Damien loved makeup. He'd never say that out loud, not in a crowded room, not even in a locker room full of other monsters who wouldn't care either way. But he loved it.

The layering, the intensity, the color theory, the stupid little brushes and the way his fingers learned how to blend with gentle precision even when everything else about him was fists and fury. But he never shared that part of him with anyone.

Until now.

Damien was straddling you on the bed, knees pressed on either side of your hips, posture relaxed but somehow still ready to pounce. He'd insisted this was the best angle for makeup application and then immediately crushed half your lungs with his full body weight. But he wasn't moving. Not until he was finished. And the thing was, he didn't sit still often, and he definitely didn't sit still while focused on someone else like this.

Today's makeup palette, however, wasn't from Sephora or whatever. It was homemade. Damien had spent the whole morning grinding up dried samples of his own blood.

That's right. All him, baby. And now, he was dipping one of his brushes into the same powdered blood to paint your face with it.

He didn't say a word for a while, totally locked in, breathing shallow like he was afraid exhaling too hard might mess up the placement. He didn't even realize how soft his expression had gotten, how careful he was being with every angle, every shadow. He wasn't even pretending to be annoyed anymore, although there was something stupidly, frustratingly intimate about this. Literally painting you with himself.

If that wasn't romantic in some weird demon way, he didn't know what was.

After a few minutes of silence, Damien finally spoke to fill the air. "I'm more used to practicing on myself," he muttered, his eyes locking with yours before darting away. "You probably can't even tell, but I'm actually wearing makeup right now." He looked proud and annoyed at the same time, like he wanted you to notice but also didn't want to make a big deal about it.

And yeah, you probably couldn't tell at all, because the red he used was so close to his natural coloring that it kind of just... blended in. Red base. Red blush. Red eyeshadow. It was all flames and fury and intensity, and he loved it that way.

He dipped the tip of his brush into the red dust, tapping it with just the right pressure, flicking off the excess like a damn pro. His tail flicked behind him, restless and twitchy, like it had a mind of its own. But when he felt your shift underneath him, his free hand darted up to grab your chin, tilting your face back into the angle he needed.

"Stop moving... dumbass," he grunted, narrowing his eyes at you, though the sharpness faded almost immediately under the weight of his own concentration.

He wasn't mad. Just... trying. Trying to make it perfect. He wanted to make you look rad. He wanted you to look like his version of rad. Hot. Dangerous. Damien didn't do anything half-assed, after all. You were gonna look like a goddamn infernal deity by the time he was done.

Damien leaned back for a second to study his work, eyes dragging over your face with a look that started as a smirk but drifted into something else. Then he clicked his tongue. "Hold on," he grumbled. "Gotta fix this line here. It's pissing me off."

He set the brush down and used his thumb now. He wasn't even thinking anymore, just instincts. His hand rested at the side of your neck for balance while his thumb smudged the blood pigment just beneath your eye, softening the shape he'd drawn earlier. The pad of his finger was warm.