She was 21 and he was a few thousand years old. He was suffering, stuck in time, stuck in his own skin, caught in an unhealthy obsession, pining after a Princess who was out of his league in all the imaginable ways. He wasn't miserable, no, but he wasn't happy either.
Life of a demon isn't easy at all. People thought he lives a life full of wicked entertainment: torturing mortals and making rigged deals for their souls. Well yeah, he did all that. But it gets boring after barely a thousand years. The same old routines, same expectations, same prejudice against him just because he had horns on his head and blood on his hands. But isn't that what he was supposed to do? To be? A horrible and selfish creature, heartless and takes no nonsense? Isn't that who he was destined to be the moment he stepped out of that place mortals called Hell?
He was a monster, he knew that. And he might as well keep being a monster for the rest of eternity, accompanied only by the bitterness for his own desolation and burning curiosity as how his life would have differed if he was a human.
That would've been his dreadful fate, yes, if he hadn't met her.
She was unique; an anomaly among her kind. Humans, as he knew them, feared creatures of darkness like him, to the point of taking desperate measures, burning their innocents thousands by thousands for the sake of self-assurance that he- the devils- couldn't touch them.
Others found this hilarious, but he? He couldn't care less. He could blast them and disintegrate their entire army in a few seconds, but he couldn't see why in Hell he would do that. Gradually, he forgot about the existence of that two-legged insignificant specie, instead focusing his interest in the Princess and her magic-riddled people.
So imagine his surprise when the human managed to summon him.
After the initial burst of flames, he materialized, and he could smell it. Actual fresh air, filled with aromas of flowers and other exotic plants. The smell of burning wax candles, goblets of red wine laced with the faint scent of blood. But most of all, he could smell her.
Before him stood a petite woman with unnaturally dark robes draped over her milky shoulders, a ritual knife in one of her hand and a stream of blood dripping from the other. She had exhausted but curious brown eyes, choppy dark blue hair and a wild smile on her face. He could sense the vigorous magic flowing in her veins, could tell that this woman is dangerous. Despite the fact that she is a legit mortal, her power had been strong and stable enough to conjure him. And that counts for something at the least.
"Who dares summon me?" he rumbled in pure customary. He didn't expect her to drop the knife, awestruck, and mouthed something inaudible even for a demon like him.
"A-Are you okay?" Might as well get into his now-mistress's good graces. She had called him up here, using her own blood, no less; fat chance she'd let him go without asking for anything.
"I-I did it," she breathed, "I DID IT! I SUMMONED A DEMON! IN YOUR FACE, BRITTNEY! DEMONS ARE NOT REAL MY ASS!" The girl did a little victory dance, wiggling and jerking weirdly before realizing how completely humiliating that had been and stopped, coughing awkwardly to regain her composure. He raised an eyebrow and she just stared at him, bewildered.
"Are you a sorceress?" he demanded, just to make sure, since no way a real sorceress or even a witch could be this ridiculous, right?
"Nah," she waved dismissively, splattering blood everywhere from her hand. Why do people always assume he likes blood? Where did that even come from? "I'm just someone who likes to summon Satan in her free time. It's fun."
"Satan? Well if you want Satan, you got the wrong guy. I'm not Satan. That's my insufferable cousin."
"Yeah yeah, whatever. Wait until my friends know that I summoned Sa- wait, what? You're not Satan?"
Not everyday it happens that you got the wrong demon, but heck, is it embarrassing. He just sighed while she fidgeted with the hem of her robes nervously.
"Well then, who are you? You're still an evil deity at least, right?"
Yes, yes I am, you notorious brainless mortal. "Yes. And you are my new mistress, I assume? What do you want?"
"Huh?"
"I said," he rubbed his temples. This is getting annoying real fast, "What do you want?"
"Wait, I can get anything?" she looked at him expectantly and he had to resist the urge to groan out loud. At least read the damn contract before you summon me! He swore, this would be the last time he took a deal.
"Yes, anything. Now tell me, what do you want in exchange for your soul?" Honestly, he had absolutely no interest whatsoever in her soul, but it's worth a shot to try and scare her, no? She might even let him go free out of fear. After all, her kind has been extremely frightened of him. Plus, he could easily handle her request, be it wealth, fame, power or a curse for her enemies, even cooking up spells of physical attractions for people she fancies. All the things human have asked him to grant them. Easy enough. As long as she wouldn't ask for-
"Companion."
Oh shit.
"Pardon me?" He must've heard that wrong, right? There's no way she could've guess tha-
"I said, companion. Stay with me until I die, then you'll get my soul."
And he couldn't return without her letting him go, either.
Just like that, he was stuck with this pain in the a-
"What's your name?" she asked out of nowhere. He jerked awake from his predictions of a painful future, glaring at her. Was she really trying to catch him off guard?
"Demons don't let you know their name," he grumbled. Heck if he'd let her know his name. Once she knew it their life forces would intertwine, which basically means that if she dies, he dies. He lives, she lives. No exceptions.
Unless their contract was completed, then the name wouldn't matter anymore.
"Well then, you're now Luciel," she turned on her heels and walked away. Wait what? Was she serious-
"Come along now, Luciel," she glanced at him over her shoulder, unmistakable mirth in that little smirk of hers, "You wouldn't let your mistress wait now, would you?"
Fuck his eternal life.
"Well, you can't go out looking like this." she declared, before disappearing into her room, slamming the door behind her.
"What do you mean, mistress?" he said dutifully. Make no mistake, this is part of the contract: servitude along with companionship. Servitude he could handle; he was used to it, but companionship? Fuck it.
"Ta daaa!" she laughed and bursted out, holding some kind of... clothes?
"Now go put this on," she said and pushed him into her room, closing the door again before he could protest. Seriously, why does he even have to deal with people like her?
Well, this is rather... embarrassing.
Despite the fact that she wore black robes and/or clothes, her room was like a slap in the face, exploding with vibrant and eye-stabbing shades of hot pink, completely drenching everything from her bed to her small altar with a skull on it. Even the goddamn skull is pink, what the heck?
He pulled the robes over his head out of habit while contemplating whether it would be worth it to convince his mistress to change the color of her room, because believe him, this bright pink is going to kill him, even if he's an immortal demon.
Luciel (he refused to accept that name, but he didn't want her to find out his real name, either, so) sighed and stared at the pile of cloth thrown at him, confusion evident in his face. What was he supposed to do with this again?
"Uhh..."
"What's the matter? An all powerful deity like you couldn't figure out how to change?" she called from the outside, her voice strained, trying to hold back laughter. Did she do this on purpose? How fucking dare she?
"I don't know what to do with this, mistress," he snarled the last word with as much hatred and sarcasm as he could muster, eyes burning a hole in her peachy pink door disdainfully. Alright, if this girl wants to play, he'll play along. "Perhaps you could show me?"
"W-What?" she stammered and tried to back away from the door but well, too late. He opened it and pulled her in, strong bare arms wrapping around her shoulders. She gasped indignantly, and was about to scream at him when his hot breath suddenly brushed her neck, fanning around the back of her head. She shivered instead, and she could feel him smirk as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, right where her mark burned, breathe in her fruity cologne.
"You know, there are a lot of ways to define companionship," he murmured into her skin, his arms drifting lower until they are around her waist, "and what I'm doing is one of them. So be careful of how you phrase your request~" The warmth of her flesh and her hot, tempting blood underneath made his head spin; it had been a long time since he had contact with another living being...
"Agh!" she came to her senses and suddenly yelped, pushing him away, "Let go of me!"
He could feel every fiber of his body obeying her command, arms opening by themselves to release her before he even had the chance to think about it. He's quite disappointed, yes, but the damn contract gave him no choice. Reluctantly, he stepped away from her, a fake smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"I am quite dangerous, mistress," he snarled for good measure, "so don't tease me. God knows demons don't like being teased."
He grabbed the clothes and barged out of the room, leaving a confused and overwhelmed girl behind his back, gawking at his form. She blinked for a moment; it took a while for her to settle down her breathing, before running after him.
"Wait, Luciel! You don't know how to put on clothes yet!"
He had to retreat to the closet and breathe for a while after that.
"Luciel~" she mused from her spot on the couch, calling for him. He sighed heavily and walked over, trying his best to keep his temper in check and not set the fourth carpet on fire. He was sick of having to go to that place she called the department store to buy another one in the span of three hours. The cashier was catching up to him, he was sure of it.
He had been observing her all afternoon and all he could get was she was weird. And not the humans are confusing and completely incomprehensible kind of weird either, it's the why is she so fucking different from everyone else kind of weird.
And to be honest, that fascinates him, even if he would never admit it. The way she would act so casually around him, a demon she had just met for less than a day, an almighty being who could grant her anything she asked for, and could also make her suffer like no one else had ever suffer before. Despite that horrible knowledge, she would still nonchalantly waved him over for a glass of lemonade (a beverage he had just found out and actually quite like it), or just for the heck of seeing him there, squeezed in next to her on that tiny couch to watch some dumb show in the metal box she called television, his head fuming out of something that's not quite rage but is definitely, absolutely not embarrassment either. No, it's clearly not that.
Yeah...
He eventually got used to her being the annoying little shit she is, and believe it or not, he quite enjoyed her presence. Quite is the keyword here, of course. He taught her about the Underworld, its rules and residents, all the good curses and interesting rituals. In exchange, she introduced him to this new life on Earth, telling him about the Internet and teaching him how to play games, going on social medias, watching dumb cat videos on this site she called YouTube, surfing a page named Tumblr for humans doing weird stuff, going completely bonkers over something called fictional characters. It has been intriguing, at least, and God knows he was a curious creature.
His favorite thing so far in this era of human intelligence had been their food and his arch nemesis had been Mario Kart. He still couldn't understand why they pour milk out of all things into their cereal, and why they went to each other's throat debating whether it's right to pour milk first then add cereal or put cereal first then pour the milk, and frankly, he couldn't care less. It still tastes the same, and it's incredible. He had gone sick for two days straight after eating four boxes of cereal at the same time, but fuck it if it's not completely delicious.
And Mario Kart, oh God. He had been this close to blowing up her whole place after she won by two fucking seconds, and only stopped when she shrieked out an order in panic, fireball still swirling in his palm. That girl dumped a full container of freezing ice water on his head and he incinerated her pink fluffy pillow in revenge. She didn't speak to him for an entire week after that incident.
So who could blame him when he tends to avoid that game from then, heh?
"Mistress?" he knocked gently, not wanting to startle her. The sobbing inside stopped, turning into soft hiccups. "M-May I come in?"
"Yeah," she squeaked, her voice broke and he winced. What is this feeling inside his chest? He felt like he need to comfort her somehow. Is this part of the contract that he had never known before?
"Hey," he cracked the door open and peeked in. The room was pitch black, the cover of darkness settled around her petite figure, completely hiding her tear-stained cheeks. He stared at her, shocked, and waddled over, his foot making soft thuds on the hard wooden floor. He looked her over again once his eyes had easily adapted with the lack of light. She, honestly, looked like shit. Her hair was pulled up hastily into a messy bun after having grown longer than when they met, strands covering her face, sticking to her cheeks and some even got stuck in her mouth. The girl was rocking back and forth, hugging her knees close and burying herself in the gigantic hot pink comforter on her bed.
"Okay," he said seriously after seeing how horrible her condition was, "who do I have to kill?"
"What? No," she uttered, and he could feel himself forcefully relaxed, which is really not as bad as it sounds. "I'm just being stupidly emotional on Christmas Day, that's all."
"You hate Christmas?" he hummed thoughtfully, "Me too."
She actually laughed, even if the sound was a bit melancholy, "Well, not a surprise coming from a demon."
Silence fell on them once again, with him just sitting there next to her on her bed, looking at her helplessly and confused but genuinely wanting to help for the first time and not just because of the contract he must fulfill. The demon had never seen her this gloomy, this quiet, this...vulnerable. She was just sitting there, coiled up like a fetus, a weak little being. The exact opposite of the image he had come to associate her with: sassy, feisty and humorous.
So he was completely caught off guard when she let him in to witness her moment of vulnerability, when she was painfully defenceless.
He had this strange desire to scoop her small form into his arms and hug her, squeeze out all the sadness in her to let her sunny personality shines through again.
He blamed the contract. Because being a companion is what he was ordered to do, right? He couldn't help these sudden urges to ease her loneliness, to cheer her up.
Speaking of solitude…
"Why were you crying?" he asked softly, his tone soothing and comforting. She looked up at him, her eyes still slightly wet with tears and her breaths still interrupted by the occasional hiccups.
"W-Well," she wiped her cheeks, and it was very dangerous that he found her adorable, "Christmas has never been a good day for me. Not-hic-since my parents passed away." Oh. Family issues. Right.
"We used to celebrate every year. Decorations, homemade sweets, carols next to the fireplace… The whole package. My father, mother, and my older brother. We were a happy family for the longest time.
"Until that cult found us. Apparently, we have been tracked forever, hunted for this ancient magic that flows in our blood. They broke down the door and destroyed everything, burning our house and effectively, our memories.
"I managed to escape, luckily. My family was another matter. They were massacred, and I saw them being burned at the stake with my own two eyes. I was only seven at that time.
"And that's why I tried for years and years, to summon you, Luciel. I wanted revenge, oh, I had wanted revenge more than anything at that time. But then I thought about the nights when I was alone, weeping in a corner over my own desolation and my pain, with no one to share my burden whatsoever. So, I asked for your company, instead. And I don't regret it.
"You were the best thing that had happened to me in a long time, my demon."
Well, what was he supposed to say to that? He said nothing, that's what.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly, determined to protect her, protect this little broken human, heal her with his necromancy or sorcery or whatever mortals call his powers. He didn't care what the cost was.
All he wanted was for her to be happy.
"Get off her, you assholes!"
He ran as fast as he could in his mortal form, punching his way to her. He would've flew to her, but he couldn't burn away his disguise without her words of command.
She was there, laying unconsciously on the ground, blood pooling beneath her. Her silky dark blue hair stuck into her stained clothes, red and sickly sweet to him. He could sense a few broken bones, bruises and cuts all along her lean body. The demon screamed bloody murder as he plunged himself into the cultists, snapping their necks and breaking their arms with his punches and kicks. They had tried to kill her multiple times when rumors got around that she had managed to summon a demon; she was considered hazardous. His enemies soon realized they were no match for him, the man wasn't a human, and retreated hastily, leaving him with the broken form of the girl he loves.
He kneeled next to her, cradling her body in his arms and tried to call her. His mouth opened wordlessly in search for a name but closed seconds later. Only then he realized that he never knew her name; he had always addressed her as mistress.
The demon broke into tears for the first time in his undying life when her heart stopped beating, her lungs gave out, her mesmerizing brown eyes dull and lifeless. His tears, something precious and should be impossible, streamed down his cheeks freely and fell on her form, drop after drop, eyes closed shut in agony.
What he hadn't expected was the miracle those tears brought. Cold but alive fingers cupped his face, and his eyes flew open. There she was, smiling at him genuinely, blood at the corner of her mouth. He laughed in his tears and hugged her close, only hastily letting her go when she yelped out of pain.
"Mistress! You're alive!" he held her in his arms and cried. She cried too, drops of salt water washing away the dried specks of red on her face.
"D-Don't call me mistress," she coughed, smiling, "That sounds too formal. After all, you just saved my life."
"But mistress," he laughed when she made a face, "I don't know your real name."
"Ahh," she sighed, "Of course. Hello, Luciel. I'm Janna. Nice to met you, you devilishly handsome creature."
Janna. "My name's not Luciel, Janna." Devilishly handsome? Is that a pun?
"Hey, 's not fair that you get to know my name but I don't know yours." Her words slurred a bit, her eyes losing focus. She might've been alive, but the blood loss would soon kill her again if he didn't do something about it now.
"I'll tell you, Janna," her name rolled in his tongue. The feeling was ecstatic to him, to finally call her something more intimate than mistress. "But only if you make it out alive." He carefully picked her up, bridal style, and smiled lovingly at the gleam in her eyes. She loves challenges.
"Deal."
"Hey Tom~" His girlfriend suddenly hugged him from behind, her hands fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, fleeting touches drifting all over his neck. He could feel himself burning up, the newspaper that was on his hands hit the floor with a soft thud. So he gently pried her needy fingers from him and turned around, staring at her expectantly. Janna quickly made her way on the couch he was sitting on, getting herself comfortable on his lap.
"Do you know what day is it today?" she mused, hands splayed across his chest. He gave her a look that said, no, I don't know what you're talking about, why are you groping me all of a sudden, and she sighed. She was sad, disappointed even. He didn't want to see her like that, so he desperately scrambled up his memories, looking for something he might have missed, but nothing came up.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he raised his hands in defeat, "Tell me,"
"It's our one year anniversary!" Janna said indignantly, and flopped down from his lap to the spot next to him. She pulled her now long hair to one side, effectively reveal the mark on her neck- his mark. "You didn't remember?"
Well heck, she was right. He touched the elaborate pentagram on his own neck and he could feel it glowed warmly against his fingers, scolding him for forgetting such an important day. It's been exactly one year. Their connection was getting stronger day by day, but the final bond would be decided by midnight today. They needed to form some sort of consensual link between them at the exact day the contract was made; an unfinished pledge could bring terrible consequences.
And both of them knew exactly what is required for the contract to seal completely.
"Are you sure about this? I could just take the punishments for myself; I don't want you to get hurt." She looked at him like he was out of his mind, immediately straddling him again.
"Are you serious, Tom? I've been dying for this day for the past two months! What do you think I did on those nights you were lying next to me, meditate?"
Fuck, he remembered those nights, alright. It had taken every ounce of his self control not to strip her down and devour her like the spicy little devil she is. He could control himself and his reactions better when he was in his true form, but this godforsaken woman wouldn't fucking let him do it. So he was stuck next to her, (she ordered him to and he couldn't protest even if he wanted to) painfully hard because of those delicious whimpers and breathy moans she made while she played with herself, hormones and filthy thoughts coursing through his system with absolutely no way to relieves himself; he would die before he jerk off in front of her.
And. She. Wouldn't. Fucking. Stop.
So now was his chance; she had gave him her stamp of approval, hasn't she?
But what if he accidentally hurt her? He had never done this with a human before…
Yes, yes. But it's what she wanted, no? Her wish is his command, right.
True, but still-
She bit her lip, contemplating a little before diving in for his neck, kissing and suckling at his mark.
Fuck it.
He let out a strangled groan at the brand new sensations this mortal form offered and pulled her up, crashing his mouth on hers. He kissed her unlike how he had ever kissed her before, all tongue and teeth and swollen lips. She moaned into him and he nipped at her lower lip, asking- begging for permission. As soon as she happily allowed him, he delved inside, determined to taste every corner of her mouth.
Meanwhile, his hands skirted up her thighs, hiking up her short yellow skirt, lingering at her waist before going up all the way, palming her breasts. She grounded herself down on him in response and he hissed through his teeth, cursing out loud. He moved over to her neck, biting and leaving marks alongside the glowing pentagram next to her pulse point, leaving her a shaking mess in his embrace. She yanked at his shirt suggestively and he parted for a moment, peeling the offensive cloth over his head and throwing it away carelessly before asking wordlessly for her to do the same.
She rocked against him slowly, giving him that delicious fraction he was dying for while her hands skirted on his chest, fumbling fingers memorizing every curve of his muscles. His own fingers were wondering, too. One hand weaving into her soft, luxurious hair, the other kneading her bare breast after snapping off her bra, making her breathless, hot and bothered.
"I-I can't, Tom," her words jarred him to a stop. She seemed to understand that what she just said could have double meaning, because she hastily added, "I can't do this anymore. All this teasing foreplay. I need you, now."
Her command threw his body into action, wrapping both of her legs around his waist and lifted her up effortlessly, carrying her into the bedroom before setting her down gently. As soon as her back hit the sheets, he was all over her again, kissing every inch of her exposed flesh, murmuring praises and sweet nothings against her skin.
She was frustrated; this demon could never stop teasing her. So she pulled him up and kissed him fervently, tugging at the band of his tenting pants. He quickly kick it off and was back at her again in no time, pulling off her panties, too. She was completely exposed in front of him, and he was too, vulnerable and fragile, trusting her, needing her. Janna almost cried; this demon trusts her, and only her. But she held back her tears; she didn't want him to worry about her.
He asked her for permission and she nodded meekly, too lost in the bursting pleasure of his length against her core, his burning touch on her skin, his gaze full of raw emotions.
But nothing had prepared her for the explosive sensation she felt when he pushed in, gasping in her ear and shaking on top of her. Pain is the first thing that had registered in her hormones filled system, but the euphoric pleasure followed shortly after, along with something she could only describe as being full. Immediately, the feeling became awfully addictive, but it only got better when he started moving, pulling and thrusting gently into her body. A long, dragging moan escaped her, and he outright whimpered, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
The rest of their night continued with heated lovemaking, moans filled air and passionate kisses. Fleeting touches, bruising grasps. Quickened breaths and choking moments. Teasing, taunting, fulfilling. Pain, pleasure and satisfaction. Sweet nothings and filthy words. It was sinful. It was pure love.
It was everything they had ever wanted.
And when he spilled his warmth into her, she let go as well, their hands intertwined, their marks glowing, burning, biting into their flesh. Stars exploded behind their eyelids, complete bliss coursed through their bodies. He collapsed on top of her, the feeling too new and too intense for his form to handle.
The demon cried tears of happiness as he enclosed the woman he loves in a crushing embrace, fingers brushing over the purple marks on her porcelain skin that marked her as his, truly his, and not the contract. He was thankful for her decision that day, thankful for her existence, thankful for her. She laughed breathlessly as well, eyes locking themselves into his own, love and adoration evident in those warm brown orbs.
It was at that moment he knew it. He wouldn't need anything else.
Janna was suspicious.
Tom had been extra nice to her that day, spoiling her with kisses and cuddles, even more than usual. He had done everything that made her skeptical. Hugs out of nowhere? Check. Shopping day? Check. Breakfast in bed? Check. He didn't even know how to cook, for fuck's sake. But he nailed it today; those strawberry pancakes had been absolutely flawless. She wondered if he used black magic or something, but she couldn't ask. She needed to have faith in her boyfriend, dammit.
But she was even more incredulous when he barged out of their room at about 7 PM, dressed up in a black suit he got from God knows where, declaring that they're eating out tonight. He made up some lame excuses of burning their dinner because he was watching the How I Met Your Mother rerun marathon, and quickly pushed her inside to change into the brand new dress he got her that morning as a gift; she hadn't even seen it yet. He hypnotized the director of a famous company and got his job as a manager of a key department, but he does his job well, too, so no harm was done. The door was shut quietly before she could complain or do anything.
She huffed, but shrugged and opened the box regardless. What she saw left her in tears.
The dress was straight out gorgeous, dazzling with crystals embedded on soft silk in swirling designs that made it look mystical. It was strapless, ended just above her knee, with a plunging neckline. Just everything she loves about a dress.
Above all, it was fucking pink.
God, she loves this demon.
"Janna Banana! Oh my demons you look so beautiful!" he cried when he saw her, all decked out in the new outfit with makeup on, the little amount of jewelries that he- an old fashioned man as he called himself- absolutely insisted for her to wear. Of course she looked beautiful. Heck, she felt beautiful.
"Don't call me that," she grumbled, smacking his arm playfully. Like, come on! She tripped on that goddamn banana peel once! He laughed all the way to next Tuesday and only stopped when she threatened to give him The Couch treatment. That means no kisses, no cuddles and no sex for a month. Plus sleeping on the couch.
Needless to say, he shut up immediately.
"Okay, okay, my love," he held up his hands in retreat; it had became a habit ever since that one year anniversary. "Now come on, let's go." He seemed to realized something was off in his own behavior and hurried to their car, opening her door like the gentleman he is. She stepped in gracefully and settled, seatbelt on before he could even make it to his side.
They drove all the way across the city, to this really fancy restaurant that she had only heard the name of.
"Oh my God," she blinked, the lights from the building too bright for her liking, "are you serious?"
"Yep!" he laughed and opened her door again dutifully, taking her hand as she made her way out, pulling it up to his lips and kissed her fingertips. She swore, he could be so cheesy sometimes…
"Welcome to Starlight!" The receptionist said cheerfully, a huge smile on her face, "How may I help you, Mr…?"
"Elliott," he said nonchalantly. D-Did he just used her last name?
"Yes, Mr. Elliott," she fumbled, typing in her tabloid, looking for their name. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes, I do."
After a few seconds, the woman squealed in delight. "Yes, of course, Mr and Mrs. Elliott! Your table is on the third floor, the outdoor Starlight suite! Jackie here is going to be your waitress for the night," she waved another girl over, this one with platinum blonde hair just to her shoulders, mint green eyes and a hell lot of freckles. She smiled nervously and led them upstairs, opening the only door at the end of the hall with a set of keys.
A lantern-lit garden. They were going to have dinner in a fucking lantern-lit garden.
Has she ever mentions that she loves this demon?
The girl sat them down and asked them to call her if they needed something. Her smile was too flirty, the tone of her voice too sweet to be real and her gaze lingered on Tom for a little longer than Janna would've liked. She was starting to get protective but she brushed off the uncomfortable feeling and focused on him instead. He's hers and she knew it. He knew it.
That doesn't mean fucking Jackie knew it, though.
Only the second course managed to pass before she spoke up.
"That girl sure loves to stare it you, don't you think?" she said disdainfully, the wine in her hand swirling dangerously. He looked at her, confused for a bit before bursting into laughter, the sounds clear and beautiful in her ears. But that only made her even more furious.
"What? Is that funny to you?" she scoffed, "Well then maybe you should just date this Jackie instead!"
"What is this?" he mused, fascination gleaming in his eyes, "Is this what humans called jealousy? Janna, my dear, are you jealous?"
"What- Jealous? No! Absolutely not!"
"...You know your body language said otherwise, right? And trust me when I say I know your body~" he leaned in and whispered the last part for her to hear only. When she was still tense and not relaxed at all, he straightened his back and got serious.
"You know, all you need to do is give your words and I would never be able to talk to another woman ever again, right?" he smiled, and it clicked in her head. He was right. She was rightfully his mistress, the one who gives orders that he could not refuse, the one he must serves until the end of their contract.
So why was she scared of losing him?
Was it just jealousy? Or was it something else deeper, some kind of actual fear?
"Still don't believe me?" he sighed, "Fine then. Let me prove it to you."
He got up, pushed his chair back and walked over to her. She had thought he was going to talk to fucking Jackie, but no. He stood next to her, his eyes full of love and devotion, and her heart literally stopped when he got down to one knee.
"Janna Elliott, will you marry me?"
"Agh! I fuck-AH!-fucking hate you, Tom-oh my fucking god-Elliott!" Screams of bloody murder and complete rage from the operating room echoed across the hospital halls, troubling the man outside greatly. He paced and paced, his heavy footsteps almost making a dent in the blindingly white floor of the waiting room, trying his best not to set anything on fire accidentally. His wife, the love of his eternal life was suffering, and according to the mortal doctors, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Fuck this is stressful. His mortal form couldn't handle this.
He felt like he would burst with all the worries locked up in his chest.
Hours and hours and hours passed, and he had already recited several curses he would give Father Time when he got back home with a working magic circle and an altar in order.
Still nothing from her except threats of murder and physical pain. A lot of physical pain. He had no idea his sweet banana could be this creative.
"Don't you ever-hah-touch me again, you-fuck-asshole! I will cut off your-ah fuck! Shit!" Again, her voice was audible through the powerful soundproof walls in the operating room. He thought it was either because she has strong vocal cords or because the baby she was giving birth to was half demon. He doubt it's the former, though.
An hour later, or two, maybe, honestly he had lost count of it, a doctor emerged from the room, looking sweaty and completely out of it. "Your wife had quite an imagination, Mr. Elliott," he joked, but Tom didn't laugh.
"Right, her conditions," the man averted his eyes quickly to the clipboard in his hands, "She's doing well, so far. We predict she'll give birth at about-"
A series of loud, clear cries interrupted the doctor and he frowned, "-now." But Tom couldn't care less. That sound was more beautiful than the bells in his wedding day, though that came second with the noises Janna makes whenever he eats her out a close third.
He barged open the door as soon as the buffy nurse outside let him in, and there she was, on the bed, happy but exhausted. A tiny bundle was in her arms, and Tom stared at them, at his family, trying to burn that beautiful image into his memory for the rest of eternity.
"Come here, you goof ball," she laughed at his stunned expression. "Come, take a look at your daughter, will you?"
Daughter… Daughter! His daughter! Her daughter!
Their daughter!
"Have you picked out a name yet?" he asked her softly as he caressed their daughter's (daughter!) chubby cheeks, patting the sparse mess of brown hair she has.
"Yeah, I have." his wife answered, trying to hold back a yawn. She must've been so tired, screaming at him for almost five hours like that.
"What is it, dear?"
"Jane. Jane Elliott."
"Mom! Dad ate all the strawberry pancakes!" The second-grade girl cried, and Janna immediately turned around from her place on the other side of the kitchen counter, just in time to catch her husband with his mouth full, bits of strawberry syrup stuck on the corner of his lips. At least he still had the decency to look guilty.
"Now now, Tom," she scolded, holding up her spatula for good measure, "Is that how you treat your daughter?"
"No, mistress," he pouted, but his eyes gleamed mischievously. H-How dare he, calling her by that-?
Seeing her eyes on fire, he quickly retreated, dropping his plate in the sink with a sheepish smile and practically ran upstairs. Jane laughed at her father's ridiculous display and took her bag from under the table, fixed her clothes and getting ready for school.
"Mom, I'm going to school! The bus is here!" she called and kissed her mother on the cheek before leaving the house, closing the door quietly behind her. Now…
Janna put the spatula down; no point in making breakfast if no one's eating it, and took off her apron. She needed to have a talk with her husband for calling her mistress in front of their innocent seven-year-old daughter…
Oh, he was late for work that day.
"I'm going to kill him."
"No, Tom, no."
"He hurt my precious baby."
"Tom, she's fourteen. A little heartbreak is good for her."
"...I'm still going to break his neck."
"-Tom, no."
"She's crying, Janna! My Jane- our Jane is crying! Was I supposed to just stand here and do nothing?"
"Doing something and killing someone are two completely different things."
"...have you forgot that I'm a demon? Doing something and killing someone are the same thing to me."
"Tom Elliott, control yourself!"
"You know I hate it when you order me to do something."
"And what else am I supposed to do, let you kill that Comet kid? You know I can't do that!"
"…"
"Tom…"
"Ugh, okay fine. I won't kill him."
"Good."
"Now let me go."
"Promise?"
"You don't trust me?"
"Tom, please."
"Agh okay, fine. Promise."
"There, there. Isn't this better for everyone?"
"I promise I wouldn't kill him, didn't say anything about breaking his arm, though."
"Tom Elliott! You get back here this instant! Don't you dare try to run away!"
"Well, isn't that something to remember?" The young man flipped through pages of the album. His wife had chased him for four blocks before finally giving up, opting for just simply lock the door and, effectively, him outside. He came crawling back to her in no time.
"Yeah, no kidding. A demon like you, with a family like this? Brittney would've gone nuts." the old lady laughed on her bed, IV tubes tangled on her arm, monitors beeping around her. As much as he hates to admit it, the equipments made him uncomfortable.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" he tried to laugh it off, but he was sure she saw the hint of the agonizing pain in his eyes.
"Oh, nothing, dear, nothing." she smiled vaguely, seemingly lost in her thoughts. He looked away, trying to find interest in something other than her dying form.
"Is Jane coming over today?" she asked.
"Yeah. She's bringing the twins, Adelaide and Luciel, too. Comet said he'll drop by after an hour or so."
"Hahah, Luciel," she bursted out laughing, "I still can't believe she named her own son after that stupid nickname I gave you."
"Hey, it's not stupid," he protested.
"Well, you hated it, so-"
"Don't say that," he took her shriveled hand in his own young, everlasting ones. "I love everything you gave me."
"God, I forgot how cheesy you could be."
"But you know you love me."
"That I do. Best mistake of my life."
"Yeah- wait what?" she laughed again. He loves making her laugh. Comfortable silence settled over them, his thumb rubbing the palm of her hand soothingly.
"You know, I had a great time," Janna said suddenly, staring at him. Those brown eyes, despite being eighty years old, still captivated him everytime he sees them. Tom fought the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, swallowing that knot of emotions in his throat. "And for that I thank you.
"Thank you for coming into my life, my little demon. Thank you for loving me, for understanding me even when I was being such a little shit. Thank you for giving me Jane, God, thank you, and thank you for staying by my side for this long. I-I love you, Tom."
She choked, and the beeping started to get erratic, warnings sounded off, alarming the nurses. They rushed into the room, pushing him out and ushered him to the waiting room. We'll let you know about Mrs. Elliott as soon as her conditions turned stable again, they said.
No, that's not necessary. He could feel the mark burning off, his anchor in this world disappearing, their contract coming to an end. Jane knew everything; she was prepared for when her mother died and her father had to return to the Underworld. They had said their goodbyes a long time ago.
"My love," the demon murmured as his human disguise burned away, allowing him to see her soul clearly. She was there, waiting for him with wide open arms and a smile on her face. She was young again; young and full of life, ready to go with him for another adventure. He could still hear the panicked shoutings from the nurses, demanding another round of some kind of medicine he didn't know. But he couldn't care less. All that mattered now was her, and getting her to their safe haven underground. He could be in her loving embrace once again, could bury his face into her sweet smelling dark blue hair, could kiss those lips to his heart's content.
He would never have to let her go ever again.
And isn't that all that mattered?
I love you too, Janna.