Love's No Problem In My Hands

love's no problem in my hands

includes: barbatos x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: 1.5k | rated g | m.list | cross-posted on ao3

a/n: just had to get this out quick i swear im on hiatus lololol. for @messysketchyobeyme as part of the @omsecretsanta2022 event. i hope you enjoy!!

please reblog <33

Now, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, aware that he’s not the only one who holds them for you. That knowledge should be souring, should bring him to his senses, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of you, because of how you make time for him, make him feel like the only demon in the world when you look at him, make him believe, if only for a second, that impossibilities are possible. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely because of you.

So he holds his feelings, keeps them to himself, and it’s okay. He’s not prone to jealousy, or possessiveness, has learned over the many, many years to be satisfied with what he has, and what he has is more than enough. He has Diavolo and a place in a wonderful community filled with wonderful people, and your friendship, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of.

Barbatos doesn’t know how it started. 

Well, alright, he knows when he first noticed it. But he has a feeling the feelings had been there, building, culminating, for a lot longer than that. 

He first noticed his affection for you on a spring day, one of the warmest the year had seen so far. You’d shed your uniform jacket, rolled up the sleeves, and gone outside during lunch, claiming the quad as your own. Claiming the attention of everyone on the quad. And like moths to a flame, everyone had followed, as they always did. Him included. 

“It feels so nice out,” you’d chirped, face turned up to the non-existent sun, and Barbatos had become aware of a buzz under his skin, a curious warmth that he’d never really felt before. It didn’t take a genius for him to place the feelings, and he accepted them a lot easier than he thought he would, with them clicking into place like the last piece of a previously hidden puzzle. He finally understood what everyone was talking about, finally understood why people were pushed to invent, to create, to conquer in the name of love.

Of course, while he was going through all of these realizations and acceptions, time had moved forward, and you were now surrounded by everyone, with him on the outside, like always, slightly distanced, the few feet like an uncrossable gorge. But you, you with your crooked half-smile and wonderful gleam in your eyes, had looked through, to him, smile somehow widening just for him, and that had made it all okay, made that gorge seem like nothing more than the few feet it actually was.

Now, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, aware that he’s not the only one who holds them for you. That knowledge should be souring, should bring him to his senses, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of you, because of how you make time for him, make him feel like the only demon in the world when you look at him, make him believe, if only for a second, that impossibilities are possible. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely because of you.

So he holds his feelings, keeps them to himself, and it’s okay. He’s not prone to jealousy, or possessiveness, has learned over the many, many years to be satisfied with what he has, and what he has is more than enough. He has Diavolo and a place in a wonderful community filled with wonderful people, and your friendship, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” you tease, poking him lightly with the blunt end of your pencil. He blinks, coming back to himself, coming back to the club meeting, and gives you a half smile. The club was one you both co-ran, some ‘community wellness’ thing that you were a lot more passionate about than he. But he put his everything in it, for you.

“I apologize, I must have been distracted. Remind me of our discussion,” 

“Barbatos? Distracted?” Your face is bright, cheerful. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Barbatos?” 

“Funny, really,” he returns, and the laugh he is gifted with is quickly saved, pressed into the scrapbook of his memories, to be taken out and admired every now and again, treasured close to his chest. 

“Anyway…” you pull him back into the meeting with vigor, with enthusiasm, as with everything you do, and he lets himself be pulled willingly. What a fool he must be, to take the chains from your hand and wrap them around his wrist himself.

Once the meeting is over you check your D.D.D., cursing. He directs an inquisitive look at you, and you grin guiltily. The school is dark, and mostly empty, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world.

“It’s a lot later than I thought it was,” you explain. “Is there any way I can beg a ride off of you? I’d be really thankful.” 

“I suppose,” Barbatos replies, making a show of being long-suffering. You draw out his humor in a way no one else does, and he’s grateful, so immensely grateful, that you see his dry, deadpan remarks for what they are and don’t just think he’s dreadfully boring. 

“Thank you so much!” You squeeze his side in a hug, apparently not feeling the staggering static that emanates from where the two of you touch, that sends shivers of electricity up and down his entire frame. “I owe you one.” 

“You always say that,” he accuses lightly. “At this point, I believe you owe me a lot more than that.” 

“Probably.” You shrug, unrepentant. He really shouldn’t find that shamelessness so charming. 

Being in a car with you is like torture. Torture he can stand, revels in, delights in. 

You’re close, within touching range. Not that he’d ever put his hands on you without your express and explicit permission, but the forced intimacy gets to him. You’re so comfortable in his car, shown by the way you commandeer the radio, the way you dig through his glovebox like it was yours for the taking. 

(Everything of his is yours for the taking, for the having, for the keeping.) 

“What’s this?” you ask, more to yourself than anything, but he looks over anyway. You’ve got a CD in your grip, reading the back. 

“That,” he says, “is my favorite CD. So be careful with it, please.”

“It’s your favorite?” 

He nods, and you give him that crooked smile, ejecting the CD that was in the player, exchanging it out. 

“We don’t have to listen to it,” he tries, and you wave him off. 

“Of course we do! It’s your favorite, and I want to hear it too!” 

 You pull pieces of him to the surface, almost by accident, and he stands there in front of you, exposed. But you’re always careful with the new parts of him that are revealed, treating them as preciously and as kindly as you’d treat an invaluable glass sculpture.

The first track starts and he keeps his gaze on the road, humming along. He can feel your eyes on him, and eventually, eventually gives into the urge to look over, meeting your eyes. 

“I can see why you like it,” you murmur, quiet for once. “It’s very…” you hold the words in your mouth, tasting them, savoring them. “It’s very you.” 

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re quite welcome.” 

It’s quiet in the car, aside from the CD, of course, but he doesn’t mind the silence. Never has. Others feel it as a pressure, but he doesn’t, and knows, despite your propensity to talk and laugh and be in constant motion, don’t either. It’s a comfort, to be in silence with you. 

The drive to the House of Lamentation takes forever. Isn’t nearly long enough.

When he pulls into the circle drive, past the immaculately pruned bushes and other ostentatious landscaping, he resists the urge to go slower, to coast at a snail’s pace. He’s better than that. Barely. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as he pulls to a stop, lowering the volume of the music. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” he says. “You know me. Barbatos: butler, glorified babysitter, and part-time chauffeur.” 

He’s rewarded again with your laugh, but it fades into something thoughtful, something intimate.

“You’re so much more than that,” you say, and when he looks over at you in muted surprise, you’re not returning his gaze, instead focused somewhere in the far-off distance, maybe in the far-off past. Either way, you blink and come out of it quickly, but don’t take your words back. Instead, you do something, that even with all of his overthinking, his planning, his habit of examining every possibility, he’d never seen coming: 

You lean over and kiss him on the cheek.

Your lips are warm, and dry, and un-lingering. He stares at you in shock as you pull away, heart pounding a mile a minute. 

“Well,” you say with another laugh, much more high-pitched and nervous than the others he’d heard from you, “thanks again. I’ll be going in now.” 

You slide out of his car quickly, crossing the distance between it and the door in seconds. He almost thinks you’re not going to look back, until you do, that damned crooked smile on your lips, fluttering your fingers in a wave, even as embarrassment and joy war in your eyes. 

It takes a long time, too long, for him to pull himself together enough to pull away from the House of Lamentation, and he has to take the most convoluted way home he can think of to fully rid himself of his blush– a herculean task, considering that kiss plays on repeat in his head, the memory of your smile almost tangible. Who would have thought a simple kiss on the cheek would have been enough to bring the always-composed, always-distant Barbatos back down to the realm of unstoppable, human emotion?

Maybe you returning his feelings isn’t as far-fetched a possibility as he’d thought. 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

daydreaming about husband! dabi, who tries his best to gift you the christmas of your dreams.

gn! reader, husband! dabi, ex-villain! dabi, fluff, romance, christmas, wedding rings, semi-angst (if you squint), dabi is: trying

1.4k (unedited)

a/n ~ it’s midnight in the uk; merry christmas everyone! ♡ wishing you all a v happy holiday ♡

reblogs are appreciated ~

it’s mid-winter, and ever since the celebration of your marriage—just a mere six months ago—this is the first of what you hope to be many christmases together, but when you voice your excitement in the form of a giddy little laugh as you gush something about decorating the christmas tree, dabi doesn’t entirely get it.

it’s no secret that his adolescent years weren’t exactly picture-perfect, but still, he has some memory of the busyness of the kitchen as his mother had stressed over baking dozens upon dozens of mince pies (the traditional kind, as a then-youngster natsuo had gone through a phase of refusing to eat anything that wasn’t meat-based). but, spending majority of his adult life as a villain means that it’s been many years since he’s been privy to the hustle and bustle of preparing for the holidays, along with the mad dash of last minute preparations, because, believe it or not, villains are usually a tad too busy to be thinking about christmas presents. and even though your million-watt smile is enough to brighten the gentle twinkle in his eye when he catches you peeking at him whilst busying yourself baking those very same mince pies that his mother had made all those years ago, he suspects that your enthusiasm is slightly played upon, all for his sake.

but, despite the fact that he’s evidently not as excited as you are—because, really, he doesn’t need the presents that you keep stuffing underneath the abstractedly-decorated tree—he still goes out of his way to buy you a gift of your own.

and it’s carnage.

he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking for, second-guessing each time he spots something that he suspects that you may like, and after a particularly dreadful venture into the local bookstore, he has no choice but to leave when he becomes dangerously close to setting the place on fire. the trials and errors of gift shopping seem to serve only to frustrate him further, because despite the fact that you now bare his surname, he soon realises that, actually, there’s a lot that he doesn’t know about you.

he doesn’t know your favourite foods, mainly because he’s never been a particularly fussy eater himself, so he doesn’t have a favourite of his own. that, and as far as he’s noticed, you don’t harbour any strange eating habits, so he’s never bothered to ask if there’s anything that you don’t enjoy. the same goes with drink; he’s never been a heavy drinker, but when the two you do indulge, you’ve always been more than happy to share whatever liquor he’s chosen for the night. there’s a horrifyingly quiet moment when he dares to ponder if you’d simply done so just to please him, and that leaves a sour taste on his tongue.

clothes are also a no-go. he’s only ever been interested in removing yours, and usually, it is you who is in charge of updating even his own wardrobe whenever the seasons change. he’s also loathe to admit that he doesn’t actually know your dress size, pausing upon the realisation in the middle of a clothing store—that looks far too obnoxious for both your tastes (and his own)—so abruptly that some poor lady almost chins him as she’s force to come to a sudden halt in the middle of the aisle. he pointedly ignores the well aimed glare that is shot toward him, which only intensifies when she appears to recognise just who he is. only, that pretty little glare of hers morphs into an expression of unabashed horror when he sneers down at her with a wicked flash of his teeth, and there’s a pang of triumph that gnaws at his chest when she scurries away as fast as her ridiculously thin heels will allow her. eventually, he makes the mistake of asking toga, and she’s just as useless as he is—some frills or lace should do, no? she’d cackled down the phone, and he’d promptly terminated the call—and all too soon, he’s reached the point of which he’s ready to give up.

only, as he’s making his way home—and most definitely not sulking—from his peripheral vision, he spots just the very place that should’ve been an obvious first choice from the beginning of this disaster of a trip.

a jewellers.

at the time of your marriage, his finances hadn’t exactly been anything to brag about, so the idea of wedding rings had been forfeited in favour of paying for a decent service instead. he may not have been able to afford to put a ring on your finger, but he made damn well sure that you got the wedding of your dreams.

and now, as he ducks into the entranceway, listening to the tittering tinkle of the bell that sings the announcement of his arrival, he decides that he’s going to give you the christmas of your dreams, too.

and, despite the fact that, initially, he didn’t understand the appeal of the joyous holiday, less that twelve hours have passed and he’s smothering the urge to grimace upon the recognisable sensation of his stomach twisting with nerves. you’re already grinning so wide that the apples of your cheeks are rounded with the efforts of your giddiness, and you trace your fingertips over the shoddily wrapped box that he’d almost thrown across the room when he just couldn’t make his gift-wrapping look as pretty as yours. it looks a mess—there’s far too much cello-tape, and the paper has crinkled and faded after being folded and unfolded several times during the ordeal.

still, you’re happy, and dabi is awed, once again, at the sheer loveliness of your smile.

with your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, you tug your way through the unforgiving amount of paper that definitely wasn’t needed, and from where he lazes against his favourite cushion, long legs splayed across the length of the settee, dabi watches, keenly, as you reveal the very gift that he’d chosen all by himself.

there are already tears pooling into the corners of your eyes as you pop open the lid, and he hears the hitch of your breath. ‘y-you—’ you’re swallowing, thickly, unshed tears teetering upon the tips of your lashes, but when you manage to tear your gaze toward him, it is dabi who has to pretend that he doesn’t feel a tad nauseous because of the nerves that are chewing at his insides. ‘dabi,’ you breathe, ‘touya—i—’

‘couldn’t get you one ‘fore,’ he mumbles, the tips of his ears hot. ‘wanted to put a ring on you, make your finger look real pretty.’

and then, whatever he thought he may have said next is punched from straight out of his lungs when you literally launch yourself into his lap, arms curling tight around his waist. it’s instinct; easy now, the way that he returns your embrace, when once, there was a time when the mere thought of touching another would’ve repulsed him. he’s come a long way, he knows this, and in you, he’s found a home of which he belongs. welcoming the scent of you into the expanse of his lungs, he inhales, deeply, nuzzling the tip of his nose into the warmth of the pulse at your throat.

after, with another coy tug of the corner of your mouth, your voice is as sweet as honey when you ask him to place it on you.

your mouth moulds to the shape of his, all sweet tongues and the occasional bump of teeth, and the taste of salt sits on the flat of his tongue as it swipes over your bottom lip, again and again, and again. there’s a coil in his gut that’s building with each press of your lips, and after, with another coy tug of the corner of your mouth, your voice is honeyed when you ask him to place the ring upon your finger.

there’s a pause, a quiet one as the band is gently smoothed over the bump of your left knuckle.

and there, sits the very embodiment of dabi’s adoration for you.

his thumb strokes over the polished stone that aligns with the month of your birth, and though he’s not very good with his words, for what it’s worth, dabi silently sends thanks to whichever entity is responsible for your existence. your smile is large enough to match the glimmer of warmth that softens the corners of his own lips, and the sight of your unabashed joy is well worth every effort it took to buy it in the first place.

he’d once promised you the wedding of your dreams, and he’d also promised to gift you the christmas of your dreams, too.

and though the extent of his past sins may mean that he’s not naive enough to believe that he deserves this, this life, this marriage—because, truly, he knows that he doesn’t deserve you—in each lifetime, he’d do it all over again.

for you.

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

Lucifer NSFW your fannon... gimme

*grabby hands*

~⚰️

LUCIFER NSFW HEADCANNONS !

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the first time you two fuck it’s very intimate, and he’s incredibly soft with you regardless of him topping you. and if it’s your first time in general he’ll make you cum on his fingers and tongue at least twice before he can think of actually penetrating you.

he can get very rough with you, but instead of using your body as some sort of stress reliever for his own pleasure, he prefers to actually service you instead as he loves seeing completely fucked out of your mind because of him.

gets super turned on when you’re needy and make it apparent to him, even though he loves to take the lead it warms his heart when he sees you want him and much as he wants you.

loves when you palm his erection through his trousers and then suck him off under his desk, or if you rub up and down on his dick while both of you are fully clothed.

if you dress in lingerie he might cum on the spot. he can’t decided if he wants to rip it all off of you immediately or take in the beautiful sight in front of him. will probably just tease you for hours though, it’s your fault for being so attractive!

will leave hickeys and bite marks all over your body for everyone to see, as he needs everyone in the 3 worlds to know that your his, and his alone.

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a/n: THANK YOU ⚰️ anon !!!! this ask had me frothing at the mouth. anyways i hope you enjoyed it, my asks are open for genshin, enstars and obey me as always ! thank you to all for reading, have a lovely day <3

hiiii! ♡♡ i hope ur doing well (≧◡≦) ( i have a request if it's okay. may i have headcanons with hawks and a civilian reader who is veryyyyy affectionate? like, the reader loves hugging him, planting kisses on his cheeks and forehead, calling hawks with "sweetheart, darling, my pretty bird", asking about his day, stuff like that. uhm, actually i just want to see hawks showered in love like he deserves heheh (≧◡≦) ♡ thank youuuu!! ♡♡♡♡

a/n: I love wholesome requests like this!! 😭

Hawks with a very affectionate s/o

This dude is READY to race home when he’s done with work, he loves the affection you give him when he arrives home to you. Once he walks through the door you’re already there kissing his cheeks and asking him how his day was, he could literally just melt into your touch right now if he could. He doesn’t even want dinner he just wants to cuddle with you, he likes laying his head down on your chest as you gently brush his hair. If you touch his wings he will literally just sigh happily into your chest, some of his feathers puffing up at your affection.

Absolutely loves the names you call him, especially when you call him your pretty bird while planting kisses on his forehead. Brags about it to endeavor like “yeah my s/o calls me their pretty bird and they don’t ever lie” you BOOST this man’s ego, also brags about having a super affectionate s/o to any pro-hero. Yeah his fans will say that he’s amazing and etc, but it is way more meaningful when you say it to him. Every word you say to him and moment you two spend together he holds them very dearly, even while fighting against a villain he’ll always remember what you said to him. So if any villain wanted to hurl insults to him he can quickly block it out and remember what you said to him beforehand, that’s why whenever news reporters ask him what his motivation is he’ll tell them it’s someone who gives him encouragement (aka you)

Whenever Hawks is around you he feels like he can finally let his guard down, he’s dealing with a lot at the moment. So when he comes back home to you he feels like he doesn’t need to be Hawks the second ranked hero, he can just be Keigo. He can just go long hours cuddling into your chest and listening to your heartbeat, it almost soothes him to sleep as well.

Congrats on 500 ♥

For the event: I think about Mammon who is very horny, but feels guilty about it because MC looks too innocent. Some kind of hurt/comfort? Then it turns out that MC is pretty horny too ~

Mammon really struggled to stop himself sometimes. At least when it came to his urges, whether it was his greed or something else. Throughout knowing you, he’d always find himself feeling so strongly for you, the urge to touch you and make you his, but he knew he must wait for you to let him. So he’d take to touching himself, rubbing out one every chance he could.

It wasn’t until you two were together that he finally felt comfy with expressing himself around you but there was one thing that he could never tell you. His thumb would hover over send each time he wanted to send you something dirty but he would always delete the message. When you were nuzzling into him mid-cuddle and your bottom would brush against him, he’d tell himself not to say anything and wait.

After all, humans like you were so innocent! He remembers back when he last went to the human world, sex was so taboo! It was all missionary and in the dark under the blankets. Sure, he knows things have changed, he’s watched plenty of human movies, and listens to human music… but that’s not you. Everybody is different right? He’d be… defiling you, almost. Plus, no human can compare to a demon’s horniness!

You, on the other hand, thought completely different from him. Society is changing and so is the view on sex, so is the view on how much sex and how kinky the sex is. You wanted him, really, really bad. It was so hard to tell him, especially since each time you’d get ready to make a move, he’d shy away and avoid it. Did he not find you sexually appealing? You definitely found him sexy! You wanted to ask him outright what the issue was, but what if he just confirmed your assumption?

You’d brush your bottom against his crotch, waiting for a response, just for him to reposition and not respond. You’d start a conversation around sex and he’d be quiet or completely miss the point. It had gotten to the point that you were just desperate. And now that you’re situated on top of him, tongue in his mouth feeling him up and down, you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Mammon, I want you.” You huffed as your mouths separated.

“Mm.” He continued to kiss you, his only response a grunt.

You pushed him away. “Do you want me?” You looked at him, his eyes wide and flitting away.

“Yeah.” His response was quiet.

You felt your stomach sink and you looked down trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. He looked back at you and saw the change in demeanor.

“What’s wrong?” You looked away from him, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. His heart was beating like crazy. “Mc?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.” Rushing the words out as fast as possible. “It’s okay, I just need to get up.” You left his lap and rushed to your room, leaving Mammon alone on his couch. He watched you leave, wondering if he should follow you.

You settled in your room and sat with your back against the door, holding your knees against your chest. You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or not, to let all the emotions fly. Your phone dinged.

Mammon: did I do something? Whatever I did I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you please Mc.

You looked at the message and tried to think of what to say.

Mammon: I’m really sorry.

Mammon: can ya say something?

You tentatively moved your thumbs over your screen.

Mc: am I not attractive to you?

Mammon really couldn’t believe his eyes when he received the message. Are you kidding?

Mammon: ain’t no way that’s the problem. You’re more than beautiful. Might as well take Asmo’s place as the prettiest in the Devildom.

You felt flattered but that wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

Mc: why do we only ever just make out?

Mammon: wdym?

Mc: I want to know why don’t you touch me or you know

Mammon’s heart skipped a beat, he stood up from the couch and started to walk your way, still texting.

Mammon: I do want to touch you. But I never think you do.

You felt your lip quiver.

Mc: I always want you.

Mammon knocked on your door. “Can I come in?” You stood up in front of the door hesitated before letting him in. He came face to face with you, little tears coating your face complemented by your puffy eyes and strained face. “Mc, I’m sorry I make you feel that way.” You wrapped your arms around him, both so he couldn’t see the tears in your eyes and to also get that comfort you desired.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t ever feel unwanted. Or undesirable or whatever.” He kissed your neck, not in a sexual way but in an ‘I love you’ way. “I’m obsessed with ya, in every way. Yer friggin’ perfect.”

You continued to hold him, not wanting to pull away. You tried to calm your emotions and let the tears remain in so you could talk to him.

He could tell you were trying to calm down. “I’m sorry I never do anything. I always think that—that you—well, I dunno how to explain.” He was struggling to find a way to explain your assumed innocence. “You seem so innocent. So humanly.” He settled on that. You found yourself confused by his words.

Humans! Innocent!!??? Does he know anything about humanity?

You actually laughed a little, confusing him. “Why’re ya laughin’?”

“Humans are so not innocent.” You couldn’t help back let go to get a look at his face, which was was just the way you expected it. Dumbfounded. “Jeez, you demons and your assumptions about humans. I don’t know a single innocent human. Do you just think we are a bunch of Lukes running around?” You were now really laughing especially with his newfound face. He looked almost like a… fish?

“No! I just… okay.” He sighed and breathed in sharply. “Let me just get it out. I didn’t think you were as horny as me. I still don’t. Demons and temptation, ya know.”

“Mammon, that makes no sense. The average human has a sexual thought every few minutes or seconds or something like that. We literally have 100 year lifespans we sorta are inclined to always think about sex. And you demons, millennia long lifespans. You don’t have to have babies 24/7.” You weren’t crying at all anymore and now Mammon was absolutely in shock.

“Every few seconds!!! No way!! Uh uh.”

“Let’s look it up.”

Mammon shuffled through his ddd and then plastered his phone in your face. “Told ya. It’s 19 times a day.”

“Uh, Mammon, it ranges from like 19 to 388.”

“Only in men!”

“Well I probably think about sex with you about 388 times a day.”

“Pssh. Then I’m probably in the thousands.”

“No, Mammon you don’t think enough for that.”

He wanted to say something but he ended up just looking at you. You could tell all that tension from earlier was already making a return at least for him.

“You okay, now?” You nodded. “Let’s go back to my room.” You nodded again and took his hand. When you got to his room, he got red and stopped in his tracks. “You wanna have sex now?”

“Mammon, didn’t we just talk about this? If you reject me now, I’m never looking at you again.”

He grinned and licked his lips, pulling you into his room by the waist. “Clearly, we have no choice!”

Note: this is canon. Change my mind.

Congratulations on reaching 2700 followers!

Can please request 🌌 with MC and Barbatos? Thank you

Sorry for the incredibly long wait!!! Thank you for your patience!! 🖤

"I look at you and I see the void." - Barbatos/MC

Barbatos is time infinite, space incorporeal – a wave of his hand is all he needs to see every universe, every timeline, every outcome. A snap of his fingers is all it takes to change everything. A power so infinite and yet, so bounding – for he does not want to see what will happen in several years' time if he turns that vase just so, if he cooks a certain meal a certain night, if he answers a question with five more words instead of two. 

The threads of time weave through his fingers, and he could create whatever tapestry he so wishes – but that is not Barbatos’ desire. Perhaps once, he had a vision of what he wanted his life to be. Perhaps that is why he is where he is now. A truth lost to the echoing realities of eternity. 

It is a power that could drive anyone mad, and he is no exception – but he has learned to temper it, has found someone to serve who understands the gravity of it and all its consequences. He is in control – even with the buzz of the multiverses filling his mind in the quiet of his room, with the colors that paint the edges of visions that seep through his dreams. True peace from it all is the one thing he knew he could never achieve. 

That is, until you came along.

“What is it?” 

“Hm?” He answers as if he’s been snapped out of a reverie.

The two of you are alone in one of the castle’s many gardens, thanks to your request for a moonlit stroll after a lively dinner with a crew of rather rambunctious demons. The moments you had alone were rare, and it pleases Barbatos to have you alone to himself. 

“You’ve been staring at me for some time now, Barbatos. Do I have something on my face?” 

“No, not at all.” He clears his throat, a sheepish smile ghosting his lips. “I simply found myself lost in thought.” 

“About me?” You tease, taking a step closer to him with mirth in your eyes. “My, just what was on your mind to have you staring so intensely?” 

“Nothing salacious, I assure you.” He smirks as he sees you playfully pout at that response, and then slowly closes the space between you. “...Do you really want to know?”

Your eyes narrow, searching his gaze as curiosity replaces cheer. “Yes, I do.” 

“I look at you,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lips. “...and I see the void.”

Confusion knits your brows, and he chuckles softly as he looks deep into your eyes.

“You are so intangible, so captivating, and utterly beyond my comprehension of all that I know to be true.” A hand comes to your waist, to the small of your back as he pulls you close against him. “You are, for the first time in my long life, a mystery that brings me both intrigue and peace. It is as if time stops with you, by no will or power of my own. To be with you, to even gaze upon you, brings the cacophonous universe to a lull, a peace I never thought possible for myself.” 

As he feels warmth radiate from your cheeks, he brings his lips to yours in a languid kiss. 

“In you,” he whispers against your skin, “I see the abyss that I’ve always craved.”