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wrathandgreed · 4 years

Note

Idea: Barbatos professing his love for you the first time. Take it however you want with angst or fluff 😘

Surprises

GN!MC x Barbatos (fluff)

Word count: 6.5k

Author Note: Somehow, this took on a life of its own, and now I’m in love with Barbatos.

You wonder, briefly, if this is how Cinderella felt.

Everyone assumes that Cinderella spent the ball floating on air, waltzing gracefully with the prince, impressing everyone with her beauty and charm.

Did anyone ever think that maybe, just maybe, Cinderella felt completely out of place? That huge ball gown, skirts wide enough to knock food off tables. The high heels, so much harder to walk in than bare feet. And everyone looking at her, always eyes watching her.

Maybe she found her true love, sure, but maybe she really just wanted to dash off to the kitchen, where things felt familiar and safe.

As you stand in Diavolo’s heavily decorated ballroom, a smile plastered on your face, pity for Cinderella runs through your head. Couture might look good, but it was constricting. You didn’t dare eat or drink - nothing washes out of this fabric. Also, trying to undo the whole outfit just to pee was NOT going to happen. The ballroom was sweltering hot and you were sweating under your clothes.

To be fair, it hadn’t been all bad, especially not in the beginning. Stepping into Diavolo’s castle was like stepping into a fairy tale. Millions of tiny lights floated all around, little wisps that barely illuminated anything but lent a bewitching aura to every room. The edges of the ballroom were lined with tables full of Barbatos’ cooking and baking. You smile as you passed a tray of cookies you had helped him make yesterday; maybe when the ball was over and you no longer had to worry about your party clothes, you’d steal one.

The music had been fun - instrumental and easy to dance to, and boy had you danced! Every one of the brothers had, at one time, claimed your hand and spun you around the dance floor. Lucifer had waltzed and twirled you expertly, covering the entire dance floor in one song. Satan, somehow, was better - perhaps because he cared more about dancing with you than showing off that he was dancing with you. Mammon fumbled more than anything else but, except for bumping into other demons a few times, his feet were pretty sure. And once he gave up on trying to replicate the fancy moves of Lucifer and Satan, the two of you just whirled around the dance floor with absolutely no concern for your safety or anyone else’s.

Asmo refused to let you go for almost half an hour while he showed off moves the two of you had practiced together. Belphie and Beel pulled you into a strange three-person dance with a lot of hand-holding and ducking under each other’s arms until all three of you were howling with laughter and had to excuse yourself into the hallway.

And in the hallway, you even managed to lure Levi into a little swaying slow dance in the corner. It felt a little like an 8th grade formal, but his eyes shone when you put your head on his shoulder, so everything was good.

The brothers had passed you from hand to hand, protecting you and dancing, laughing, talking, flirting. When you thought no one was looking, you snuck out your phone and took selfies with them, for the scrapbook you were making of your time here.

But like Cinderella’s coach, you felt like you turned into a pumpkin around midnight. It was now a few hours past and your patience and enjoyment were wearing thin. You thought longingly of the room Lord Diavolo had given you here for the night, but Diavolo himself had vanished and demonic etiquette dictates that you not leave without thanking him personally, and perhaps indulging the Demon Prince himself in a dance.

Your feet ache at the idea of another turn around the floor.

“MC, darling, don’t move! There’s someone I want to see, but I’ll be back in just a second,” Asmo whispers in your ear before slipping off into the crowd.

Surprised, you look around and realize none of the brothers are moving to replace him at your side. Lucifer had disappeared with Diavolo, muttering something about paperwork. Mammon and a few lesser demons are playing cards in a game room across the hall. Levi - well, there was no keeping Levi at a formal function full of people for any length of time. Beel was….. yes, Beel was over there by the food tables, and Belphie was probably napping on a couch in the hallway.

You realize you can’t see Barbatos anywhere, either. Through it all, you’d catch glimpses of him, refilling food and clearing away glasses. Once, he caught your eye and gave you his gentlest, friendliest smile. A few hours later, he happened to be in exactly the right place to catch you as you and Mammon tripped over another demon’s tail while trying to waltz.

You would have welcomed his presence, but for the moment you were alone.

Wonderfully, gratefully, blessedly alone.

You gather the extra material of your outfit and in your head you see Cinderella hiking her ball gown to her knees to book down the stairs. Trying to remain unseen, you carefully open the terrace doors and slip out onto the balcony.

The crisp air outside slaps you in the face and you almost whimper in relief. Without stopping to think, you lean your back against the now-closed terrace doors and yank off your shoes.

A noise off to your left startles you, has you whipping your head to the side and clutching your shoes to your chest. If you have to put your shoes back on, you’re going to cry.

But it’s Barbatos.

He’s humming lightly along with the music inside as he passes by more slim banquet tables, gathering empty wine glasses onto a silver tray for washing. His hair catches the moonlight and for a moment you’re bewitched by him, by his gentle demeanor and quick efficiency.

It had been that demeanor and efficiency which allowed you to become friendly in the first place.

Devil’s sake, why are these stupid meetings always so long?!

You hadn’t been in the Devildom long, but somehow you’d had to sit through like seven Council meetings already. And this one was going on forever, but you weren’t allowed in the room because it was a SECRET meeting and you’re not a Council Member.

And you’re also not allowed to just walk home because you could get eaten by a lesser demon.

So instead, you’re sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the council room. Trying to get comfortable and read your book, but your feet keep going numb any time you settle into a reading position. In a minute you’re going to just say hell with dignity and lay flat-out on the floor, tent your book over your face, and take a nap. You’re getting more and more annoyed when -

“That certainly does not look comfortable, MC.”

You glance up from your book, and there’s Diavolo’s butler. His name had something to do with islands. Barbatos? Bora Bora? Aruba sounded wrong. You’d spoken to him a few times, but barely knew him at all so, as far as you’re concerned, he’s part of the problem. Right now, every demon is part of the problem.

“It’s not comfortable,” you return tartly. “But I’m stuck here until this meeting is over, since I’m not even allowed to walk back to the damn House on my own.”

The butler’s face clouds over, but all he does is excuse himself and enter the council room. For a second, you worry that you offended him with your rudeness, but then you decide you don’t care. He’s a demon. If he deals with this lot regularly, rudeness shouldn’t be something that bothers him all that much.

You settle into another position - back against the wall, legs straight out in front of you. It’ll relieve the pins and needles in your feet, but you just know your ass will be numb in twenty minutes….and suddenly Barbatos/Bora Bora is back in front of you, bent over at the hips and with an extended hand to help you rise. When you just gape at him, he smiles that small self-contained smile of his.

“I’ve spoken with Lucifer, and I have leave to walk you back to the House myself, so long as I remain with you until one of them returns.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have way more interesting things to do than babysit me.”

His smile widens, his eyes sparkle just a little at your polite refusal. He doesn’t wait for the little lamb to stand on their own and, instead, grasps your hand with both of his and pulls you to your feet.

“I insist. I have all the time in the world, after all.”

Your own smile twists, just a little. You had no idea what he meant by that at the time, and it’s still a little creepy to think about.

The butler did, indeed, walk you back to the House of Lamentation. And he did, indeed, refuse to leave you alone once there. Every suggestion and argument you raised - because, really, you’re an adult and you can stay alone in a damn house - was met with that smile, that patience, and that absolutely immutable stubborn will.

But, hey, after passing on the information that one of the brothers would grab dinner from Hell’s Kitchen and bring it home, Barbatos insisted that the two of you make dessert.

You knew what he was doing. You’re not stupid. You’d barely been in the Devildom two weeks, and you knew no one trusted you on your own yet. You were to remain, both under guard and guarded against, until trust could be established.

And it fascinated you to watch Barbatos work. It wasn’t exactly a punishment to sit in the warm kitchen and watch a master doing his thing. Initially, he had insisted you help, but…..

“You are truly hopeless, aren’t you? And I thought the rumors of Solomon’s cooking were alarming.”

“Yeah, well, cooking’s boring.” When Barbatos shoots you a look, you shrug, refusing to back down. “If you like doing it, cool, works for you. I don’t. It’s just…. it’s FOOD. You spend two hours making it, and everyone will eat it in under fifteen minutes. Less if Beel is around.”

“I find it soothing,” the butler returns, amusement evident in his voice.

“Awesome for you. That’s not a dig, really, it’s great that you enjoy it. I like to knit; everyone has something. But I can’t do any of this stuff in the first place, and DEFINITELY not in silence. It’s too distracting.”

“And what music do you listen to when working?”

“Oh, uh, not music. Audiobooks.” You FEEL yourself blushing. “I’m a Lit major. Well, I was. I’ve probably been thrown out of college for non-attendance at this point.”

Barbatos smiles as his hands move effortlessly through the ingredients. “I believe Lord Diavolo has ensured that your education will continue as you desire after this year is over.” He hesitates just a moment, then continues, “I believe Satan has mentioned audiobooks in the past, but he has to go to the human world to get them. They are what they sound like?”

You hitch yourself up on a high kitchen stool. “Yeah, exactly. A recording of someone reading a book out loud. Usually it’s more of a dramatic reading, sometimes like a play with a bunch of people taking different parts. Not a Devildom thing, huh?”

“No, but I shall bring the idea up to Lord Diavolo. Perhaps we could interest more demons in the Royal Library this way. Humans enjoy them?”

“Until we had stuff like radio and TV, most entertainment was someone reading to the family while everyone did their own thing. They’re not as big now, but yeah, some humans like them.”

Hands still clutching your book from earlier, you watch Barbatos in silence for a few minutes, then blurt out before you can stop yourself, “Maybe you might like it? I feel bad that you’re doing all the cooking and I’m just sitting here.”

A brief expression - it might have been surprise - flits across the otherwise placid face before Barbatos murmurs an assent. And, a little nervously, you open your book and start over, reading aloud from the first page.

Of course, you had less than an hour of quiet time with Barbatos before the brothers brought their chaos home. Enough time for the cake to be in the oven and for the butler to make you a cup of tea to soothe your voice. But it was nowhere near enough time to enjoy the book, and the company.

A few days later, an incoming text from your DDD surprised you.

ButlerBarb: MC, it is Barbatos. Might I request a favor?

MC: You need a taste-tester? I’m sure anything you’re making works, but I’m absolutely willing to sacrifice my life for some more of that cake.

ButlerBarb: I am flattered! And you are always welcome to sample my food.

MC: Awesome. So what’s this favor?

ButlerBarb: I have been mulling over the book we shared the other night. I don’t like to start things and not finish them. Might I borrow the book when you are done with it?

MC: Of course! I’m almost done myself, so I can get it to you soon.

ButlerBarb: I must warn you, I have little spare time for reading. It might take me some time to return it.

MC: That’s not a problem!

MC: Actually…..why don’t I come by and read some more to you while you cook or whatever?

MC: You could get more of the story at a time and I’d have someone to discuss the book with.

MC: I miss having smart conversations about books. Satan’s probably my only option and he seems to think I’m really sus right now. Literary criticism doesn’t seem to rank high on anyone else’s list around here.

ButlerBarb: And what makes you think it’s high on mine?

ButlerBarb: Forgive me, I forget how curt jokes can look over text. I am uncertain what “sus” means, but I would like to listen to and discuss the book with you. Perhaps tomorrow, after your classes? Lucifer and Lord Diavolo have a meeting and I doubt Lucifer would object to walking you over.

ButlerBarb: And perhaps you could taste-test some pastries for me. I would never want to serve anything substandard, after all.**

And that had been that. As time went on and you began to trust the denizens of the House of Lamentation, to laugh and joke and flirt with them, you also made sure you spent a few afternoons a week reading to Barbatos and debating story arcs, narrative choices, and character motivations. You also discussed these things with Satan now, but Satan was more like one of your professors - he had very definite opinions, and they were usually the old, staid opinions that every professor over the age of 50 had. Truthfully, it was fun trying to inject queer theory, feminist theory, and all sorts of modern interpretations into the discussion. Anything to shake him up a little. He absorbed them and found them interesting, but he was more comfortable with interpretations that had centuries of influence.

Barbatos was different.

Barbatos wanted to know what you thought. He was curious about the human interpretation of the events of the novel, the human understanding of character. You weren’t sure if he was interested on his own behalf or Diavolo’s, but his questions made you think about your own opinions and thoughts of the novel - of storytelling in general - in ways you hadn’t before.

He would then contrast your opinion/human opinion with a general demon opinion, and then his opinion. And when he offered his own opinions…..hoo, boy, you would have paid good money to see him argue down some of your more uptight professors. He was a little scary, sometimes, and he often made you remember, sharply, that demons definitely had their own morals and values.

Like when he defended Iago and his jealous meddling in Othello’s life. (“If Othello had any strength of mind at all, he never would have fallen for it. It was a good test for him - a man in charge of armies should not allow himself to be undone by a single jealous rival.”)

Like his absolute judgement on most of the characters in Sense and Sensibility. (“Frankly, Willoughby would wind up being tortured for a few millennia for his deceit and vanity, the greedy branch of the Dashwood family - well, there is a very interesting way of dealing with the greedy down here….”)

Like his amusement in Medea’s vengeance. (“A strong woman who refuses to allow herself to be cowed or tamed. Oh, damned for sure, but an admirable woman nonetheless.”)

You loved the discussion and debate. He stretched your mind in ways you had never considered. But what you loved more was how relaxed Barbatos become.

Inch by inch, he loosened up. When the food was cooking or the bread was rising, he began to sit with you at the kitchen island. Initially, he would sit ramrod-straight, his hands often cutting vegetables or decorating pie crusts. After a few more weeks, he would sit and listen to you read with his head resting on one hand, absently plucking grapes from their stem with the other. Eventually he simply stood, leaning on the table next to you as you discussed the latest chapter over a cup of tea. Watching the slow, cautious relaxation in his posture was almost as interesting to you as his literary opinions.

Discussions of literature became discussions of life. Of choices, and the consequences of them. You learned far more about his powers as he detailed one choice in one life and the ramifications across multiple timelines.

His matter-of-fact discussions on time, the nature of reality, and the links between them tortured you and kept you up at night. For the first time, you truly abandoned fiction in favor of books of science. And still you knew you’d never really get it.

But that brought up new topics - what other consequences might there be for the actions taken in the books you’d read together?

You remember one fascinating night, after dinner at Diavolo’s, you sat with Barbatos in the kitchen as he cleaned up. Instead of reading to him, you were both throwing out ideas about other potential action-consequence links from Middlemarch, a book neither of you had really enjoyed. The suggestions got more and more ludicrous, helped along by a bottle of wine left over from dinner, until you saw something you never thought you would ever see.

Barbatos was laughing.

Not snickering, not giving his small amused smile, not even his occasional sarcastic smirk. But full-on, eyes-sparkling, belly-laughing. Almost, but not quite, hooting with it. It was the kind of laughter you can’t really stop, the kind that becomes contagious. You start chuckling with him, then laughing yourself, and now you’re both laughing simply because you’re already laughing.

He tried, very hard, to stop when Lucifer entered the kitchen with some request or another. He stood quietly, hand over his abdomen as usual, but you could see his body quivering as he held in his laughter. He tried to ask what Lucifer wanted, but every syllable threatened a chuckle so he remained silent. Lucifer looked at the scene, both you and Barbatos struggling to appear calm, eyes and faces shiny with laughter, and he started to lecture you on taking up Barbatos’ time.

Without thinking about it (also kind of drunk, so there’s that) you leaned over to Barbatos, put your hand on his shoulder, and sing-songed in a stage-whisper, “Uh-oh. Daddy’s mad.”

And Barbatos broke. Both of you were gone again, laughing so hard that the only reason you were standing is that you were holding each other up.

You assume that Lucifer went and tattled to Diavolo, covering it up by “apologizing” for how you monopolize Barbatos’ time, but all that came of it was an open invitation from the Demon Prince to come over to the castle whenever you wanted, as Barbatos could use some more laughter in his life.

And so you did.

The more time you spent there, the more you realized not just how important Barbatos was to the running of the castle (and, thus, the Devildom), but also how nice he could be. He always had your favorite treat or tea on hand. You started accompanying him on many of his chores. In fact, you saved the best discussions for when you were both out of the kitchen. Nothing made weeding the garden or polishing the silver go quicker than a bright and easy discussion.

One of your favorite times with him was riding the train to the market. He insisted on turning the tables and reading to you. It was one of the only times where no one could expect him to have other chores to do, so he read instead.

Maybe because of how generous Barbatos always was with his time, you started bringing little things with you. Some cut flowers from the House’s garden. A single box of rare tea that you know Barbatos said was out of stock (of course, it wouldn’t occur to him to ask Levi to track it down online). And once, browsing a used bookstore with Satan, you found an ancient recipe book that you couldn’t wait to bring to the castle.

Each of your little gifts had been received with surprise, then a smile that seemed really genuine. The flowers had been arranged in a pretty glass vase and placed by the kitchen window seat, the tea immediately prepared for you both, and the recipe book declared a wonderful find — apparently, it had a recipe for Newt-Spiced Devilbread that he had never seen before.

You had beamed with pride over his pleasure in the book, and been touched when a small package containing Devilbread (modified, according to the note, for human tastes) was found on your desk in the House a few days later.

Everything about him made you feel appreciated. Which is why you were so happy to see him there, otherwise alone on a balcony.

Of all the people at the ball, it was the upright, too-correct butler that you weren’t afraid to have see you in bare feet. He’d seen you covered in dirt, covered in flour, and, on one occasion when he’d dropped by the house unexpectedly, in ratty pajamas and toe-spacers with a face mask on. That one was Asmo’s fault.

You want him to see you now. You want him to turn around and see you, to have a moment, any kind of moment, while you were dressed in couture at a ball. You want to be the reason he genuinely smiles, the reason he laughs.

I mean, look at him! Decked out in demon form like the rest. But instead of being scary or intimidating, his demon form was….comfortable. It suited him, far more than the human-look. While his clothes still looked butler-ish, something about the ruffles and falling folds looked like a modern Victorian-style suit. It fit his fussiness without being uptight.

That was it. His demon form was still “correct” in the way a butler was correct, but it wasn’t stuffy or uptight, the way the normal butler outfit was.

You’d been around demons so long that wings, tails, and horns looked absolutely normal instead of strange. The delicate crown of black-bone horns, instead of looking demonic, looked like a regal frame for his face.

Something about him being buttoned-up from head to toe made you want to jump on top of him.

Okay, so you had a crush. No way were you going to ruin one of the best and most equal friendships you’d ever had by making a move on a thousands-year-old demon for fuck’s sake.

Even if just watching the surety of his hands made you weak sometimes. But you could handle it. It was fine. You were fine.

While you were watching him oh-so-efficiently stack glasses (you would be drooling right now, if you weren’t dehydrated from avoiding drinks in this outfit), he finally glances up and notices you.

“Ah, MC,” he says, and you take heart in his obvious pleasure in seeing you. “Taking a break?”

“It’s a little hot in there. And a little crowded.”

“And you tire of them following and leading you around,” Barbatos finishes with complete understanding. “If that is the case, come over here a moment where there are no windows; everyone can see you through those glass doors. It is only a matter of time before one of them comes looking for you.”

You get a split-second image of being railed against the wall there, just inches away from the glass doors, but stifle it instantly. “Sure,” is all you say as you walk over as casually as you can. “Want some help with the wine glass collection?”

The look he shoots you is amused and his voice is (you think you hope) full of affection. “As you are dangerous around glass at the best of times, and we don’t want broken glass and wine while you are both barefoot and in that outfit, I believe I’ll carry on on my own.”

An awkward silence fills the air. At least, it feels awkward on your end. The two of you had been silent together any number of times, but for some reason you can’t stand the silence right now. Just for something to say, you gesture at a small tray with assorted cookies.

“How did the pomegranate-jam alfajors turn out?”

“Excellent, and I thank you again for helping me make them. Would you like one?”

“Barbatos, we both know I did nothing more than hand you the jam and read another Sherlock Holmes story. Besides, I can’t risk this,” and you gesture to your clothes.

A mischievous look - not the first you’ve seen on his face - comes into Barbatos’ eyes. “Well, we must protect your sartorial savoir-faire. But we also can’t have you perishing from hunger, can we?”

He picks up a cookie and closes in on you. He’s not tall, not really, but he always seems tall when he stands so close to you. He holds the cookie at your mouth and cups the other hand under it, to catch crumbs.

“I can feed myself,” you mutter sullenly, ignoring the tingling of your body as his proximity. You don’t know why you’re resisting, he’s popped tidbits of all sorts of food into your mouth as you’ve cooked together in these past months. But this isn’t his well-lit kitchen, and it doesn’t feel like an innocent moment.

Barbatos merely lifts his brows a little, his smile widening imperceptibly. With a sigh, you take a bite of the cookie. “Happy?”

He brushes his thumb over your lips, dislodging a few loose crumbs. You know you’ve stopped breathing. “There.”

His face is so close to yours; you can feel his breath against your skin and see the swirling melding colors in his eyes. He still has his fingers on your face and you’re so close, so close….

You wait a moment. Every book you’ve ever read says that after a gesture like that, there’s a surprise kiss. It’s such a fairytale moment. But Barbatos just pops the other half of the cookie in his own mouth and turns away, returning to his work.

Confused, let down, you drift to the balcony railing to look out over the grounds. The last thing you want is for him to be able to read your face in the dim light. In fact, right now, you’re just wishing you were alone again. Now you’re in constricting clothing, barefoot, hungry, thirsty, somehow both warm AND cold, exhausted, and, thanks to that misleading cookie moment, bordering on depressed.

You glance at Barbatos quickly, but he’s just working as always. He’s always hard to read, and the flickering lights here make it even harder, but something about his face looks wrong. He’s not smiling. If anything, he looks - you want to say frustrated. Or angry. At what? At you?

“Barbatos?” You ask quietly. “Are you ok?”

He looks up sharply and you see another first. His hand fumbles on the glass he’s holding and it tumbles to the ground, shattering. You turn to help him gather the pieces and -

“Stop,” he snaps out, and for the first time since you’ve known him he actually sounds mad at you. A moment later the wine glass is back on the table, whole and unbroken.

A few breaths, and his face softens. “I apologize. I had to be sharp or you might have kept moving and hurt yourself. Or have you forgotten your feet?”

You glance down at your bare feet, your shoes forgotten on the ground a few feet away. You were just about to walk over broken glass to get to him. Symbolic, much?

“Barbatos….are you mad at me?”

“No, MC.” Why did his voice have to be so kind? It’s almost worse. “I’m angry with myself. A mistake I made earlier. You would think, with my knowledge of time, that finding a good moment….. But never mind.”

“Is it something I can help you with?”

He stays still a moment, as if thinking about it. “Perhaps. But it still requires the right moment, and I must find it myself first.”

“One of those demon things? A thousand years from now, maybe?” You’re trying to joke and you know it’s going to fall flat, but the uncomfortableness of this moment is getting to you.

“Oh, not that long. Soon, I’m sure.” His normal voice and face are back, and you envy his equanimity.

You nod at his pronouncement. You’re never going to argue with him about time, that’s just a losing battle. There’s also no way to get something out of him if he doesn’t want to talk about it. If he needs your help, you hope you’re friends enough that he’ll ask. Instead, you just turn back to the garden view.

The silence stretches out, and you wonder why Barbatos is still out here. The glasses are on the tray. The cookies and cakes have been refreshed. And now that you feel awkward, uncomfortable, and rejected, the desire to be alone is even stronger.

“MC, now it is my turn,” you hear from behind you. “Are you ok?”

You just nod. Time to evade. “Tired. It’s a late night for me. It’s beautiful here though,” you continue bravely, trying to get back on the right foot. “I love the gardens around here. I kind of wish I could see them in sunlight, though.”

A short laugh from Barbatos. “As that is unlikely to happen, I’ll have to show you around the grounds the next time there is a full moon and a cloudless night. There are many areas that are fully lit. Be prepared for a walk, though, the grounds are extensive.”

“Do you ever get used to it?” you ask suddenly. You’d only half been listening, instead you were thinking about the depth of the grounds, the amount of space here.

“Get used to what?”

“This,” you say, sweeping your arm to encompass everything around you. “This place, the castle, the grounds, this…..this luxury and beauty and, and grandeur.”

A moment passes and you feel him step up to the balcony railing on your left. The crispness of the air seems to fade as the demon comes to stand close to you. You want to step away, but you’re afraid he would misinterpret the movement, and maybe even be hurt. Quietly, as if revealing something, he says, “I have, I think, gotten used to it. Mostly. What’s the human expression? Not seeing the forest for the trees? It is difficult to see beauty and grandeur when you’re the one responsible for keeping it polished and clean. The number of details, the sheer magnitude of things to do…..it keeps your eyes focused only on what’s in front of you.”

But now his eyes rove over the grounds, taking in the garden and its sparkling lights, the endless expanse of sky and stars. His smile was, as always, slight, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. “Sometimes, though, when someone reminds me….it is a wonderful thing to allow myself to be swept away by it all again. It is beautiful. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

There was a moment of silence - and it felt like comfortable silence again - as the two of you survey the garden, so dark that the glittering fairy lights become almost indistinguishable from the night sky itself.

“But then,” Barbatos says, so softly his voice was almost a whisper, “you constantly remind me to look at things in new ways. And when you do, I always find something beautiful or interesting. Often both.”

His gloved hand reaches out and covers yours, where you had it on the balcony railing. You straighten and turn your eyes to him - the two of you had touched before, but never so deliberately. His hands over yours as he attempted to help you roll out pastry dough, holding each other up while laughing, and even an ill-advised flour war that would have been manageable had Diavolo not stepped into the kitchen and insisted on joining. For a moment, the pressure on your hand subsides, and you imagine you’ll simply have to power through the new awkwardness with a joke, but instead you find your hand suddenly clasped even more tightly in his.

“I can see everything, if I choose. The past, the present, the future. Any past, present, or future. So how is it that you always surprise me?”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He turns you suddenly and for one of the first times you truly read surprise on his face. “Don’t apologize!” It comes out stern and sharp and his voice immediately softens. “It has been….centuries, I think, since I was surprised at all. And I have never met someone by whom I was so constantly surprised. I….appreciate it.”

There’s something in his eyes, and you try desperately not to read too much into it. You’ve been disappointed once tonight already. Your own heart will break if you’re wrong. So you smile and joke instead. “Really? Lord Diavolo surprises me almost every day. They all do.”

Another smile. “The Young Master is impulsive, that is true. But I have served him for millennia. I have known all of them for thousands of years. And while I cannot predict everything they will do, even the strangest choices are no longer surprising.”

“So maybe I’m only surprising because you don’t know me well yet. Because I’m new here, or because I’m human.”

“I have known a lot of humans.” His gaze holds yours steadily and that word - bewitching - comes back to you again. “MC, you came here against your will and the first thing you did is begin to heal those brothers in there. Heal their wounds and heal their bonds. Who could have predicted that? How is that not surprising?”

“But that’s just - I mean - I just wanted to help?”

“It is help they needed. I hear from the Young Master that Mammon is passing most of his classes, albeit barely. Satan doesn’t rage as he did. Leviathan attended a party, and stayed for almost two hours!” A chuckle escapes him. “You have improved their lives immeasurably.”

“Yeah, well -“

“You have also improved my life. Immeasurably.”

The first instinct is denial, to brush it off. Laugh it off. But his dark eyes are still holding yours and you realize, belatedly, that at some point he captured both of your hands in his. This isn’t a moment to brush off. So if he’s being serious and honest, so will you. You drop your eyes, though, because serious and honest also makes you awkward and hesitant.

“And you’ve improved mine. More than I can say.”

He takes a breath, and a small step forward. “I think….the most surprising thing about you is how I feel. I have lived longer than I can truly count, and I had thought I had seen and experienced and felt everything. But I had never loved - until you. I had never even known that I hadn’t loved. And I hadn’t ever feared how empty my life would feel without it. It was truly a surprise to realize how little I knew myself.” One of his hands leaves its hold on yours and you feel the soft leather of his gloves as his fingers wrap gently around your chin. A tiny bit of pressure, and he lifts your head so you can look eye to eye again. “Do you think, MC, you could come to love me in return?”

His face is calm, his eyes steady on yours. So calm and steady, just like his voice, that you could almost think you were just discussing the weather. If it were anyone else, you would suspect a prank. But - and it’s a strange thing to notice - his tail is swishing, just a little. If you’ve learned anything about living with demons, it’s that their wings and tails express what their faces don’t. And that little back-and-forth swish, at least in Satan or Levi, would be agitation, uncertainty.

You feel a ghost of a smile cross your face. “Don’t you already know my answer, Mr. Time Travel?”

“I didn’t look. That would be cheating. Besides….I’d rather you surprise me.”

And so you lean forward and up, Cinderella in borrowed finery, barefoot at the ball, and kiss your prince softly on the lips.

“I fell in love with you a long time ago,” you murmur as you pull back just a little. “And it didn’t surprise me at all.” You look into his eyes, dark and sparkling like the garden. “Is this the moment you needed to find?”

He only smiles and leans down to kiss you again, and you feel his hands on the small of your back, pulling you closer. You’re pretty sure you feel the end of his tail wrap around one of your ankles, but you’re more interested in pressing against his chest, kissing him while the music from the ball fades from your hearing and the dirty wine glasses sit forgotten on their tray.

Suddenly, a sound makes you jump. Fireworks, the traditional end to a Devildom ball, erupt over the garden and lake. The demons inside the ballroom come out to watch them, jostling against you and Barbatos. You find yourself carefully, subtly guarded from them by his body. And instead of slipping off into the crowd as he normally would, Barbatos turns you to watch the fireworks, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

You realize, awestruck, after a moment of the display, that the fireworks, all of them, were variations on your favorite colors combined with Barbatos’ signature teal. Tilting your head slightly, you see him smile that little smile as he meets your eyes.

“Surprise,” he murmurs into your ear, and presses a soft kiss against your hair before resting his head against yours to watch the show.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me fluff #my fic #obey me fic #obey me fanfic

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