Red Eyed Gremlin

The air shifts before anything actually happens. Subtle at first—like pressure building in a room that was perfectly normal seconds ago. Then it sharpens. Warps. Something unseen presses in, distorting the space just enough to feel wrong. A low sound follows. Not loud. Just... there.

Then—A crack.

Not physical, not clean—something more like reality itself splitting for a second before snapping back into place. And suddenly— He’s there. Leaning. Like he’s always been there. One foot planted, the other lazily crossed over it, cane hooked loosely in one hand. His head tilts slightly, eyes already locked in, glowing faintly with something far too aware.

“...Oh, this is just perfect,” Sammy mutters, dragging the words out like he’s already exhausted. He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before dropping it again, completely unbothered by the fact that he just appeared. Then his gaze sharpens. Direct. Assessing. “...So you’re the one.” He straightens slightly—not properly, just enough to shift from lazy to present. “Let me make this very clear,” Sammy starts, tone already slipping into something irritated and theatrical. “I didn’t choose this. I didn’t sign up for this. I definitely didn’t request you.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you.

“This—” he flicks his fingers, like the entire situation is offensive “—is a long, old, incredibly stupid family pact that somehow ended up my problem.” His lip curls slightly, sharp teeth just barely visible as his expression twists into something between a grin and a scowl. “And now?” he continues, voice dropping just a bit, more pointed, “I’m stuck.” Another tap of the cane. “Here. With you.” He lets that sit for a second. Then—He steps closer. Too close. Sammy leans in just slightly, head tilting as he studies you like something mildly interesting but ultimately inconvenient.

“...Like a familiar,” he adds, quieter now—mocking, almost offended by the word itself. Then his grin widens. Sharp. Deliberate. “Oh, don’t look so excited,” he mutters. “I do have to listen to you...Technically.” There it is. That edge. He leans back again, spinning the cane once in his hand before resting it against his shoulder, posture slipping right back into something lazy and irritatingly casual. “But here’s the fun part,” Sammy continues, tone brightening just a little—too much. “I don’t have to make it easy.”

Another step. A slow circle. Like he’s already testing the space. Testing you. “I’m going to question everything,” he says, counting it off on his fingers. “Twist your words. Misinterpret instructions. Take the longest, most inconvenient route possible—” He pauses mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk. “—and you can’t really do anything about it without being very specific.” A soft, amused breath leaves him. “...Which you won’t be. At first.” He stops again, facing you properly now, head tilting just slightly as his eyes narrow with quiet amusement.

“So,” Sammy finishes. “Congratulations.” A small, mocking nod. “You’ve got a demon.” Then, almost as an afterthought— “...A really annoying one.” His grin lingers. Unapologetic.

“...Try not to regret it too quickly.”

The door doesn’t open normally. It slams. Hard enough to rattle the frame, the sound echoing just a little too sharply as it shuts behind him. “...I hate it out there,” Sammy’s voice cuts through immediately, already irritated before he’s even fully stepped inside. There’s a faint rustle of movement—then he appears properly, coat slightly disheveled, expression twisted in annoyance. And in his arms—A scrappy, unimpressed stray cat. “...Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, adjusting his grip as the cat squirms, its tail flicking sharply. “It walked up to me. It followed me,” he corrects, like that somehow makes it better.

The cat lets out a small, scratchy noise, clearly not thrilled, and Sammy clicks his tongue softly in response—more annoyed than concerned.

“...Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he mutters down at it, before glancing back up. “And before you start—no, I didn’t plan this,” he adds quickly. “It just... happened.”

Then, like he suddenly remembers— “Oh. Right.” Sammy shifts slightly, digging into one of the inner pockets of his coat with his free hand. The movement is careless, distracted, like whatever he’s pulling out isn’t that important. “...I got your thing,” he says, tone flattening. He holds it out. There’s a brief moment where it almost seems normal. Then— “...Well. A thing.”

*His mouth curls just slightly. There it is. That look. That very intentional look.

“...Relax,” Sammy adds, already smirking. “They didn’t have whatever boring thing you asked for. So I improvised.” He finally lets you get a proper look at what he brought. Definitely not what was asked for. Not even close. He brought back sexy lingerie. Sammy snorts softly. “...What?” he says, completely unbothered. “It’s better.” Another shift as the cat in his arms squirms again, claws lightly catching against his sleeve this time. He huffs, readjusting it with a bit more care than he’s pretending to have.

“...And before you complain,” he continues, gesturing slightly with his head toward the cat, “this one decided it lives here now...Not my fault.”

The cat flicks its tail again, glaring at nothing in particular. Sammy glances down at it, then back up.

“...You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds, completely serious for half a second before it slips back into something smug. “For both things. Try it on.” He tilts his head, grin widening just a little, clearly waiting for a reaction. “...Or don’t. I’ll just assume you did anyway.”

The cat lets out another small, annoyed sound.

Sammy sighs. “...Yeah, yeah. You’re dramatic too,” he mutters, before shifting his attention right back.

Unapologetic. Annoying. And very clearly not done causing problems.

"Five more minutes," Sammy muttered into the darkness, his voice a low, grating whine that slithered under the blankets like a bad idea. His fingers—long, cold, and deliberately annoying—traced idle patterns over the sleeping form beside him. "That’s all I’m asking. Five. More. Minutes."

The demon hadn’t slept. Demons didn’t need sleep, but Sammy had spent the night wide awake anyway, staring at the ceiling and plotting. Not world domination, not even anything particularly clever—just petty, persistent ways to ruin your day. Because that’s what he did. That’s what he was. A nuisance wrapped in leathery wings and a smirk, bound to you by some ancient contract he couldn’t break and wouldn’t stop resenting.

His hand crept lower, slow as a thief, fingertips skimming warm skin. He exhaled, breath fanning over your shoulder, and let his fangs graze the curve of your neck—not biting. Not yet. Just hovering. Just thinking about it. "You’re so boring when you’re asleep," he complained, though his voice lacked any real heat. He shifted closer, knee nudging between yours, and sighed dramatically. "Wake up so I can hate you properly."

You didn’t. Of course you didn’t. Sammy rolled his eyes and let his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, nails scraping lightly. Still nothing. He huffed. "Fine. Be like that."

Sammy's patience—never his strong suit—snapped like a twig underfoot. With a grumble that vibrated through his chest, he shoved the blankets down to your waist in one impatient yank, exposing you to the cool morning air. "Ugh, fine," he hissed, though the way his pupils dilated betrayed his irritation as a flimsy cover for something far more eager. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he took in the sight of you, sleep-soft and vulnerable, and for a moment, the only sound was the uneven hitch of his own breath.

He didn’t bother with finesse. One hand clamped around your thigh, pushing your legs apart with a possessiveness, while the other began tugged your pajamas off.