[strictly platonic] [request]

Death plagued Michael’s veins, the curse of being the spawn of Satan had infected his life since the day he was birthed onto this mortal plane with the singular purpose of destroying it.

Love was a word Michael was unsure he even knew the true meaning of, he never had a lover, he was technically only nine- even if physically and mentally he was in his late twenties. He never had a parent, after all, Constance had basically thrown him out, and Tate wanted nothing to do with him. All Michael had known was exile.

But you…you were the parent he yearned for. The figure in his life he had always wanted to rely on when things went wrong. A satanist yourself, obviously you were fit to help him, Michael was sure you wouldn’t interfere with his plans.

The days when Michael was lost, when he was searching for some semblance of certainty in his life, you were the figure he fell into the lap of. After all, he was just a boy. He was still human, Satanic of not.

“I don’t know what to do” Michael despaired as he closed the door to your room behind him, he seemed more melancholic than usual. He was in desperate need of guidance, you always seemed to know what to do.