* a comforting back touch here, a purposeful brush of hands there. driving him up the wall.

* no one else is getting their hair combed through with your fingers and their tie straightened. no one else has your arm casually draped over their shoulder when you stand/sit beside them.

* what does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN

* it means you love him, dumbass

* and once mike realizes that he just gets so flustered

* you grabbing his hand to press a quick peck to the top of his knuckles? face on fire. you know, if he had blood to warm him

* you like him? youre flirting with him??

* hold his hand and do the thumb strokey thing. it turns his brain off.

* if you see michael hanging around, come up behind him and tap his shoulder to get his attention. he startles a bit (its cute) but once he realizes its just you and not a blood-thirsty animatronic he’s always so happy to see you. you don’t have to say anything, just tap the mask he’s wearing and he’ll move it to let you give him a little kiss. or two. or three. with the mask held up to hide the two of you of course. just like the movies. and there’s no need for the kids to see you snogging (eww, yucky!)

* and when you stop holding his hand, when you stop kissing him, it feels like you just branded him. the phantom feeling of your touch lingers. he’ll still be thinking about it long after you’ve left the room.

* a real turning point, a hallmark in your relationship, when you hugged him one night, and pressed your entire body into his, and he practically melted into you in turn. and then he didn’t want to let go, so he didn’t. but then you didn’t either. so you two just stayed there, embracing so close your shadow looked like only one person. he could feel your heartbeat against his empty chest and that’s when he really cemented it into his brain that he may have some bigger feelings than he wanted to, like he loves you loves you.. oh no… (i’d go on.. but spoilers lol)

* still, he just can’t believe it’s him. smelly rotting accidentally-fratricidal zombies shouldn’t have people who love them like that and definitely shouldn’t have people willing to touch them. you’re a loony bird, that’s what.

* but once he’s accepted that you’re actually into him and he gets nice and comfy in the relationship? hooo boy

* more like hoe boy— *sound of me getting shot and falling off stage*

* you’ve replaced half his thoughts. instead of reliving his most horrible memories 24/7, now he takes ample breaks to relive moments where your hungry hands were getting their fill. and your sweet face and voice amd personality too of course. but damn, touch him and all he wants is more.

* hands on you always. whether he does it absent-mindedly just so he can reassure himself you’re there, or whether he does it very much on purpose? he’s just a very touchy-touchy man for no goddamn reason (my mans can’t even get it up.. yet. everbody say thank you remnant healing 0////0)

* not like you don’t love every second of it though. “oh no my boyfriend won’t stop giving me affection” literally the most non-problem ever. like get out of here

* ever at the counter? making food at home or standing around the prize booth at the pizzeria? doesn’t matter where, there is a 90% chance you will wind up wrapped in his arms. michael adores holding you, nuzzling his face in your neck, right on those sensitive arteries. it’s pretty distracting, ngl

* and you know what? you get it. seeing michael just standing there, perfect prey for a ‘surprise’ hug from behind? you can’t resist the instinct either. it’s a ton of fun to hang on him and make him lose focus on whatever he’s doing. two can play at that game. and he loves it when you hold him, he absolutely lives for it. it makes him feel safe for once in this miserable horror game y’all call a life

* if y’all are at home? he lets you nose nuzzle him. even if he’s only got like less than half a nose at this point, still lets you rub your snoot all up in his. he’ll even initiate every now and then. it’s especially adorable

* sometimes you just lie on your back in bed or on the couch for some rest, and michael nestles himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat. he loves your heartbeat. and sometimes you’ll hold his face in your hands, letting your thumbs trail over his cheekbones as he gazes up at you softly. and sometimes… uh.. well look he is in between your legs here too so. don’t look at me.

* ah but speaking of cuddles. you are now a giant hot water bottle. every night he sleeps with as much of his body draped over you as he possibly can, doesnt matter what position you sleep in, mikey is a fucking koala and you are the last eucalyptus tree in queensland

* at least he’s pretty cool. like you might be a giant hot water bottle but he’s a cooling weighted blanket. that corpse chill is pretty great for beating the utah heat

Michael laid on his back as you cuddled up into his side. A strange position to him, as he still couldn’t grasp why you would want to hug him of all people. How someone would want to hold onto him like he was something precious was beyond him.

Usually, he was the one snuggling you, and that was different. In his mind, if he was the one holding you, then you, in your benevolence, were tolerating him and his neediness. He was scared to even consider it was because you needed him just as much he needed you; that you wanted to be close to him, yearned for it even.

You gently dragged your hand over his bare chest in loving circles. There was a new patch of baby hair growing, quickly spreading across his pecs as the last few months had gone on. You caressed him in a way that tipped Mike off that you were definitely feeling that up specifically at the moment.

Even still, he couldn’t deny your tenderness was making him feel content and sleepy. His eyelids fluttered as he let them shut, safe in your embrace. He felt so lucky you choose to spend these sticky summer nights with him.

When it came to Michael, you had to be careful. You moved your hands down his sides, feeling the muscle and bone beneath his skin. He only shivered as you began touching more of him, so you let yourself start idly exploring the planes of his body. He had yet to indicate any discomfort, but you still had to be careful, making sure to not linger on any one area. To not touch any certain scar for long enough for him to get in his head about it.

This delicate dance was how you had to go about in most aspects of your relationship. As much as you just wanted to shower him in love, sometimes it freaks him out. You counted yourself lucky that he's chosen to share his bed with you. You didn't want to push him past his comfort and make him regret it. You had to be careful.

And yet here you were, letting a hand slip down to graze over yet another new patch of hair growing in, this one a lot lower. Mike’s breath hitched, and you momentarily stopped your ministrations in anticipation of being told no. But he didn’t say anything.

Your curiosity was peaked.

Michael had never been, how you say, sensitive. What, with the nerve damage that came with being undead and all. Sure, he engaged in sex acts with you, but they were mainly focused on you, since he couldn’t really get an erection without bloodflow. It was usually an emotional-fulfillment thing to him. He did stuff because he wanted to, not fueled by any biological urges that told him he should be doing it. He just loved you, and liked expressing that.

But now that those nerve endings that used to give him nothing but dullness were working properly again? You hadn’t considered the, uh, implications, of that. What he could be wanting now.

You dared to move your hand even lower.

Michael let out a shaky breath next to your ear as you slid down to his crotch, gliding your hand over his skin as you started cupping and palming him.

You needed to be very careful.

He shifted the arm you were laying on up to snag a hand in your hair. You looked up to his face, studying his expression. Eyes closed, he had his other hand over his mouth, the knuckle of his pointer finger braced between his teeth. His brows relaxed, so you continued with your groping.

You dipped lower, giving his balls a gentle massage that had him biting that finger a bit harder. Rolling the flesh in your hand, Mike’s breathing got a little heavier. You hummed in satisfaction before returning to his now fully hard member, gently wrapping your hand around it. Michael groaned, and tightened his grip on your hair, urging you to stay close to him.

You gently tugged his foreskin as you swiped your thumb over the head of his dick, smearing the precum that had already beaded at his slit. It wasn’t a lot yet; Michael practically whimpered as you let go of him, bringing your hand to your own mouth. You spit a glob of saliva you saved up into your open palm. Easily, your mouth was already watering to the thought of getting a taste of him later. As you wiped your heated spit around his dick as makeshift lube, you gave him a couple test strokes. Michael whined loudly, and then promptly covered his face in embarrassment.

You chuckled, “that feel okay, Baby?”

“Don’t laugh,” he peeked through his fingers at you.

“I’m not,” you defended, Michael could hear the smile in your voice, “I just— It’s fond, okay? These are noises of fondness. Is it a crime to enjoy my partner?”

“I suppose.. That’s. Allowed,”

Your smile got wider, “Can I keep going?”

Mike simply nodded, shy as ever.

You picked up where you left off, fisting his cock and slowing starting to stroke along his shaft. It wasn’t long before Michael returned to biting his hand. That felt way too good, way too fast. You know what shouldn’t be allowed? That.

A quick circle of your finger on that one sensitive spot under the head and he was bursting.

Michael grit his teeth. Well. That was embarrassing.

“Mmm, there we go,” you cooed as you worked him through it.

Michael took a moment to catch his breath, and try to get his bearings again. You pulled back, not wanting to overstimulate him.

Before licking up the cum that had gotten on your hand, you had considered cleaning him up with your tongue as well. But it tasted pretty bad. Like, not normal semen-taste bad, like, ‘you were pretty sure this is the first time he’s come in like 30 years and clearly it’s a bit stale’-taste bad. So you opted to not get any more of that in your mouth.

“Uh,”

“Hmmm?”

“Um, that was— uh. That was… thank you,”

You once again chuckled fondly, “You sleepy or can we make out a little?”

“I’m very sleepy but we can totally. Do That,”

Smiling, you hefted your body up from the bed. A lot of your bones decided to make some music as you did so, and you groaned to add lyrics to the song. Damn, you’re getting old.

Michael shifted a bit more into a sitting position against the wall behind him before you crept above his body. As you straddled him, you got a bit of that cum you didn’t clean smeared onto you. You’ll both need a bath after this, but you doubt you’ll get to it tonight before either of you crash. There was only so far arousal could take you in the wee hours of the morning when you’re both exhausted.

Thankfully Michael had started switching to hot showers again. You’re not a corpse, so you don’t think ice cold showers were healthy. Quite the opposite. There’s no amount of tender loving care or goo-goo eyes that would make you get in that freezing waterfall with him and get hypothermia.

His hands found their way to rest on your hips. You gave him a chaste press of lips. Mike chased you as you quickly pulled away, opening his eyes and pouting after you were too far.

“That’s it?”

You exaggeratedly rolled your eyes, before pressing back into him.

The feeling of your lips dragging together felt even more heavenly than usual. Oh. Michael could get used to this.

You pushed your tongue past his lips, and Michael happily let you. You both muffled moans into the other’s mouths as you lapped at each other. It wasn’t long before you had drool dripping down your chin.

Makeouts with Mikey were always sloppy. He couldn’t help it, what with the missing cheek flesh, torn up lips, exposed teeth, and all that. You more than didn’t mind. It was hot how messy and spitty it got.

Michael was hard again already. You really didn’t have to do much to turn him on, as he had been learning recently. He was doing his best not to give it away. What kind of pervert would you think he was if you knew that just watching you yawn as you stood behind the prize counter made him want to bend you over it? Unfortunately there’s no way for him to really hide it right now, but going off the way you’re grinding your hips into his, he’d say you probably don’t mind at the moment.

As an experiment, you moved down to give attention to his neck. Your eyes flicked to Mike, watching as his expression shifted from pouty after you broke the kiss to blissed out as you started your barrage on his neck. Every little kiss you peppered made him whine and moan. Feeling evil, you dragged your teeth over a pulse point. The sound Michael made was so loud and pornographic, it actually startled both of you.

“Oh?” you prompted.

“Just…” Michael turned to try and hide his face, “Do that again?”

You grinned, and were happy to oblige him. He gave you a gasp for a reward. You wanted to take it further, so you pressed your teeth a bit more into his skin before ultimately aborting the action.

“Do we think I can actually bite you now or?”

“No…” he quickly answered without thinking, “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Nah,” you concluded, “I’ll give your skin more time to heal up before I go wrecking it again,”

You pressed a kiss to the spot bearing the indention of your teeth.

Michael laughed playfully, “thank you for being so considerate, Lovebug,”

And then you started sucking.

“Oh,” he murmured, his grip on your hips tightening.

Speaking of your hips, you were getting a little agitated. You ground against him a little harder than you had been, earning you a groan. Damn, you needed him to fuck you. While you were very happy to put emphasis on him for a change, you still felt really needy.

But you weren’t going to push it. It’s always good to take a moment to remember that you’re lucky you’ve gotten this far.

You nosed up to place a kiss under his jaw, but were interrupted as he spoke, “Are you— uh— can we—“

“Hmmm?” you hummed in question and the vibrations against his skin made Michael shiver.

“Can we… uh, go all the way?”

Mildly surprised, and thinking ‘thank fucking god finally’, you looked at him. Probably not helping his nervousness.

You needed to be very careful.

“Here,” you shifted your body weight to the side, taking his hand to guide him into rolling over with you, “I think you should be on top right now,”

“Uh,” he moved to make sure you were comfortable underneath him as he settled himself, propped up on his elbows, “okay,”

His breath fanned over your face, you’d probably be rubbing noses if he had enough nose to occupy the space. This was a good place for him, you thought, where he can gain a little more control in the situation.

Fuck. Michael was freezing up. This was so fucking embarrassing. He clenched his jaw as your darkening eyes looked up at him expectedly.

He hesitantly inserted a finger to start stretching you. You gave him a moan in response, so at least he knows he’s doing something right. This was okay, he could just focus on this; Dragging his digits in and out of you, hearing your pretty noises. But it wasn’t long before he got in a second finger, and then by the third, you were begging him to just fuck you already.

Okay. He could do this. Just line himself up and pu—

Jesus Christ.

Fully sheathed inside you, it was everything he could do to not just come right then and there.

Taking a deep breath, he gave you a tentative first thrust. You seemed to agree with that, so he quickly found it in him to set a nice, even pace.

Mike kept his jaw clenched and his eyes screwed shut. He pawed at your hips. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pressing your ankles into his back to urge him closer. He took the hint, slowly thrusting deeper. You moaned beautifully and it went straight to his cock. He held his breath, desperately trying not to come. C’mon Michael, you’ve only just started—

“God. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this. Letting you take what’s yours—“

Michael cut you off with guttural groan as his hips stuttered into yours, painting your insides white.

Oh.

“Did you just-?”

Horrified, he nodded slowly, hiding in his hair.

“…Sorry,” he flushed, and god, you loved to see it, “I—“

“Hey, hey, that’s okay. Babe, it’s okay, you’ve literally only had blood for a month now. I understand,” you cupped his cheek, stroking with your thumb, “we’ll just kiss s’more until you’re ready to go again. Don’t even pull out,”

You slotted your lips into his, and he replied in kind.

This kiss was nice and slow and sweet. He could keep doing that for hours, but he needed to take care of you. Feeling bolder and more determined, Michael ran his hands down your body, down your abdomen.

You let his hands travel further down, and keened at the stimulation he gave you.

“Oh, well, guess we could do that too, Mr. Impatient,” you laughed as you began to pepper his face in kisses.

You were never destined for anything.

You were born a Lannister, yes, but you were so far from the main line that you were set to inherit nothing. You were only a Lannister by name, long lines of second sons marrying outside of important houses over and over until your blonde locks were nothing but dirty.

Your father did not own a large sum of Lannister fortune. His greatest achievement was being the squire of one of Tywin's lesser brothers; but his brother never lead any wars, and so that was hardly a feat anyway.

When you were born, it seemed like you would follow in your father's footsteps. There was hardly anything Lannister about you.

Your greatest feat would probably be setting foot in Casterly Rock to shovel horse shit to and fro. At least then you'd get to admire your distant cousins, the glorious ones, the ones you'd use in your fantasies as the shoes you'd like to wear.

Except, one day you stole a sword and caught the eye of Tywin's lesser brother, the very same that your father had squired for. He showed you, in turn, to his brother, Tywin Lannister.

Under the Lord of Casterly Rock's eyes, you showed promise.

Before Jaime Lannister ever took up the sword with a purpose that wasn't "because daddy told me to", there was you in the training grounds as far as he could remember.

There was you, strong, barely a teen yet.

You became friends, then, under the sword. Tywin bid you an example for his son. As a boy, you were hardly fit to be an example, so instead you became friends.

Between his overzealous sister, his outcast brother, his jealous cousins and the frightened servants, you were the best friend he could ever have.

From friends, you became... not lovers, but something close. It was hardly romance, it was hormones, it was just boys being boys, and it was only fooling around. A kiss or two, sometimes longer, sometimes with tongue; playing at maturity.

With you, Jaime got a taste for breaking the rules and the thrill of sneaking out of his bedroom under the bright cast of moonlight. He got his first taste of romantic companionship, and he liked it.

You were only a couple years older then, but Jaime's dislike for letters caused him to be bound to the book for several hours a day, and so you were the stronger swordfighter.

He admired you. You were more literate than him, though most people are, and stronger, taller, more built, more worked.

You knew hardship and, as the heir to Casterly Rock, he didn't.

He got his first taste of hardship when you were summoned to become a King's Guard, and he did not like it.

Jaime had never begged before. "Don't go. Please, don't go."

And you had never denied him. "I must."

That's why, when you left for the King's Guard, he was left in despair. Despair caused impulse, and he fell back to his sister.

You did not send any ravens the years you were gone, so you grew apart. Jaime held some resentment too, for the first couple of years when he became a King's Guard, so you grew further apart.

He had his sister now, and she was a jealous woman.

The older you grew, the more you thought of your little youthful escapades as just that, things of the youth, inconsequential to anything else of your now adult existance.

Jaime came around eventually.

He became the better swordsman. He was quite fine with letters, and stronger, taller, more discreet, more dutiful.

You were lovers once more, but only that. This time, you knew how to please a man, but again he was only learning. You pleased each other under the influence of wine, or maybe not. Maybe sometimes your minds were unobstructed, and instead, you were more truthful, softer... and some rare nights, you only talked, you shared heart-to-hearts.

But you weren't friends, not by actions. You did not talk often enough, freely enough, unguarded. You were just lovers.

Regardless, to Jaime, there was great comfort in knowing that you were somewhere in the Red Keep, still there for him, still alive. It was one of the things he fought to remember during his year-long journey back to King's Landing.

When you open your door to leave your chambers, you are quickly pushed back inside.

Jaime's there. He's different, but he's there, and he slams the door behind him. You take it as another moment where he seeks the comfort of your body, especially after what you heard had happened to him. The idea occurs naturally to you, even after a year apart.

You kiss him roughly, cupping his cheeks in your hands, because you've missed him.

Jaime breaths hard into the kiss. He's breathing hard in general, and it's more evident when he pushes you away.

You lose your footing in a daze and land on a chair. It'd be a great position, and you'd be quite excited in anticipation, if it weren't for the look on his face.

"Jaime?"

"You didn't come see me." He says, angrily. His arms are crossed, hands—hand folded over his inner elbow.

Standing before you is a shadow of the man Jaime once was. His hair is shorter, darker, his skin is tanner, he's got dark circles under his eyes. He looks worn.

This is a man who has gone through hell. This is a man going through his second war, a man who was held prisoner for a time, who had to kill his cousin, and who tracked through mud and shit to get back to his home. He was missing a bloody hand!

And you didn't go see him.

"No, I didn't." You sit up quickly, fixing the smirk on your lips to a neutral one. "I thought Cersei would keep you, or that you'd be busy recovering...or that our family would want to see you."

"Cersei saw me." Jaime said pointedly. The next moment, he's climbing onto your lap, bracketing your legs with his. "I saw Joffrey and Tommen. Myrcella is gone, and I just found out. Tyrion had his opportunity. Father wished to do nothing but scold me. I was recovering from my journey in my chambers for three days. You didn't come see me."

"I didn't... and now I see I have no excuse." You keep your eyes on him. Past his heavy lids and dark circles, his eyes are the same as you last saw them, a beautiful green.

"All I could think about was getting back to you." He says through gritted teeth, and though it was a lie, you would believe it. He shifts his hips to rub against your length, a subtle grind.

It loses all subtlety when he continues, over and over. Pleasure rises.

"You are." You say with shaky breaths, heavy enough to mirror his. Your eyes close instinctively, head tilted down to the source of your pleasure.

You haven't had him in a year. You miss him, his body. A brothel whore cannot compare.

"Look at me." His teeth are still gritted. He grasps your face with his hand, squeezing your cheeks in the pull to make you look at him.

"Jaime." You say, acknowledging him, looking at him once more.

He looks angry. It's in his gritted teeth and wide eyes and his heaving chest, it's in his words—but he's not violent, no, never to you.

You kiss him, lick into his mouth to urge his tongue to meet yours. His teeth separate, not with a screeching difficulty, but easily. It's almost familiar, the way his tongue feels against yours, the taste of his saliva.

You have known this man longer than you haven't. Perhaps he is missing a hand, perhaps he is wrinkled and older, but he is still the same man you tousled with in your youth.

You find yourselves eventually on the bed, like you have a hundred times before. You on your back, him on your lap.

Except this time it is not quite as swift, and this time he is struggling with the clasps of your armor.

"Let me."

"No."

You do it anyway. Jaime watches you sit up and he sighs. He thinks of himself as helpless, a mope of a man settled on your lap like a peasant sitting on the Iron Throne.

He sighs out of his nose once more, but to you, he only seems like a sad puppy. "Knights can hardly do this themselves. That's what squires are for. I'm sure you've never heard of a one-handed squire."

"That's not helping." Jaime huffs.

"Look," You say, with all the parts of your chest plate, shoulder parts and neck pieces off. You fix his arms around your neck, "you can still wrap them around here. That's all that matters, hm? All you need is to hold on tight enough."

"Asshole." Jaime says as he pushes you onto your back again, though there's a bit of a lift to his lips.

It's the third time he pushes you. "Pushy."

"Asshole." He repeats.

There's little else to remove after that, just the flowing scales covering your crotch that he removes easily with new determination, and your shin guards, but those won't obstruct the path to your dick.

He undoes the laces of your pants with two harsh tugs and then your cock is free to him. With the way he's looking at it like a meal, you're sure he's missed it.

"Do you still keep oil behind the curtains?" Jaime asks, already reaching behind the canopy's bedpost, where the curtain is usually wrapped securely around the flask.

"No." He looks disappointed then, for a moment. "At least it means I've been loyal to you?"

"It can just as well mean that you've only been visiting brothels." Jaime laughs, leaning his forearms on either side of your head to kiss you before you can protest.

You like this, it's easy; it's carefree and humorous. You can feel his smile against your lips.

He shifts his position to press his ass to your cock and grind against the length of it, swallowing your groan with his lips. You hardly noticed when he tugged off his own pants.

For a moment you think that might be how he gets you off, but then one of his arms leaves the mattress, and his fingers are gathering precum from the tip of your swollen head.

It sacrifices his balance, and you catch him before his full weight falls on you. "Bastard." You breathe out a laugh.

"What?" Jamie returns a grin, though it falls open just slightly when he stretches himself out with your precum as lubrication. Quite the sight.

"One journey from the North to King's Landing on foot, and suddenly you don't care for cleanliness?"

He winces slightly, "One, I was also tricked into drinking horse piss. Two, you're cumming inside sooner or later, it's not very different, is it?"

"One," You mirror with raised eyebrows, "what in the Seven Hells? Two, fair enough."

Holding up his thinner body with one hand is easy enough, and if it weren't, you'd have sacrificed the possibility of him falling onto you for the opportunity to hold his face.

You cup his cheek. In another time, a year ago, your fingernails would've been tickled by boyishly long hair. Now, his hair is only prickly.

"Will you grow it out again?"

Jaime thinks on it. He thinks about how it stuck to his face whenever it was dirty with muck or grime, about how easy it was to tug at his hair, how it was used to tug him backwards into horseshit or some other crazed punishment... but he also thinks about how much you liked it, how you often sweetly pushed it off his forehead when it stuck, how tugging at it did feel good in intimate situations such as this.

"I might." Is what he settles for, and he relishes the sight of your smile.

He's good at prepping himself and keeping a smug face. You've seen it thousands of times before, when he's tired of being ordered around and decided he needed to take control for once. You've seen him the other way around just as many times, quite willing to give up the reigns because he's just so tired.

There's just something about another person's hand.

"Oh..." Jaime moans as you push his hand away and replace his fingers with yours.

Furtheremore, you let him slump forward. You're almost—nay, you are cuddling in this way. Your legs even tangle. You've got him right on top of you, one hand over his back and the other prepping him, letting him just relax.

"That feel good?"

He's practically melting on top of you. It's rather funny how nonchalant he replies with the subtle nod of his head and, "Yeah, uh-huh."

You drag your other hand over his spine and up to hold the back of his head. "Tell me about your journey."

"Okay," He hums pliantly, "Robb Stark captured me in an ambush... which, though it cost me hell, is quite admirable for a boy born after the war. I spent several months travelling behind the army convoys as a prisoner, without a roof, without a floor. Just a stick in the mud and a shitty cage."

He recounts the journey while you prep him languidly like you have all the time in the world.

You don't have all the time in the world. You'll only have tonight, and perhaps the next night, thought it is quite unlikely. Before long, you're sure, Cersei will stop this grudge of hers and Jaime will be gone again, only crawling back after another lovers' quarrel.

"Are you listening?" Jaime suddenly asks, voice rather soft. He looks up at you, beautiful green eyes batting under his eyelashes. Yes, you're looking.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." You say dismissively.

"Hold on a moment."

Jaime sits up to straddle you once more. You watch him go up all the way, eyes locked onto his. He's beautiful; different, worn, but still beautiful.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, "What are you looking at?"

You're so distracted with his face that you don't realize him sliding down onto your cock in one swift motion. "Fuck."

"Fuck is what you're looking at?" Jaime teases.

"Bastard."

"Ah, ah, ah," He tuts his tongue, hand on your abdomen as he rolls his hips. "you already used that one once. Be a little more creative, for once?"

You roll your eyes yet reply anyway, "Dickhead."

Jaime grins, "Better."

You settle a hand on his hip, helping guide his movements as well as make sure he doesn't lose his balance, what with the hand and all. It's... he's probably fine, but you can't help but be cautious.

You wrap your other hand on what remains of his wrist, almost as if to hold his hand. He notices the gesture.

His voice is soft when he says, "As I was saying?"

You nod your head, "As you were saying."

"About losing my hand... suppose I was way in over my head. I'd managed to convince that bastard of a man, Locke to leave lady Brienne untouched. I thought I could convince him to do more, to give me a decent meal and a fire, but instead, he convinced me that he was following along with my orders. Next moment, his men are pinning me down and he cuts my hand off himself. For the next months, he ties the bloody thing around my neck and I can't even take it off."

Grueling business to talk about while he rides you, but you've never held off from venting during these moments. It makes release all the sweeter, releasing your problems as well as your pent up sexual frustrations.

It's soft, all of it. The hand holding, the slow pace and desire to clench around every part of your cock, the eye contact, the easy way he tells you the entire story without sparing details to save his dignity.

"I should've gone after you." You sigh, kissing his bandaged wrist.

"No, you're a King's Guard, not a foot soldier." Jaime shakes his head, heaving a sigh. "You–"

You flip him over easily. "I should've gone after you." You say, and it's almost like you have authority over him, leaning over his body. You do, really, you're in control of your pleasure now.

Speechless, Jaime doesn't fight you. "Yeah."

You start up slow again, but quickly build up in chase of his pleasure. Jaime breathes out a shaky sigh, breaths growing heavier with each thrust.

"I'm sorry for all you've been through," Jaime has half the mind to protest, but you give him a look and continue, "and I wish I could kill every man that wronged you myself. I'm glad for Catelyn Stark, and glad for lady Brienne. I'm also happy that you're back, back to me. Happier than women leaving Maester Pycelle's room."

He wraps his arms around your neck, like you'd showed him earlier, and his legs around your waist. He's holding you close, for comfort, as if to make sure you're really there.

It's silly to do so. You're in front of his very eyes, your cock is fucking him open, and you're very much real.

"I'm happy I'm back with you." He mirrors with a grin, "Happier than even your cock is, I'm sure."

You kiss. No teeth, no tongue, just him and you holding it for as long as possible.

Maybe he will go back to Cersei. You think it almost inevitable; but at least you're sure there's a little part of him that loves you dearly, even if you might never admit it to each other.

For tonight, he's yours.

Yours to lavish, yours to pleasure, yours to fuck.

​Your body ached: muscles tense, bruised, bleeding, your eye swollen shut. The sticky, drying sensation of blood against the cheap fabric of your suit was a nauseating reminder of the past hour, but the ache wasn't what was on your mind.

​Blonde Blazer had lied to you.

​You had suspected it the moment she called you—of all possible heroes—to go on a dispatch. With her, nothing was ever simple. She was a complexity you perpetually resented, a calculated mess wrapped in blinding blue fabric. You had never really liked her, and while you wouldn't say that to anyone, she rubbed you the wrong way. Then again, who hadn't besides Roy and Chase? Those two were the only things keeping you from quitting this entire, disastrous operation.

​You stepped through the reinforced glass doors of the Dispatch building. The central room was a blindingly bright expanse of monitors and ringing phones, the hurried tapping of keyboards a furious, constant sound that grated on your already frayed nerves. You ignored the startled, whispered looks, ignored the sharp, electric sting in your cheek from the blow you hadn't anticipated, and ignored the shallow, burning sting in your lungs from pushing your powers past their limit.

​“Where is she?” You grumbled, the sound rough and low in your throat. You planted your feet near the main desk, your glare settling on one of the dispatch operators.

​The operator, a young woman with a headset askew, visibly flinched. She pointed toward the main conference room with a shaking finger, unable to meet your gaze.

You turn your head—a sharp jolt that sends a wave of nausea through your skull—and lock eyes with Chase.

​He’s leaning against the doorframe of an adjacent office, arms crossed, his stance casually rigid. He doesn’t need to ask what happened. The jagged cut on your cheek, the purple-black swelling around your eye, the way you plant your feet like a wounded, caged animal—he knows. He knows you are as stubborn as they come; he knows whatever he says won't matter, but he tries anyway. That’s just Chase.

​The harsh, fluorescent light of the Dispatch center—the one you had ignored seconds ago—now seems to drill into the intact retina of your good eye. Each ringing phone and furious tap of a keyboard is a jackhammer against your already frayed nerves.

​"Planning on starting a fight here, in your condition?" he hums, his voice low enough to be lost in the building's cacophony, but clear enough for you. There's a sliver of genuine concern in his dark gaze, which you choose to ignore.

​You stop abruptly just beside him, the cheap, blood-soaked fabric of your suit sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Your hand rises automatically to wipe blood from the cut on your cheek—only succeeding in smearing the sticky, drying residue further into your skin. "You gonna try and stop me?" you scoff, the word catching on the rough rasp in your throat. You lean closer, dropping your voice to a low snarl, "Because that usually works out well for you."

​He sighs, a sound of profound, weary patience. He pushes off the frame, taking a protective half-step toward you, but doesn't touch you. "She's got company," Chase mutters, looking past you toward the thick, mahogany conference room door. "Try not to make him a casualty."

​The air catches in your lungs. Company. The last thing you need.

​A spike of ice-cold dread mixes with the hot, burning rage already simmering beneath your skin. The memory of your last argument with Blazer—the one that started over a similar situation —is instantly vivid: the sudden, stunning force of her fist to your face, the sound of your head hitting the wall, and Roy practically peeling you off the concrete like a discarded decal.

​Did you deserve it? Yeah, you're known for your short temper. You instigated it, just like you’re instigating this. But after the brutal, exhausting, pointless dispatch you just had, where you pushed your powers past the point of exhaustion, you'd prefer not to leave another imprint on the wall. Not today. You need answers, not another concussion.

​You take a shuddering breath, tasting the dust of the Dispatch center and the metallic tang of your own blood. You settle your suit, adjusting the collar with a jerky, sudden motion. You meet Chase's eyes one last time, a challenge swimming in yours. He only shakes his head, an acknowledgement of your impending recklessness.

​You turn your back on him, moving purposefully toward the conference room.

You move purposefully toward the conference room. You don't bother knocking. The door is already ajar, a crack of light spilling into the hallway.

​"Take your clothes off."

​Blonde Blazer's voice is sharp and completely devoid of emotion, followed by the heavy, dull thud of something being set down hard on the conference table.

​You pause for a split second, a wave of weariness hitting you. You grumble the word "Seriously" under your breath, hoping desperately that you weren't about to walk in on some desperate, half-naked man trying to earn Blazer's attention despite her being involved with Phanomaman. This office melodrama is the last thing you need.

​You shove the door the rest of the way open, stepping inside. "Am I interrupting?"

​The reinforced oak door slams shut behind you with a deafening BANG, a sound that silences the distant office noise and makes the air in the room vibrate. You ignore the immediate, throbbing protest from the bruises ringing your ribs.

​Blazer turns slowly to face you. She’s wearing her signature blinding yellow blazer—not a hair out of place, not a smudge of dirt on her pristine white trousers. She’s tall, and even standing casually, she seems to slightly tower over the man seated behind her. She crosses her arms, her jaw tightening the moment her eyes land on your bloodied face.

​"I'm in the middle of something," she says, her tone crisp and impatient, like you're an annoying telemarketer.

​You barely glance at the man she's with—hero, already peaking from around her, eyes directed at you. You’re focused entirely on the calculating mess in the yellow jacket.

​"I couldn't care less whose dick you're about to fondle," you snarl, taking three deliberate steps toward the table. Your voice is raw, fueled by pain and betrayal. "But I'm not leaving this room until you explain why you put me in danger yet again."

​Blazer's eyes narrow, but she doesn't flinch. "I followed protocol. It wasn't my fault you failed to properly manage the variable."

​"Protocol?" You laugh, a harsh, humorless sound that scrapes against your throat. "You called me because you knew I'd be reckless enough to do the dirty work. You sent me on a dispatch against a known-level four threat and gave me intel that was two hours old! You lied to me!"

​You lean your hands on the table, your knuckles white, the movement bringing you eye-level with her. Your good eye blazes. "Tell me you didn't know that building was rigged. Tell me I wasn't just bait.”

​Blazer rolls her eyes—a small, theatrical gesture that communicates her utter boredom with your suffering. She straightens, taking a cool, deliberate step that brings her nose-to-nose with you across the polished conference table.

​"Please. If you were truly bait, darling, you wouldn't have survived. You'd be splattered across that floor right now," she says, her voice dropping to a low, silken purr that drips with condescension. She moves fluidly around the table's corner until she is standing directly in front of you. Her eyes narrow as she stares down, appraising the damage to your face like a disappointing report card.

​You stand perfectly straight despite the screaming protest from the bruised and possibly cracked ribs beneath your sticky suit. Every muscle is tense, every nerve ending is humming with a painful cocktail of adrenaline and exhaustion, but you will not back down. Not now. Not even if it means another fist to the face and another broken nose.

​"The intel was old because you took too long to secure the objective. Your lack of situational awareness is what put you in danger, not my planning," Blazer continues, the words clipped and precise. "You got reckless. You always get reckless. You push too hard, you act on impulse, and then you blame the person who provided you with the necessary resources." She pauses, a hint of patronizing pity in her gaze. "Perhaps if you learned to control your temper and rely less on brute force, your results wouldn't be so messy."

​The pure audacity of the dismissal strikes you harder than any physical blow. Before you can launch the scathing rebuttal forming in your mind—a retort about her cold detachment and manipulative tendencies—her hand flashes out.

​Her fingers clamp down on your shoulder—not a gentle touch, but a hard, firm shove. It sends a jolt of white-hot pain through your torso and forces you to stagger two full steps to the side, breaking your desperate stance.

​Blazer doesn't spare you a second glance. She’s already moving toward the door, her composure flawless. She yanks the conference room door open, the sound less violent this time, a signal of her control.

​She pauses with her hand on the frame, looking over her shoulder at the nervous scientist—the one she had just ordered to strip—who is still clutching his clipboard.

​"Robert," Blazer calls, her voice back to that smooth, professional register. "I'll see you in a few. We need to continue our discussion on your integration here and, of course, the absolute necessity of keeping your identity as Mecha Man a secret."

​She walks out, leaving the door slightly ajar. You are left standing in a stinging silence, staring past the man and at the thud she had made earlier: a simple duffle bag.

Blazer's scent—crisp linen and something faintly metallic, like ozone—lingers in the air, a final, infuriating insult.

​You push away from the door, dragging your feet, and collapse back against the edge of the large conference table, letting out a low, involuntary groan. The sound is muffled, escaping through clenched teeth. Your gaze settles on the industrial carpet, but you don't really see the fibers. You only see the pattern of your own recurring failures.

​You always had your own way of doing things—a stubborn, chaotic, effective kind of genius. But sometimes, when Blazer orchestrated a mess like this, you suspected it was exactly why she did it. Like it was her twisted, calculated way of telling you that your way of life was nothing but a colossal fuck-up waiting to happen.

​"I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

​The voice is a quiet, mumbled sound, pulling you out of your internal pit of self-loathing. You glance up. Robert—the same guy that was behind Blazer and secret Mecha Man—is now standing a few feet from you, leaning gently against the table, trying to appear non-threatening.

​You wanted to laugh. This guy didn't know you. He had just witnessed you nearly tear Blazer’s head off. And hell, according to every major news outlet and official Hero Registry, he was Mecha Man, one of the most respected heroes the country had ever known, and one who was supposedly dead—killed in action six months ago.

​"You expect me to believe the words of a dead man?" you scoff, the exhaustion making your voice flat and dull. You lift a hand to touch the swelling above your eye, not caring that you’re likely leaving a bloody handprint.

​Robert pats himself down, a humorous motiom—starting at his thighs, then working his way up his stomach and chest. He shruggs the thin, brown jacket off his shoulders, then immediately puts it back on. The entire time, he holds your gaze, a strange mix of sincerity and weary resignation in his eyes. He reaches up slowly and takes off his mask, setting it on the table.

​"Look, I get it," he says, with a shrug. "But one of two things is true right now." He spreads his hands. "Either I’m alive and well, talking to a very bruised hero." He gestures to you. "Or you have the freaky ability to see and talk to dead people."

​He waits for a response, his expression earnest.

​You couldn't help the genuine smile forming on your face. It felt alien—a sharp, involuntary stretch of damaged skin—but it was there. It was the first honest reaction of amusement you’d had all day, a pure spike of relief cutting through the adrenaline and resentment.

​Robert noticed the sudden change instantly. He noticed the way the smile pulled the jagged cut on your cheek, and how it gave him a glimpse of your teeth, stained a dark, unsettling crimson. Undoubtedly, blood was still pooling into your mouth from the cut on your face, mixing with the dust and dry taste of the Dispatch center.

​"No wonder she likes you," you hummed, the sound low and rough. The "she" was, of course, Blazer. It was a veiled compliment, the highest praise you’d ever dole out. "Charming." You sighed, the weariness of the day finally catching up to you, dragging the smile away.

​Your eyes, however, stayed on him. You noticed the details you'd missed when Blazer was monopolizing the room: the small, crescent-shaped chunk missing from the upper curve of his left ear, healed long ago but an obvious scar; the scruff of stubbled hair that covered his jawline, giving him a weary, unkempt look that belied his 'hero' status.

​"You think I'm charming?" He jabbed, a bright, disarming smile replacing his look of earnest resignation. He seemed genuinely pleased, perhaps used to people being more awestruck or, more likely, completely intimidated by the myth of Mecha Man.

​You looked away abruptly, the small, honest moment already too much. Your fingers flexed, curling into the sharp edge of the conference table behind you as you gripped it. "Don't push it."

​Robert's smile softened, turning into something warmer, more knowing. He pushed off the table, the simple action graceful and controlled. He came to stand directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint, clean scent of old soap and something metallic—not ozone, like Blazer, but something sharper, like engine oil.

​"Right," he murmured, his voice dropping slightly. His hand flinched beside him, a slight, involuntary tremor, like he wanted to reach out and touch your face, check the damage. Instead, he forced the hand to his side. "You should probably see a doctor."

​"It'll heal," you murmured, the words barely audible. You felt the characteristic, painful hum beneath your skin.

​Robert cocked an eyebrow, his eyes drifting down your bloodied suit. "So," he chuckled, the sound deep and easy. "You can heal yourself and speak with the dead? You really are something."

​The assumption was enough to snap you out of your self-pity. You reached out, not gently, and smacked his shoulder with the heel of your hand. It was a reflexive, playful shove meant to break the tension. "No," you huffed, a low laugh hiding in the sound. "I can't do either."

​"Then let me help you," Robert met your eyes, the sincerity back, but now mingled with a spark of immediate, protective intent. "Somewhere more private, if you want?" He gestured with a subtle nod toward the conference room door, which Blazer had left slightly ajar as a sign of her utter contempt for your need for secrecy.

​Through the narrow crack, you could just make out the contrasting figures of your two remaining friends. You saw the stark white of Chase's hair—an unmistakable beacon—and beyond him, the sheer, immovable size of Roy, a mountain of muscle standing sentinel. They were most likely there to ensure you didn't, in fact, tear Blonde Blazer's head off, or at least to peel you off the wall for the second time this week. They were a safety net, and you hated needing one.

​You met Robert's gaze. The strange mix of easy charm, quiet authority, and deep scars in his eyes was instantly appealing. He was, much like Chase, a complication you could almost tolerate.

​"Fine," you finally admitted, pushing off the table fully, trying to ignore the painful protest from your ribs. You straightened your suit collar once more.

​You and Robert moved with the practiced, efficient silence of two people who understood the necessity of discretion. You slipped past Chase and Roy—who simply offered twin, weary nods of approval—and quickly found an unused office at the end of the hall. The room was sparsely furnished: a heavy, chipped wooden desk, a precarious-looking old chair, and the pervasive scent of stale coffee. Robert was careful to shut the door and draw the thin, off-white blinds behind you, plunging the small room into shadowed privacy.

​He immediately opened the duffel bag you'd retrieved. It held a neatly folded uniform—the standard, dull-gray, cheap fabric worn by every dispatcher and low-level administrator in the building. Blazer’s insult was clear: even Mecha Man was just another glorified employee now. Robert shrugged off his brown jacket and changed quickly, efficiently, the drab uniform swallowing his heroic physique.

​You, meanwhile, felt a wave of painful, sticky relief as you started to peel off your blood-soaked suit jacket. You grunted softly as you maneuvered your bruised arm out of the sleeve, finally tossing the ruined fabric onto the floor.

​Your back was a sprawling map of trauma—old, pale, puckered scars that testified to past brushes with death, mixing with fresh, livid bruises and gashes from the recent dispatch. Robert watched, quiet and focused. He traced the lines with his eyes, mapping the geography of your history—the faint, deep lines from burns, the heavy, purple pooling of new contusions—as you moved to take off your boots and the bottom half of your suit. You had a deeper-than-expected cut just below the hem of your boxers, staining the fabric dark.

​He let out a low hum, a sound of professional acknowledgment mixed with a hint of concern, slightly nodding to himself while haphazardly grabbing for the old office chair.

​With a grunt, you hopped up onto the solid surface of the old desk, settling sideways to face Robert as he pulled the chair in front of you. You felt exposed, tired, and deeply vulnerable.

​"You were staring," you murmured, folding your arms across your bruised abdomen, a self-conscious gesture. "You're not very subtle."

​Robert finally looked up from the medical kit he’d nabbed, his eyes meeting yours with that same weary sincerity. He set the metal box gently on the desk beside your hip.

​"Yeah. I wasn't trying to be," he said simply, his voice flat but honest. He scooted the chair closer until he was directly between your legs, which were bent at the knee and dangling over the side of the desk.

​Your face felt instantly hot. He was practically a complete stranger, yet he was now nose-deep near your crotch, his attention focused entirely on your injuries. He reached out, his touch tentative but firm, placing one hand on your inner thigh for stability as he carefully opened the metal first-aid box with the other.

​"Just assessing the damage," he explained, his gaze sweeping across the various cuts, scrapes, and massive, angry bruises mapping your abdomen and ribs. "That was one hell of a dispatch. Any internal issues, or is it mostly surface-level?”

You swallowed hard, the rough rasp in your throat returning. "The ribs are just badly bruised, maybe a hairline crack." You shifted slightly on the desk, feeling the accidental, gentle press of his hand against your skin. "I can handle it."

​Robert paused, his gaze lifting immediately from your abdomen to meet your eyes. He wasn't skeptical, but deeply concerned, his expression heavy with knowledge. "Handle it, sure, but heal it? You need better care than an old desk and some iodine," he countered, his voice a low, steady murmur. "That's not just bruising. You're losing more blood than you think, especially from the cut on your leg."

​He pulled out a swab and a small bottle of antiseptic. "We'll start with the easy stuff, then we’ll move up to your face. But listen to me: you need a proper scan for those ribs. We can't let a hairline crack turn into a punctured lung." He dipped the swab, his movements suddenly all business. "This might sting. Keep still for me." He nodded toward the cut on your leg.

​Robert didn't wait for a response; he simply got to work. He started with the cut just above your boxers, the one that had been bleeding steadily. He poured the antiseptic—a burning, sharp cold—directly onto the swab, then pressed it firmly against the wound.

​You let out a low, involuntary hiss, the sound squeezed past your clenched teeth. The pain was immediate and searing, cutting through the dull, throbbing ache that had been your constant companion all day. Your body instinctively jerked, trying to pull away from the sting.

​To steady you, Robert’s hand tightened slightly on your thigh. It was a purely practical action, yet the firm, warm pressure was startlingly intimate. His touch was solid and anchoring, preventing you from squirming off the desk entirely, though it did little to stop the deep, rattling breath you took as the antiseptic bit into the raw tissue.

​"Hold on," he murmured, his voice now lower, focused entirely on the task. His head was bent, giving you a perfect view of the crescent scar on his ear and the concentration etched around his mouth. "Just getting the worst of the grit out. Blazer's intel was two hours old, you said? That building must have been a wreck."

​You let your head roll onto your shoulder, watching the fluorescent office light glint off the polished steel of the medical kit. "Wreck doesn't cover it. It was a trap," you managed, the words still rough. "It wasn't just old intel; it was active misinformation. She knew I'd go in blind."

​Robert finished cleaning the cut on your leg, taping a clean square of gauze over it. He then moved up, his fingers brushing the skin of your abdomen, tracing a large, spiderweb of bruising spreading across your oblique muscle—the likely impact point of a heavy kick or shove. He pressed gently, testing for tender spots.

​You flinched away from the contact, your breath catching. "Careful," you warned, the word a strained whisper.

​"Trying to be," he replied, his eyes finally lifting from your injuries to your face. He saw the sweat beading near your hairline, the tight line of your mouth. "But I need to know where the pain is worst. You're trying to ignore this, and you can't."

​He grabbed a smaller swab and began cleaning a scrape along the ridge of your hip bone. The movements were careful, but they weren't gentle—he was determined to clean them properly. You watched him, trying to reconcile the figure of the legendary Mecha Man with this grounded, weary man applying antiseptic and worrying about your ribs.

​"Why are you doing this?" you asked, the question escaping on an exhale of pain. "You don't know me. You’re Mecha Man—you should be debriefing with the Director, not patching up some short-tempered idiot Blazer used as bait."

​He paused, holding the swab just above a particularly nasty graze near your belt line. His eyes were direct, unblinking. "Maybe I know what it feels like to be an idiot used as bait." He gave a slight, humorless shake of his head. "And I was debriefing. I got the full Blazer treatment: ice-cold, all protocol, no empathy. I prefer patching up short-tempered idiots. It's more honest."

​He finished the graze and started on the bruising along your ribs, gently massaging in a cooling gel. The pressure was firm and comforting. He then pulled out the alcohol wipe to tackle the smudged blood on your cheek—the dried residue you’d smeared in the main office.

​The wipe was cold. He used meticulous, slow movements, cleaning the dried blood from the jagged cut on your face, then wiping the dark stain from your teeth and lips. His proximity was overwhelming; you could feel his breath, faintly metallic and warm, against your good eye.

​"Okay," he said softly, putting the used wipe aside. "That's the worst of it. Now for the rest of your face. You're going to have a shiner." He looked at the swollen, purple-black skin around your eye, his expression shifting from clinical focus to something that looked suspiciously like pity.

​You refused to meet the pity, instead focusing on the way his thumb was still resting lightly on your thigh. "Don't say it," you muttered, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

​Robert chuckled, a quiet, rich sound that seemed completely out of place in the antiseptic gloom of the office. He didn't remove his hand. "Relax. I was just going to say that these lights really bring out the purple in your eye.”

You let out a long, shuddering sigh, a puff of air that finally felt relaxed, as Robert finished cleaning and patching the last of your wounds. He had just applied a sterile dressing over the cut on your cheek—the one that had caused so much blood to pool. The whole process was over, leaving your skin feeling clean, stinging, and infinitely better than it had an hour ago.

​"Thanks," you murmured, the single word carrying more weight than you intended. You met his gaze, a slight, genuine smile touching your lips. "Glad you enjoy short-tempered idiots."

​He gathered up the used swabs and bandages, tossing them into the metal tin. Then, instead of moving, he leaned back in the chair, his dark eyes staring up at you with an unhurried, knowing quality. His hand remained lightly resting on your thigh—a casual, comforting weight now, not just a practical restraint.

​"I enjoy a lot of things," he said softly, a genuine smile curving his mouth. "And I enjoy more than just patching them up, too."

​You cocked an eyebrow down at him, a reflex that pulled at the stitches (or heavy adhesive) on your face. "Oh yeah? And what exactly else do you enjoy?" you challenged, a playful rasp in your voice, leaning forward slightly on the desk so your faces were only inches apart.

​Robert's smile widened, and he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, warm murmur that felt like a secret just for you. "I enjoy honesty. I enjoy people who don't hide their fire, even when they're beaten up. And I really enjoy people who don't try to pretend they don't need help."

​He reached up, his movements slow and deliberate, and gently tapped the very center of your chest, right over your heart, then let his hand rest there.

​"You're a mess," he concluded, his gaze serious, but his tone completely affectionate. "A stubborn, painful, complicated mess. And I like complicated."

​You felt your breath catch, the unexpected tenderness of the moment stealing the sarcastic retort you’d been ready to deliver. You wanted to lean down, to close the last few inches of distance, but you held yourself still.

​"Well, you just got done telling me I need a scan and a few days rest," you whispered, trying to sound aloof, but failing entirely.

​"I did," he confirmed. He pulled his hand from your chest, his thumb lightly brushing the clean, taped skin of your collarbone before his hand finally returned to his side. "But I'm a patient man. The world's been waiting six months for me. It can wait another few hours for you."

​He slowly pushed the chair back, breaking the intimate circle, and stood up. He offered you his hand—a clean, strong grip.

​"Let's get you that scan," he said, his voice back to that easy, quiet authority. "Then we can figure out where the best place is for a complicated mess to rest."

​You took his hand, letting him help you slide off the desk and onto your feet. For the first time all day, the pain seemed manageable.

“So what ? You’re gonna go with the old man ?” Flambae asked, looking at Chase. “Lame as fuuuck.”

“Waterboy is spending it with his grandma.” Robert countered, an eyebrow raised at him.

“Dude, what makes you think I’m not judging that fucking loser as well ?”

Robert tilted his head, silently warning him to not be mean.

“Whatever.” Flambae said, rolling his eyes before walking away.

Honestly, Robert didn’t understand what was so bad about spending Christmas alone. He had done it plenty of times before, it’s fine.

But he wasn’t going to be alone this time. Or so he hoped.

You had told him you would come to the SDN building and spend the night with him but the last time you replied to his texts was at lunch.

He quickly understood it was because you were busy, a lot of heroes were celebrating which means those who weren’t had more work to do.

He didn’t mind waiting, trusting you’d warn him if you couldn’t come. In the meantime, he had to refuse an invitation to a bar crawl with Malevola, Sonar and Punch Up along with a karaoke night with Prism, Flambae and Coup -who warned she wouldn’t sing-. Golem even invited him to help babysit his baby Kaiju with Invisigal once the Christmas party was over.

It was nice of them to think about him, even if there was some pity motivating their invitations.

Still sitting in his chair, Robert vaguely listened to the discussions around him while looking at a sleeping Beef, quickly zoning out. The noise was just a distant background, no words making sense anymore until he heard your hero name.

Slowly he snapped out of it, looking around to notice everyone was looking in the same direction, a couple of phones out to film… you. Oh shit, you were here !

He stood up, quickly straightening his shirt with his hands as you continued to walk around to find him.

You stopped in front of a rather flashy and surprised group and asked if they knew where Robert was.

“Did he say Robert ?” One repeated to someone else.

“Robert Robertson ?” Another asked.

“The third ? Our Robert ?” A third person asked.

Right as you were about to answer you finally saw him, waving at you from behind the -rather confused- group. What could you possibly want with him ?

A smile immediately formed on your face before excusing yourself and going to Robert. The group stared at you with various levels of concern.

“I miscalculated. There’s a lot of people, I should’ve come with my regular clothes instead of my hero costume.” You said, looking around.

Yeah, everyone was staring at you, some were more discreet than others.

“Maybe, but, I wouldn’t have been able to flaunt knowing the great [Hero Name]. Look at my team.” Robert said, amused, leaning back in his chair, gesturing at the flashy group you spoke to. “Look, they’re absolutely shell-shocked we know each other.”

You relaxed a bit, waving at them before looking around once more to try and find any familiar faces. You saw Blonde Blazer and a bit farther away Phenomaman. You had shared a couple of professional lunches with them before their break up.

Your thoughts got quickly interrupted as you heard someone clear their throat, gaining your attention. It was a man-bat in a suit.

“Hi, I wondered if you would like to sign my friend’s chest ?” He asked before looking at a man with a skin-tight suit with an extremely low V cut. “We’re huge fans.” He added, looking back at you.

“What ? Why my chest ?” The man asked, approaching.

“Because that’s why your tits are out, man.”

“No, the fuck, it’s not-”

“Could you sign my chest too ?” A low voice suddenly cut them off. A golem.

“Could- cou- can you sign this too- uh. I’m sorry it’s w- wet.” A really humid looking man asked, holding a wet paper tissue.

“I uh, I don’t have a pen.” You replied, noticing the group was quickly crowding you.

“You can use my daggers to carve your name on them.” A woman dressed in black proposed, handing you one of her blades.

You stared at her for a brief moment, slightly surprised before taking her dagger. You had done weirder shit for fans.

“Sick, but I don’t think Waterboy’s gonna like it very much.” A red-looking demon pointed out, amused.

“Yeah, I uh- I would uh prefer a p- pen.”

“Don’t be a pussy.” The stern woman said.

“O- okay…”

“Can’t you ask for a picture like normal people ?” Robert finally intervened, standing up and taking the dagger from your hands to give it back to the woman who seemed annoyed as she put the blade back on her shoulder.

But his words did not fall on deaf ears, quickly, the man-bat approached you, telling you his name, phone in hand, ready to take a selfie with you.

And so, one by one, they introduced themselves to you before taking a picture. You had to take Waterboy’s phone out of his ziploc bag and take the photo for him since he kept shaking.

“For real, how did you do it ?” Flambae asked Robert.

“Do what ?” Robert replied, watching you put Waterboy’s phone back in the bag.

“Bag [Hero Name]. He’s like the most fucking handsome guy I’ve ever seen.”

“And you haven’t seen him without his mask.” Robert said, looking at him with a smug expression. If he could physically rub salt in a wound he would do it.

“Fuuuck, you have ? Motherfucker… Has he seen your place ?”

“Yes, actually. He criticized my sleeping chair. And he’s curious about the many lamps.”

“Didn’t Blazer give you a reversible couch or something ?”

“She did.”

Flambae gave him a judgy look before talking again.

“And he didn’t drop you immediately ?”

“No.”

“What the fuck…”

“Yeah, I’m as confused as you are.” Robert admitted.

“How did you meet ? Was it as MechaMan ? Like a colleagues to lovers trope ?” Invisigal chimed in, having listened to their conversation.

“Uh, no, when I was in a coma a neighbor complained that Beef kept barking and scratching at the door, and it’s him who responded to the call. So he fed and took care of him while I was at the hospital.” He explained.

“So he’s seen your shitty place first and still stayed when you woke up ?” Flambae asked.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Are you sure you’re not paying him to hang with you ?” Invisigal asked.

“Bitch, be for real. That man is poor as fuck.” Prism said. Robert wanted to disagree, but she was right. “How is he supposed to pay him ? Sexually ?”

“He can’t, he has erectile dysfunction.” Flambae resonated as Invisigal agreed.

“I don’t have- whatever.” Robert sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Why is he with you ?” Invisigal continued.

“Wouldn’t you like to know ?” Robert replied.

“Ah, come on, man, I can’t believe a hero like him accepts to be with a loser like you.” Flambae added, the idea of you and Robert together was inconceivable.

“I’m gonna ask him.” Invisigal said, walking to you, still talking to the rest of the team. “Hey.”

“Hi ?”

“Are you two together ? Are you fucking ?” She asked, gesturing to Robert behind her with her head.

Despite being a bit surprised by her bluntness you still smiled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know ?”

She huffed, annoyed by your answer. You kept smiling before going back to the discussion you were having while Invisigal walked back to Robert, Flambae and Prism.

“So, what did he say ?” Robert asked, amused.

“Go suck a dick.” She replied, flipping him off.

“Would you like to eat a meal with me on the edge of a mountain?”

You turned your head away from your phone, blinking at your boyfriend. For THE Phenomaman, figurehead of LA’s superhero population and renowned hero— he certainly wasn’t the best communicator.

“I’m… not really too big on that one.” You said.

He nodded, pacing the floor with his brow furrowed deeply, trying to think of another extreme date spot.

“What do you think of the top of a glacier?”

“I’m gonna be honest, I really don’t think about glaciers at all.”

“I see. What about someplace underground?”

You exhaled, putting your phone down as you took a moment to properly word what you were going to say, wanting hurt him the least with the point you wanted to make.

“Babe.” You turned around from where you were seated on the couch, kneeling while leaning over the back cushions, “I love that you’re wanting to try some extreme stuff for date night. It’s just— we go to super fancy or dangerous spots all the time. Would you maybe wanna try something a little more down-to-earth?”

“There is nothing more down-to-earth than deep underground.” He stated, visibly confused.

“No, I— look.” You stammered, “I love you. And I love doing these super exciting dates with you. I just want something a little low-key this time.”

He nodded, moving to take a seat next to you. “I understand. Is there some place you have in mind?”

You pursed your lips, racking your brain for any possible dinner spots. You’d gone to all of the new and exciting ones— did he like shitty street corner pizza? There was that new spot across town, but you’d heard rumours about it being some kind of front, and you did NOT want to have to put a date on hold for crime-fighting again.

You picked up your phone, scrolling through location after location on the maps app, Katon-Ur peering over your shoulder as you swiped.

The names kept getting less and less recognizable, until one stood out.

You halted the screen’s movement, re-reading it.

“Holy shit.” You chuckled, “King’s Burgers. I haven’t been there since I was a kid.”

In fact, you hadn’t known there’d been a location in town at all.

“Is that where you would like to go?” He questioned, “It is… twenty minutes away. Half that, if you wish for me to fly you.”

“Yeah!” You grinned, “You cool with that? I don’t know if you like burgers.”

“I enjoy many Earth cuisines.” He replied, “Except for pickles. I find them revolting.”

“Alright, then, no pickles!”

Nodding, you hopped to your feet, nearly bouncing up and down. This would be the first time in forever that you’d gotten a meal from there. You remembered your favourite from back then, and could only pray that it still tasted the same, for nostalgia’s sake.

Phenomaman’s cape traded in for a hoodie that barely fit his broad frame, the two of you landed just outside of the familiarly-decorated restaurant. It had taken a while to find something casual enough on him, especially with his dislike of t-shirts or anything too tight on his arms.

As you pushed the glass door open, that same ringing came from the bell above the hung as it had when you were little, and you resisted the urge to sigh in contentment. It didn’t look exactly like you remembered it, but it was close enough to make you feel like you were stepping back in time.

“What would you like to order?” Karon asked quietly, one of his hands finding its place on your shoulder.

“I’m not sure. What do you want?”

“I will eat whatever you do.”

“Sounds like a plan,” You smiled up at him, approaching the counter.

You placed the order— two cheeseburgers, one with no pickles, and whatever deep-fried side it came with, along with two waters.

As the two of you awaited your order, you found yourself explaining onion rings to your extraterrestrial boyfriend. Boy, was that something you hadn’t expected to be doing six months ago.

“It’s just fried onion though, they don’t add anything other than the batter.”

“And this is an enjoyable food?” He asked, with a bit of skepticism.

“I mean, yeah, usually. Have you seriously never had them?”

“I admittedly have not.”

“Damn, you’re missing out on a whole genre of trashy food.” You joked, “But you should try one when we get our order.”

The woman at the front called out your order number, and with a giddy grin on your lips, you accepted it and thanked her, sliding into a booth seat opposite of Katon.

“Okay, cheeseburger with…” You traced the writing on the wrapper with your finger, “—no pickles. This one’s yours.”

You moved it across the table, placing it in front of him as you pulled out your own burger and the onion rings.

“The bag is stained.” He narrowed his eyes, “Has this been contaminated?”

“Oh, no—“ You laughed, “It’s just a little greasy, that happens. It’s kinda gross if you think about it, but it’s not an attempt on our lives.”

He nodded, carefully unwrapping his meal with precision, before picking it up and taking a bite.

You did the same, and the flavours of your childhood favourite came rushing back like a geyser.

However, glancing over at your boyfriend, you could tell he didn’t feel the same.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, after swallowing the bite.

“There are pickles.” He stated, his tone sharp as if the burger had personally wronged him.

“Oh, shit.” You sighed, “Sorry, babe. Do you want to take them off, or—“

“I do not wish to be petulant. However, the vinegar has seeped into the bun.” He shook his head gravely, “I am disturbed.”

You held back a snicker as you snuck a glance at his burger.

Getting up and brushing yourself off, you placed a hand on his shoulder as you passed him, which he quickly grabbed, halting you mid-step.

“It is edible.” He reasoned, “There is no need for a second one.”

“If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t be forced to eat it.” You replied, “Let me see what I can do.”

He rushed out of his seat, following behind you as you approached the cashier again.

“Excuse me,” You greeted her again, “We actually asked for no pickles on one of those burgers.”

The worker’s eyes weren’t on you, however, instead being pointed at the skyscraper of a man lingering behind you, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Is that…?” She muttered, before snapping back to your conversation, “Yeah, I can re-make it.”

“Thank you.” You nodded, glancing back towards your boyfriend. Her eyes seemed to linger as she went off, most likely to inform whoever was in charge of the mistake.

“You did not need to do that.” He muttered, stepping up to speak in your ear, “I am able to eat the meal I received.”

“They messed up our order anyway. It’s fine, love.”

He let out a dejected sigh, which you desperately tried to avoid laughing at.

When the woman returned with another wrapped burger, you accepted it, thanking her, but her eyes stayed on your hoodie-clad boyfriend, who moped behind you at the thought of correcting his burger order.

“Is that Phenomaman?” One of the staff stepped out of the kitchen, and the waitress blinked and straightened, as if shocked.

“Holy shit, it is!” She exclaimed, “I’m so sorry about the mistake on the burger.”

You chuckled, looking back at him with a knowing grin, preparing yourself.

After what felt like hours of the staff getting his autograph, you two had finally managed to sneak off to eat your corrected meals.

Swinging your feet as you crunched on an onion ring, seated on the edge of a rooftop, you glanced towards Katon with a smile.

“Good burger?” You asked, to which he nodded eagerly.

“This is incredible.” He responded, “Without the pickles, it is truly enjoyable.”

“I told you!” You exclaimed, “You just gotta ask, they’ll fix it. It wasn’t busy in there anyways.”

He nodded, taking another large bite, as you exhaled warmly.

For a casual date night, this had been pretty spectacular. There were no heights, active volcanoes, or risks of any kind, yet this was by far the best date you had been on with him in a while.

Leviathan

Spoken words of jealousy is the only way to summon Envy. When your tongue burns with the intent to ruin the one you're jealous of. You have to sink into the feeling of sorrow and hatred at your own state.

You have to be fuelled by it. Let your thoughts spiral and land into self-loathing and self-deprecation. Compare yourself to others, over and over again. Hate them, and hate yourself.

He will respond well if you are anywhere near water. It doesn't matter if it's a pond or a river or a bath. As long as there's liquid that can be used to soak his many scales, he will be content. You are his master, though. He will respond well no matter where you are and what you have on hand.

The summoning words for him have to be quiet and seething. Spat out with hatred or glee, depending on whether there're other people around for you to feel joy in seeing their misfortune at.

Even if your heart and soul are wrapped in jealousy and self-pity, don't let that target your relationship with him. When it comes to thinking about him, think of how others will be envious of the fact that he was yours.

Envy starts at the mouth. Because of that, you'll have to gather that feeling of resentfulness and self-isolation and spit it out.

Soon enough, Leviathan will come to you, the might of the Devildom's sea with him.

Leviathan's very essence that had sunken into your soul following your pact with him slithered around it, squeezing and squeezing until his brothers' Sins were all pushed into somewhere he couldn't see, withdrawing deeper.

The taste of something salty spread in your mouth- just as when you had spat out the summoning spell- and you knew that he was coming.

You looked at the shallow puddle formed by the storm that was raging around you and the people that had attacked you and had you surrounded. You smiled when glowing citrine blue eyes blinked at you from the reflection of the water.

The ground cracked as glowing spikes embedded in Levi's true form erupted into view.

Melodic crooning rang in your ears. Lullingly. Seductively. You were more than used to it by now, and could ignore the siren-like nature of his call.

You crouched down and reached to the water's rippling surface and watched as Levi did the same from the other side. When your fingertips met the water, you could feel the tips of his sharp fingers against the pads of your softer ones.

He offered you a small smile and threaded your fingers with his. You saw the blush in his cheeks when you pulled him out.

Levi stood in front of you, normally slouched form standing at attention.

"You want them? My Henry?" Tendrils that were more akin to jellyfish stingers slithered out of the puddle and whipped around aggressively. "I won't let you. I barely get enough time with them, and I'm not going let idiots like you take from that precious time. I still haven't watched 'Help, My Girlfriend Turned Out to be a Transmigrated Sea Monster' with them!"

His tail wrapped around your arm and pulled you closer to him, letting you bury your face into his back. You were more than happy to let Envy protect you.

Beelzebub

Gluttony is not summoned by words or phrases, per se. He is summoned when hunger scratches your insides and when you can focus on nothing but it.

People who have contracts with the Lord of the Flies would have to starve themselves until they truly could not feel anything but the endless hunger he feels. But you're not one of them. You are his master.

All you need to do is indulge in his sin. In any form. You could eat too daintily, too expensively, too much, too soon, or too eagerly. You could pop a piece of chocolate in your mouth and that would be enough to call him to you. Prepare yourself to share the food though. Whether it be from your fingers or your mouth.

As you do so, think of things you could eat. Things you would like to devour and consume. Things you would feed him. That'd give him incentive to finish things up quickly to indulge in his Sin with you.

The summoning words are not truly necessary, but will act as an anchor to settle him. For his mindless devouring to be targeted and able to be used for your benefit.

Be aware that if he's summoned in the presence of others, he will eat them. Or attempt to eat them. It depends on what you want. As his master, your orders are the most important. He'll respond to whatever you feel in your soul, so be cautious.

Before the blink of an eye, Beelzebub with his unrestrained might will be at your side.

The hunger that had followed you ever since you had forged a pact with Beelzebub pulsed within you, overtaking the feelings of the Sins of his brothers within your soul. Threatening to devour them unless they made their presences smaller.

You wiped your mouth as you swallowed the taste of the piece of sweet thing you had consumed frantically. You looked at the smudges of food left behind and knew.

Beel would be here in... Three.

Loud buzzing echoed through the space.

Two.

The ground seemed to open up like gaping maws that led to the endless abyss. They weren't holes though. Not when they surged and shifted in a way akin to how mouths and teeth snapped up food.

One.

The ghosts of long, spindly fingers wrapped around you with a gentleness that you had grown long used to. Firmer hands grasped at your wrist, and you could feel the air next to you vibrate with the constant movement of insectoid wings.

Beel looked at you, pink-violet eyes blinking as he brought your hand to his mouth and licked at your fingers.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, voice soft like all the times he spoke to you and his brothers. You shifted your clothes to show him the shallow wounds you had gotten. "You are." Beel slowly looked to the group that had been chasing you. "I'm going to eat them all."

The sound of buzzing crescendoed and threatened to hurt your ears, but...

Gluttony's many hands covered them, allowing you to hear none of the eldritch sounds or the sounds of terror and despair. When he smiled at you, you nodded and let the spindly fingers of his eldritch form cover your eyes too.

Asmodeus

Summoning Lust is an intimate affair. He has to be beckoned over. He is summoned when you long. When you pine and desire. For what, is the important thing in his eyes.

If one longs for sexual activity, he will respond to give one the means to take. If one longs for power, he will respond in the form of an unseen whisper in the ears of the related people. If one longs for blood, he will whisper to others to make them fight.

Out of all the Sins, he is the one that is most open with forming contracts and pacts with various different humans. However, this doesn't mean he appears before them all the time. His essence is subtle, after all. But you and Solomon are the ones he considers special.

From you, he wants your longing and desire for him. It doesn't particularly matter if it was sexual or not, romantic or platonic. To use your pact to come to you, you have to desire him.

The words of summoning are crucial, in his case. And you need to speak them in a quiet, intimate whisper. Not simply in a quiet voice but in a whisper that's barely audible to the human ear.

You have to speak them in a way you would confess to a lover. You have to speak them with affection and longing.

Then, and only then, will Asmodeus show himself to you, clad in dangerous seduction.

The coiling, sly Infernal magic specific to Asmodeus extended through your soul, soft and alluring in a distinctly threatening way. You could feel how his brothers' Sins stayed far away, not fooled by the beckoning nature that Asmo's Sin gave off.

He was often underestimated by those that weren't his fellow Sins. But his brothers knew there was a reason why he was the fifth, and not the youngest.

Unlike with the rest of his brothers, you could never be sure when Asmo came to you unless you could see him. After a couple of times he had shown himself to you in anger, he had learnt that you were fragile enough to be hurt by simply looking at him.

Cool, claw-tipped fingers covered your eyes and you could hear a sighing giggle come from behind you. The twisting and seeping sensation that had once terrified you a gentle reassurance now.

You could hear soft, whispering words but could not quite understand them. You could feel the words breeze at your ears, though.

"Guess who~" Asmo sang out, as the sinking sensation of him clung onto you harder. When you said his name, the clinging feeling subsided somewhat. "Yep. And I'm here to indulge in my Sin."

Although you couldn't see Asmo right now, you could recall the times you had seen him in his very non-human form. You remembered the fog that obscured your view. The seductive whisper urging you to give in to your desires.

You heard the sounds of fists hitting bodies and guns being shot. Of pained shouts and grunts. Of clanging metal and blades being embedded into flesh.

But you weren't too worried. While Asmo was the one to cause the chaotic situation fuelled by bloodlust, you would be kept safe. Lust wouldn't let harm befall on you under his watch.

Satan

Expectedly, summoning Wrath needs you to scream. When your face and head pulses with heat, and your heart thrum with barely restrained feeling. You have to look up at the skies and scream.

You have to hear nothing but the blood in the vessels running through you. Have to see nothing but the cause of your anger. You have to have nothing but curses and vengeance in your heart and soul.

Similar to a degree with the summoning of Gluttony, the words of summoning have to be spoken. They are necessary to be spoken to ensure that your anger is his. That he has something to focus on and rage at.

Scream and shout the words until you feel like your throat is bleeding. Until your voice is hoarse and rasping. Let your anger reach the Heavens.

It's not necessary for you to bleed, but he will respond much more favourably. Blood fuels him in a way it doesn't for the other brothers. Don't be alarmed when he laps it up.

Sink your fingers into the pact mark with him and dig deep. Make it bleed and show that you are angry enough to hurt yourself and your bond with him.

Then, Satan will answer your summons, your blood fuelling the monstrous beauty that is him.

The burning that chased away the coolness of the Sins of the other brothers chased after them with a vengeance. Backing them up in a defensive corner. Satan's Infernal magic filled your soul with a heat that made you feel as though your eyes were pulsing.

You tipped your head back and laughed. Your voice was raspy and cracking, but you didn't care. You had summoned Satan. And none of the people that had chased after you would survive.

That was why you had summon him, after all. You felt the blood from your self-inflicted wound on your pact mark with him drip down.

The air surrounded you grew hot. Heavy. Oppressive. To all but you.

Drip.

The thundering of hooves and the way the ground rumbled told you that he was nearing.

Drip.

Green fire erupted from nowhere, coating the land with their relentless flames.

Drip.

You watched as the massive horse skull indicative of Satan's fully eldritch form emerged from the depths, skeletal finger-like appendages clawing at the soil.

The gaping voids of his eye sockets shouldn't give you any indication of where he was looking, but you were his master. And you knew him. You knew his attention and anger was all on the people that had come after you.

"You dare hurt me? Hurt them?" Satan's voice was a snarling shout that crashed down on every hearing being- except for you- standing, pinning them down. "Chase us down like prey?"

When Satan's jagged, scaly tail came closer to you, you gingerly climbed on top of it and let him gently bring you to the top of his head, right where you could hold onto the main horn embedded on his forehead.

You would be safe on top of Wrath, and he would be more than happy for you to see your anger be enacted on.

Belphegor

Sloth is surprisingly easy to summon. You have to be idle. Paused in all movement and effort. You have to keep your mind blank. To not think about things you have to do or people that are relying on you.

In a situation that needs you to keep moving, you have to take a risk and stop. Relax in the face of danger and panic. The slightest thought of work or worry will not endear him to come to you.

Although his hatred for humanity has ebbed to a degree, he still holds a distaste for them. Enough to trick many into contracts that is vastly more beneficial to himself. Most times, he doesn’t bother interfering directly or in person.

But you are his master. The one he chose to form a pact with in a way to repent. He would not allow you to come to harm in an attempt to summon him.

To summon him, all you have to do is say the summoning words. No fanfare to it. Just say the words fondly and he’ll snap himself out of his slumber to come to you.

He comes easiest when you are in a state of dream or unconsciousness. So if the situation lets you, force yourself to sleep or taunt your enemies to knock you out cold.

You will find Belphegor curled around you in a cocoon of demonic limbs.

You started to stir as the Infernal magic that made of Belphegor’s essence blanketed over his brothers’ Sins, covering your soul in a lulling cradle.

You had been knocked unconscious a moment before, just as you had finished whispering out the summoning words. And apparently, that had been enough for Belphie to respond to your summon.

Clawed hands were wrapped around your waist, and his head was rested on your shoulder. You could tell that he was mindful of his sharp, curled horns.

The smell of sandalwood and poppies invaded your senses, and if not for your pact with him, you would have felt dizzy and dazed.

The phantom feeling of his heavy, dripping tendrils patted at you, reassuring you that he was aware with you.

The people that had once chased you and hurt you were all on the ground, eyes closed and writhing in pain and fear.

“Took you a while to wake up.” Belphie murmured into your neck. “Don’t tell me you’re even sleepier than I am.” You rolled your eyes and poked his side. “While you were out, I took care of them. So let’s just nap together. Beel will come find us.”

Although you couldn’t see the excretion that he produced, you could feel it clinging to you, silently tempting you to sink into his comforting embrace.

And when Sloth makes a sincere attempt to seduce you to rest after protecting you, how could you say no?

Lucifer

Pride likes to have attention. To flaunt, to feel above them all. He likes to be seen and revered upon. So, to summon him, you have to feel the same. Self-pity and self-deprecation have no place in someone who was summoning him.

In the moment of summoning, you have to be arrogant. You have to feel as though you are above God. Above their Heavenly Father.

The more people you have to witness you and your pact with him, the better he’ll respond. You have to tilt your head up and let the summoning words ring out loud and clear. Thus, the words are important to summon him.

Rip away whatever you have covering his pact mark. Let it glow and burn for all to see. Force others to look at it. At you. At him.

With all your heart and soul, feel how proud he makes you feel. How indestructible you feel at the thought of you being his human. Try not to think of it the other way, or he will be summoned in a slightly sour mood.

Speak the words like you are a devout follower. Like a worshipper for their god.

Then, Lucifer will emerge for you in his not quite Infernal but not quite Celestial beauty.

You felt yourself pulse and ripple with the absolute endlessness that was Lucifer’s essence engraved in your soul. The Sins of his brothers were pushed away like they were nothing, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have said that he erased the other pacts that marked your soul.

The ground below you seemed to freeze over, ice rapidly forming and growing to capture the people that had been chasing after you. And there was a constant, thrumming sound that was more akin to radio static.

Under that noise, you could hear the rattling of chains and rustling of feathers. You could feel endless numbers of eyes staring at you.

Once, they may have unnerved you. Being seen and picked apart. But now, you only truly felt seen. Proud.

You felt hands- clawed and feathered at the same time- land on your hips, and in the blink of an eye, you were lifted up and in a bridal carry.

Instinctively, you raised your arms and wrapped them around Lucifer’s neck. The hands supporting you left you, and you were instead being carried pressed against him by several of his numerous pairs of chained wings.

“You summoned me.” He said, tone a mixture of fondness and curiosity. As if he couldn’t figure out why you had summoned him and not one of his brothers but was pleased you did so anyway. “These are the fools that dare sought to harm you?” Lucifer huffed, and the rattling of chains grew louder. “Close your eyes. You’re safe.” A pause. “I promise.”

Rules were meant to be broken. There was a streak of rebellion in you, and it was clear that the Avatar of Pride in front of you caught a glimpse of it.

“Also, my word is law to you.” With a gloved hand, he brushed your cheek lightly. Condescendingly. “You can’t defy me… Now then, go on.” He pulled back. “Back to your room.”

You could hear what he meant though. He meant for you to scuttle back to where you came from. To return to your cage. Because that was what your room was, wasn’t it? Yeah, you were given the freedom to roam around the House, but that freedom was largely dependent on the demons’ whims. If you took one wrong step, you would be killed. But all that was overpowered at the thought of someone calling for help.

What kind of person would you be if you pretended not to notice?

Luke’s words rang in your mind again. Like a mantra. 

You swallowed and nodded, speedily making your way back to your room. You didn’t look back until you felt the gazes on you disappear.  

You would make your way up there. You will help them.

~🧡~

“What’s going on,” Lucifer said your name, his tone cool and lightly amused, as if he had caught a cat pushing something off of his desk. You met his gaze steadily, fingers shifting to free your blades if push came to shove. Oh, you knew that it wouldn’t hurt him. But you wouldn’t be you if didn’t go down swinging. “Out for a stroll?”

Your instincts… they didn’t scream at you to run. No, they told you to stay down. To cower and hope that he is merciful. But your body remained stiff and unmoving. Partly because you couldn’t and partly because you didn’t want to.

The calls for help echoed in your mind ever since you had heard them.

“I keep running into you here, don’t I? It seems you are really curious about what’s at the top of this staircase.” Red-black eyes bore into you as his eyebrows furrowed together and as he tilted his chin up slightly at you. Looking down at you. “Unless I’m mistaken, I believe I told you that it’s not a place humans have any business going.”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t respond. You couldn’t breathe. Even as the Avatar of Pride approached you- footsteps ringing out even though they shouldn’t be- truly towered over you.

He wasn’t as tall as Beelzebub or as built as the Lord of the Flies, but he felt larger. Taller. Vaster.

“If you can’t sleep, perhaps I should make you some tea?” You could barely hold onto what he was saying. His tone was pleasant enough, but your instincts told you that he truly intended to hurt you. The smell of burning and something metallic strangled you. “Something that will help you have a good night’s sleep.”

You had a feeling that it wasn’t chamomile.

You blinked, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes regardless of whether you wanted them or not. You watched as Pride’s eyes flicked to them, and as a small, almost unnoticeable smile of satisfaction gracing his face.

“You should probably know that it’s a bit too effective on humans, to the point that you may find that you-” the eldest cupped your cheek abruptly, not even giving you the chance to flinch or step back. His hand was cold. Frigid. Colder than Mammon’s had been “-never-” he pressed against the flesh under your left eye “-wake up-” you felt the unintended tear in your eye fall “-again.”

Just as abruptly as he had touched you, he retracted. All the oppressive scents and power dissipating as he did so.

“You get what I’m saying here, right?” Lucifer’s tone was gentler. A small carrot after the whip. But you didn’t trust him. Not with your safety. Not with your wellbeing. Not with anything that had to do with you. “Go back to your room.” His eyes slowly dragged to your wrists and he sneered. “And put those away before I take them. Besides, both of us know that they won’t do anything to us.”

You took in a heavy breath and stumbled back, legs weaker than you wanted them to be. You noticed that your hidden blades were unsheathed. When had you triggered them?

Then you took in his threat. No.

You quickly sheathed them and backed away.

You kept your eyes on him as you made your way to your room. You made sure to face him until he was out of your view. Lucifer terrified you. And whatever was up there- it was important to him in some way.

That made you all the more determined to go up there.

~🧡~

You perched on top of a tree, as far as you could get from the House of Lamentation and the related Hell territory, and waited. You were good at that. You were patient when hunting after all.

The warm winds caressed your cheeks and the twittering of bird and the occasional rustling of leaves told you that everything was thriving here. That there were animals safe for you to hunt and eat.

Waiting for the perfect prey also gave you ample time to think back on what Mammon had said this morning.

You had listened to him rant about how he was stuck looking at you, a human, instead of eating you. And you had continued to listen to him compare you to all sorts of demon delicacies, curse out his brothers, and complain about Lucifer. Then, you had asked about what was in the attic and he had flat out refused to tell you, even when you offered your non-existent money. He had figured out that the elder was your block in reaching the attic, and you had to poke at his pride by insinuating that he was scared of Lucifer, which was ironic, to get any piece of information you could.

Mammon had told you that you could try and get up the stairs if you distracted Lucifer, and at your prodding, had told you how to do so.

You needed to get your hands on a vinyl edition copy of the soundtrack for the Tale of the Seven Lords. You had asked for his help to get it, and to your surprise, he hadn’t flat out rejected you. No. He had gotten a look on his face. One that was similar to the one he had when he had asked for your praise.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts when you heard it.

Hooves against leaves. Slight huffing.

You peered down from your place on the branch and stilled completely. A deer. Your food for the time being. You had some experience skinning and taking it apart, so you could do it and eat your fill.

You zoned in on the animal, eyes fixed on its every move. If you had a gun or a bow or something of the sort, you could have shot at it. Right through the neck. But you didn’t. All you had were rope darts, but you didn’t have any more. And no way to replenish your stock.

You weren’t going to waste it on hunting for food. Your rope darts were a safe net. A secret weapon of a kind. But you doubted that it was secret, what with Lucifer’s terrifyingly knowing tendencies.

When the deer trotted right under you, you unsheathed your blades and dropped down, driving them into its neck.

Warm, red blood splurted out of the wound you had caused, and to your relief, it fell to the ground without much struggle. You pulled out your hidden blades from the deer and flicked the pivot blade so that you were wielding it as a knife.

And you got to work.

It was a fairly repetitive process, but it needed your full attention. You didn’t mind that, especially as you needed your mind to be quiet. You needed something to focus on. Keep your hands and mind busy.

To do this properly, you needed to hang the beast and start at the legs, but you didn’t have the time to use all of the game. You were just going to take and cook a portion of it. The rest of the meat could go to the crows and scavengers.

You really wanted to take the hide, but that really meant you had to hang the deer. You could have dragged the carcass somewhere safer and dry and did that, but you were weak from not eating properly for a week or so.

Maybe next time. When you had a safe place to hide in, like a cave or something, and when you had the strength to drag a catch.

The snap of a twig breaking pulled you out of your musing and your planning.

With your pivot blade in hand, you quickly swivelled around, with all intent to attack. The aliens didn’t come anywhere near nature, but who knows? They had started transporting living people, after all. You had sent the ones you could save to the general direction of the last camp you had stayed with. Archie and his friends would take care of them.

Hopefully the aliens hadn’t learnt to not be wary of the trees and animals.

But…

“Sorry!” It was a man. But that didn’t stop you from staying cautious. He didn’t feel threatening, but your instincts didn’t give you the soft, warm feeling that you had felt when you had first met Solomon. “I’m so, sorry! I just saw another person and I got curious.” The man looked at the deer you had hunted. “I- did you hunt that?”

“I did.” You squinted at him warily. “Why do you ask?”

“O-oh! I’m not looking to steal your catch or fight you for that or anything. I was just wondering if you could maybe… share some? Our camp… hasn’t been doing well since our hunter got killed.”

You looked at the half-skinned deer. You couldn’t use all of it anyway.

“I’m not asking you to give us that for free, of course! I can help you carry the game to our camp! You can cook it over there.”

The man looked down and fidgeted slightly with the tattered sleeve of his jacket. Then, he blinked up at you from under his lashes.

Normally, you would have refused following an unknown stranger. But your instincts didn’t tell you that he meant you harm, and… Well, you craved human interaction. Ones not tinged with distrust and trepidation.

“Okay. This was a bit too big for me to handle on my own anyway.” You paused as you sheathed your blades. You told him your name.

“Great! We have salt and spices and stuff like that!” He grinned at you. “I’m Ichabod. Nice to meet you!”

~🧡~

“Quit pullin’ on me!” Mammon shouted, as you used the pact to drag him along. You had gotten back from your outing with your stomach full for the first time in weeks, and had found him distracted by some kind of online gambling scheme. He had resisted you, despite having had told you he would help, and you were forced to command him. Mammon growled, the sound ripping through the hallway. “Lemme go! Let. Me. Go. This insta-”

You did as he asked and released your command, watching as he smacked his head against one of the tables nearby. The vase on top of it rattled slightly.

“Ow!” He glared at you, golden-blue eyes glinting as he rubbed his forehead. “Hey, what the Hell? Ya coulda at least given me a little warning before lettin’ go!” He straightened himself and pouted. “I hit my head just now, ya know?”

“I saw.” You said drily. You were used to him now. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

He blinked at you before flushing.

“Why would I want a kiss from ya?” He huffed and turned to the door to Leviathan’s room. “I liked ya better when ya were scared of me. You were less mouthy.” You had faith that the pact would stop him from killing you. “It’s all ‘cause of that stupid pact.”

“You shouldn’t have offered me it then.”

“And what? Have Levi kill you?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you decided to go straight to him and ask for the soundtrack…” Mammon gingerly poked at your cheek. “You really don’t have any patience, do ya?”

You were patient. But not when you were actively in danger. Not when someone else’s wellbeing was on your shoulders.

“Who knows? He might lend it to me. It’s not like I’m asking for him to give it to me.”

“Ya don’t know Levi. He’s scarily possessive over his weird stuff. And he ain’t even gonna let you inside his room.” He poked your cheek again. “Don’t go thinkin’ that everything’s gonn go your way ‘cause ya want it to! You know what your problem is? I’ll tell you-”

You rolled your eyes and waited for yet another half-sincere rant, but…

“Mammon, you jackass…” a low, vibrating sound echoed through the hall.

“What?” Mammon glanced around and to your slight amusement and exasperation, he gripped onto your unwrapped hand. The very one that had his pact mark. “Who said that?” He squeezed. “I’m not a jackass, or an idiot or a scumbag or a money-obsessed moron!”

“…He didn’t call you any of that.”

“…Still!” Mammon paused and blinked, as if he was thinking for the first time. “Hold on, I recognise that voice.” He swivelled around. “So, where ARE you, anyway?”

“You’re making way too much noise, Mammon.” Leviathan said, the displeasure and annoyance clear in his words. “Would you do me a favour and NOT stand outside my door being loud?” Some rustling. “I’m in the middle of watching the best scene of ‘The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl’.”

“Levi, we need to talk to you.” Mammon said, slamming his fist against the door. “Get off your ass and come to the door!”

“No.”

“See? See? What’d I tell ya?” Mammon turned to you, looking very pleased and smug with himself. “He won’t even open the damn door for us.” Then, he nudged you. “Go on, don’t just stand there. Try sayin’ somethin’ to him.”

You knew next to nothing about anime. You didn’t have the time or the leisure to watch things, period. You couldn’t insult him like Mammon did. You weren’t his sibling, and you certainly weren’t on good terms with him. All you could do was ask.

“Leviathan, I need to borrow your TSL soundtrack.”

“No.”

“Ugh, come on…” Mammon rolled his eyes at you. “That was awful. You’re not supposed to tell him why we’re here. He’s not the kind of guy who does favours if you ask him.”

You had no clue what kind of ‘guy’ the Avatar of Envy was. You certainly didn’t want to get caught in a lie. Mammon may end up with bruises at most, but you would be killed. What other option did you have but the truth?   

You swallowed your immediate, scathing response and shrugged instead.

Your instincts prickled. Warm. Soft. Ally! You perked immediately and turned away from Mammon.

“Solomon!” you said, as the grey-haired man approached you. He smiled at you and gently took your hand away from Mammon’s clutching grasp.

“Hey-” he said your name- “I was wondering who that was out here in the hall. It’s the pair everyone’s talking about.”

You felt a pulse of warmth in your hand and saw the bleeding imprints of nails start to disappear. You had missed heat that exuded from people. Huddling together to share warmth.  

“Oh. Solomon, it’s you.” Mammon snatched your hand away from Solomon’s soft one. And the cold hardness of demonic claws replaced it. “What do ya mean by that?”

“I’m referring to the rumour regarding a certain human by the name of-” your fellow human said your name- “A human who looks ordinary at first glance, but has already managed to make a pact with a demon.” Solomon’s eyes were shining with approval. “Despite only just knowing about them.”

“I have many tricks up my sleeves.” You said lightly. “In many ways.”

“And in ways even I don’t know of yet.” You could feel Mammon’s end of the pact tug. But you could brush it away for now. From what the books told you, demons were more influenced and sensitive to the humans’ emotions compared to the vice versa. “It does help that this demon is most like a real idiot, because he let a human discover and exploit his greatest weakness, and was tricked into forging a pact.”

Mammon cackled, but you could tell that it was laced with threat. You stiffened. But Solomon remained lax and smiling.

“What kind of demon is that? He must be a total numbskull!” He grinned, teeth far too many and far too sharp for your comfort. “Ha. What an idiot.” He tilted his head too many degrees to be natural. “Wait… are ya talkin’ about me?” You flexed your wrists in an attempt to calm yourself, and Mammon… stopped. Instead, he shook his head. “Anyway, what’re you even doing here, Solomon?”

You noted how Solomon was never once called human by him. And how you had to use the pact to order Mammon to call you by your name. You thought back to how dehumanised you were compared to him. You doubted anyone else- except for Lucifer- in the House knew your name.

Right. Second anchor. A useful, handy sacrifice. Solomon was powerful. Magical. You weren’t.

You can’t get attached to the spare, after all.

“I’m here because Levi invited me.”

You blinked at Solomon. At the casual way he referred to the Avatar of Envy. At his utter confidence and uncaring way he spoke to the demons. The soft warm feeling you had always gotten from him seemed to ebb slightly.

He was human. But…

“Wha? Levi invited YOU? To his room?” Mammon shook his head. “No way, I don’t buy it.”

“I’m afraid it’s the truth.”

Why did it feel like you were a pet in his presence as well?

Solomon brushed past you and knocked on the firmly shut door.

“Levi? It’s me.”

“What’s the secret phrase?”

“The second lord…” Solomon started, glancing subtly at you.

“…attempted to steal the Lord of Corruption’s platypus, which could lay golden eggs…”

“…having incurred the wrath of the Lord of Corruption for this misdeed…”

“…it was ordered for that the second lord would be forever dubbed The Lord of Fools.” Leviathan finished. A pause. “Secret phrase authenticated. You may enter.”

Solomon turned back and grinned at you as the door to Leviathan’s room slid open.

“Well, guess I’ll see you two later.” He waved. “Bye.”

You felt like you didn’t know this Solomon. But then again, was this the real him? Now that you were deep into this business with demons and angels and magic, was he showing his true self? Was the kind, safe man you had travelled for weeks with just an act?

Your spiralling thoughts were cut off by Mammon’s voice

“What were they even talking about just now?” He paused. “Wait a minute… That was the secret phrase!” You blinked. And blinked again, turning away from the door to face him. Mammon smiled. “They gave it away, didn’t they?”

Oh. Had… Solomon aimed for this? Had this been a hint for you?

“They did.” You breathed out. “Mammon, you genius- you’re right.”

He puffed up, and you heard high-pitched, inhuman trilling, but you could tell that it was nothing threatening. Unsettling still, but not grating at your ears.

“Go on then! Try sayin’ what Solomon said!”

You rapped your knuckles onto the hard wood.

“What’s the secret phrase?” Leviathan’s voice came from beyond the door, but it was more hesitant than before.

“The second lord…”

A large buzzer sound echoed through the hall. What the fuck.

Well. Maybe you had been reading too much into Solomon’s actions.

“Secret phrase authentication failure.” Damn this. Damn Leviathan and damn your life. You were so tired. All you wanted to do was help the person asking for it. “Access denied.”

“Wha?” Mammon sounded incredulous on your behalf. “Wait, that was totally right! It’s exactly what Solomon said!”

“The secret phrase is periodically reset.”

You nodded slowly. That… made sense. It was the most secure way to keeping things under lock and key. You had taken advantage of long-lasting passwords, after all.

“You’re saying it’s a one-time password? Seriously?”

“Maybe you should come back after you’ve at least watched TSL on DVD.”

Mammon snarled something in a language you couldn’t comprehend and slammed his fist on the door again. Leviathan snapped something back, which caused your pacted demon to step back and regard you again.

“I don’t understand exactly what’s goin’ on here, but from what I can gather…” He put his hands on his hips. “Basically, Solomon just proved to Levi that he’s a total TSL nerd too, so now they’re buddies. Which means…” Mammon pointed at you. “If you wanna borrow that soundtrack from Levi, then you’re gonna have to do what Solomon did, and become a TSL nerd yourself!”

“What?”

“It’s that or nothing!”

God damn it. You had to go watch a TV series.

…You sure as hell weren’t going to do it on your own.

“You’re coming with.”

~🧡~

You had watched the series on the TV that had somehow materialised in your room. You were paying attention to what was going on, but you were also on edge because of the two demons in your space.

This was your room. The only place you could fool yourself was safe from the brothers. And yet two of them were here. One, you had a pact with. The other, you had steered very clear from. But wherever food was, Beelzebub followed.

It had been because of Mammon, who had brought along snacks that you were tentative of eating. And you were definitely not going to eat anything now that the Avatar of Gluttony was in seeing distance.

It was… an intriguing story, with some parts that reminded you of what you had experienced whilst the others gave you a strangely foreboding feeling. The second Volume focused on Henry and the Lord of Shadows working together to trap the Lord of Fools. The Lord of Fool’s frozen lover, Geldie…

The Volume revolving around the Lord of Flies and the Lord of Fools- good intentions leading to a bad outcome- had made Mammon cry. The seventh volume was about the rebellion of the Lord of Emptiness against the eldest, the Lord of Corruption.

The part that had stuck with you had been how the Lord of Corruption had the Lord of Emptiness imprisoned within the Tower of Shadow in the farthest corner of the world.

That had been when you started to question. The brothers in the story had felt eerily similar to the brothers you were living with. Leviathan had mentioned in passing that the author to the series was human. Yet your instincts told you that something was off.

For the entire night, you had marathoned through every TSL DVD with Mammon’s constant commentary and the sixth brother’s munching of snacks.

And here, in the reception hall of the House, Mammon had quizzed you on the contents without you asking or ordering for it and you had passed with flying colours. You weren’t really sure why he was helping you, but you tentatively appreciated it.

“Great. Looks like you can do this when ya put your mind to it.” He smiled at you, eyes closing. “You may seem like an airhead, but I’ve gotta admit, you did pretty well.”

You would take that as a compliment.

“Thanks.”

“I’d say you should be able to convince Levi that ya know your stuff at this point.”

A prickling at the back of your neck made you snap your eyes towards the hallway leading further into the House. And from there emerged the blue-haired Avatar of Envy who looked everywhere except for at you.

“…Hey, human.”

“Ah, speak of the לִוְיָתָן…”

Leviathan ignored his brother and regarded you. Something unexplainable gleamed in his citrine blue eyes. You felt something wet and stinging- kind of like jellyfish tentacles- prod at you, but you knew you couldn’t see anything.

“I heard what you’re up to, human. Seems like you’re trying to suck up to me so I’ll like you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb. I heard it from Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” Mammon scowled. “How the hell foes he end up hearing every single thing that gets said around here?”

You truly had nowhere safe in this House.

Leviathan’s predatory eyes were fixed on you. Unblinkingly. Kind of. You could see a second layer of transparent eyelids blink, but not the outer ones.

“That’s not important.” The third brother paused. “You know, I’ve heard it said that the time a fool spends thinking is WASTED time. I think that applies here.” You felt the weight of your hidden blades on your wrists and flexed your hands. “You’re lucky to have so much time on your hands that you can sit around thinking up schemes like this.”

You wanted to say that it was exactly what Leviathan did when he came up with the scheme to trick Mammon using you, but you valued your life. So, you learnt to do and stayed silent.

“There’s so much anime I need to watch, so many figurines and trading cards I need to organise.” Now, he had lost you. You glanced at Mammon, who just shrugged back. “So many games I need to play just sitting there piled up…” Leviathan’s eyes left you and he seemed to scowl to himself. “As much as I wish I could watch a marathon of every TSL DVD, I don’t have the time…” His eyes snapped to you, and you felt like you were drowning. Like there were limbs grabbing onto you and dragging you down. You could taste salty water in your mouth and your throat was starting to burn- “So, why do YOU get to have so much free time? It’s so not fair.”

“Ah!” The sensation disappeared the moment Mammon took a step in front of you. “I was waiting for him to say that.” He made a wide gesture at the younger brother.” Levi’s signature line: ‘It’s so not fair’.”

“Shut up, Mammon. You’re an idiot.”

“You know, Leviathan, you need to start showin’ your older brother some more respect!”

“Whatever.” The Avatar of Envy looked at you with clear contempt. “Anyway, I don’t know what it is you’re plotting, but I’m not about to get all buddy-buddy with some human normie.” You forced yourself to maintain you ground. “Understand?” He jabbed a finger at you. “I’m not like Mammon. Get that through you tiny, human head.”  

“I’m not buddy-buddy with this human either!” Mammon stepped away from you again, as if he had just realised what he had done, leaving you to take the brunt of Leviathan’s ire again. The taste of salt and metal exploded in your mouth, and you honestly couldn’t tell if you were bleeding or not. Soft, sweet songs echoed in your ears, and you had to strain to hear Mammon’s words. “My body obeys the orders on its own, whether I like it or not. Like when I’m told to ‘stay’ and stuff. It’s not my fault!”

…You had gotten too careless. You had thought that your pact with Mammon would protect you. That he would be somewhat on your side. You shouldn’t have thought that.

Demons weren’t your friends. You shouldn’t trust them. You had almost made the mistake of being comfortable with one, but you would not make it again. The pact was just a way to keep them away.

That was exactly why…

“Don’t go getting any ideas in your head, human.”

“Hey! Don’t ignore me!”

“Let’s compete to see who the bigger TSL fan is.”

…You couldn’t back down from checking up on the person calling for help. What if they were human like you? Trapped because they trusted?

You steeled yourself even as Leviathan laughed in your face.

~🧡~

You were alone today, on your way to where Asmodeus was waiting to act as the anchor whilst Solomon was busy with his own tasks with some other demons. The fifth brother had thrown a bit of a fit at that, but the first anchor had soothed him enough to work with you for the duration in which you were here.

You dreaded working with any demon that wasn’t Mammon- because at least you could protect yourself from him- but what could you say in the face of Lucifer’s orders? Defy him and die?

On the slightly brighter note, you had successfully taunted the Avatar of Envy to have a TSL quiz off against you. Pride truly was the worst of all the sins. From what you could tell, the younger brothers were all easy to gaud when their pride was on the line.

On a much darker note, he had told you that if you didn’t win, he’d drag you to the depths of Hell’s mouth and feed the soldiers there with your soul until it expired.

You felt prickling at the back of your neck. And when you blinked, two of the brothers stood in front of you, horns gleaming and nails sharp and covered in the alien blood.

“Hello there, human.”

“Hello, Satan.” The greeting to the fourth born was always wild to say. You looked to the orange-haired sixth born. “Hello, Beelzebub.”

“I heard about what’s happening. It seems you and Levi are going to have a little competition.”

“Yes.”

“…Are you hoping to find out what’s in the attic room?” Beelzebub asked, and you tensed quickly, remembering his reaction in the kitchen the night you had made the pact with Mammon. Your fourth fingers were tense, ready to spring the blades if you needed time to run. “Is that it?”

You pursed your lips and didn’t answer. The Avatar of Gluttony stayed silent too. But he soon opened his mouth. You expected anger again. Annoyance. Something like that. Instead, what you got was-

“I’ll let you in on a nice piece of information.” You blinked, a little confused at the lack of distaste in his voice. “Levi is the lord of Envy. If you can work him into a jealous frenzy, he’ll lose control of himself.” Beelzebub smiled at you. Smiled? At you? “Then he’ll be guaranteed to slip up somehow, giving you an opening you can exploit.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“We can’t defy Pride directly.” It was Satan that answered you, lips twisting into a snarl, eyes turning into empty sockets except for green flames. “But you can.”

You wanted to ask what that was about, but his younger brother continued.

“Just one thing though. If Levi does lose control of himself, your life will also be in danger.”

“I’ll give you a piece of information too.” The Avatar of Wrath said, face looking more human than before. He placed his fingers on his chin. “The DVD version of TSL is up to season 7 now. That’s the most recent release. Meanwhile, the original book version is up to volume 8 at this point.”

The human author was writing a novel and publishing it in the middle of an alien apocalypse? There weren’t even bookshops or publishers or time to read. Something was up.

Satan smiled, as if he could see your train of thought.

“Volume 9 of the book isn’t out yet. But if you want to know what’s going to happen in it, you should ask Simeon.”

“…Thank you.”

“I’m surprised you’re so willing to take my word for it on this.” He tilted his head to the side as his teeth shifted into something that wasn’t fangs but also wasn’t really human. “You aren’t concerned I might be lying to you?”

“The first bit of information I can double check. The second, I’ll know when I talk to Simeon.”

“Smart.” The fourth brother mused. “Run along now, little human. Asmo’s waiting for you. And I know he has an appointment at the boutique soon. Wouldn’t want him to get angry at you for missing it.”

You nodded and speed-walked to your destination.

~🧡~

Your impromptu planning session with Mammon had led to the both of you deciding to go to Solomon to see if he had something that could trigger Leviathan’s jealousy. You assumed he had something that could do so, considering his knowledge on TSL.

You were slightly less trusting of him than before though. And from the way he gave you an apologetic grimace, you were sure he figured that out.

The man said your name and gingerly reached to grasp at the edge of your sleeve.

“-I wasn’t trying to rub my friendship with Levi in your face.”

“Well, ya did it anyway!”

Solomon briefly glanced at you, but ultimately fixed you with all his attention. When you didn’t tug your arm away from him, he slipped his fingers nearer to yours, gently holding curling around them.

“I wanted to help you. You heard me saying the phrase in front of you.”

“Not that it mattered in the end.” You said, huffing slightly. “Periodic password changes are bullshit.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t expected that either.” He sighed and played with your fingers, skimming over the glowing golden mark on the back of your hand. “I don’t know why you want access to Levi’s room, but… is it important to you?”

You didn’t want to go deep into the attic situation and your plan in distracting Lucifer. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t get off lightly if you divulged that information to others that didn’t reside in the House of Lamentation.

Besides, you were a little more wary of Solomon now that you were aware of his… familiarity with demons and with one of the brothers. You trusted him more than you trusted anyone else involved in the whole anchor business, of course, but…

“Yeah.”

You didn’t bother elaborating or making a light joke like you often did when speaking to him. He still gave off the warm, soft feeling to your instincts, but you decided to doubt it.

He had pacts with a lot of demons. Seventy-two, to be exact. He was unafraid of the demons and were more than comfortable with touching them and interacting with them. From what you could see when you bumped into him on during your respective tasks, of course.

You had interacted with normal humans more similar to you than Solomon and that had only added to your tentativeness in going back to the relationship you had with him before all the anchor business.

Your trust was hard to earn and easy to lose. It had been the way you survived, after all.

Mammon grumbled something from next to you and snatched your hand away from Solomon’s rubbing at the mark on it as if Solomon had dirtied it somehow.

“Aren’t ya supposed to know your manners, חַרְשָׁנָא?”

“And aren’t you supposed to protect them, מָמוֹנָא?”

You took your hand away from Mammon’s grasp and pinched the bridge of your nose. You didn’t know what was up with this little tiff, but you just wanted a secret weapon to win against Leviathan.

“Stop it.”

“Yeah, Mammon. Stop it.”

“You too, Solomon. There’s a reason we sought you out.”

“You want help in gaining Leviathan’s favour?”

“No.” You shook your head and grinned with no amusement at all. “I want your help to make him jealous.”

“You…” Solomon furrowed his eyebrows, concern marring his features before it was smoothed away by a sort of… curiosity. “You want to make the Avatar and Lord of Envy- the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy- jealous?”

“It’s a part of a whole plan me and Mammon came up with. And it involves TSL and a quiz.”

“Huh.”

“So? Can ya help or not?”

“Oh, I can. I have the exact object you need.” Solomon’s copper-silver eyes seemed to gleam. “I’ll lend it to you. Free of charge.”

“I don’t believe you.” Mammon snapped, gold-blue eyes glowing quite literally. You tensed immediately, wrists twitching in anticipation. His shadow seemed to grow and twist as hands erupted from it. “Nothing is free when it comes to you. You’re a greedy, greedy little human.” You subtly took a step away from him. “I know you as well as Lucifer does. Perhaps even more than אַשְמְדּאָי does.”

“I mean it.” You blinked at the sincerity in Solomon’s words. He said your name. “- is important to me. More than you know. They saved me quite often, didn’t you?”

Right. Before you had known of this world and of his magic, you had slaughtered whatever aliens that came close enough to be a threat. You had also been the one to cook, as although edible, his food did not taste good.

“Do you promise?”

Solomon grabbed your other hand and pressed it against his forehead. His head had tilted down slightly to do so, and he looked up at you with hooded eyes.

“I swear on the magic running through me.”

You studied his slightly submissive posture and the genuine sincerity in his tone. You glimpsed subtly to Mammon, who looked… surprised. Gobsmacked, almost. As if he was reading into something you couldn’t.

You shrugged inwardly and looked at your fellow human again.

“…Alright. I trust you.”

“Great.” Solomon released your hand and smiled. A little too satisfied about something. “If I summon it here, can I put it on you?”

“Hell no! Keep your grimy hand to yourself, human!”

~🧡~

“All right, everyone!” Asmodeus’ bright voice rang through the councilroom. You rotated your wrists subtly in an attempt to soothe yourself. “Finally, the wait is over! It’s time for Devil’s Trivia Showdown, the quiz show that pits demon against human!”

You tugged the jacket Mammon had lent you to hide the secret weapon closer to yourself, covering your whole chest and neck area with it.

“Today our competitors will be testing their knowledge regarding a super-famous, super-popular fantasy series.” The Avatar of Lust made a showy gesture. “‘The Tale of the Seven Lords!’”

You glanced at Leviathan, who looked gleeful and greedy. As though he was savouring the taste of your soul in his thoughts.

“Now, it’s time to introduce our two competitors. First, he’s a demon who freely admits to being a giant TSL nerd!” Another flourish as he pointed at his elder brother. “Meet Leviathan!”

“I am the G.O.A.T. None can oppose me!”

“And his challenger claims to have been introduced to TSL only very recently after binge-watching the DVDs! Say hello to-” Asmodeus looked at his cue cards and said your name.

At this point, you were getting the feeling that the demons were doing this on purpose.

You stayed silent.

“It’s too late to be getting cold feet now. There’s no turning back.”

You agreed with him on that one.

You took in a deep breath. This whole room was filled with demons. Starting from Leviathan to the host Asmodeus, the commentary Satan, Beelzebub and Lucifer who watched, your pacted demon Mammon, and the judge Diavolo.

You also had a feeling that this was broadcasted throughout Hell as a twisted kind of entertainment.

You had a plan. You could do this. This wasn’t just about the attic anymore. This was, to you, a fight for your life.

~🧡~

The questions for you had been easy. Simple things that only required information from the DVDs. Like the names of the oldest three brothers in order, the favourite food of the Lord of Flies, and who the Lord of Lechery loved the most. Leviathan’s questions were much more complex, such as the exact year of an event, an exact quote from the books, and an object in a very specific time stamp of the series.

…It was almost as though someone had wanted you to win.

And Mammon had given you the cue to bring out your trump card. All the while unnecessarily taunting the third brother. Said brother had scoffed at that, not taking you seriously.   

That had led to this point, where you shrugged off Mammon’s jacket and pulled at the chain of then necklace, letting the pendant gleam for everyone in the hall.

“W…Wait a minute.” Leviathan’s easy-going tone was gone in an instant. “Is that…? I don’t believe it!” He made an excited wowing sound. “It’s the Lord of Corruption’s lost wing pendant- the platinum version!” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you from across the makeshift stage. “That’s incredibly, incredibly rare… It’s legendary!”

The Avatar of Envy’s face twisted into something seethingly jealous and dangerous. You forced your hand to remain steady in the face of an Envy driven demon lord.

“H-how did you get that…? That pendant was only sold in extremely limited quantities to commemorate the release of Volume 1.” His expression darkened, and you could start tasting the salt in your mouth again. And yes, you had checked. It had most definitely been blood. “It’s a veritable TREASURE! Any TSL fan would KILL for that.” He looked to the pendant longingly. “GAH! I…I can’t bear to look at it! It’s… just… too… beautiful!”

You could hear Mammon and Asmodeus say something, but your eyes were fixed on the demon across you. One that started to exude a dangerous sort of pressure. You watched as his form twisted.

Everything in you told you to flee. Even if you knew you couldn’t outrun him.

“I won’t stand for this.” Your eardrums felt clogged. Like you were deep, deep underwater. Yet, his voice was clear. As though he was speaking into you. “All you did was stay up one night marathoning the DVDs. The idea that someone like YOU could actually be a bigger TSL fan than me, it’s…”

Vaguely, you could hear Mammon say something and the pact between him and you pulse with… concern?

“No. No.” His body twisted. Spine snapping and elongating. Luminescent tendrils slithering and dripping onto the floor. Scales spreading across his very form. Eyes glowing deep orange and appearing on the spines that erupted from his back. “I will not stand for this.”

Terror filled your veins. It was a sense of terror and fear you had never felt in your entire life. Not when the adults of the compounds first pushed you off of the roof. Not when the opposing side of the ‘secret war’ hunted after you relentlessly. Not when they eventually caught you and you escaped. Hell, not even when you saw the aliens’ brutality.

This was a fear that was engraved into humanity.

What could you do? In the face of a furious eldritch entity, what could you do? You couldn’t fight. Your blades were useless against them. And you still remembered Lucifer’s warning. Unsheathe them against his family, and he’d take them away.

At least with the people that hunted you, you could outrun and outlast. At least then, you knew death was the end.

The Leviathan was going to eat your soul. Devour it. Feed the scraps of it to other demons until any trace of you was gone.

There were no allies of yours here. No one to protect you. You were alone. In every way possible, you were deeply, utterly, alone.

You shut your eyes.

A call of your name.

“Dammit-” Mammon’s voice. Frantic. Vicious in a way that wasn’t directed towards you. “I’m not gonna make it in time…!”

“Enough.” Lucifer’s voice boomed through the hall, and you could feel the frigid cold that you always felt when he was near. “I believe you were going to settle this via a QUIZ, weren’t you? Not through violence.” You let out a stuttered gasp as you felt like you were suddenly pulled up onto surface. “You’re out of control, Levi.”

You shuddered uncontrollably and you could feel involuntary tears stream down your cheeks. Your ears were ringing, your mouth still tasted of blood, and you could see- and feel- the marks of stings and bruises in the shape of tendrils all over your body.

You blinked at the demon in front of you, even though you could only truly see the two pairs of burnt black wings. You knew that this was a form Lucifer took that was similar to the one Mammon had when he made his pact with you. A middle ground between human-like and eldritch.

“L…Lucifer…” Leviathan stuttered out, thoroughly cowed.

Mammon made a surprised sound.

“Unbelievable! Just as Leviathan was about to strike, who would step in and stop him but the one and only Lucifer himself!” Asmodeus sounded appropriately surprised and preppy. Careless about your sorry state. “Simply incredible!”

“I haven’t seen you leap to someone’s rescue like that in quite some time, Lucifer.”

You felt like you were going to throw up. Even in your broken state, they were all more concerned about their squabbles. Their day-to-day.

“Levi, go back to your room and cool off,” Lucifer commanded. But you noticed how there was nothing more to it. How his tone was slightly more forgiving than the one he had taken during your second attempt to get up the stairs.

You guessed that if it was between a pet he had never really wanted and his brother, he would always favour his brother.

Leviathan stood silently, his form more human than before. But you couldn’t look at him long enough to take him in. Every time you tried, you just… couldn’t stop shivering.

“לִוְיָתָן.” Diavolo said, and the temperature shifted. You muffled a pained sound at that, which made him blink at you before stopping it immediately. “You heard what he said, right?”

“…Yes.”

With that said, the Avatar of Envy left.

You closed your eyes and attempted to tune everyone else out. You needed to gather yourself enough to be alone. You needed to tend to yourself away from danger.

You could still hear bits and pieces of their conversation- about the competition being a draw, Satan’s jab at Lucifer rescuing a mere human, Mammon’s surprise at the same thing-

“As the oldest, it is naturally my duty to clean up my younger siblings’ messes.” You shakily stood up from your seat, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate. And that led you to fall to the ground, landing wrist first and smacking into your bracer quite harshly. You hissed at the familiar pain. Great. You had sprained your wrist too. “…Although this one is not one of them.”

“I’ll take-” Mammon said your name- “Gimme them, Lucifer.”

~🧡~

“You humans really are way less physically capable than us demons.” Beelzebub said, as he sat on top of your bed. The Avatar of Gluttony had somehow decided to follow Mammon as he swiftly carried you back to your room in the House and was watching the elder wrap at your wrist. Apparently, he couldn’t do anything about the stings because Leviathan’s venom was specific and had no known antidote. But because Lucifer had intervened on time, you would heal. And it would hurt like Hell. Joy. “Levi hadn’t even attacked you.” He paused briefly, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “That’s because they don’t eat enough. Unlike us, they don’t eat the right things.”

“Stop tying everything back to food, Beel!” Mammon snapped, rubbing at the pact mark when yet another shiver overtook you involuntarily. “But… you do look a little weaker than before. And I haven’t seen ya eating anything…”

“I don’t like eating when there’s other people around.” You said, and you could tell that your voice was hoarse. “I think there’s also the stress.” You shook your head and turned to Beelzebub. “Why are you even here?”

“Yeah! Seems to me that you’ve been spendin’ an awful lot of time here ever since the night of the DVD marathon.”

You blinked at Mammon. He literally didn’t have the right to say anything. He had spent more time than you were comfortable with in your room. Always hanging around you even if he acted like he didn’t want to be. Hell, sometimes you would have fallen asleep on the tree but find yourself waking up on your bed, with Mammon sprawled on the ground.

You didn’t know what to feel about that.

“Well, so have you.” The sixth-born said, taking another piece of the pizza the two of the had ordered. “I mean, you’ve even left a cell phone charger here. And a toothbrush too.” You arched an eyebrow at Mammon, who flushed. “That’s how much you’re over here.”

“W…Well that’s because-” you watched, half-amused and half-still shaken, as Mammon floundered “-uh… you know… I’ve gotta look after this human, don’t I?” His yellow-tinted shades didn’t hide the glint of blue in his eyes. He tilted his face down towards your hand- the one that had his pact mark and the very one that was sprained- and placed his cheek into your palm. “It’s my job…”

Mammon was cool under your touch. Like they all were. But the warmth in his expression stopped you from shying away. This was… new. Unfamiliar. Strange and untrustworthy.

He pulled back abruptly, though.

“Wait a minute… Isn’t that MY slice you’ve got in your other hand?”

Beelzebub just swallowed both slices in one bite, jaw opening a bit too much for you to handle, especially after Leviathan’s display early on today. You flinched and shuffled closer to Mammon, who grumbled something in a tongue you couldn’t comprehend. Beelzebub, however, did, and he snapped his jaw back up easily.

“You know, I could really go for a soda right now.” He stood up from your bed. “I’m going to go run to the kitchen.”

With that said, he left you and Mammon in your room alone.

“Of all the…” He sighed and ran a hand through his white hair. “Seriously, does that guy ever stop eatin’?” He picked up one of the few remaining slices and handed it to you. Although you were calming down from the events of today, you were caught off guard, and you took it. “You’d better keep a close eye on your pizza, or he’ll steal yours away next.” You didn’t make a move to take a bite of it. Wary. Of Hell’s food and of Beelzebub. Mammon seemed to notice something, though. “It’s human-safe. I checked.”

Cautiously, you took a small bite. Beelzebub was nowhere nearby, and you doubted that the pact would let Mammon poison you. And… you deserved a little treat, didn’t you? You could bring out your single tea bag from Before, but that was for a worse day.

The greasiness of the pizza was… perfect. You had missed junk food.

“There’s somethin’ I want you to know.” You just looked at Mammon as you took another bite of the food. “…Listen. The next time your life’s in danger, I’m gonna be the one to save you, all right? Don’t you forget that.”

You had seen the way he moved for you. You nodded.

“…And if I can’t manage to save ya, then make sure you die, got it?”

You froze. And you put the pizza down, forcing yourself to swallow the bite you that now felt more like cardboard. You kept your eyes on him, fury bubbling in your veins.

Because how fucking dare he? Did death become something different from the one you knew intimately? Was he really putting his own want for glory or something above your very life?

Mammon’s hand was clawed as he snatched yours again. There was a gentleness to the monstrosity that was his entire being, but it just sickened you right now. There was something on his face. A vicious, possessiveness that made you want to hurl.

“I don’t want no one else steppin’ in and savin’ you, all right?” He tugged your hand to his face and pressed his lips onto your palm. “It’s me or no one, understand?”

You were prey. A plaything to boost themselves up. It didn’t matter if you had a pact with him. The power dynamic had only slightly boosted you up from food to pet. You were not equal to the demons, even if the pact made you the master of one.

What else could you do but agree?

No. No. You weren’t helpless. Especially not when it came to Mammon. You forced yourself to get over the sheer hopelessness you had felt when confronting Leviathan. That was mainly the instinctive response engraved in humanity.

That wasn’t you.

“No. No deal.”

“Wh…!” The possessive look on his face changed into one of shock and incredulity. “Whaddya mean, no deal? You ain’t got a choice here, understand?” You sighed. It was as though you didn’t have a choice anywhere. “Idiot…” Mammon huffed and softened. “Also, learn some damn social skills! You’re s’posed to agree with me and let it drop at times like this.”

Your D.D.D started to ring before you could respond to his words.

You picked it up, hoping that it was Solomon asking for his pendant back.

It was not.

~🧡~

Warily, whilst clutching your sprained wrist to your chest, you stepped into the garden house. Leviathan had called you here, and you had been half-tempted to just not go, but… You remembered what all your planning and hard work was for.

The person up the attic. Distracting Lucifer. Getting that fucking vinyl soundtrack from the Avatar of Envy.

You sincerely hoped he would just throw the cursed thing at you and let you scuttle away. Damn the pact he had promised you. You didn’t need another demon that was bound to you that didn’t like you.

“…Finally. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” You forced your feet to keep moving towards him, even if everything else in you told you to book it to the other way. Leviathan looked… sorry. A little pathetic too, almost. He hunched into himself, citrine blue eyes blinking at you. “It took you long enough. When I call for you, you need to come right away, understand? Don’t walk. Run. I want you moving at light speed.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, taken aback by his audacity-

“Like the way Henry races over whenever his best friend, the Lord of Shadow calls on him.” He lifted his hand to gesture, but froze when you twitched your unharmed hand. He lowered his gaze. “You saw the TSL DVDs, so you should know.”

Leviathan terrified you. The display had rammed into you truly how eldritch the brothers were, despite their taking on of a more human form. But you didn’t blame him for it. You didn’t particularly like him. He used you for his plan to get Mammon to give his money back. He demeaned you for being human.

But the anger he showed when his sin overtook him? You didn’t dislike him for that. You didn’t blame him. You had been told of the consequences that could happen if you invoke jealousy in the literal Avatar of Envy. And you chose to do it.

Free will gave you permission to do whatever you chose to do. But it also meant that you had to uphold the consequences of said choices. Even if it hurt you.

“He comes riding up on the winged unicorn that he won off of the Lord of Fools in a bet.”

The third-born’s eyes snapped to you. You didn’t flinch, this time. Even if you could still see how they glowed.

“Yeah, exactly.” He looked down at his hands again. “…Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you and I are best of friends or anything.” He sighed. “So. Do you know why I called you here?”

“Let’s patch things up between us.”

You extended an olive branch.

“EXCUSE ME?” Leviathan smacked it out of your hands. “What do you mean patch things up? In order to patch things up, we would’ve had to have been on good terms to begin with, wouldn’t we?” You took a step back when his eyes met yours, citrine blue curling with seething distaste. “I don’t remember you and me ever being buddies. Not any time in the last 5000 years at least.” He jammed a finger towards you. “So don’t go getting the wrong idea.”

You pursed your lips. He shook his head, sweeping his fringe a little more to the side.

“Look. Here’s the thing.” The Avatar of Envy took a step towards you. You took an instinctive step back. “You remember why we decided to have that competition in the first place, right?”

“To see who the bigger TSL fan was.”

“Yeah. And I, for some stupid reason, told you that if you won, I’d enter into a pact with you.” He took another step to you. You took another one away. “That little trump card you pulled out was real dirty.”

You blinked and saw that Leviathan’s form had shifted. Not into something completely eldritch, but into something half-so. Coral-like horns came from the sides of his head, the indigo markings on them glowing in the dim light. He wore a cape that mimicked jellyfish tendrils, and scales covered his hands and were spattered on the skin you could see. His tail swayed from behind him.

“…But a promise is a promise, after all. It kills me to do this… it makes my stomach burn. No one has ever made a pact with me, although many have tried. Contracts were much more my thing.” A webbed hand reached for you, and you realised that you had nowhere else to run. “I’ll keep my end of the bargain.” The demon grinned. But it didn’t feel comforting. “I’ll do it. I’ll make a pact with you.”

Leviathan must have realised how uncomfortable you were with his hand and pulled it away. Instead, you saw his tail whip out to wrap around your ankle. It hadn’t been that long before, but it seemed to have… stretched.

He got down to one knee.

“I pledge myself to-”Leviathan said your name- “as the Avatar and ruler of Envy. I am the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy, the one that guards the mouth of Hell.” There was the same anticipatory feeling shooting through you. Warm and strong. You wanted to curl away from it. “For as long as the pact remains, my master will have the ouroboros of resentment under their command.

You needed to respond, just as you had responded to Mammon’s. But… the imprint of terror he had left on you made your hand shake. Even so, you placed your healthy hand on his cheek and tilted his face up and towards you.

God, you wondered what it would look like from an outsider’s point of view. A fragile, half-broken human cradling the face of a powerful demon on his knees?

Leviathan closed his eyes and leant into your trembling touch.

“I accept the pact with all my soul.” You said, and took a shallow breath of air. “For as long as the pact remains, I will be the master of Envy and will reassure him.”

You watched as the very ankle Leviathan had wrapped his tail around caught onto orange flames. And when they died down, you could see a glimpse of the snaking mark of Envy curled under the scaley appendage.

You also noticed that the aching of the stings you had received were gone.

Volo saw you die. He saw the fear in your eyes as Giratina’s attack blasted in your direction, completely destroying both you and your Pokemon. It was a valiant effort, he thinks, but at the end of the day he was a god. You were just a servant of an outdated system.

So WHY were you standing in front of him again?

“This isn’t right,” he stares at you. You reach down, picking up your dropped pouch and clipping it back around your waist. “You can’t be here.”

You stare him down with empty eyes.

The second fight goes about as well as the first. You beat his team, he summons Giratina, and you die.

And then you come back, pick up your satchel, and do it all again.

“What is this? Some kind of sick joke?” he laughs when he sees you again. You release your starting Pokemon without waiting for him to finish his sentence.

Your third fight is also lost.

By your fifth trip up the mountain, Volo is pulling his hair out.

“How are you doing this!? I defeated you! I should get the plates!” he screams. “I should be a god right now!”

“I’m not allowed to die,” you mutter. It’s the first thing you’ve said to him since he first revealed his betrayal. Your voice is scratchy. He tries to ask questions. He makes assumptions. He monologues. But you don’t say anything else.

Your next ten attempts still end with your death, but Volo can tell you’re getting better. Every motion, every command, seems rehearsed. Eventually, you will beat him, even when he has Giratina. Even when he’s supposed to be god.

By your fifteenth attempt, he’s all but given up. You send out your first Pokemon and he doesn’t send out his Spiritomb. You tilt your head, puzzled.

“Enough of this,” he hisses. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You lost. Hand over the plates.”

“I’m not allowed to lose,” you say. There’s an emptiness about you as you say it, like it's less a boast and more a heavy burden.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he growls.

“It means I CAN’T lose. It means no matter how many times you kill me, no matter how many times you beat me… I go back!” you smile as you say it, your eyes growing wider and your voice louder. “Arceus won’t let me do anything else.”

“So I am fated to lose,” he narrows his eyes, “Arceus himself has decided I will not win, and has taken measures to ensure his almighty will is enforced.” He spits the last part out like an insult.

“I think so,” your shoulders sag, and he realizes how exhausted you look. The bags under your eyes are deep purple and you shiver in the mountain wind. Another victim of Arceus. “I think… I think it was always going to end like this, wasn’t it? I’m from the future. If you succeed, there wouldn’t be a future to travel from, would there?”

“No, no no no no!” Volo claws at his hair. He cannot accept this. He will not allow this. He feels a dark presence behind him. His voice is full of anger when he screams, “GIRATINA, STRIKE THEM DOWN!”

You die. Again.

You come back. Again.

“Can we maybe sit down?” you ask when you return.

“What?”

“We keep doing the same thing over and over. If this is how it always is, surely a break couldn’t hurt.” you explain. You don’t wait for an answer, instead choosing to sit on the edge of the stone platform, your back to Volo and your feet hanging over the edge.

After a moment of hesitation, he joins you. You don’t know how long you sit there before you speak again.

“Was any of it real?” you ask.

“Was any of what real?” he raises an eyebrow.

“You know,” you wave your hands, trying to find the words. Trying to explain. “The-the-the being friends thing. I get you were just trying to get the plates, but you were… I don’t know? Nice? Was any of that real? Did you actually care? Or was it all a manipulation?”

He doesn’t answer for a long while.

“...Maybe some of it,” he hums. “At first, I thought it merely wise to observe. Falling through a rift in time and space certainly makes you a person of interest. When I realized you were able to collect the plates, I knew what I needed to do. My actions have only been motivated by that. But I admit, I was a bit fond of you.”

“I’m not sure if that makes this better or worse,” you laugh.

“My turn for a question, then,” Volo says, “How long has… this whole situation been going on?” He vaguely motions at you.

“Well, it all began many years ago,” you begin with utmost seriousness. “On the day of my birth, I was born.”

“I don’t mean that, and you know it!” he hisses, but his voice has less venom in it than earlier. “I meant the resurrection thing!”

“Oh. That,” you sigh. Where did you even begin? At the beginning, you suppose. “It first happened when I was fighting Lord Klevor. I couldn’t get the timings right and he, uh, killed me. Then I woke up outside the arena and got to do it all over again. It’s happened a few more times since then. Wild Pokemon attack and I can’t get away. The nobles all took at least two attempts. And one time I just fell off a cliff. No matter what happens, I always wake back up.”

You flop backwards, feeling the cool stone seep through your clothes. You stare at the sky, watching the clouds float by. It was odd, you thought. You had been on this mountain for hours, but it also felt like no time at all. Did time pass for everyone else when you came back? You’d never died this many times before. Maybe you should go train up your team and come back? Or re-think the type match-ups now that you knew every Pokemon Volo had?

You glance over at him. His expression is unreadable.

“You have certainly been… blessed by Arceus,” he finally says, his tone bitter.

“More like cursed,” you chuckle. “One of the benefits of being his chosen, I suppose.”

“Such a cruel and uncaring god should not be allowed to continue ruling the cosmos,” Volo growls. You have a feeling he’s not talking about your situation, but the thought is nice, nonetheless. He lays back, long blond hair splaying across the stone, and presses his palms into his eyes. “I should be recreating the world in my image right now, free of this suffering!”

“I think Arceus does care, just in his own way,” you hum.

“You should be cursing his name, too,” Volo runs a hand through his hair, smoothing out the fly-aways that had fallen into his face. “Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want things to be different?”

“I am. I do,” you sigh, “But, I think he could have been a lot meaner, couldn’t he? He could’ve just… smited you the moment you decided to do all this. He could’ve made a new Giratina the second he rebelled, couldn’t he? But you’re both still here. Even if you hate Arceus, he seems to love you.”

“Arceus does not love me.”

“He does enough to send me,” you shrug.

“And what if he does?” he laughs. “He allows so much suffering. He’s making you suffer. If he loves me, he has a horrible way of showing it.”

You have nothing to say in response.

“This cycle is a joke,” Volo groans after a long silence. “You will defeat me, eventually.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“I might kill you a few more times,” he turns his head away, as if he can’t stand to have your face in his peripheral vision. Rage or shame, you’re not sure. “...It really was always going to end like this, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t stop. I’ll find another way to dethrone him. If Giratina and I cannot defeat him, perhaps there is another Pokemon with enough power,” he sits up, hands gripping the stone beneath him so hard his knuckles turn white. He has the crazy eyes again. “I will make the world right.”

“Okay,” you stand up, offering him a hand. He ignores it and stands up on his own. The moment you shared was gone. He would always fight you because that was who he was. You would always fight him because Acreus would not allow you to choose another path–would not allow you to lose. You sigh, grabbing the Pokeball at your hip.

He sleeps very lightly. Everything and anything can pull him out of his slumber, but you try to make an effort to keep his sleep as peaceful as possible.

The door to your private bedroom will be sealed with a ward to keep everyone out. Gortash’s head will be nestled against your neck or buried into your cleavage, your arms draped around his body to keep his body against yours. The sounds of you sleeping are like pleasant white noise to him which helps him sleep through the night. You are the more pleasant form of a cup of lavender tea or a hot cup of milk with honey.

But you being the perfect way for him to fall asleep is actually not a very good thing, especially when you are separated from him. Gortash wouldn’t be able sleep even if someone hit his head with a pan over and over without you by his side or within his radius. It’s actually embarrassing how restless he becomes without you.

Raphael // The handsome devil (cambion).

He finds it amusing how much you fuss over him sometimes. Raphael is a devil with a whole house dedicated to him— don’t you think he has some poor soul to serve to him?

He especially adores it when you try and drag him to bed for some rest. As a devil, or cambion, Raphael doesn’t need to sleep or even eat, but he spend some of his very precious time in bed in order to keep you happy. But perhaps it is not just to entertain you and your wishes, maybe Raphael has his own selfish reason to let you curl up in his arms, his leathery wings wrapping around you like a cocoon, his tail wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer.

Your devil never believed you when you told him that he purrs when he naps, but you know what you heard and felt. Your whole body vibrates slightly when he does, when his face is buried in your neck and his chest pressed against yours. It does resemble that of a cat but it sounded much more threatening in a way. Stroking the back of his head or his neck amplifies the purrs Raphael keeps denying. You need to sometime use Haarlep as a witness or something.

Raphael doesn’t really get physical and goes to fight some souls that broke his contract himself, but in the rare cases he does, he never gets injured. But you still insist on him taking a long bath in his boudoir to heal if needed, but he quite a good haggler, so you always end up soaking in the healings waters alongside him, being catered by some of the servants working there.

Pampering Raphael is a hard thing to do, it’s just that he is already being spoiled plenty. He has a whole house in Avernus for himself, his own incubus, hundreds, perhaps already thousands of contracted souls and now you, his little mouse.

The only way you can further spoil him is by distracting him from important work and redirect his focus onto you and how you so easily slid onto his lap without any protest from the devil, his hands immediately finding your waist and thighs to pull you closer against him, his quill now tossed to the side and staining the wood below with ink. His smirking lips would find yours while your arms drape over his shoulders— You’ve successfully distracted from his exhausting work and it’s not worth to continue writing, Raphael thinks.

+bonus: Haarlep // The incubus.

Haarlep enjoys to laze around and having you to pamper him even more, reminding him to take naps and having a snack by the lavish dinner table is quite literally perfect. Sometimes, if he especially gets pouty or whiny, you’ll bring him a plate directly to bed to eat.

Although whenever you outright ask him if he has been sleeping, eating and taking care of himself properly, he’ll smirk and tease you for caring so much about him before pretending he hasn’t, just so you can fuss and dote on him. Haarlep eats all of your attention right up!

But he does feel incredibly flattered whenever you pay attention to him in any way that isn’t meant to be sexual or lead to sex. He of course enjoys the pleasure of mortal and immortal flesh, but sometimes it gets boring and exhausting. It’s nice to cuddle for a bit instead of going at it like bunnies.

He savours every minute he can have you by himself and away from the master of the house. Just like Raphael, he purrs very loudly. The vibrations gently passing through your whole body. His tail is always wagging slightly and you can watch the speed picking up every tome you scratch his scalp or chin.

Let’s just say that Haarlep really, really loves being taken care of. It’s nice to be the pillow princes sometimes.

Rolan // The wizard’s apprentice.

(Small spoilers for his apprenticeship in Lorroakan’s tower)

He both hated and really loves the way you at least try to take care of him. Rolan is a stubborn Tiefling so convincing him to do something so little as put the book and take a nap could turn into a battle where you are on the floor, hugging and gripping onto his leg so he cannot move, only letting go once he pinky promises to come to bed soon.

If not for you, the wizard probably would’ve either died from dehydration or collapse from lack of food and sleep. How he managed to survive before being with you is a miracle.

Whenever you know he’s off to go study in the library, reading a new book of spells or practicing cantrips, you have to physically shove a plate of food and a glas of water into his hands to remind him to eat. Then, he sometimes places it down on a desk and makes a mental note to eat it in a moment, right after he puts the book away. Rolan ends up getting distracted by a journal tucked away in the elaborate shelves that now needs his attention and his meal goes uneaten, cold and forgotten.

But you have been noticing how Rolan has been slowly becoming more and more gloomy, how bruises have been forming on his face and arms. He excused it as him getting injured during spellcasting or being stupid and hitting himself on furniture, but you definitely knew better. You could tell that he was ashamed of whatever or whoever has been hurting him.

It was probably that insane wizard Loarrakan punishing your lover like this, although his couldn’t be considered a punishment anymore. It was abuse.

Rolan refuses to let you talk or even meet the wizard and there’s nothing much you can do. You’ll quietly disinfect the new bruise on his cheekbone and tend to his wounds while he sits there, his head lowered in shame. He needs affection from you now more than ever to let him know that you love him.

The wizard, again, does not very willingly lets himself being taken care of and is a firm believer that he is supposed to be providing for you, not the other way around. But sometimes Rolan melts in your palms like butter, basically crawling into your arms and nudging you with his head to ask for some cuddles and to be held without needing to speak.

He’ll casually cast some visual spells around to entertain you while your hands get busy with his hair and your legs tangle with his. A small smile would slowly spread more and more over his face with every second passing where his eyes watching yours sparkle at the illusion of a starry night he casted onto your bedroom ceiling.

(Act 1)

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Zevlor deserves the world and you know it, but he doesn’t. At least not yet.

You always gently remind him to take a breather, eat a little something, take a walk to calm his mind or finally retire for the night and go to bed. He appreciates your little reminders and how manage to always make sure he was doing okay, despite all of the stress and troubles plaguing his mind.

Despite your caring nature and your fussing over him, Zevlor actually feels more like a burden to you now. You always make sure he eats a decent meal, even if that’s after every other refugee had a meal for themselves, assure him that he is doing great as their leader despite all the hardships and manage to brighten his mood with your mere presence. He loves you dearly and is thankful for all you do, but seriously, you don’t have to. He’ll be fine by himself.

You shouldn’t be doing this for him, it’s suppose to be the opposite. Or at least Zevlor should be doing more for you and taking care of you, not him.

So, he’ll begin to mirror your actions; whenever you try to bring him some food from the camp, Zevlor has a plate saved for you as well ans now you can have lunch together. You shoo him out of his makeshift meeting chamber and force him to take a little walk outside the grove, he’d extend his arm and have you walk alongside him. You think about heading out and go hunt for some boars, his blade is at the ready for you to use. You try to coerce him to take a nap or sleep for the night, you’ll be having to spoon him from behind to cuddle him.

You can never just take care of him, Zevlor always has to take care of you in return or at first. Only that way he doesn’t feel guilty for you spending your energy and time on solely taking care of him, something he is supposed to be doing on his own but fails so often. He feels a little embarrassed about that, and you can always see how his face blushes and lights up in surprise whenever you re-appear to check in on him.

Oh, what has he done to deserve someone as heavenly as you?

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Zevlors part fell a little short, sorry for that— I hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it 🫶 Tysm for the request!!

Check out the event I’m hosting on my blog <3 I’ll choose 4 participating users randomly to receive a personalised letter from their favourite character <3

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <33

His eyes soften as they glaze over your face, his hands hesitating to reach out and run through your hair while your head rests on his chest, his lip quivering as he hesitates to speak his mind. Astarion’s brain is foggy from all the warmth and fuzziness pooling in his stomach and his heart racing uncontrollably from you simply being here. His mouth begins to talk without him having control over it.

His words may be flirty and sultry but you can tell that they aren’t just flattery. He rambles about how incomprehensibly gorgeous you are, how your info dumping and intelligence is unbearably attractive and how he could listen to you all day, how your eyes resemble the starry night sky, your grin that could make him fold over in an instant and so many other things he cannot get out of his damn brain about you.

Damn you for making him utterly weak and stupid for you.

“I cannot stop my damn mouth around you. It’s— Stop grinning at me like that! I can’t concentrate when you do that, darling.”

Physical touch.

At first, Astarion forced himself to constantly touch you. It felt good for you and for him, sure, but he mostly pushed himself to touch and feel you in order to make you feel seen and loved by him. He did it in order to get protection and support from you against Cazador and whatever other horrors come across your way. But after unfortunately falling head over heels for you, touching you is something he cannot go without.

His hand always lingers on your back for support, your waist to pull you closer and show to everyone with that you are his and he is yours, holding your hand while strolling the streets and roads and almost childishly swinging your arms back and forth like a happy-giddy couple. Letting himself get pulled into your arms after a long day in the privacy of his closed off tent and cuddling closely against you is probably the closest Astarion ever got and will get to pure bliss.

His cheek getting squished by being pressed up against your chest, his hands tightly gripping your waist as if fearing you might disappear on him. There is a soft, giddy grin spreading on his face.

Bonus scenario.

You thought he did it on purpose at first— After all, he is a vampire spawn and you can tell that his bloodlust overpowers him every now and then, but Astarion genuinely looks panicked as the flesh of your hand begins to bleed slightly, two holes buried into the skin right below your thumb. You watch as your boyfriend rushed around his tent to grab a cloth and wipe the blood.

“Astarion, I’m fine—“ He shushed you by holding his finger up while facing your back before finally spinning around on his heel and presenting the hand-embroidered handkerchief he had been worming on during the quiet evenings in camp. Immediately and without hesitation, he pressed the delicate cloth against your wound.

His face was etched in guilt and worry. “I’m so sorry darling, I didn’t mean the bite to be so…” You noticed how his eyes drifted away from how the blood began to soak the handkerchief. “It was meant to be harmless, I swear!”

“I know, I know.” Your free hand cupped his cheek and your lover immediately leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as his features softened slightly. You can tell how much it ripped him apart in the inside despite it being such a little injury, you know how Astarion always is careful with his biting when doing it on you, respecting your boundaries and always asking for consent beforehand. He would never, ever hurt you in any way. And yet he just did.

“It happens, it’s okay. I’m not seriously hurt.”

Lifting the cloth off your wound yourself and revealed how the blood already began to dry. His eyes drifted back to the puncture wound in your hand. His lip quivered. “I…”

“I’m still sorry. I should’ve been more careful.” Astarion watched your face, expecting some kind of negative reaction. Fear, anger, anything really. Instead, you leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

A wave of affection hit him the same way the club of an angry orc would, but it was much more pleasant. He huffed and angled your face for him to kiss you properly.

(Mortal)

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Words — 1.1k

Info-dumping and rambling.

If there is a new topic Gale has been exploring and reading about, you will definitely hear all about. Probably more than once, too.

Before you Tara was the victim of his endless info-dumping, him gesturing around and doing his eureka! pose every now and then while proudly explaining how he already inhaled every piece of literature there is about this new topic. Now you are his victim.

Gale feels a little insecure about it though, afraid he might be boring or annoying you. So, you’ll have to assure and encourage him and make it known that you do want to know how you can reason and communicate with some mimics to the point of making them non-hostile. He adores to have his head rest on your lap while your hand fiddle with some loose strands of hair, him rambling on and on about something he happened to come across in the library today.

Since you tolerate his rambling so well, he’ll of course listen to yours with eagerness. Gale’s eyes twinkle slightly as he watches you talk, noting every movement in your face and hand, how the edges of your eyes crease a little when you explain a particularly fun fact to him. His heart flutters to see you being so passionate about something, sometimes he can’t help himself but let that affection out and give you a cheeky little kiss while you are distracted by talking, causing you to be completely thrown off and now confused on where you left on.

Gale also loves debating with you. The topics could range from when does a powerful wizard begin to live off cheese and wine to if eating a tressym’s wings be considered as fried bird, fried cat or fried tressym (although Tara was quite offended by that debate you held). He likes talking about nothing and everything about you and might just seek excuses to hear your voice. Getting the opportunity to info-dump about his interests is a mere bonus.

Gifts and trinkets.

Whenever he stops by the library or market, you have to physically withhold him from wandering off and going after that shiny twinkle he just saw from the edge of his eyes, in his mind already having hundreds of ideas on what it might be and if you would like it.

Gale has a habit of hoarding things in his wizard tower, but after getting his orb and getting rid of most the weave infused artefacts, he now had space for more trinkets: things that remind him of you.

Your wizard begins bringing you something every time he comes back from somewhere. Sometimes it’s a book from the library he thought might interest you, sometimes it’s jewerly Gale thought might fit most your outfits, but every now and then it’s a shiny rock he found in the corner of a street. He thought the colour resembled your eye colour and the way it shone in the sun almost blinded him, just how you blind him with love every time you’re near.

It’s silly but at least half the shelves are now filled with shiny rocks, books and a newly acquired wooden figure of a goat he found at the market. Gale said your stubbornness and persistence reminded him of one and didn’t get why you found it a little offensive to get compared to one.

“Whatever are you talking about? Goats are very graceful creatures and so are you! I find it quite the accurate comparison on my part.”

Physical touch and cuddles.

There is nothing better in the world than melting against your warm body after a good glass of wine and being surrounded by tombs, scrolls and books all day and Tara being curled up by your feet. His hand lazily tracing your waist and sneakily finding their way between your legs. Not for any improper reason, just to warm his hands up.

Speaking of your thighs, Gale is this close to begging on his hands and knees for a chance to have his rest between your plush flesh. The feeling of gently being squished while his fingers busy themselves by drawing intricate patterns across your skin or simply interlock with yours. Your wizard considers cuddling as some way of recharging his energy, both arcane and bodily.

He needs his morning cuddles before starting his day, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck while you brew some coffee or him refusing to let you leave the bed by positioning himself on top of you. He sneaks himself into your daily routine and tries not to interrupt whatever you are doing right while scooting himself right next to you, his chin on your shoulder while Gale watches you do whatever.

Also, thanks to you, this man can’t ever sleep without having you in his arms ever again. You spoiled him too much, he complains. Your body perfectly fitting together against his like it was always meant to be. But that also means whenever you get up in the middle of the night for some water, Gale is right behind you, sleepily following your steps.

“I can’t sleep without you, might’ve as well follow, right?”

Bonus scenario.

You did insist that your boyfriend should’ve stayed in bed while you dragged yourself to the kitchen for a glas of water. It’s not even early morning and the sun was still well below the horizon and yet Gale followed close behind. It kind of reminded you a cat that followed you into the bathroom in the middle of the night for no reason other than making sure you don’t get attacked by mice or something.

“Mhh. What time is it?” Gale scratched his chin sleepily as he leaned against the counter next to you. You shrugged and sipped your glass of water. He opened his eyes and glanced over to you, his arms slowly wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his oh so warm body.

You melted right into him, a groan escaping your throat as you buried your face in his hot neck, allowing yourself to take a deep breath. His scent was familiar.

Your eyes slowly drooped close and you felt yourself almost let the glass slip out of your hand but before it could, you placed it on the counter behind your very sleepy wizard.

As you did, your hands began to wander and trace the warm muscles of his back. You noticed how they have softened over time. After everything that had happened you and him began to live a more comfortable life without the need to lift a sword, or rather, a wizard staff.

Before you could point the softening muscles, how much you appreciate your life with him, how silly it is to think about what you went through together mere months ago, a snore interrupted your thoughts.

Did Gale fall asleep leaning against the cabin with you in arms? Seriously? And snoring like that as well?

And he is always the one that complained about your snoring.

Enver Gortash // Chosen of Bane

Words — 1k

Gift giving.

He literally cannot help himself for the love of the gods. Enver, as he ordered you to call him, swears he is not actively seeking for gifts to shower you in, they just come to him. Or are being brought to him by his Steel Watch and others.

Whatever had your attention for more than a fraction of a second you can expect to stare back at you in an instant, now presented on your nightstand or bed instead of the boutique you saw it in or the catalogue you flipped through. Somehow he always knows what you fancy without even needing to speak to him.

Enver also tends to send you little handmade trinkets during especially long and stressful periods of him being away. Despite what he likes to think himself, he doesn’t always work on papers in his office. When the files pile up and glare at him disapprovingly, Enver turns to the mini broken machinery tucked away in his desk and begins tinkering with it, working and trying new things out until it finally functions again.

Or he makes it look prettier and that it was before and lets it be delivered to you. Little reminder that he always thinks of you. He totally didn’t squeeze a miniature scrying eye into at least one of the trinkets to spy on you.

“Oh, it is nothing. Mere small tokens of my affection, no need to dwell on them.

Inserting himself into everything you do and annoying you.

Like a toddler, Enver follows you around and tries to insert himself into everything you do to try and stay close to you.

Cooking yourself a snack in the kitchen? You’ll feel his chin on your shoulder as he stared down at what you are cooking. “Give me a piece of that.”

In the bathroom to take a quick shower? He is already behind the curtain and turning the water on, filling the room with steam.

God forbid you are in bed, alone without anyone to cuddle onto? Yeah, you best believe he immediately sneaks up on you and makes sure you won’t be able to physically leave this bed, not until you pry his arms off your body. Enver is like a cat, he doesn’t openly ask for affection most of the time but invades your personal space whenever he wants to silently ask for it.

Besides acting a little child when wanting your attention and affections, Enver also enjoys showing you how much he loves you by purposefully annoying you a a little. He pokes your cheek over and over when you’re busy and watches you get more and more upset with his teasing until you finally slap his finger away. How unfairly you are treating him— Enver has been nothing but good to you!

“I’m simply making my presence known to you since you failed to acknowledge it until now. You shouldn’t be annoyed, rather happy to see me, love.”

Physical touch.

You know well that your lover is sleep deprived, dehydrated, touch starved, affection starved and whatever else you can be physically deprived off. You seem to fix all of these problems by simply slipping into his arms and using his soft chest as comfortable pillows and your legs tucked between his warm legs. Enver can’t suppress the blissful grin spreading on his face and couldn’t fight his eyelids slowly drooping close, his chin resting on your head.

He could remain like this for hours, days, in some form of hibernation. But he can’t. His duties are calling.

So, he’ll take you with to his office to continue the cuddles. You’ll be comfortably seated on his lap as he writes and flips through papers. The situation isn’t even sexually charged as in you are perfectly seated on his lap in a way that could make him moan and thighs shiver, rather you are there so he can take little breaks by hiding his face in your neck and groaning in frustration every now and then.

Sometimes he’ll be too tired to cuddle, so Enver’ll rind where you are currently resting and just laying down on top of you, letting his weight slightly crush you beneath him. He is a selfish man and needs his daily (hourly, really) head pats, hair strokes and back scratches.

Bonus scenario.

You felt Enver’s stare drill itself into your skull. You were just brushing your teeth and examining yourself in the bathroom mirror and getting ready for bed. You tried to ignore the looming presence behind you as much as you tried to avoid looking directly at him in the mirror.

“Are you ignoring me?” You heard the amusement in his voice. Yes you are trying to ignore him because of how much he has been getting on your nerves today, purposefully interrupting your doings, asking you to meet him in private and pulling you away from duties just for him to ask you to kiss him. A child is what he is.

“My love.” Enver called out again, now moving to stand beside you. His eyes never left your face. You didn’t spare him a single glance.

“Darling.” He started again. “Or do you want me to call you kitten?”

That one made you shoot him a glare. Aha! A reaction. Enver smirked at himself and lifted his hand, his index finger now reaching out to pole your cheek but before he could touch you, you gently pushed his hand away. But not backing down, he reached out again.

“Gortash.” You scolded and turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yes? That is my name.” Completely unbothered, he mirrored your pose to mock you almost. There was that shit-eating smirk on his face you are all too familiar with and the one you can’t help but let it get to you. You couldn’t fight your own grin that was fighting itself to appear on your face.

“Aha. A reaction. I was looking for that.” He grinned and lifted your chin with a small nudge beneath your chin before leaning in for a quick kiss on your lips.

Raphael // The Devil (cambion)

Words — 1k

Quality time.

Raphael’s time is valuable and choosing it to spend it with you should make you happy enough.

But alas, merely basking in your presence and getting drunk of your affections sometimes isn’t enough, so Raphael takes you out to fancy restaurants in different cities all across Faerûn and spoils you with a colourful, expensive cuisine. Afterwards he’d suggest to get some wine and enjoy it somewhere else together, maybe go back to the House of Hope and play some rounds of Lanceboard together.

He would never admit it to you but being adorably domestic with you and sipping some wine while talking about nothing important is one of his favourite things to do, ever.

Besides restaurants and wine, your cambion will ask if you’d be interest in going out to watch theatre plays. How can you possibly deny him when Raphael keeps reciting quotes and scenes, trying to sway you into finally giving in. It’s kind of endearing watching Raphael’s eyes light up once you finally agree.

Raphael enjoys spending his time outside of his House of Hope, partly because he knows that you, as a mortal, probably don’t want to spend all your time down in Avernus, so he’ll prefer to take you out on dates on the surface.

“If you’ll have me, I would love to take you out on a lovely play being held in Baldur’s Gate. I believe you could enjoy it as much as I will.”

Acts of service.

Raphael may spoil you with acts of service but those are not without strings— He’ll expect something back in return, things like a kiss on his cheek, a compliment or your time to spend on him.

His “services” consist of him hand-tailoring infernal contracts for people that have mildly annoyed you in the past, people you may not even remember. Raphael will make sure they will work as slaves in his house personally serving you for the rest of eternity.

He maybe is enjoying eliminating and enslaving your ex-lovers, people you mildly dislike, people you despite and whoever else he can get his fingers on a little too much, don’t you think?

Also, Raphael tends to be very theatrical when hosting future contractees and souls he might strike a contract with. But with you, he is actually sincerely caring. He pulls out a chair for you, he pours you a beverage before even needing to ask, he remembers every single detail on foods you like and dislike and just the way you like it. Raphael will always serve you like you are royalty.

“Sit. Eat. Drink. Let the world and everyone in it kneel for you, my love. You deserve nothing lesser.”

Physical affection.

Raphael enjoys your touch the most. Simple things like holding your hand and prying it off whatever you are holding when they are not available, having his hand rest on your waist during outings and his tail subconsciously wrapping around your ankles when he is not even paying any mind to you. He craves your closeness, no matter if he wants to or not.

If he can’t provide with his own body and cuddle you up, he’ll send Haarlep to do his bidding.

Haarlep more than willingly curls up in your lap and shields you with their wings as their arms snake around you. They might let their hands wander and get a little touchy with you, but after putting the incubus in their place and giving them a piece of your mind, Harleep will obey and simply serve as a cuddle pillow and replacement for his master. Almost a little too enthusiastically, one could think.

But at the end of the day only Raphael will banish the incubus from your shared bedroom and will affectionately-force you to satiate his need for your touch. He is never the little spoon though, the devil would never give up his position as the big spoon and loose the opportunity to create a make-shift cocoon with his leathery wings trapping you against him.

It was your biggest mistake to not go and use the bathroom beforehand, Raphael will never let you go now, not unless you sprinkle holy water on him or something.

“Where did you— No! Put that flask down you harlot! How did you smuggle holy water into my home?!-“

Bonus scenario.

You felt squished. Sandwiched. A little crushed but kind of pleasantly so.

Raphael had his arms wrapped around your your stomach as you snuggly fit into his hold, against his chest. You felt the infernal heat radiating off his body and his tail having its tight hold on your ankle. Does he even know that his tail was clinging itself onto you?

You weren’t really paying attention to that though with Haarlep clinging against your front. It was comfortably pressing itself against your torso, its race snuggled against your chest. Their eyes were closed in bliss while their hands gently massaged your thighs. Now, how did you manage to convince Raphael to allow his incubus to snuggle up against you like you are theirs and theirs only?

Then again you could sense how the owner of the House of Hope silently brooding behind you and having his face nuzzled into your shoulder while Haarlep happily purred against your supple skin.

“Oh, I have been missing out on this. I didn’t think he’d be so lenient with me.” Haarlep was clearly testing the waters on how far he can go before his master strikes him down and throws his body into the Styx. Raphael lifted his head slightly and raised his brow, shooting him a warning glare.

“Both of you better behave.” You sighed, one hand leaning back to cup Raphael’s cheek while the other was busy running fingers through Haarlep’s hair. Again, the incubus purred and smirked against your skin.

This is something you could get used to.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

Ngl I’ve also been in the mood for some Cyberpunk again. Also I’m also trying my very hardest to do a Durge run but I always end up starting another playthrough after the goblin camp 😭😭 I’m trying to stay strong for the extra voicelines and scenarios and stuff for Gortash but I’ve never been strong enough so far 😔 also I was this close to including ketheric throm on this list

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough.