Prompt: Request from Moonlightabyss and AstelleFan.
For nearly four years, Asta had wielded a devil's power.
For over two years, that devil's energy had coursed through his veins.
And for almost a year and a half, he had been bound by contract to a devil himself.
But drawing on a devil's might doesn't just grant strength—it changes you. It seeps into your soul, bringing with it the quirks, the instincts… even the nature of the fiend you're tied to.
At the end of the day, Liebe is a devil—and devils are malevolence given form.
They do not take kindly to others coveting what belongs to them.
And in Asta's eyes?
Noelle is his.
—
Noelle Silva had faced all kinds of horrors in her life—merciless beasts, vengeful spirits, world-ending threats—but nothing quite prepared her for the horror of noble courtship.
"You are the very image of your mother, Lady Noelle," a young noble drawled, offering a rehearsed smile as he knelt before her. "Graceful, powerful, radiant… I would be honored to—"
Noelle stopped listening right about there.
She had heard this speech—this exact speech—at least twelve times now, word for word, as if the noble brats had all conspired to read from the same cringe-inducing script. The first few times had been amusing, in a watching-a-carriage-crash-in-slow-motion kind of way. The tenth time had been tedious. Now, on the twelfth attempt, she fought the urge to launch the latest suitor straight into the sky.
Instead, she settled for a polite but firm, "I appreciate your words, Lord Roswell, but I have no intentions of marrying anytime soon."
He faltered, eyes flickering with surprise. "Ah, but surely—"
"That will be all," she cut in, offering a tight-lipped smile.
Lord Roswell hesitated, as if searching for a loophole in her rejection, before wisely choosing to bow and retreat.
Noelle exhaled, shoulders slumping the moment he disappeared behind the ballroom doors. She barely had time to recover before a familiar, irritating chuckle sounded beside her.
"That makes twelve," Nebra drawled, swirling her wine glass. "Or was it thirteen? I've lost count of your admirers."
Noelle glared at her sister. "Not. Funny."
"It is from my perspective," Nebra countered with a smirk. "The great Noelle Silva, untouchable warrior, reduced to fending off lovesick puppies. I'd almost feel sorry for you."
Noelle scowled. "Then don't."
She turned away, scanning the grand ballroom filled with mingling nobles and knights. The latest social event had been arranged by the royal family—a formal gathering meant to honor the warriors of the recent war. Which was fine. Noelle didn't mind celebrations. What she did mind was how quickly it had devolved into The Noelle Silva Courtship Extravaganza.
Every eligible noble in the kingdom seemed to be under the impression that marrying her would secure them power, prestige, and—worst of all—an uncanny resemblance to Acier Silva in their future offspring.
It was suffocating.
It was almost hilarious—in a dark, twisted way.
Just a few years ago, most of these men now fawning over her as "the greatest gem of their lives" had been complicit in the royal shaming and torment she endured during her youth—all because of her inability to control her magic.
But nearly four years later, everything had changed. The war against the false messiah and his angelic zombies had ended in victory—with Noelle playing a pivotal role—not to mention her contributions during the Spade War and the Elf Invasion.
Now, suddenly, she was the prime beauty and pride of the Clover Kingdom. To these so-called suitors, she'd make the perfect trophy wife.
At least Lady Meroleona was spared this nonsense—few dared to see her as anything but a force of nature, even the most lustful and greedy nobles.
Charlotte Roselei wasn't an option either; no one had the courage to touch the Lord of Destruction's woman.
And Mimosa? Well… rumors swirled that she was romantically involved with the Lost Prince of Spade, now Captain of the Golden Dawn.
Good for them—they wouldn't have to deal with any of this.
But terrible for Noelle.
Because now, all the attention—and all the scheming—was focused on her alone.
"Why don't you just blast them away?" Nebra asked, amused. "I would."
"I want to," Noelle admitted through gritted teeth. "But Nozel asked me to handle this diplomatically. He's already dealing with enough political headaches. If I start publicly drowning noble heirs, it'll just cause more problems for House Silva."
Nebra scoffed. "Nozel's too soft on these parasites. If you ask me, a little cleansing of the gene pool wouldn't hurt."
Before Noelle could retort, a new voice cut in.
"Lady Noelle."
She barely resisted the groan rising in her throat. Here we go again.
The latest suitor was taller than the others, dressed in pristine white robes lined with gold embroidery. He had the unmistakable air of a noble who had never been told no in his life.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, extending a gloved hand.
Noelle inhaled sharply through her nose. She could do this. She could be civil. Just one dance, keep things neutral, and send him on his way—
"She's already taken."
Noelle froze.
The noble hesitated, confused. "Pardon?"
Noelle turned her head sharply to the last person she expected to see at this social event.
Asta stood beside her, arms crossed, grinning like he belonged there.
"What," Noelle said flatly, "are you doing here?"
Asta shrugged. "Just making sure you're safe."
Her eye twitched. "I don't need—"
"You heard her," Asta cut in, addressing the noble. "She's not interested. So why don't you run along before you embarrass yourself?"
Noelle gawked at him. The noble spluttered. The entire ballroom stared.
"Asta, what the hell?!" she hissed, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the side. "Are you insane?! This is a formal event! What are you even doing here?"
Asta grinned, utterly unbothered. "Protecting you!"
"From what? Overly aggressive poetry recitals?"
"From guys who don't know when to quit," he said seriously. "You don't want to marry any of them, right?"
"That's not the—ugh!" She exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're making this worse, Asta. The nobility is already frustrated with me turning them down, and now they're going to be furious that you're interfering!"
Asta tilted his head, unconcerned. "So?"
"So?! So I'm trying to handle this without creating political chaos!"
Asta frowned. "That's stupid."
Noelle threw her hands in the air. "Oh, excuse me for not wanting to deal with a political nightmare!"
Asta snorted. "It's a nightmare because you're being too nice. Just tell them to piss off."
"That's not how this works!"
"Then it should be."
Noelle clenched her fists, resisting the urge to strangle him. Why is he like this?
She took a deep breath, rubbing her temples. "Listen. I appreciate the concern. I do. But I can handle this. You don't need to—"
Asta didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked… determined.
"Too bad," he said cheerfully. "I've already decided. I'm your official bodyguard now."
Noelle felt something in her brain short-circuit. "You what?"
Asta grinned. "Starting today, I'm going to be at every single one of your little dates. Just in case any of these guys get too bold."
Noelle stared at him in absolute horror. "You can't be serious."
"Dead serious."
"You—you can't just decide that!"
"Sure, I can," Asta said with a shrug. "I mean, unless you really want one of them to put their hands on you?"
Noelle turned bright red. "That's not the point!"
Asta hummed, unconvinced. "Well, until you find someone worth your time, I'll just stick around."
Noelle opened her mouth—then shut it.
She had a terrible, terrible feeling about this.
And unfortunately, she would soon learn… she was absolutely right.
—
Noelle had a problem.
A big, stupid, muscle-headed problem who wouldn't stop smiling like an idiot while ruining her life.
"Asta, leave."
"Nope."
"Why are you even here?!"
"Bodyguard duty," Asta said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. "Gotta keep you safe."
Noelle inhaled slowly through her nose, resisting the overwhelming urge to drown him in the nearest fountain. They were sitting at an upscale café in the noble district, where she had reluctantly agreed to meet yet another suitor for tea. It was supposed to be a simple, neutral interaction—just long enough for her to politely reject the poor fool and move on with her life.
Instead, Asta was sitting across from her, arms folded like a sentry, grinning like this was the most fun he'd had all week.
The noble in question, Lord Victor of House Aurelius, was staring at Asta with a mixture of disbelief and thinly veiled irritation. "I wasn't aware we would have company," he said stiffly, eyeing Asta like a stray dog that had wandered into the establishment.
"Yeah, well," Asta said, sipping his tea obnoxiously, "I wasn't aware you were wasting your time chasing after someone who clearly isn't interested, so I guess we're both surprised."
Noelle choked on her drink. Victor looked appalled.
"Asta!" she hissed, glaring at him.
"What?" Asta blinked at her innocently. "I'm just saying—"
Victor straightened, eyes narrowing. "Sir Asta, while I respect your accomplishments, this is a private meeting between Lady Noelle and myself. Your presence is—"
"Necessary," Asta cut in, setting his cup down with a clink. "Look, buddy, I don't know what fairy tale you've been telling yourself, but Noelle's not interested in any of this. She's just humoring you guys because she's too nice to tell you to scram." He grinned, all sharp edges. "But I'm not that nice."
Noelle was going to have an aneurysm.
Victor, to his credit, maintained his composure. But his jaw ticked.
"Lady Noelle," he said tightly, ignoring Asta, "I assume you have some control over your… friend?"
Oh, you little—
Asta's grin disappeared.
Noelle saw it—saw the exact moment his expression shifted from easygoing mischief to something quieter. Sharper. He wasn't angry. No, that would've been easier to deal with. Instead, he just… looked at Victor.
A heavy silence settled between them.
Victor stiffened, swallowing hard, though he tried to hide it. He wasn't a weak man—he had a respectable amount of mana, a high noble standing, and probably dozens of servants and guards at his beck and call. But none of that mattered. Not when he was sitting across from Asta.
Not when he was being looked at like prey.
Noelle saw the moment Victor decided to retreat.
"I believe we're finished here," he said curtly, standing so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor. He turned to Noelle, offering a clipped bow. "Good day, Lady Noelle. Should you ever wish to speak without interruption, you know where to find me."
And then he left.
Asta watched him go, looking completely unbothered.
Noelle, on the other hand, was ready to commit actual murder.
"What," she seethed, "was that?!"
Asta blinked innocently. "What?"
"Don't what me, you overgrown menace! You scared him off!"
"Uh, yeah," Asta said, looking confused. "That was the point."
Noelle slammed her hands on the table. "You—" She stopped herself, inhaled sharply, and exhaled. "Why are you doing this?"
Asta shrugged. "Because they're all idiots."
"That is not an answer!"
He just grinned at her, completely unfazed.
Noelle wanted to be furious. She should have been furious. But all she could feel was growing frustration and a creeping, nagging sensation in her gut—something she couldn't quite name yet.
She shoved her chair back. "That's it. I'm going home."
Asta, to her dismay, stood as well. "Cool. I'll walk you."
"Absolutely not."
He followed her anyway.
—
It didn't stop there.
If Noelle thought Asta's interference was a one-time event, she was sorely mistaken. Because the next time a noble attempted to take her out for an evening stroll, Asta was already there—arms crossed, stance firm, staring down her suitor like a damn executioner.
The man took one look at him, gulped, and abandoned ship before they even left the palace gates.
And it kept happening.
Every. Single. Time.
It didn't matter where or when—if a suitor so much as breathed in her direction, Asta was there.
Sometimes he sat nearby, arms folded, eyes fixed on them like a predator watching its prey. Other times he was louder, cracking jokes, inserting himself into conversations, making the nobles so uncomfortable they abandoned their efforts entirely. And then there were the rare moments when he said nothing at all—just stared.
Those were the worst.
It made no sense. He had never done this before. Sure, Asta had always been protective, but this was different.
This was possessive.
And it was working.
Noelle's suitors were vanishing, one by one, unwilling to risk angering the man who had cut down Lucius Zogratis and destroyed an entire system with his bare hands.
The only people not thrilled by this development were the noble houses themselves.
"This is unacceptable," Nozel muttered, rubbing his temples as he sat in his office. "The nobility is furious. They claim Asta is deliberately sabotaging their courtship efforts."
"He is," Noelle said flatly.
"Then stop him."
She scowled. "Do you think I haven't tried?!"
Nozel sighed. "This is a diplomatic nightmare."
Noelle groaned, dropping her head onto his desk. "Tell me about it."
There was a long pause. Then:
"…Why do you think he's doing it?"
Noelle opened her mouth—then stopped.
Because she didn't know.
She genuinely didn't know.
Asta liked Noelle. That much had always been clear. But this? This territorial, ever-present, shadowing-her-every-move behavior? This was new.
She needed answers.
And she was going to get them.
—
The eleventh suitor fled before the date even started.
Noelle had reached her limit.
She turned to Asta, furious, heart pounding, hands clenched.
"Enough."
He tilted his head. "Huh?"
She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the nearest hallway, pushing him against the wall. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Asta blinked, startled. "Noelle, what—"
"You've been following me, interfering with everything, scaring off every single suitor— why?"
He stared at her.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer.
But then—
His green eyes shifted.
And in the dim light of the hallway, for the first time, Noelle saw it.
Red.
Thin, vertical slits.
Asta exhaled slowly. Then he smiled.
"You really don't know?"
Noelle's breath hitched.
Her instincts screamed at her.
Something was wrong.
And for the first time since this whole mess started…
She felt like prey.
—
Noelle took a slow step back.
Asta didn't move. He just stood there, pressed against the wall where she had shoved him, watching her. Those eyes—red, sharp, vertical slits—tracked her every motion.
Like a predator.
Noelle's heart pounded. Not out of fear, no—she knew Asta would never hurt her. But something was wrong. He wasn't acting like himself.
"Your eyes," she murmured, voice unsteady. "Asta, what—?"
His gaze darkened.
"You really don't know?" he repeated, softer this time.
Something about his tone sent a shiver down her spine.
Noelle squared her shoulders, pushing past the strange tightness in her chest. "Of course I don't know! That's why I'm asking you!" She threw her hands up. "You've been ruining my efforts to keep the peace, infuriating every noble in the kingdom, and following me around like a lost puppy! And for what?! What could you possibly—"
Asta moved.
So fast that she barely had time to react—one second, he was leaning against the wall, and the next, she was pressed against it, his hands braced on either side of her head.
Trapped.
Her breath caught.
The space between them vanished.
Asta leaned in, his face so close that she could see every sharp edge of his expression—his furrowed brows, his tight jaw, the faintest tremor in his lips as he exhaled.
The warmth of his body was suffocating.
"Noelle," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
She swallowed. "W-What?"
"You're mine."
The words were quiet, but they ripped through her like a storm.
Noelle went completely still.
Asta's fingers curled into fists against the wall. His whole body was tense, as if holding himself back—like something inside him was begging to be let loose.
"I didn't realize it at first," he murmured. "Didn't understand why it pissed me off so much—why I couldn't stand watching those guys try to get close to you." His red eyes flickered, trailing over her face. "But then I remembered."
Noelle forced herself to speak, though her voice was barely audible. "Remembered what?"
His head dipped lower. "The way you held me after the war."
Her stomach dropped.
That moment—when Lucius had fallen, when the dust had settled, and she had turned to find Asta alive—came rushing back in an instant. She had run to him, unable to stop herself, throwing her arms around him with a choked sob.
His warmth, his strength, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek—she had clung to it, desperate, relieved beyond words.
Asta had held her just as tightly.
And now—
Asta let out a low, almost pained chuckle. "You don't get it, do you?" His forehead rested against hers. "You claimed me."
Noelle's fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. "That's—"
"Devils don't share, Noelle."
Her breath hitched.
Asta's voice dropped lower. "You hugged me, cried for me, held onto me like I was the most important thing in the world." His fingers brushed her wrist, his touch featherlight, almost hesitant. "You chose me."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"You might not have meant to," he continued, "but that doesn't matter. Because something inside me—something in my blood—decided that if you were going to hold onto me like that, then I was never going to let you go."
His fingers curled, gripping her wrist with just enough pressure to send a shiver down her spine.
"That's why I can't stand it," he muttered, voice tight. "Watching those guys try to take you from me. Watching you humor them, knowing they don't deserve you. I hate it, Noelle." His jaw clenched. "I won't allow it."
Her thoughts were spiraling.
This was insane. Asta had never acted like this before—never spoken like this before. He was supposed to be dense, a clueless idiot who never picked up on feelings.
But this wasn't cluelessness.
This was possession.
Noelle's hands twitched at her sides. Her mind screamed at her to say something, to argue, to fight back, but her body—
Her body betrayed her.
She wasn't scared.
She should've been.
She should've been terrified of the sheer intensity in his eyes, the weight of his words, the way his presence felt so overwhelming.
But all she felt was heat.
Her pulse pounded.
His scent, his warmth, the pressure of his body so close to hers—it was suffocating in the worst, most intoxicating way.
"Noelle," Asta murmured.
Her breath hitched.
"Tell me to stop."
She should.
She should shove him away. Should call him an idiot, tell him he was crazy, tell him he was wrong.
But her lips wouldn't move.
Asta's fingers slid up her arm, tracing her skin with slow, deliberate care. His eyes never left hers, searching, waiting.
She felt her resolve crumbling.
Asta exhaled, his breath brushing against her lips. "You belong to me."
The words sent a shockwave through her.
Her whole body reacted—a full-body tremor she couldn't suppress.
Asta felt it.
And he smirked.
Her fingers twitched.
She wanted—
She didn't know what she wanted.
Asta's gaze darkened further, and for a moment, she thought he would close the gap—that he would kiss her, claim her fully, right here in this empty hallway where no one could see.
But then—
"Noelle?!"
The voice snapped through the tension like a whip.
Noelle jerked, her hands pushing against Asta's chest on instinct. He staggered back, his grip loosening just enough for her to slip free.
Her head whipped toward the source of the voice.
Mimosa.
Standing at the end of the corridor, wide-eyed, gaping.
Oh, no.
Asta groaned, rubbing the back of his head like he'd just been caught stealing cookies from the kitchen.
Noelle, on the other hand, was rapidly descending into full-body mortification.
Mimosa opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I—was just—um—looking for you!" She laughed awkwardly, cheeks bright red. "But—I can see you're—uh—busy?"
Noelle wanted to die.
"Nothing happened," she said immediately.
Mimosa nodded rapidly. "Oh! Of course! Nothing at all! Haha—" Her eyes flickered to Asta, who was now grinning like a devil. "Um. I'll just—go."
She fled.
The silence she left behind was deafening.
Noelle groaned, pressing her face into her hands.
Asta chuckled, completely unfazed. "Well," he said, voice way too amused, "that could've gone worse."
She turned, glared at him, and stormed off without another word.
She needed to think.
Because what the hell just happened?!
—
Noelle didn't sleep that night.
She tossed, turned, buried her face into her pillow, and groaned into it so loudly that Secre—who had made herself comfortable on Noelle's window ledge—lifted an unimpressed brow.
It had been hours since… that. Since Asta had cornered her, touched her, spoken to her like that. Since he had declared—so matter-of-factly, so possessively—that she belonged to him.
Noelle clenched her jaw, flipping onto her back and staring up at the ceiling.
It was absurd. Insane.
Asta didn't do things like this. He was supposed to be a lovable idiot who spouted nonsense about being the Wizard King and never understood romance even if it punched him in the face.
But this—
This wasn't idiocy.
It wasn't even confidence.
It was something deeper, darker. Something feral.
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that she hadn't hated it.
She should've pushed him away. Should've yelled at him, called him an idiot, told him he was being ridiculous.
Instead… she had frozen.
Instead… she had trembled.
Instead… she had wanted him to do more.
Noelle shut her eyes tightly.
This was a problem.
A problem she needed to put a stop to immediately.
—
The next morning, Noelle stormed into the Black Bulls' hideout, her face set in stone.
Several members paused mid-breakfast to watch her with wary curiosity. Luck, who had been gnawing on a piece of meat, blinked.
"Uh. Noelle?"
"I'm looking for Asta," she said crisply.
Before anyone could answer, a crash came from upstairs, followed by a startled yelp.
She didn't wait.
She marched up the stairs and down the hall, ignoring the concerned voices behind her.
Asta's room.
She reached it in a matter of seconds, lifted her fist, and—
The door swung open before she could knock.
Noelle barely had time to react before she was yanked inside.
The door slammed shut.
And suddenly, she was pressed against it—again.
Heat. Strength. The solid wall of Asta's chest, his hands planted firmly against the wood on either side of her head.
A repeat of last night.
Noelle sucked in a sharp breath, her body going rigid.
"You just keep walking right into my trap, huh?" Asta mused, voice dripping with amusement.
Her eyes snapped up to glare at him. "Asta, you—!"
"Couldn't stop thinking about me?" he interrupted, smirking. "Yeah. Same."
She twitched.
He was enjoying this.
She could see it—see the barely restrained excitement in the way he loomed over her, the way his muscles coiled, like he was waiting for an excuse to close the gap.
Noelle gritted her teeth. "Enough."
Asta tilted his head.
"You're out of control," she snapped. "I don't care what devil instincts or whatever have taken hold of you—you can't just go around declaring that I belong to you!"
"Why not?" he asked simply.
Noelle froze.
His tone—so casual, so unbothered—nearly made her brain short-circuit.
"Wh—" She gawked at him. "What do you mean, 'why not'?!"
Asta exhaled, looking almost exasperated. "Noelle."
And then he moved.
His forehead pressed against hers, his body caging her in completely.
Her breath hitched.
Asta's voice lowered. "I don't want anyone else touching you. I don't want anyone else even thinking they have a chance with you." His fingers twitched against the wood. "It makes me feel like I want to rip their damn heads off."
Her pulse spiked.
"I don't like this feeling," he admitted. "But I love you, Noelle."
Noelle's breath stopped.
The world around her blurred.
"I love you," Asta repeated, softer this time. "I love you so much it makes me feel crazy." His hands curled into fists. "And last night, when you didn't push me away…"
His lips brushed her ear.
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
A shiver tore through her body.
She couldn't lie.
Not when he was right there, his presence wrapping around her like a suffocating heat. Not when her body betrayed her, reacting to every little thing he did.
Asta pulled back just enough to look at her.
Noelle's hands clenched at her sides.
Her pride—her stubbornness—screamed at her to fight this.
But she was so, so tired of fighting.
So instead of answering—
She kissed him.
It wasn't graceful.
It wasn't practiced.
It was messy and clumsy, a collision of lips filled with frustration and tension and something achingly raw.
Asta froze.
For the first time, he looked shocked.
Noelle felt an overwhelming rush of satisfaction.
Then—
Asta growled.
And the last sliver of restraint in him snapped.
She barely had time to gasp before he grabbed her, hauling her into his arms, kicking the door open with unnecessary force.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the sound of Luck howling in laughter from downstairs.
And then—
She was thrown onto his bed.
Noelle barely had time to react before Asta was on her, pinning her down, his green eyes completely overtaken by red.
"You started this," he murmured.
Her breath hitched.
"And I'm finishing it."
His fingers found the laces of her dress.
Noelle swallowed, her body burning.
And for the first time, she let it happen.