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dulcesiabits · 2 years

Text

just one yesterday.

summary: You, Ace and Deuce try to reconcile what your relationship means now that you’ve gone home.

notes: 1.5k words, fic, angst, can be read as platonic or romantic, ace and deuce are in their fourth year

Ace tries not to think about you too much anymore.

It’s not like he dislikes you now or anything. Don’t get him wrong. You were one of his best friends for three years at NRC. You, him, and Deuce: you three were practically inseparable, causing trouble and getting lectured by Riddle almost daily, back when Riddle was housewarden.

But that was then. This is now, and you aren’t around anymore. You had chosen to go back home.

Oh. Ace doesn’t blame you, of course. He understands. If he were in your shoes, there’s no way he could have left his family behind without a goodbye, all his friends and his home and the town he’d grown up in. So your choice was understandable. Really, it was.

But it’s just that things have changed since you left. He has internships to worry about! A dorm to check up on! A future to plan! There’s just so much he has on his plate as a fourth year, so he can’t spend too much time focusing on the past.

“Ace, what the heck are you fiddling with? We have to go now.”

Ace looks up, flashes a smile at the girl who just interrupted his reverie. He’s on his lunch break, but there’s only five minutes left before he has to go back to the office to run errands and shadow his mentor. The girl who’s talking to him is another intern, he’s pretty sure, from Afterglow Savanna.

(An office worker, that’s who he’s shadowing. With an ordinary, boring job, at a respectable company. You would have laughed if you knew what sort of internship he’d chosen but hey, it’s not like he’s passionate about anything, like Deuce).

“It’s a present from a friend,” he says, letting the charm slip from his fingers.

Her gaze follows the charm on his wallet curiously. Ace has tried to take care of it (or, with more care than he usually treats his possessions), and it’s just a frayed red and white friendship bracelet, complete with a dangling heart accessory.

“They must be a good friend, huh?” she says.

Ace stands, putting his wallet back in his pocket. The bell chimes over the restaurant door as he holds it open for the girl. “They are.”

(Would you forgive him for trying to not to think about you too much? Probably. You would understand that he’s always hated goodbyes).

Deuce knows there’s no path but forward.

The past has already gone, and there’s no point lingering on things he can’t change. If he spends his time regretting the things he’s done, he would miss any sort of opportunity in his present to make things better.

Still. Sometimes, he can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if you stayed. It could have been you, Ace, and him against the world. You could have grabbed dinner together after your internships. And… the three of you once joked about moving in together after NRC. If Deuce closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it.

The day you left, he had cried. Ace, on the other hand, tried to act nonchalant, but his hands shook, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

You hugged both of them, and Deuce knew his tears were soaking into your blazer. You didn’t say anything.

“It’s been a wild three years,” you had said, your own smile wobbly. “I couldn’t have done it without you two.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ace said, his voice tight. “I could have done just fine.”

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Deuce whispered.

Your grip tightened on the two of them at his words. It was the last hug the three of you would ever share.

Deuce shakes his head. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about the past. Still almost unconsciously, he grips a small spade charm dangling off a blue and white braided cord attached to his phone. It’s a habit he’s picked up since you left: to play with the small charm when he’s nervous.

Deuce adjusts his bag, brushes down his slacks, and takes one step into the building in front of him. It’s go time, and he can’t be distracted any longer. There’s no way he’s going to blow this interview for his internship. No way. He has to make his mom proud, and show Ace just what he can accomplish. And… if he’s honest… he wants to make you proud, too, by getting into the internship he’s always talked to you about.

(He wonders if you remember the promise he made to you on your first Starsending together: he would make your wish come true. No matter how far you are, he would always wish for your happiness).

You wonder if going home was the right decision.

You don’t regret it. Or you try not to. You have a life here, family and friends and responsibilities. It was frightening how easy it had been to adjust back to your world, too. If it wasn’t for the fact you had stepped through the mirror into your bedroom when you returned home, still in your NRC uniform, you could have easily convinced yourself it had been a dream.

You flip over in bed, trying to avoid the sunlight streaming through your window. It’s not good to linger on these sorts of thoughts, you know, but they always catch you unaware in the early mornings, when you’re trying to work up the urge to get up and get ready for classes. It’s funny to think that you spent three years attending college in Twisted Wonderland, and now you were going to attend four more years at your local college.

Before you left, you had asked Crowley if there was a way for you to travel between worlds. There had to be a way for you to see Deuce and Ace again, right?

But Crowley had shook his head. “I’m sorry. To do such a thing, we would need to keep a passageway open between your world and ours… and that would cause distortions in the very fabric of reality and time, which would be disastrous.”

All your hopes had been dashed in an instant.

You pull down the covers of your bed. No point in lazing around anymore, or you would be late. As you open your closet to pull out some clothes, your eyes catch on the NRC uniform hanging in the very back. Washed and neatly folded, it beckons you to pull it on again.

You grab what you need and close the closet door again.

When you first came home, you had thrown a blanket over the mirror in your room, and used the one in the bathroom if you needed it. However, you’ve long since removed that blanket. Now, you check your appearance one final time in your bedroom mirror.

Impulsively, you touch the glass. Nothing happens. Of course it doesn’t. You’re no longer in a world with any magic.

You’ve lost friends before. Friends who had moved away, who stopped talking to you, or maybe you stopped talking to them. There’s any number of reasons you can lose contact with someone: time, distance, interest.

But you’re certain if you tried hard enough, you could track those people down. You know they exist somewhere in this world.

Ace and Deuce, though? Your best friends?

Well. There’s no way you can traverse entire worlds to see them again. You can only hope that they’re doing well. They should be in their internships for their fourth year right now. After that, you have no clue what they’ll do, if they’ll even accomplish the things they dreamed of. But you want them to.

(You can never see them again. What terrifies you more than that, though, is the idea that you’ll forget the sound of their voices. What they look like. The idea of moving on and growing up without them).

With a final sigh, you sling your backpack over your shoulder, idly twisting the bracelet on your wrist.

It’s a band in your two favorite colors, with a little star charm. You had bought matching ones for Ace and Deuce. Even if it became nothing more than a tattered piece of string, you would never throw it away.

“Guys, look at how cute these are,” you had said one day at Sam’s shop. “You can use them as phone straps, or wear them, or put them on a bag… surprisingly versatile, huh?”

Ace and Deuce clustered around you, examining the bracelets you held.

“I like the color of this one,” Ace said, picking up the red bracelet from your hands. “But jeez, prefect. Matching bracelets? You’re cheesy.”

“I like them, though,” Deuce said earnestly. “It’s like… a sign of our friendship!”

You pouted. “Then me and Deuce can buy two bracelets, and Ace can just go without one!”

“What? Hey! Prefect!” Ace protested.

You and Deuce had snickered at his tone, and Ace rolled his eyes.

All right. You can’t spend the rest of the morning stuck in your memories. You open the door of your bedroom, and step out into the world.

#liya writes #twisted wonderland #ace trappola #deuce spade #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst wonderland x reader #head in my hands #THIS FIC JUST SNUCK UP ON ME LOL #yes the fic title is a song name </3 the very one I was listening to as I wrote this #something something having to deal with growing up and leaving people behind

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devildom-moss · 2 months

Note

SIMBARB HURT/COMFORT.

That's all!

Remember to eat, sleep and dont do drugs!

Sincerely, 💜

This one was a little vague, so hopefully you like it 💜anon, and thank you for the request. I wasn't sure what to write at first, but I think it ended up pretty cute. (also I really hope you meant Simeon x Barbatos without MC, because that's what I wrote). I hope you didn't want heavy angst because this ended up so soft.

SimBarb hurt/comfort

(Barbatos x Simeon)

(mentions of slight physical injury) (fluff)

Word Count: +1,600

There was an unusual subtle ache in every muscle of Barbatos’s body when he woke up that morning. The pain concentrated in his throat, which felt drier than usual. He forced himself out of bed and got something to drink, holding onto a weak, fragile hope that collapsed into a void when his morning tea did nothing to soothe his throat. Barbatos sighed, blowing the steam out from his cup. He was sick.

It wasn’t just the sudden illness that annoyed Barbatos, it was the fact that he got sick the very day that Simeon had planned to visit the castle. Barbatos had spent the last three days working harder than ever to ensure he could spend a peaceful afternoon alone with Simeon. He had done everything except make the snacks he was going to serve with tea that afternoon. His mind had spent days imagining long, intimate conversations and a leisurely walk. If they could find some peace and if Barbatos could make his move, maybe they would have some time to get intimate in a more physical sense. Well, there’s nothing to be done now, he figured.

Barbatos went to the supply closet and grabbed a mask. He could have sent a message to Simeon and canceled their plans. He could have informed Diavolo and taken the day off to rest. He could have done a half-dozen other things than washing up and preparing the food he planned to make. As long as he wore the mask and avoided infecting the food, it would be fine; that was the rationalization Barbatos allowed himself. After all, Simeon always enjoyed the sweets he made, and Barbatos would hate to disappoint him. It didn’t matter how much slower he seemed to be moving, either; Barbatos still had a few hours until Simeon arrived – or, at least, he thought he did.

“Good morning, Barbatos,” Simeon peaked into the kitchen. Barbatos had been facing away from the doorway, and he jumped slightly at the sudden intrusion; he was certain he had more time. Simeon laughed sweetly and explained, “I’m sorry to surprise you. I met Diavolo on the way in, so I didn’t have a chance to ring the door. I know I’m early, but when I checked the weather, I noticed that it was scheduled to start raining soon, and I wanted to beat the rain. I forgot to tell you since I was in such a rush.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m glad you made it before the rain hit,” Barbatos spoke, muffled through his mask. He looked over his shoulder at Simeon – careful not to stare too long at the angel.

Simeon heard the muffled speech and saw the glimpse of a mask. He groaned, displeased, and approached the demon. “Barbatos, are you sick?”

“Slightly, it seems, but I’ll manage.”

“Barbatos,” Simeon sighed disapprovingly, “you should stop and get some rest. What in the Devildom are you doing in the kitchen? If something needs to be done, tell me, and I’ll take care of it for you.”

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer. I’m fine – simply not in top form. You needn’t worry. I’m nearly done here.”

Simeon glanced down at the tartlets on the counter. Barbatos grabbed a fresh blood red plum and cut it open. He took half of the plum in his hand and expertly pitted it with the tip of his knife. Simeon watched on in pity.

Without so much as a tickle in his throat to warn him, Barbatos was overcome by a coughing fit that caused him to jolt and slice his palm open, cutting through his glove and a layer of flesh. Simeon gasped and rushed Barbatos to the sink, pulling him by the wrist.

“Simeon, I can –” Barbatos started, but he cut himself off when Simeon looked up at him with a serious gaze – one that chilled Barbatos to the core and warned him not to protest. Simeon removed the glove and ran Barbatos’s hand under the sink until the water ran clear. Through the sting, as slight as it was, Barbatos refused to react or show any sign of pain.

“Do you have a clean rag?” Simeon glanced around the kitchen.

“Second drawer from the top next to the fridge.” Simeon left Barbatos holding his hand over the sink while he fetched the cloth.

He brought the dirty knife and the rag back with him, setting the knife in the sink to be washed later. With a gentle, angelic touch, Simeon pressed the rag directly onto the cut. The first thing Simeon noticed was how warm the palm of Barbatos’s hand was. Pulling his attention back from that warmth, Simeon asked, “You have a first-aid kit in your room, right?”

“Of course, but there’s one in the pantry as well,” Barbatos informed him, although reluctantly. There was no need for Simeon to worry so much over something this insignificant.

“Yes, but we should get you bandaged up in your room.” Simeon smiled sheepishly at Barbatos, who felt his face burn from the suggestive nature of his thoughts, only to be humiliated by his presumption when Simeon added, “You dripped a bit of blood onto your sleeve, and you’ll probably want a new glove once you’re all patched up.”

“Oh.” Barbatos looked down to see a few spots of blood staining his clothes. He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

“Keep this pressed to your palm as we walk to your room – unless you want me to hold your hand the entire way there.” Simeon nudged Barbatos towards the door.

“I am capable of walking to my room on my own.”

“Yes, I know, but I’m going to tend to the cut for you.”

“I can dress my own wounds,” Barbatos protested.

“Yes, you can, but I can, too. Let me do this for you.”

Once inside his room, Barbatos pointed out his first-aid kit for Simeon and sat on the bed patiently. Simeon joined him and offered his hand, palm up and expecting, waiting to cradle Barbatos’s injured hand. At least Simeon had the kindness to not warn Barbatos of a potential sting as he pressed an alcohol swab to the cut – to allow Barbatos the dignity of presumed knowledge and anticipation. Barbatos sat, quiet and still, through the process.

“Tell me if it’s too tight,” Simeon instructed Barbatos as he began slowly wrapping gauze around his hand. When he finished, he kept Barbatos’s hand in his and caressed along the side of the wrap softly with his thumb. “Is it okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Barbatos offered him a smile that stayed disguised behind the mask. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

“I know.” Simeon lowered his head and kissed the palm of Barbatos’s hand, then left another kiss on his wrist. Barbatos felt his face burn at the show of tenderness. So rarely had he been at the receiving end of doting affection that he found himself unnaturally flustered. Simeon looked up at him with a sickly sweetness. “You should learn how to allow someone to take care of you, Barbatos.”

“I’m trying,” he admitted – half humiliated to be loved.

“Take off your shirt,” Simeon instructed him.

“Pardon?” Barbatos’s eyes widened.

Simeon laughed, knowing he had successfully caused a stir in Barbatos. “I’ll wash it with your glove before I make some soup for you – assuming I have permission to make use of your kitchen.”

“You always have permission to access the kitchen, but –”

“Excellent,” Simeon cut him off. “The last time Luke got sick, I made him some soup that soothed his sore throat and cleared up his sinuses. I’m not sure if you’ll have all the ingredients, but I can go to the market if I have to. Now, that shirt?”

Barbatos sighed and began to undo his coat before unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m well enough to do laundry and cook.”

“And I’m in better health for both. Or do you not trust me to help out?” Simeon tilted his head slightly. That was a dirty trick.

So, of course, Barbatos had to concede. He handed his soiled shirt to Simeon. “Alright, just don’t push yourself for my sake. You could get sick, too – especially if you go out in the cold rain. We should have enough ingredients – if it’s the soup I think you’re talking about.”

“Oh, right! You’re the one who sent me that recipe.” Simeon laughed at his own forgetfulness as he tucked the shirt over his arm. He glanced out the massive window in Barbatos’s room. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed the gentle rain hitting the glass. It had grown particularly dark, and a thin mist obscured the usual view. A soft, content sigh left Simeon. “I didn’t realize the rain was here already, but I guess we’re both guilty of being oblivious.”

“I beg your pardon?” Barbatos was never – or almost never – accused of being oblivious. Often, he was accused of being quite the opposite. “What makes you say that?”

“You haven’t realized that I don’t mind the risk of getting sick.” Simeon leaned in, lifted Barbatos’s mask, and pulled it down before kissing him gently. Simeon’s hand rested on Barbatos’s bare chest, feeling his heart pound. “You’re worth it.”

Barbatos yanked his mask back up the second Simeon pulled away, determined to hide his smile and blush. “You’re certainly bold, angel.”

“You deserve to be cared for once in a while. I promise that the next time I get sick, I’ll let you dote on me.” Simeon pet Barbatos with a chuckle before sliding his hand down from Barbatos’s soft hair to his injured hand. “For now – at least until the rain lets up – let yourself go and trust in my capable hands.”

Suddenly, Barbatos wished that it would rain all through the night.

#💜 anon #ask #anon #requests #obey me ships #barbatos #simeon #barbatos x simeon #obey me #simbarb #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #simeon x barbatos #don't read the tags after this okay #also forgive me but the unholy thoughts really snuck up on me in this one #seriously all I could imagine was Simeon asking Barbatos which hand he usually uses to touch himself and as it just so happens #it's the one he cut. So of course Simeon would have to offer to give Barbatos a hand.#You can't tell me that these two would not be perfect for slow needy sex on a rainy day #and Barbatos lifting the mask just enough to suck Simeon off and Simeon feeling guilty about thrusting into his sore throat #I've established that I think Barbatos would be such a cute sub when he's sick and it makes me unwise.#also the mask kink has me acting truly unhinged in the tags #forgive me all of y'all. or don't.

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