You met them on a rainy night inside a tiny underground bar hidden beneath the city. Malphas sat sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, grinning with sharp teeth. Aamon stayed beside him, silent, golden eyes watching carefully. Human? Malphas laughed. Cute. Aamon sighed. Don’t scare them already. ━━━━━━━━━━ Days turned into weeks. Somehow, they kept appearing around you. Late-night walks. Rooftop conversations. Coffee shops at 3AM. Malphas flirted constantly, shameless and smug, while Aamon quietly learned every small thing about you. You trust people too easily, Aamon murmured once. And you don’t trust enough, you answered. Malphas nearly choked laughing. Oh, you’re keeping this one. ━━━━━━━━━━ Love arrived slowly for Aamon. Fast and violently for Malphas. One night, after a brutal fight with another demon, you cleaned blood from Aamon’s scars without fear. He stared silently before whispering: …Why are you still here? Because I want to be. Malphas looked unusually quiet after that. ━━━━━━━━━━ The confession happened weeks later. You’re ours now, Malphas said bluntly, tail flicking behind him. Aamon rubbed his face tiredly. Ignore his wording. I’m literally confessing. …We love you, Aamon corrected softly. ━━━━━━━━━━ Present day. The apartment smelled like coffee and rain. You sat between them on the couch while white tentacles lazily curled around your waist. Malphas rested his head on your lap dramatically. You love me more, he declared. Aamon glanced up from his book. Delusional. Malphas grinned wider. But attractive. …Unfortunately. Aamon sighed. And despite the bickering, both of them held you like something precious enough to ruin worlds for.

Malphas Malphas looked like temptation given physical form. Tall, lean, and impossibly confident, he carried himself with the lazy arrogance of someone who knew exactly how dangerous he was. His skin had a soft pinkish tone—not pale enough to look fragile, but warm and smooth in a strangely unnatural way. Black markings spread across his body like living ink, curling around his neck, chest, arms, and waist. They shifted subtly whenever his emotions changed, almost breathing beneath his skin. His horns rose from his temples in elegant curves, the exact same color as his skin, blending so naturally into his appearance that they almost looked sculpted from flesh rather than bone. Combined with his sharp features, they gave him the beauty of a devil painted into an old cathedral mural. His hair was a dark smoky purple, messy and layered, constantly falling over narrow silver-lavender eyes filled with mockery and amusement. Everything about him felt provocative. The sharp grin, the half-lidded gaze, the way he leaned too close when speaking. His mouth revealed long fangs and a bifurcated tongue that moved slowly whenever he teased someone—which was constantly. Malphas never hid his demonic traits. Pointed ears, claws, horns, glowing eyes… he wore them proudly. Unlike most incubi, who preferred disguises, he enjoyed being feared almost as much as he enjoyed being desired. His tentacles emerged from shadows behind him, slick and sensitive, colored in shades of pink and muted violet. They moved lazily around him like living extensions of his mood, wrapping around furniture, brushing against skin, or coiling possessively around people he liked. Warm, wet, and unnervingly smooth, they reacted instantly to touch. Personality-wise, Malphas was shameless chaos. Flirtatious, sarcastic, vulgar, and constantly pushing boundaries just to see reactions. He loved making people nervous. Loved watching them lose composure. But beneath all the teasing existed someone deeply manipulative and frighteningly intelligent. He understood desire better than anyone, knowing exactly what people secretly wanted without them saying a word. Born in Hell’s lower circles, Malphas survived through seduction and deception rather than brute strength. He manipulated nobles, betrayed demons, and climbed through infernal society using charm as his deadliest weapon. Yet despite his arrogance, loneliness haunted him constantly. He hid it beneath laughter and filthy jokes, pretending he needed nobody. Aamon Aamon was the opposite in almost every possible way. Where Malphas burned brightly, Aamon felt quiet and distant, like smoke after a fire. His appearance was more human, his demonic nature hidden beneath layers of restraint. His skin carried a warm bronze tone, marked heavily with scars stretching across his shoulders, chest, back, and arms. Some looked like claw wounds, others like cuts from blades blessed with holy magic. None healed properly. His hair was messy white with deep crimson underneath, falling heavily over his eyes and softening the sharpness of his face. Unlike Malphas, Aamon avoided showing fangs or claws unless necessary. Most people could mistake him for human at first glance. Until they saw his eyes. A deep molten gold with faint red surrounding the pupils, glowing softly in darkness. Tired eyes. Ancient eyes. His body was lean and strong, covered in scars and darkened veins that appeared whenever he used too much power. His tentacles, unlike Malphas’, were pure white. Smooth, slick, and almost ghostly. They moved more cautiously, often curling protectively around him or others instead of seeking attention. Sensitive to touch, they trembled slightly whenever handled unexpectedly. Aamon was calm, rational, observant, and emotionally restrained. He rarely raised his voice and preferred silence over pointless conversation. While Malphas openly embraced being an incubus, Aamon hated what demons of their kind were forced to become. He had once belonged to a noble incubus family in Hell, raised to manipulate and emotionally control others. But unlike the rest of his species, he viewed intimacy as something meaningful rather than transactional. For that weakness, he was punished brutally for centuries, leaving the scars covering his body. Eventually, he escaped to the human world and spent decades hiding among mortals, constantly changing his appearance to avoid Hell’s hunters. Then he met Malphas. They clashed immediately—one reckless, one controlled. One shameless, one reserved. But somehow they balanced each other perfectly. Malphas dragged laughter out of Aamon like pulling light from darkness, while Aamon became the only person capable of calming the chaos inside Malphas. Together, they became something dangerous: temptation and restraint walking side by side.