How Abt Mammon And MC Who Gets Super Clingy/needy During PMS/their Period?

how abt mammon and MC who gets super clingy/needy during PMS/their period?

Mammon was burning alive under your warmth, plus your heated blanket, plus the fact it’s the middle of winter and the heat is on blast. But it was worth it since you were finally resting after a long day of bathroom trips, overwhelming emotions, and just… stress. Just stress.

You were clinging onto him, clenching your eyes shut, trying to nap while your stomach was in knots. You pressed the heat into your stomach and pursed your lips, Mammon saw your expression and stroked your hair.

“It’s okay, I gotcha.” He kissed your head.

“I love you.” You told him. “I really really really love you.” You rubbed your face against him almost like how a cat would. He was red, either from the heat or your claims.

“Love ya too.” He said softly, heart warming as your smile stretched across your face. “Whatcha makin’ that face for?” He teased you, hoping he didn’t step too far.

“Because I love you.”

Man, if you weren’t as cute as a button right now. He hates seeing you in pain, but your face was absolutely adorable how you nuzzled into him. “Ya gonna just answer all my questions with that?”

“I love you.” Was your answer, albeit, confirming his suspicions. You went from laying on your side with your hand and face on his chest to just plopping on top of him. He can’t believe that he wishes for a fan now in arctic like weather. He rubbed your back, slipping his hands underneath your top. You let out a little noise, approving of his actions. “Your hands are cold, it’s nice.”

“I dunno how they’re cold, but if you like it.” He reminded himself that the furnace (you) on top of him was his partner, someone he loves dearly, and for you to be this clingy, you must truly be suffering.

Mammon could barely feel your heartbeat syncing with his. He had turned off his tv and every other sound so you could nap and he could only hear your breathing and his. He could feel how you wiggled your feet, moving the blanket around and he could also tell when you were bracing for another cramp, your body tensing up. Mammon felt as though he was fully in tune with you and that nothing else was there. Just you and him.

He remembered when he got up this morning and went to go get water and then returned to find you looking distraught. You were embarrassed to tell him that you were sad that he left but he was even more humiliated when he found out that you upset about that. Also, yesterday, when you were in class and decided to text him every 2 minutes, begging for his attention. Mammon, of course, indulged, how could he not? Or last night, when you kissed him and wouldn’t stop even after he, yes the avatar of greed, was exhausted. He was somewhat familiar with the menstrual cycle, but he wasn’t surrounded by demons with uteruses all the time let alone humans, so you really educated him fast.

Now, he had you down to a T. All that mattered was that you needed to be on him 24/7 and that you needed comfort. He was so used to being material and to buy you everything you wanted, to get you every bit of chocolate or every French fry or every pair of fuzzy socks you wanted. You loved that but you loved him more. Truth be told, nothing made him happier to know that he was your primary comfort. He was what you needed.

He looked down at you, angling his neck awkwardly to peek at your eyes. You were asleep, finally. He smiled to himself and kissed your head, still tracing his hands up and down your back. “Love ya, treasure.” His voice was lower than a whisper, only for him to hear. “I love ya so much.”

Note: this is literally me. This ask is me.

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄

in which: you take tomioka ice skating as a way of destressing from the tough mission you were sent on. turns out, the water hashira isn't that good at it.

warnings: 1.5k, fluff, descriptions of trauma from demon slaying, reader is a hashira ! gn!reader, bad characterisation ? idk i've only watched the anime + first kny work :3

˗ˏˋ XMAS MASTERLIST ´ˎ˗

The moon was beautiful tonight. 

You admire the silver light seeping through the leaves in awe, loving them even more so when watching the way they fall on Tomioka’s half-half haori. A beautiful sight to behold; he is, even during the darkest hour and parts of you still feel a little scarred and vulnerable from the mission you were just sent on.

Tomioka, on the other hand, seems as unscathed as ever and you admire him now more than ever. With the blood of demons still lingering on your sword, and the symbol of your growth as a hashira donned on the uniform you wear, there’s still parts of you that have not hardened from the harshness of this job.

To stand on the front lines between life and death won’t ever get easier, but you’ve been saying that to yourself ever since you first wielded your Nichirin sword.

“Aren’t you cold, Tomioka?” You asked whilst rubbing your hands along your biceps, hoping to create some warmth from the friction.

“No,” comes his curt reply, as ever.

You huff, your breathe condensing into a momentary cloud before fading away. 

“Why, are you?” He asks in a uncharacteristically attempt to continue conversation.

“A little, I guess the post-battle adrenaline has washed off.”

The dark-haired remains silent.

“Uh, good job today by the way,” you pipe up again after several beats of silence. “You were amazing, as always.”

Tomioka doesn’t say anything. Even after countless missions together, you still can’t reach him easily. Despite being the hashira that you work with the most, Tomioka is also the one you are still strangers with. The prospect of being sent on a mission with him sometimes makes you more nervous than hearing about where you’re fighting, or who.

As the snow continues to fall, covering up the footsteps you and Tomioka are leaving behind, you think you’re about to leave the forest, and you’re right when you hear a collection of laughter and delighted shrieks. From multiple people- probably a crowd.

Placing a hand on your sword handle just in case, you jump onto a stable tree branch to gain a higher perspective, hoping that it would be tall enough to overlook the hill.

“It’s just an ice skating rink,” you tell the water hashira, relieved and welcoming the sight of many delighted people in one place. 

“Then let’s continue back to headquarters,” he responds dryly as you land on the snow beside him with little sound.

“Wait,” you brush off the snow that managed to get on you. “I’m going to patrol this area, there’s a lot of people and susceptible to demon attacks, especially in the place we were sent to protect.”

He narrows his eyes ever so slightly at you. “You want to ice skate.” 

Poking out your tongue, you shrug in faux innocence. “I’ll still be on guard,” you defend. “You’re welcome to head back to headquarters before me.”

Tomioka’s expression doesn’t change and with a little hesitation, you turn away from him to head towards the ice skating rink, part of you still hoping he’d relent and join you. It was a lot more lit up than you thought, with many candles in lanterns hung around the area to illuminate the dark for skaters.

As you approach a booth that nursed rows upon rows of ice skates, the attendant offers you a smile in greeting. “What’s your shoe size?”

When you tell her, she then looks behind you.

“And how about you, sir?” She questions and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion before turning around, only to be greeted by the same haori you’ve been staring at the entire night. Tomioka doesn’t falter at your surprise, calmly delivering his answer as the store attendant then goes off to find your requests.

You truly did not think Tomioka would accompany you - you didn’t even hear his footsteps! Nor sense his presence! He truly baffled you sometimes.

“I thought you would return to headquarters to Master and deliver the report,” you murmur. He looks at you with those dead eyes.

“His instructions were that we must travel as a pair. In case there are demons, I’m here for backup.” His bluntness brings an affectionate smile to your face unknowingly, and you turn back to the employee when she comes back with your skates.

Sitting down at a nearby bench, you ignore how cold the planks are on the back of your legs and swiftly put the skates on. It’s when you stand up that you realise a certain Water Hashira is having difficulty putting his on. 

“Need some assistance?” You ask. He nods, a little shy in the way he slumps, and part of you melts at the new side of Tomioka.

He’s silent while you do up his shoes, watching the way your hands work nimbly. 

“Have you ever gone ice skating, Tomioka?”

“No.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Yes, please.”

You offer him your hand which he takes promptly, and when he stand up on the skates, he wobbles a little before gaining his balance. “Ice skating is a little weird at first, but eventually it’s just like walking, but a lot faster.”

He nods with pursed lips, his cheeks now beginning to turn red from the frost. You try not to focus too much on how Tomioka’s calloused hands feel around yours, and how close he’s standing to you. 

“Nothing to be scared of though, I’m here.”

Tentatively, you guide him over to the edge of the ice, going on first before he does. At least there wasn’t a lot of people on this frozen over pond, allowing your acquaintance to take his time with adjusting to the ice.

He steps on and immediately loses his balance, holding onto you for dear life as he silently freaks out about the slippery surface below his skates. You have to hold in your amusement as you stabilise yourself to become a good base of support.

Eventually, he stands up, looking at you with wide eyes. 

“Good, good. Now just give yourself a little push from one foot!”

He follows your command, gliding a little too far along the ice that you had to move out of his way so he wouldn’t crash into you. He then looks at you with a little more fear in his eyes.

“You’re doing well! C’mon, just a little more,” you encourage, backing away a little so he has more room to move. “One foot at a time.”

The Water Hashira follows your instructions to a T, and you find yourself talking less and less as his hold on you lessens, eventually you transition to just holding him with one hand, now skating side by side with him.

“You’re a quick learner,” you compliment with a reassuring smile. His shoulders aren’t so stiff anymore, but his hold on you is tight, tight enough that if he’s going down, you’re going down with him too. 

And, funnily enough, you do.

It’s almost comical, how he falls backwards and naturally, pulls you into his space as well. You only have a quick second to react, and no matter how good someone’s reflexes are, on ice, it’s not the same. Placing your hand on one side of his body, perfectly on his haori, as the other goes to the opposite side, you just register the awkward position you’ve landed in.

Whilst he’s on his butt, you’re on all fours, set over his legs as his face is dangerously close to yours.

His warm breath is close enough to graze your face whilst he looks at you with shock.

You laugh it off, shaking the ice on your hand as you retreat to your own space. A beat passes and Tomioka too, to your surprise, begins laughing. His laughter is quiet but so warm, almost ironic for the coldness that coated the two of you like a blanket.

As the ice dampens to seep through your shins and his bottom, it’s hard to find it a bother, not when you’re both laughing at his clumsiness.

Any threat of demons in the area are forgotten and for a moment, everything feels fine. There’s no one to avenge, there aren’t any family members to protect, and you’ve been momentarily transported away from the battlefield to laugh with Tomioka Giyuu, an equally traumatised and guarded man with a golden heart.

“Let’s get back up,” you murmur, offering him your hand once more. Slowly, you stand up.

“Your hands are cold,” he whispers.

“So are yours,” you counter, watching as he rises to stand above you.

The hours keep ticking through the night as you and Tomioka make your way around the rink a couple times. People come and go, he gets a little more confident but despite that, he never seems to let go of your hand and you can’t find it in yourself to complain. Tomioka falls over a couple more times, sometimes you catch yourself before you can go down with him. 

But when you do find yourself on the ice, eye-to-eye with him, you can’t help but laugh again. 

And he can’t help but join. Even though it’s so cold, the Water Hashira warms at how pretty you are when you’re smiling.

when you go out with lucifer in the devildom, you always hold onto the hem of his clothes. with how stubborn he is about looking put together at all times, he doesn't seem to mind when you wrinkle the side, or the sleeve of his dress shirt. it's cute, and it makes him feel dependable – even more than he already does – and you make him happy, of course he would let you do anything, with minimal consequences. he takes you to places you haven't been, the outskirts of the city, the flea markets, the secret doors and magic passages and you follow, shirt in hand, absorbing all the information you can about the place he's called home for aeons.

when lucifer goes out with you in the human world, he always wraps an arm around your waist. it's impractical when you're navigating the city, and if he must let go his hand slides into your palm, but it makes him feel like he can depend on you – even more so than he already does. so when you're around where you grew up in, and he sees you smile as you retrace steps you've taken multiple times, he feels certain that you could take him anywhere and he would feel safe, even if stripped of his power fully, even if damned again and again. lucifer feels you close to him, closer than his pride would let him hold you in the devildom, and something in him flutters, ancient and almost humane. and of course, the ego boost he gets when you greet people you used to know, when you introduce him as your partner and they turn to look at him, eyebrows raised and words lost in their mouths, when he squeezes your side a bit and greets them with his most suave smile (oh, how he knows his wings would flutter if he was in his demon form), knowing he's yours and only yours, is enough to make him giddy for the next century. that he is sure of.

rockstar dabi nsfw and sfw hcs

not proofread

-i feel like this would be a good profession for dabi. he'd be really good at coming up with lyrics and guitar riffs that could make ppl cry. the way his fingers strum on the guitar effortlessly would probably attract many people to him and his music.

-one day he spots you in the crowd of one of his concerts. there's a huge amount of people there, but you catch his eye. he sends you a flirty glare from up on stage before launching into the next song.

-which leads to you later getting fucked by him in his bed.

-you meet up with him again after he gives you his personal number, at a club that he frequently goes to. he looks delicious, you think. his hair puffs up perfectly and he radiates confidence most people could only dream of having. he seems to really like you.

-the only downside of dating him is that rockstar dabi edits would plague the internet and probably annoy the shit out of you. he would have a cult following, no doubt about it.

-it's hard not to get jealous when your boyfriend is practically stalked by half his fanbase, but you know him well enough to recognize that he hates that part just as much as you do.

-buys you fancy outfits and takes you to events with him. only to rip them off later and stick his throbbing cock inside of you. horniest mf out there, second to me.

-will fight off reporters trying to ask you questions. his personal life stays as far away from the public as he can get it. especially pertaining to you. he wants everyone to know he's taken, don't get me wrong, and he loves you and wants people to see you with him. but he's seen how rumors on the news can fuck up good relationships and he doesn't want anything like that to happen to you guys.

-loves that you're his gf and a fan of his music, seeing you in his merch makes him go 😍🥵🦴😘💗💘

-if he ever catches you listening to one of his songs in your airpods or headphones or whatever his heart will melt.

-such a pretty voice when he sings and when he's moaning out your name. i think rockstar dabi would have a hella oral fixation. he'd be so fucking good with his tongue. like unreasonably good. the depth of his music will bring you tears but so will his mouth on you.

in the lane

bakugou x reader wc: 1.7k cw: christmas fluff, regular fluff, implied heavy petting

You lazily tug your boots off and leave them in a heap next to the couch in the foyer of the Dynamight agency. You're the only person here on Christmas Eve, everyone else having gone home to trade in their hero names for names like "Mom" and "Dad" and "Rich Wine Aunt." 

Being alone on Christmas isn't so bad, really. You finally get one quiet night to yourself. Sure, you were on call to respond to any emergencies, but it seemed even villains took a holiday break, as you'd covered the Christmas graveyard shift three years in a row and never had to so much as stop a purse-snatcher or get a cat out of a tree. 

There's a huge Christmas tree set up in the main lobby, at least 15 feet tall with green and orange ornaments hung in alternating patterns. You pass it on your way to the kitchen to grab some snacks and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. You pop the bottle, letting the foam drip into the sink, before pouring yourself a glass and then heading back to the seating area in the foyer. 

The heavier accessories for your hero costume lie on one couch, and a mountain of blankets and your laptop lie on another. You curl up into a nest of blankets, positioning your phone and the police radio close to you so that you'll be quick to receive any notifications - just in case - and then open your laptop and settle in for your annual movie night. 

"Happy holidays, Dave," you say to the security camera positioned in the far corner of the room, raising your glass. The camera slowly tilts up, then down, making a mechanical whirring sound the entire time. Dave, the remote building security guard, is your annual Christmas companion. Last year you'd climbed on top of a chair and held a piece of paper with your phone number on it up to the lens, and now Dave sporadically texts you with office gossip he's privy to thanks to his position overseeing the security cameras from wherever he actually lived. 

Yeah, Dave's cool. 

You sip your non-alcoholic bubbly and start your first movie. The police radio and your phone both stay quiet and you're nearly halfway through the third movie of a high fantasy trilogy when you hear some commotion at the front door. 

The clock on the wall says it's 5am - time for the Christmas morning skeleton crew to take over. And so passes another uneventful Christmas Eve. 

Slowly, you untangle yourself from the mess of blankets and head to the door to help them in. "Dave, can you get the lights?" you call out. As the main overheads of the agency turn on, you see that it's actually only one person at the door, and it's who you'd least expect - the big man himself. Dynamight. 

"Sir?" you say tentatively, cocking your head to the side, as you open the door for your boss. 

"Thanks," he grumbles as he slips past you. 

He's in sweats, a beanie covering the mess of blonde hair on his head. Even then, he's stupidly handsome. And still impossible to figure out. 

"Is... everything okay?" you call after him.

He stops in his tracks. "What?" His voice is gruff. 

"I just--" you look away from him instinctively, even though he has his back turned towards you, "--what are you doing here?" 

"I'm the morning shift. Taking over. You can go home." 

"You're the morning shift?" 

He sighs, heavily. "Yeah, what did you expect?" 

"I don't know," you wave your hand in the air, "someone like me who doesn't have anywhere to be. Don't you have a wife and kids?" 

Now he finally turns to look at you. "No? Who the fuck told you I have a wife and kids?" 

You shrug. "I dunno, everyone in the office thinks you have a secret family." 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, I don't. Now, get the hell out of here, it's a holiday" 

You turn your head slowly towards the security camera and raise your eyebrows at Dave, who you're hoping is seeing your expression from his computer screens.

Dynamight disappears into the locker room, duffel bag and gauntlets slung over his shoulder. 

Your phone buzzes against the hardwood of the table where you'd set up shop last night and you check text on your watch. 

Dave: you should make a move 

"Are you insane?" you whip your head up to glare at the lens of the camera. 

A few moments later: i see how you look at him

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "He's my boss. And he's way out of my league." 

i see how he looks at you

Your cheeks get hot. "Whatever, Dave," you mumble as you start to clean up the blankets and put away your laptop. 

"What're you still doing here?" Dynamight calls from the hallway. You open your mouth to answer, but suddenly the overhead lights shut down and the Christmas tree in the lobby lights up, starting from the bottom, until all of the connected strings illuminate the tree and leave you both in a warm yellow glow. 

You want to say something. Really, you do. But he’s walking towards you, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, the sparkling lights of the tree reflected in his irises, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s staring at you and you’re about to drown in his pupils when he breaks the silence. 

“I’ll check the breaker.” 

You nod quickly. “Sounds good.” 

Then he’s gone again. 

Childishly, you stick your tongue out at the Dave-camera before cleaning up the rest of your blanket nest. A few minutes later, the lights are back on and Dynamight returns to the lobby. 

“Go ahead,” he lifts his chin at you, “I’ll lock the door after you.”

“Where’s the rest of the morning crew?” 

He snorts. “I’m the whole crew. I can handle it on my own.” He moves towards the exit. 

“Actually,” you clear your throat, “I was wondering if you’d like some company on your patrol?” 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why?” 

“So we don’t both have to be alone on Christmas,” you answer, biting your lip. A move that, unbeknownst to you, sends Bakugou’s heart in a tailspin. 

He pauses. “Get your gear on,” he finally replies. 

The patrol, like your evening before, is uneventful. And mostly quiet. You don’t usually have this much time alone with your boss. He keeps his eyes in front of him, chin tucked into the collar of his costume, peering out at the sidewalk in front of him. Everything is closed, so there are no people or cars around. The only thing you hear is the quiet crunch of ice and snow under your boots as you walk alongside him. 

“You always take the Christmas Eve shift?” he asks you while you’re walking back towards the agency. 

You nod. “It’s kinda nice. I like being alone.” 

His expression softens, and a half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Me too.”

The sky transforms from a pale blue to a pinkish-orange sunrise as the patrol goes on, making the snow on the ground sparkle. 

“Why’d you take the Christmas day shift?” you ask him, turning around to walk backwards. 

“Beats bein’ home alone. Or with my parents,” he says, “and ‘s quiet. I like the quiet.”

“Me too,” you echo him. 

“You’re quiet,” he muses.

“I guess I am,” you shrug. 

“Then I guess I like you.” 

It takes you by surprise, and you catch yourself mindlessly staring at him just a moment too late; you’re not looking ahead and you slip on a patch of ice, sending you flying downward on what probably would have been a nasty fall if your boss hadn’t caught you. One of his arms is underneath you, the other gripping on to your shoulder to keep you upright. 

“Thank you,” you say breathlessly. 

“Looks like I had to save someone on this shift after all,” he laughs as he helps you to stand on your own feet again.

He spends the rest of the walk back to the agency teasing you about your clumsiness, and you pretend to hate it, although you’re secretly enjoying the attention from Katsuki - a name he said you should call him. And when a sudden wind sends chills through your body, he pulls you into his side, happy to share his warmth with you. 

cute. says another text from Dave, who can see you both walking arm in arm when you finally make it back. 

You enter the agency to Winter Wonderland playing over the P.A. system. The overhead lights have been dimmed to a soft glow. It might even be a few degrees warmer than it was before. You throw a mean glare towards Dave, mouthing a quick what the fuck. 

“What’s happening?” you ask Katsuki, putting on your best act, not willing to tell him that your friend the security guard was trying to play wingman via nostalgic music and romantic lighting. He’s standing near the tree, looking up towards the P.A. speakers, and you shuffle towards him. 

Just as he turns towards you, there’s a red and green blur in front of your eyes. You blink and realize it’s a mistletoe that’s just fallen down from the ceiling, right in between you and Katsuki.

“How the fuck did you pull this one off?” Katsuki says loudly, looking past you. You turn, but there’s no one there. 

Then it dawns on you. 

“Do you know Dave?” you whisper, and Katsuki’s gaze snaps back to your face. His eyes move back and forth from the mistletoe to your lips. He lets out a shaky laugh, then grabs either side of your face and kisses you. 

Your fingers curl around the collar of his costume and pull him close to you, prolonging the kiss for as long as you can. When you pull away, you eye the security camera, your cheeks getting a little warm. 

“Afternoon crew is almost here,” Katsuki says, “and there’s no cameras in my office.” 

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. 

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