AI LESS WHUMPTOBER DAY EIGHT PANIC ATTACK
support and engagement would really motivate me to help post and work on the rest of this stuff!
(@ailesswhumptober)
VERY MINOR LESSON 16 SPOILERS
“Want a hug?” Simple words. Nothing mean or hostile about the inflection, but it sends a jolt of fear through your very core.
You scramble away from Belphegor, and back up right into Satan’s arms. He’d been walking over to sit near you, and the timing worked out, so that you bumped into him.
“Huh?” Satan’s hands ghost over your sides. He’s holding you, but leaving an out to run away.
“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Belphie tilts his head innocently. Those violet eyes of his innocent as a lamb’s.
Murderer.
You want to scream, but all you manage is a whimper.
You turn your face into Satan’s chest and pray he will hold you close and not let him get to you. Please, keep Belphegor away.
Satan’s hardly confused, half expected you snapping like this at some point. He saw the shock sink on that first night, the night you died. He saw the signs, the flinching, the change in appetite, he saw you.
And he holds you close.
“Belphegor, please leave.” It sounds polite, almost. The way Satan forms the words, like he’s speaking to an unruly stranger rather than his brother.
“But-.” Belphegor's protest falls short.
“Leave.” Satan’s chest rumbles against your face.
Smart, safe Satan. You had been so dumb.
It takes a minute to realize that Satan is calling your name. With your heartbeat so loud in your ears the outside world had faded so far.
“Hm?” It’s a choked, restrained sound. Weak.
“Are you doing alright?” Satan’s hand smooths over your head, petting your hair down comfortingly.
“I- I don’t know what came over me there… I should— I need to apologize…”
“You don’t need to do anything.” Satan disagrees, a frown heavy in his voice. “Let us both calm down for a bit. We can discuss what happened later when we both have clearer heads.”
98 notes
·
View notes
Time and Time Again
*** This fic is something I've been excited for ever since @dicetheroll, @rainiishowers, and I brainstormed the concept for it in the Hive Discord! It the most voted for the recent "Help Me Choose" post, so alas, Barbatos simps, this one's for you. I hope you all enjoy it ❤️-B ***
Summary: Barbatos loves MC. He has loved them for nearly as long as he has known. He goes back and relives every second that he can with them, over and over again. But, after experiencing a time line so many times, one begins to notice certain patterns — MC getting hurt, for example. And after one too many times, he decides that he can't stand idle by any longer.
*Spoilers up to Lesson 16*
The confusion, but glittering curiosity that shimmers in your eyes never ceases to excite him upon the inevitable first meeting. It's one that he's lived a thousand times, yet still, it remains one of Barbatos's favourites.
Sometimes, when he first gets there and hears Lord Diavolo and Lucifer discussing your new pact with Mammon, he'll see you — the slight twitch of irritation in your brow in the way they converse as though you're not there. The proud puff of your chest as they remain in awe of your achievement. The flickering of your gaze around you, ever alert and cautious — and he'll forget you're not an MC who knows him yet.
But there comes the moment, where your observant stare falls onto him and your soft lips purse.
"Who are you?" You ask, just as you have a thousand times before. He's memorized the question and the way your voice dictates the words.
To him, the question reads like poetry. Who are you? So innocently unaware of the history you've shared with him. As friends. As allies. As enemies. As lovers. You ask the question, completely unaware that you are his polar magnet — a ruthless force that constantly draws him in no matter how he may resist.
And resist he did — at first at least. He had responsibilities and duties. Diavolo was meant to be his priority, not a rambunctious human who had no concept of self-preservation. And yet
"Ah yes. Pardon me," he responds with a subtle grin. "I suppose we haven't met before, have we?"
There it is. The slight flush that painted your expression as he took your hand into his and kissed the back of it.
He already knew which way this route will be going, he decided it before he even entered the timeline.
He has seen you choked, and broken, and ripped to shreds. He has seen you destroyed both mentally and physically to the point that had become nothing but a shell. He has stood as a bystander as you lived a life with each and every one of the brothers, his lord, and even Simeon and Solomon — and he has witnessed both the good and bad endings of each of those relationships.
Time, as it seems, was not kind to you, despite all the kindness that you gave. It would chew you up and spit you out with every chance that it got.
But not this time.
Barbatos would be sure of that.
This time, he spared no mind to being suspicious to others or acting out of character. His only concern was you and your safety — and in order to ensure your safety, he needed to become close with you as quickly as he could.
He spent your lunch hours by your side — claiming he needed your aid with paperwork or surveying the students. It would hurt your connection with Mammon, sure, but for all his efforts, Mammon never was all that great at his job of protecting you.
He, much to Diavolo's delight, would often invite you over for tea and dinners at the castle — it was a joy to be the one to introduce you to your favourite Devildom delicacy. The honor was usually reserved for Beelzebub, but he found he couldn't help himself.
It was after one of these dinners, as you aided him in doing the dishes that he dared to spark a conversation he had only initiated a handful of times before.
"MC?" he questioned as you scrubbed the porcelain plates with the same care and ease as one would when handling an ancient artifact.
"Hm?" You hummed in response, squinting your eyes to glare through the soap suds at a particularly tough stain.
He smirked knowingly as he set down his drying towel and faced you. "Make a pact with me."
He quickly reached down and caught the plate slipping through your fingers before you had time to even process you had dropped it. You blinked at him with wide eyes as he carefully set it back on the counter.
Barbatos could feel your gaze on his back — filled with pure shock and confusion. It was one he knew all too well.
You had told him once, after the first time he had ever proposed the pact, that you had never expected him to ask you this. Not in a million years. You knew he had a pact with Solomon, but no one truly knew how that particular agreement came to be (and he would much rather keep it that way). But you also knew how much trust went into bestowing a pact with someone. It was not something to take lightly.
"Barbatos," you breathed with awe on your tongue. "You ... Why?"
To protect you. To ensure that he could be by your side in an instant the second you call out for him. To keep you safe from the world — from time. To love you.
He smiled and went back to putting away the dishes as though he hadn't just offered his entire being to you. "You already have Mammon's. And I hear that you have a contest with Leviathan soon approaching to earn his. It seems you've become a collector of sort."
And if the promptness of the decision had anything to do with the lingering threat of Leviathan's rage during said competition, well, Barbatos was hardly one to offer spoilers.
You huffed and placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to face you. He reveled in the closeness. "This is serious. I- You're not usually one for jokes. I- I mean, pacts are a big deal, right? I'm just beginning to understand that. I-"
He gently scooped your hands into his own gloved ones and peered deeply into your eyes. "We're friends, are we not?" he couldn't help the flare of pride that ran through him as your expression grew flush. "I like to keep my friends close. I like to protect them. And this, this pact? It's the best way I can think of to keep you as protected as possible."
A frown dug at your lips as you tilted your head in confusion. "Isn't that what the brothers are for? Do you not trust them?"
Quite honestly, no. He didn't. More often than not it was them who were the very cause of your pain. He would never understand why his Lord thought that it was best to keep you there, with the brothers who had barely agreed to the program in the first place, over keeping you in the castle with them. But that was out of his control.
This, however, was not.
"I think they do the best they can," he answered instead as he peered down at your joined hands. He would never grow tired of just how nicely they fit together. "But this is different. It's a personal comfort that you're alright," your breath hitched as he his thumbs caressed your knuckles. "Would you allow me that one little peace, MC?"
"Okay," you whispered, and that oh-so-beautiful burn ran through him and branded itself into the base of both of your throats, just under your voice box.
He couldn't help but smile. Teal always looked so good on you.
He lifted a single hand to touch the mark — it was still warm to the touch. "Perfect," he muttered.
The pact was good. It meant you two were connected now.
But it wasn't enough.
He knew from experience. The pact alone wouldn't prevent you from nearly dying in the competition. It wouldn't stop you from getting Leviathan's cursed album and finding your way to the attic.
It wouldn't stop Belphegor.
The night before the competition he made his way to the House of Lamentation with one goal in mind — to take the pendant of the Lord of Corruption's lost wing that Solomon had given you.
You hadn't spoken in detail with Simeon as Satan had advised you. Meaning this pendant was your only chance of winning the competition. Without it, you would lose, Leviathan would never go into a frenzy, the two of you would never form a pact, and most importantly, he would never give you the cursed TSL album that would allow you access to your doom.
Barbatos knew what this meant. He would be completely shredding apart the timeline and creating a number of unknowns.
But it had to be done.
To save you.
As he was making his way out the door, a large hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.
Barbatos felt his heart nose dive from his chest to his stomach as he stared at the door not five feet in front of him. "I have to do this," he said firmly even as dread began to swirl within him.
"You know you can't," came the Young Lord's voice — calm, for once. Thick with morose solemn.
The butler swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. "They're going to die.
"They will."
"I can stop it."
"No. You can't," Barbatos felt his hands begin to shake at the finality in his tone. "You know this. It's fate."
Anger boiled deep in his stomach at those words. "It's fate," Diavolo would always tell him, as though that excused the endless hardships you were forced to endure.
It wasn't fair, he knew that. Diavolo loved you just much as Barbatos himself did. But he didn't understand. How could he?
While he may be able to see through lies, he couldn't travel through time as Barbatos could. He didn't have the power to actually change fate like Barbatos did.
He wasn't the one who could do something, but has been forced to stand by and do nothing every single time and just watch.
Watch as your back broke and blood trickled out from your lips. Watch the soul leave your eyes as your face remained frozen in eternal horror.
Watch as you died.
Time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time again all because it was fate.
His hands twitched at his side. "Why?" He pleaded in grievous whisper. "Why not just this once? They live, and they'll be safe."
The grip on his shoulder tightened. "It's MC's fate to sacrifice themself for the betterment of the Devildom and those within it. Just as it was Lilith's fate to die so her brothers could fall and take their rightful place here. If it didn't happen here, and now, it would only happen later on. But in ways that we won't be prepared for."
"I know" he damn-near growled. Where Diavolo could only speak based on theory, Barbatos had lived it.
One time you were kidnapped by a rebellion who disagreed with the exchange program and publicly mutilated you as an example.
The next, your head was sent to Mammon by the witches he loved to infuriate.
In another, your soul was claimed by the very nature of the Devildom — torn apart by beasts and plants alike.
And one more, the angels stole you to "train" and shape you until you're the perfect weapon against the Devildom that they'd been searching for.
And again, and again, and again.
"I hate it," he spits as exhaustion bleeds into his tone and his voice cracks. "No matter how many times I reset the timeline. No matter how many things I change, I-I can't-"
"You can't save them, Barbatos," a sob escapes him as Diavolo speaks. "I'm sorry, but you can't. It's ... It's impossible."
And that was it. Wasn't it?
There were simply somethings that, no matter how hard you tried, you could simply never change.
A little over a week later, his pact ignited.
He felt the air cut from his lungs.
He felt his spine break into two.
He felt the blood trickle down his throat and flood his lungs.
He felt his stomach flip as he plummeted.
He felt you die. Just as you had before.
Time and time again.
***Oh this may be on of my favourite fics I've written yet. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did! Thank you all again for endless love and support. You guys are the best community I could ever ask for. Love you all! ***
Tag List:
@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @rul-of-demise @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @fuzzyphotography @avatar-mikazuki @curatoroffiction @sunlightocean @taare-ginn @dragon-rider-with-a-book @korneatto @rphantom1
346 notes
·
View notes
~675 words of mammon comfort with CHAPTER 16 SPOILERS!
More Under Cut
Belphie’s freedom was for the best, to repair the brothers’ bonds. Belphie’s freedom meant hell for you.
Murder is hard to forget, and even harder to forgive.
There are phantom pains and touches on your neck. His hands gripped you harsh and with the intent to harm, to kill.
The six brothers that you initially met made you feel safe in a way you never felt in the human world. The most powerful demons in the Devildom, with a soft spot for the little human exchange student. You felt invincible at times with them by your sides.
But you are human. Humans die. You die.
Little things send your heart racing, fear like venom rushing through your veins.
This timeline’s Belphegor wants you alive, but only because you hold the precious blood of his dead sister in you. It’s not a good reason to not harm you by any means and it makes you feel a bit… icky, but at least he says he won’t hurt you again.
Belphegor’s word means little to you, but Mammon’s word carries the world.
Mammon had been absolutely shattered at the sight of your body crumpled and broken at the bottom of the staircase. His stomach had turned and he’d held onto your corpse with the ferocity of a fool in love. He’d cried and screamed and even considered prayer, but then you were there again.
Alive.
You both hurt.
Mammon and Belphegor’s relationship is more strained than pre-attic times. A part of you is regretful for this fact, but the other that clings to Mammon like a barnacle can’t care. Mammon is yours, just as you are his and right now lovers must reassure and mourn each other.
Nightmares after the incident are to be expected on both of your sides, even Lucifer falls prey to the nighttime’s horror. Mammon is the only one that slips into your bed and holds you to his chest like a doll, just to make sure you’re there with him and you won’t ever leave again.
Whoever claims that time heals all wounds mustn’t have died only to come right back to life and become friends with their murderer. Well, your situation is rather… unique compared to the average human experience.
Belphie makes you want to cry, barf, fight, and die all at once. The House of Lamentation is never quiet, but when he walks into the same room as you, the blood rushes to your head and all you can hear is the race of your heart and rush of blood.
You and Mammon are cuddled up on the sofa together, some Devildom Real Housewives rip playing on the television. The show isn’t terribly interesting, so you can relax on Mammon’s chest, listening to the drum of both his hearts (funky demon anatomy). He has an arm swung around your body so you can lean into him comfortably.
The peace of the moment shatters when Belphegor enters the room, lazily, slowly, without a care, but you’re stock still now, frozen against your favorite demon.
Mammon tenses up and shoots a withering glare at his youngest brother, who ignores him in favor of sitting on the floor with his back up against the couch, right in front of you. Belphie sets his pillow in his lap and leans his head to rest on the couch cushion, hair brushing your shin.
“Hey, what’re you doing, idiot? Go away.” Mammon complains, dragging you closer to him and breaking your small contact with Belphie.
“Mammon…” Belphie whines, pathetic baby brother persona coming out. His purple eyes plead as he turns them from the tele to his big brother.
Mammon doesn’t break, but he does break eye contact and averts his gaze to the television.
It breaks his heart, those nights you shake him awake, all teary eyed and begging for him to keep you safe. How could he not wrap you up in his arms through the comforter of the bed. Kiss your crown and murmur soft reassurances.
The Great Mammon won’t fail you again.
375 notes
·
View notes