulnerable state. In pain. And I know you, Y/N. There is no need for embarrassment here, not with me.”

He paused, letting the words settle. Then, with the same quiet authority he used when demanding Diavolo stop putting off work, he continued, “Allow me to care for you during this time. It would ease my mind considerably.”

The silence of the Student Council room wrapped around you like smoke. Barbatos’ offer hung in the air. It was gentle, sincere, and far too kind for the embarrassment still burning in your chest. You shifted again as another small cramp twisted low in your belly, and forced a steadying breath.

“I’ll… I’ll be okay,” you said quickly, voice softer than you meant it to be. “I’ve gone through this many times before back home. I just need help getting some supplies. Pads or tampons, that’s all.”

Barbatos’s calm eyes never left yours. For a moment he said nothing, simply studying you with that unnervingly patient gaze. Then, with a subtle glance toward the door and the empty hallway beyond, he stepped closer. His gloved hand reached out and gently closed around your forearm, light enough not to startle yet firm enough to ground you. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your sleeve, steady and reassuring in a way that made your shoulders loosen despite yourself.

“Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and earnest. “Please. Come with me to the castle. I will retrieve whatever supplies you require from the Human World myself. And I will inform the brothers that you are resting under my care; they need not worry themselves into a frenzy.”

He paused, thumb brushing once, almost absently, over the inside of your wrist. “You say that you have been suppressing your cycle for a long while with that medication of yours. After such a long gap… I imagine it may prove especially intense. I would rather not leave you to endure it alone in the House of Lamentation, surrounded by well-meaning but overwhelming demons who may not fully understand.”

Your heart stuttered at the gentle insistence in his tone. The cramps were already sharpening, the familiar heavy ache settling deeper, and the thought of facing the brothers’ questions, or worse, their hovering, felt exhausting. Barbatos’ expression remained composed, his smile faint but genuine, the kind he reserved only for those he truly cared for.

You swallowed, hesitation flickering one last time before you nodded. “Alright… okay. Thank you, Barbatos.”

The relief that flickered across his features was subtle, but you caught it. The slight softening at the corners of his eyes. “You honor me with your trust,” he said simply. With effortless grace, he released your arm only to offer it properly, like a gentleman escorting a lady. “Come. We will go through the back corridors. No one will see us leave.”

He guided you out of the Student Council room with the same quiet efficiency he used for everything, doors opening before you as if by invisible hands, footsteps silent on the polished floors. The walk to the Demon Lord’s Castle felt shorter than it should have, Barbatos’s presence a calm anchor at your side. Every so often his gloved fingers would brush lightly against your elbow if your steps faltered, steadying you without a word.

By the time the grand spires of the castle came into view, another wave of discomfort had you pressing a hand subtly to your lower abdomen. Barbatos noticed immediately.

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice soft. 

He led you through a side entrance reserved for staff, bypassing the main halls entirely. The castle’s opulent corridors blurred past until he stopped before a beautifully carved door. With a small flourish of his hand, it swung open to reveal a spacious and elegant room. Soft lighting from enchanted orbs, a large bed piled with plush pillows, and a window overlooking the moonlit gardens below.

Barbatos lingered near the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning you with that same calm attentiveness he always carried. “I will excuse myself briefly to retrieve the proper supplies from the Human World,” he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “I shouldn’t be very long; time flows differently when one knows the right doors to open. Please, message me if anything changes or if the discomfort worsens. I will return at once.”

You nodded, managing a small, grateful smile despite the heat still lingering in your cheeks. “Thank you, Barbatos.”

He offered a slight bow, the corner of his mouth curving in that faint, teasing smile he reserved for you. “It is my pleasure, Y/N. Rest while you can.” With that, he slipped out, the door closing softly behind him with a quiet click.

Once alone, you let yourself fall back against the pillows, staring up at the ornate ceiling. A strange flutter stirred in your chest, warm and unexpected amid the growing ache. You were staying in the castle. Barbatos’s domain. The place where he moved with effortless grace and quiet authority. And he wanted to care for you. Not out of obligation or orders from Diavolo, but because he had seen your pain and chose to ease it. The thought made something tender bloom behind your ribs, fragile and new. You pressed a hand lightly to your stomach, trying to ignore how the simple gesture made your heart skip.

Time slipped by in the hushed room. You tried to distract yourself by scrolling through your D.D.D., but the cramps gradually sharpened, building from a nagging discomfort into something fiercer. Each wave rolled deeper, tightening like a vice around your lower abdomen and back. Sweat beaded faintly at your temples. You curled onto your side, knees drawn up, breathing through the worst of it. The familiar heaviness settled lower, insistent now. A clear warning that your period was about to start any moment.

Just as the crescendo hit, a fresh cramp stealing your breath and making you whimper softly into the pillow, the door opened without a sound.

Barbatos stepped inside, carrying a discreet paper bag from what looked like a familiar Human World pharmacy chain. His expression remained perfectly composed, though his eyes softened the instant they landed on your curled form.

“I have returned,” he said gently, crossing the room in a few graceful strides. He set the bag on the bedside table and withdrew a neatly packaged assortment of pads and tampons. “These should suit your needs. I selected a variety, as I was uncertain of your preferences.”

Heat flooded your face again, but the relief at seeing the supplies outweighed the embarrassment. “You… you really went all the way there for me,” you murmured, sitting up slowly despite the protest from your body.

“Of course. It was no trouble at all.” He placed the items within easy reach, then straightened with his usual butler’s poise. “I will excuse myself once more to prepare some tea for you. Something soothing. It will only take a moment.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the supplies and the quiet flutter in your chest that refused to fade. You reached for the bag, grateful beyond words, as another wave of pain rolled through you. This time, the knowledge that Barbatos would return soon made it feel just a little more bearable.

You slipped into the opulent bathroom attached to the guest room, the door clicking softly behind you. Marble floors gleamed under enchanted lights that cast a warm, forgiving glow and the air carried a faint, calming scent. Something faintly sweet; perhaps one of Barbatos’ own subtle touches. The space felt almost too elegant for something as mundane as this, yet it eased the embarrassment clinging to your skin.

After dealing with the issue at hand, you stepped back into the main room, soft carpet muffling your footsteps. The fireplace had been lit in your absence. Flames danced with a gentle, enchanted flicker that cast golden light across the space. Barbatos stood beside a small table near the hearth, pouring tea from a delicate porcelain pot into two matching cups. Steam curled upward in lazy spirals, carrying the soothing aroma of chamomile laced with ginger and honey. Two plush armchairs sat adjacent to one another, angled perfectly toward the fire.

He glanced up as you entered, eyes scanning your frame immediately.

“Ah, Y/N,” he greeted, voice low and warm like the firelight itself. “You look a touch more composed. How are you feeling now?”

You crossed the room slowly, one hand still resting lightly against your lower abdomen as another residual cramp pulsed through. The plush chair welcomed you as you sank into it, the velvet soft against your tired body. The heat from the fireplace brushed over your skin like a gentle caress, easing some of the tension in your back.

“Better… a little,” you admitted, managing a small smile in return. “Thank you again, Barbatos. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”

He set the teapot down with graceful precision and handed you one of the cups, the porcelain warm against your palms. Instead of taking the other chair immediately, he remained standing for a moment, studying you with quiet concern.

“I am glad,” he murmured. “The tea should help as well, it is a blend that is well known to ease aches and minor pains. Drink it while it is still warm.” 

Only after your eyes lingered on him, then flicked to the second chair, did he then settle beside you, close enough that the space between you felt intimate rather than distant. 

The fire crackled softly, filling the comfortable silence. You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you, and felt that flutter in your chest return. Here you were, tucked away in the Demon Lord’s Castle, cared for by Barbatos himself in a quiet corner of his world. He had crossed realms for you without hesitation. The thought made your cheeks warm again, though this time it had little to do with embarrassment.

The firelight danced across Barbatos’s face, softening the usual perfect composure of the butler into something warm and inviting. The two of you sat close, closer than you had ever been outside of that single dance at the ball. The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It felt charged, like the air before a storm, heavy with words neither of you had spoken yet.

Barbatos set his own cup down on the small table between the chairs and turned slightly toward you, one gloved hand resting lightly on the arm of his chair. His teal eyes held yours with gentle curiosity, the faintest hint of something deeper flickering behind them.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he said, “so that I may care for you properly… what should I expect over the coming days? What would make this easier for you?”

You hesitated, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. You shifted in the plush chair, drawing your knees up slightly as another cramp pulsed through your lower abdomen.

“The pain is uncomfortable right now,” you admitted quietly, “but it will probably worsen tomorrow… maybe even the day after. Then it should start to ease, slowly.” You glanced down at your tea, tracing the rim of the cup with a fingertip. “I’ll likely be extremely fatigued, sleeping a lot, or just… drained. Hungry, too, even if I don’t feel like eating much at first. And I may become short-tempered. I’m sorry in advance for any trouble I might cause you.”

Barbatos listened without interruption, his expression never shifting into pity or discomfort. Instead, his gaze softened further.

“There is no need to apologize,” he spoke in a hushed voice, leaning forward just enough that the space between your chairs felt even smaller. “I have served Lord Diavolo for centuries and dealt with far more chaotic tempers than a few days of human discomfort. Yours, I suspect, I will not mind in the slightest.” His voice dropped a fraction lower, almost teasing, yet laced with something undeniably fond. “In fact… I find myself rather looking forward to being the one you turn to when you need comfort.”

Your breath caught. The fire crackled softly, but it was nothing compared to the sudden flutter in your chest. Barbatos’s eyes lingered on yours a moment longer than necessary, the teal depths reflecting the golden flames, and something else. Something far more personal. He reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away, and lightly brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear with gloved fingers. The touch was feather-light, yet it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You need not hide your fatigue, your hunger, or even your temper from me,” he continued, hand lingering near your cheek for a heartbeat before he withdrew it with obvious reluctance. “I will bring you whatever you crave. Sweets I have baked myself, warm broths, anything at all. If you wish to sleep the day away, this room is yours for as long as you need it. And if you snap at me…” His lips curved into a rare, playful smirk. “I may even find it endearing.”

The tension wrapped around you both like the warmth from the fireplace, quiet and undeniable. Barbatos was looking at you as though caring for you during this vulnerable time was not a duty… but a privilege he cherished.

“Thank you. Truly. It’s just… I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered, voice softer than you intended.

“You could never be,” he replied without hesitation, his tone low and earnest. The firelight caught in his eyes as he held your gaze. “Allowing me to look after you like this… it pleases me more than you know, Y/N.”

You stared at him, the longing you had buried for months rising unbidden to the surface. In this stolen pocket of the castle, there was no need for pretense. Your gaze traced the elegant slope of his cheekbones, the calm set of his mouth, the way those eyes held yours with a depth that made your pulse stutter. He did not look away. Instead, his expression held something tender and unspoken. An acknowledgment of the quiet thing that had grown between you over the past months.

For several moments, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, heavy with all the words you had never dared speak. His gloved hand rested near yours on the small table, close enough that the faintest shift would have brought your fingers together.

Then a sudden yawn escaped you, involuntarily, your body finally reminding you how drained you truly were. Heat rushed to your cheeks again as you covered your mouth with one hand.

Barbatos chuckled lightly, the sound low and warm, carrying no mockery, only gentle fondness. “It seems the day has caught up with you at last,” he murmured, rising from his chair with that effortless grace. “Please allow me to excuse myself so you may rest properly. The bed is quite comfortable, and the linens have been freshly changed. Should you need anything at all, do not hesitate to call for me. I am never far.”

He offered a small, courteous bow, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final sound, leaving the room wrapped in the gentle crackle of the fire and the distant hush of the castle at night.

You sighed out your embarrassment, and slight disgruntlement, of ending the moment, and changed into the soft nightclothes that had mysteriously appeared folded on the bed. The mattress cradled you like a cloud, the pillows scented faintly with something clean and calming. Yet sleep did not come easily at first. You tossed and turned, the dull ache in your lower back flaring with every shift. Your mind replayed the way Barbatos had looked at you by the fire, the brush of his fingers near your cheek, the quiet promise in his voice. The longing lingered, warm and restless, mingling with the cramps that refused to fully subside.

Eventually, fatigue won out. Your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day pulling you under like a gentle tide. You drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, the fire burning low in the hearth.

Hours later, the castle lay silent under the eternal Devildom night. A vicious cramp ripped through your abdomen, sharp and unrelenting, yanking you awake with a gasp. Pain bloomed low and deep, twisting like a knife, radiating into your back and thighs until every muscle clenched in protest. Nausea rolled over you in a sickening wave as sweat prickled across your forehead. You curled into a tight ball, knees drawn to your chest, breathing shallow and ragged through the worst of it. A soft whimper escaped despite your efforts to stay quiet, the kind of sound you hated letting anyone hear.

The room felt too warm now, the sheets tangled around your legs. Another cramp hit, harder than the last, and you pressed your face into the pillow, fighting the urge to be sick right there on the elegant bedding.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity, breathing through the waves of pain that refused to ease. Your hand fumbled blindly for the D.D.D. on the nightstand, fingers trembling as you clutched it. Should you message him? The thought twisted in your chest alongside the cramps. Barbatos had already done so much; crossing realms for supplies, offering you this quiet sanctuary in the castle, watching over you with that steady care. You didn’t want to disturb him, not when he likely had a thousand other duties pulling at him even in the dead of night. He was the butler to the future Demon King, after all. What right did you have to drag him from whatever rest or work he might be tending to?

Yet the pain sharpened again, a vicious spike that stole your breath and left you curled tighter, a soft, involuntary whimper slipping past your lips. He would be upset, you realized with a pang. If you suffered alone and he found out later, that calm facade of his would crack just enough for you to see the quiet disapproval in his eyes.

With a shaky exhale, you unlocked the D.D.D. and typed a brief message, the screen’s glow harsh in the dim firelight.

Y/N: The pain… it’s gotten a lot worse. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, but it’s becoming unbearable.

You hit send before you could second guess yourself, then dropped the device back onto the nightstand and buried your face in the pillow once more. The seconds stretched. One minute. Maybe two. You tried to breathe through another cramp, knees drawn up, body trembling with the effort not to cry out.

The door opened without a sound.

Barbatos slipped inside like a shadow given form, the faint click of the latch the only warning. He carried no tray this time, only the quiet grace that always seemed to surround him. His usual butler’s coat was absent, replaced by dark informal attire that spoke of someone roused from private quarters rather than formal duties. His eyes found you immediately in the low light, softening at the sight of your curled, pained figure.

“Y/N.” He crossed the room in silent strides and knelt beside the bed without hesitation, one gloved hand coming to rest lightly on the edge of the mattress near your shoulder. “I came as quickly as I could.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, cheeks flushed with a mix of pain and lingering embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words catching as another wave tightened low in your abdomen. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Hush. There is no need for apologies” The words were gentle, almost tender, cutting off your apology before it could fully form.

Another cramp seized you, and you instinctively reached for his arm, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve as you rode it out. Barbatos did not pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his presence a reassuring anchor in the darkness. With careful movements, he pressed one hand against your lower abdomen, the gentle heat seeping through immediately like a balm.

“Easy now,” he murmured, voice steady and soothing. “Breathe with me. In… and out. The worst will pass in a moment.” His free hand gently adjusted the covers, tucking them around you more comfortably while avoiding any further pressure on your aching middle. “I suspected the intensity might increase during the night. Forgive me for not remaining closer. I should have anticipated this.”

His thumb brushed once over the back of your hand where it still gripped his sleeve. “I am here. You need not endure this alone.”

The nausea ebbed slightly under his calm attention, though the pain still throbbed in stubborn waves. You managed a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open to meet his. In the quiet intimacy of the moonlit room, with Barbatos watching over you so sweetly, the longing from earlier returned, unguarded.

He held your gaze, that same quiet intensity from beside the fire now laced with something deeper and protective. His gloved fingers remained linked with yours, warm and steady, as the worst of the cramp slowly began to fade.

The pain ebbed at last, loosening its vicious grip like a tide reluctantly pulling back from shore. You exhaled shakily, the tension draining from your limbs as the worst of the cramp faded into a dull, manageable throb. Barbatos’ hand remained warm and steady against your lower abdomen, the gentle pressure never wavering even as your breathing steadied. 

“There,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “It passes. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Y/N.”

He lingered a moment longer, thumb tracing one final, light circle over the fabric of your nightclothes before he began to withdraw. “I will prepare a stronger tea for you,” he said quietly, already shifting to rise. “A blend from the Human World, one traditionally used to ease the pains of labor. It should dull the sharper edges far better than chamomile. I will not be long-”

Your hand shot out before you could think, fingers curling lightly around his wrist. You were keenly aware of his lack of gloves; warm skin pressed against yours. “Don’t go,” you whispered, the words slipping out raw and pleading. Your voice cracked just a little from the exhaustion and the vulnerability of the night. “Please, Barbatos… stay. Just for a little while.”

He froze mid-motion, those serene eyes widening by the smallest fraction, the only crack in his perfect composure. For a moment, the ancient being who could bend time itself seemed genuinely caught off guard. His gaze flicked from your hand on his wrist to your face, searching, and whatever he saw there made something tender flicker across his features. The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, but something soft. Almost helpless.

“…As you wish,” he said at last, the words quiet and resigned in the most willing way possible. Here, with your fingers lightly tugging at him, he had no defense. “I cannot deny you when you plead so softly.”

You didn’t pull hard. Just enough to guide, a silent invitation. Barbatos hesitated only a second more before he yielded. He settled onto the bed beside you carefully, stretching out over the covers while you remained cocooned beneath them. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, bringing him close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating from his body. One arm rested loosely along his side, the other still near you, as if ready to offer comfort again at the slightest sign of pain.

The room fell into a hush broken only by the soft crackle of the low fire and the distant, eternal night sounds of the Devildom beyond the window. Tension hummed between you like a live wire. Quiet, unspoken, yet impossible to ignore. The same charged silence that had wrapped around you by the fireplace earlier now felt heavier, more intimate in the dimness of the guest room. Barbatos lay on his side facing you, propped slightly on one elbow so he could watch your face. His eyes reflected the faint moonlight, steady and deep, holding yours without flinching.

You could smell the faint, clean scent of him, something like fresh linen and rare tea leaves, with an undercurrent of that subtle sweetness he carried from the kitchens. His gloved hand rested on the covers between you, close enough that your fingers could brush it if you dared. Neither of you spoke at first. The weight of months of stolen glances, that single perfect dance, the quiet protectiveness he’d shown tonight all pressed in at once.

Barbatos’ calm mask slipped just enough to reveal the quiet longing beneath. Slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned in. His free hand rose, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek with the same reverent care he’d shown earlier. Then his lips met yours, sweet and unhurried, like the first sip of perfectly steeped tea after a long day. It wasn’t demanding or fierce; it was gentle and tentative, as if he were savoring something rare and fragile he had waited centuries to taste.

You melted into it without hesitation, your hand tightening lightly on his sleeve as if to anchor yourself. His mouth was warm, the kiss slow and deliberate, carrying the same poised elegance he brought to everything. A faint taste of the chamomile tea lingered on his lips, mingled with something uniquely him. It was as sweet as it was grounding. As the kiss deepened just a fraction, your mind emptied of everything else.

Nothing else mattered in this moment. Not the lingering ache low in your belly, not the days of fatigue and cramps still stretching ahead, not even the inevitable barrage of worried questions and overprotective hovering from the brothers once they inevitably found out where you’d vanished to. Right now, there was only the quiet sanctuary of this room, the steady warmth of Barbatos beside you, and the sweet press of his lips against yours as if you were the most precious secret in all three worlds. 

He finally drew back, just enough to rest his forehead lightly against yours, breath mingling in the small space between.

“Forgive the forwardness,” he whispered, voice husky and low. “But I find I have been wanting to do that for some time now… and now seemed the moment to stop denying it.”

Your heart fluttered wildly, the pain a distant echo beneath the warmth blooming in your chest. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your fingers trail lightly down his arm, savoring the closeness.

“Stay,” you murmured again, softer this time, a request rather than a plea. “Just… like this.”

Barbatos lifted his hand once more to cup your cheek, thumb moving in slow, soothing passes.

“As you wish, Y/N,” he replied, the words carrying the weight of a vow. “For as long as you need me.”

(The brothers + dateables + undateables)

Vkei Barbatos doodle