vylosinbound

[vylosinbound]

Hello Vylo! I’ve just discovered your account and love it! May I request a spicy Lucifer scenario with a fem reader? Keep doing what you do!!! Have an amazing day!!

Aaaahh hello!! 💌 First of all, thank you so much for such a sweet message! 😭 You just made my day with this, truly. Now... Lucifer, you say? Oh, I ADORE Lucifer. He lives rent-free in my brain 24/7 and let me tell you, I’ve been waiting for someone to drop a request like this!

LUCIFER

Fingers like fire

Characters: Lucifer x Fem!MC

Genre: Smut / Suggestive / Intimate / Late-night tension / private performance / slow seduction

Late at night, the House of Lamentation lies in silence, except for the haunting melody echoing from the music room. Drawn by the sound, you find Lucifer alone at the grand piano, shirt sleeves rolled, eyes closed in concentration. But the moment he notices your presence, the music halts, and a different kind of tension begins to play between you.

It was well past midnight when you padded quietly into the kitchen of the House of Lamentation.

The rest of the manor slept, or at least, it should have, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only the darkest hours could bring. The hallways had grown cold, their shadows long and undisturbed, as if even the walls themselves had slipped into slumber. But you... you were awake.

Sleep had remained stubbornly out of reach, like a memory just beyond your grasp. No position under your blankets was comfortable, no amount of shifting and sighing had helped lull your mind. Thoughts chased themselves in loops, pointless, wandering, irritating, and in the end, you'd surrendered to the weight of restlessness.

You’d hoped that a calming tisana might help, something warm and gentle to coax you into peace. So you found yourself now leaning against the marble countertop, a mug cupped between your hands as it steeped, wisps of herbal steam curling up and brushing your face. The soft hum of the kettle settling into silence was the only sound.

Until you heard it.

A note, subtle, low, barely noticeable at first. Then another, its twin, following like a ghost echo. It wasn't the creaking of the old floorboards, nor the sigh of the wind outside. It was unmistakably music, smooth, elegant, achingly refined. A piano, played slowly. Thoughtfully.

Your heart gave a little pull in recognition.

Of course. Lucifer.

There was no need to wonder who it could be. He was the only one in the house who played the piano, the only one with that level of grace and precision in his touch. Even without seeing him, you could hear the way his hands moved across the keys, fluid, restrained, exacting. Every note chosen. Every silence intentional. His music wasn’t just sound; it was structure, balance… discipline. It was so very him.

You took a breath. Lucifer was also the only one whose sleep habits were worse than your own.

Even if he didn’t say it out loud, you knew, he carried too many responsibilities, too many expectations. Between Diavolo’s diplomatic obligations, the daily chaos of his brothers, and the constant need to maintain order in a house full of demons… rest had never been a priority. Or maybe it was simply something he didn’t know how to allow himself.

The melody drifted again, this time clearer. It was coming from the music room, just down the hall from the kitchen. You hesitated.

This was a side of Lucifer few saw. He played only when he believed himself alone, late at night, when the world demanded nothing of him. It was personal. Intimate. A confession in melody, rather than words.

Still holding your mug, you stepped softly from the kitchen and into the hallway, drawn like a thread to the sound. Your footsteps were careful, your breath quiet, as though afraid to disturb the fragile web of sound he was weaving.

When you reached the doorway, you paused.

The lights in the room were low, only a single dim lamp cast a pool of golden glow around the grand piano. And there he was.

Lucifer sat with his back to you, perched on the polished bench with posture as perfect as ever. His jacket had been discarded, thrown across a nearby chair. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, dark sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing pale skin and elegant wrists that moved with mesmerizing control. He didn’t look tired, he looked... focused. But not in the way he did during meetings or arguments or paperwork. This focus was gentler, deeper. Almost melancholic.

You watched the way his fingers danced. They weren’t rushed or performative. No, he played slowly, deliberately. The music seemed to linger in the air, as if even the notes didn’t want to leave the warmth of his touch.

You stood there for what felt like a long time, unable to move, barely breathing.

It wasn’t until a quiet note faded into silence that Lucifer finally spoke. “I was wondering how long you’d stay hidden.” His voice, smooth and unshaken, cut through the hush like silk. He hadn’t even turned around. Caught, you smiled softly and took a step inside. “You knew I was there?” “I always do,” he replied, and turned his head over his shoulder just enough to look at you, the barest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised. You don’t usually wander the halls this late.” You walked in slowly, the mug warming your palms. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought a tisana might help. Then… I heard you.” Lucifer nodded, turning back to the keys. “And you came closer anyway, knowing I dislike being interrupted.” “I thought I wasn’t interrupting,” you said, your voice lighter than your heartbeat. There was a pause.

Then, in a tone lower and more thoughtful: “You aren’t.” He gestured with his chin toward the small velvet sofa by the window. “Stay. If you’d like.”

You crossed the room and sat, tucking your legs under you, the steam from your mug rising in lazy spirals. From this angle, you could see more of his profile now, his dark lashes lowered in concentration, his jawline kissed by the amber light, the sharp contrast of his fingers against the white keys. There was something hauntingly beautiful about him like this. Alone. Bare. Unmasked.

He began playing again. This time, slower.

It wasn’t a sonata. Not something rehearsed. It felt improvised, drifting and intimate, like he was trying to speak to you in a language that didn’t need words.

And somehow, you understood.

As the music filled the room again, your thoughts quieted. The tension in your shoulders eased. It wasn’t sleep, but it was the closest thing you’d felt to calm all evening.

You took a sip of your tisana and let the melody wash over you, feeling, for the first time in hours, that maybe you didn’t need to run from the night. Not when he was here. Not when he was playing.

The silence settled between the two of you like a velvet curtainsoft, heavy, comforting... but undeniably present. The melody faded into stillness, and for a moment neither of you moved.

The piano's final note still seemed to linger in the air, echoing in the hollows of your chest.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers curling a little tighter around the warm ceramic of your mug. The herbal scent was calming, yes, but it was nothing compared to the subtle scent of Lucifer that reached you from across the room, cedarwood, ink, something darker… something unmistakably him.

Your gaze had drifted unconsciously, drawn not to his face now, but lower. To his hands.

Those same hands that had glided effortlessly across the keys just moments ago. Precise. Deliberate. Controlled. Even in rest, his fingers hovered above the piano with quiet strength, like they still remembered the music they had conjured, and were waiting to call it back.

You hadn’t meant to stare. But you couldn’t help it.

Each motion had been so elegant, so fluid... and yet, all you could think about now was how those same fingers might move off the piano. What they’d feel like wrapped around your wrist, brushing your cheekbone, skimming down.

You blinked. A flush crawled up your neck, burning under your skin like the tea in your hands.

Lucifer didn’t speak. Not right away. He seemed to sense the change in the air, because he finally stopped playing and placed both hands lightly on his thighs, straightening with that signature composure of his. But he didn’t turn. He didn’t look at you.

He could feel your eyes on him. You’re unusually quiet,” he murmured, low and velvety. “Are you always this silent? Or is it... something else?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but only barely. More curiosity than humor. More tension than ease.

Your heart gave a single hard thud against your ribs. You hesitated before replying. “It’s just... you.” He finally turned to look at you.

Your breath caught.

The low light framed his features in gold, sharp, regal, composed. But there was something different in his eyes now. Something unreadable. As if he were trying to study you the same way you’d just studied him. “Me?” he repeated, softly. “What about me?”

You sipped your tea only to avoid answering. The warmth of the mug grounded you, but barely. You set it down gently on the windowsill beside you. “I don’t know. You just seem... different when you’re playing. More open. Like I’m seeing something I’m not supposed to.”

He gave a quiet hum, then rose from the bench in one fluid movement. You didn’t flinch, but your whole body tensed subtly when he crossed the space between you, slow, confident, silent as a shadow. He didn’t sit. He stood before you, towering slightly even as you looked up at him from the sofa. “And what exactly do you think you’re seeing, MC?”

There it was again, that voice. Smooth as silk. Sharp as a blade. His eyes were half-lidded now, studying you as if you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. Your tongue felt heavy. There was a hum in your ears, a quiet static of tension and heat. You licked your lips, and you saw his eyes flicker. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Maybe something I shouldn’t.”

That drew a quiet chuckle from him, low in his throat. “I see.” There was a pause. He reached out, slow and careful, and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, so barely there it could’ve been a whisper of contact. Your breath caught. “It’s dangerous,” he said quietly, “to get too close to the things you’re not supposed to see." “And yet you didn’t stop me,” you replied. Lucifer’s lips curled, just a fraction. “No. I didn’t.”

He let his hand drop. You expected him to pull away. Instead, he moved a little closer, leaning against the arm of the sofa. Not touching, but close enough that the warmth of his body reached you through the thin fabric of your pajamas. The scent of him was stronger now, and you couldn’t help leaning just slightly in his direction. “Do you want to hear more?” he asked, voice barely above a murmur. You looked at him, really looked, and something soft curled in your chest. “Only if you want me to.”

Another pause. His eyes darkened a little. “Then stay. Just a little longer.” He didn’t touch you again, not yet. But his thigh brushed yours as he stood and returned to the piano. His back was to you again… and yet, the space between you now felt different.

Thicker.

Charged.

You knew, without words, that this night wasn’t over. And somewhere deep inside, you were hoping it was only just beginning.

The room felt warmer. No... not the room. You.

Lucifer’s fingers danced back across the piano keys, but the melody this time was slower. Richer. Deeper. Like each note was chosen not for the music, but for the atmosphere it created, sultry and languid, like honey dripping from a spoon.

And you sat there, still clutching the edge of your now-empty teacup, heart pounding with a rhythm that no longer matched the music.

He knew what he was doing.

Of course he did.

The way he played wasn’t just elegant, it was intentional. Each flick of his wrist, each sighing key beneath his fingertips, was a performance. But not for an audience of nobles or demons. This time, it was just for you.

He glanced over his shoulder, subtle, controlled, just to see if you were still watching. You were. Eyes locked on his back, flushed and heated. Knees pressed together beneath your oversized hoodie. Enjoying yourself?” The words were casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he said them. “You’re... very good,” you replied, breath catching slightly.

Lucifer stood again. He came straight to you. One slow step at a time, like a panther ready to pounce. And you… didn’t move. Couldn’t. The space between you evaporated as he reached you again, this time standing directly in front of you. “You’re trembling,” he said quietly, eyes dipping down to your legs.

You were. Just a little. “Maybe.” He leaned down. One hand braced beside your head on the back of the couch. The other reached down to your chin, lifting it again, but slower this time. Deliberate.

“So tell me,” he murmured, “do you tremble for the music… or for me?” Your breath hitched. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because when he dipped down and kissed you, full, slow, deliberate, you kissed him back without a second of hesitation. His lips were hot and smooth, and he tasted faintly of wine and something dark. Something that buzzed under your skin.

The kiss deepened quickly. His hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, guiding you into it. Possessive. Hungry. Like he’d been waiting for this, and now that he had it, he wouldn’t be satisfied with just one taste.

When you gasped into his mouth, his tongue slipped past your lips and you felt his smirk against you. He pulled back just barely, lips brushing yours with every word. “Do you know,” he whispered, “how often I imagine you like this?”

You whimpered. “Lucifer…” That one word, his name, from your lips, trembling and breathless, made something inside him snap.

In one swift movement, he had you pulled forward. He settled into the space behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, mouth finding the shell of your ear. “You came down for tea,” he said, breath hot against your skin. “But I think you found something far more satisfying.”

You shuddered, his voice settling in your stomach like wildfire. One of his hands slid slowly under your hoodie, gliding across your stomach, not too high, not too low. Just enough to make your entire body tense.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Or I’ll keep going.” You didn’t say a word. Instead, you leaned back against his chest, giving him your silent answer. His mouth curved. “Good.”

He takes your hand, firm, yet reverent, and guides you around the edge of the small velvet couch. There’s an urgency in his movements, but it’s laced with control, as though he’s restraining something far more primal. With a swift flick of his wrist, he closes the piano lid, the sound of it snapping shut echoing faintly through the dimly lit room. He turns back to you, his gaze molten, and in one smooth motion, lifts you to sit on top of it. Cold wood meets warm skin. You shiver, not from the surface beneath you, but from him.

He steps in between your parted legs, his body now nestled perfectly in the space you’ve so willingly offered. His hands rest on either side of you, palms planted on the piano. You’re caged, and you love it.

His lips crush against yours again, and this time the kiss is hungrier, deeper. You open your mouth for him the moment his tongue grazes your lower lip, inviting him in without hesitation. He tastes of sin and silk. Of everything you know you shouldn’t want, and yet crave with every fiber of your being.

One of his hands slides down, grazing the soft skin of your arm, your waist, until it finds the clasp of your bra. Without breaking the kiss, his fingers work with infuriating precision. Click. A soft sound. A dangerous promise. You gasp as the garment falls away. Before you can even process it, he tears the fragile thing from your body and tosses it to the floor, forgotten.

His hand is on your breast almost instantly, his touch both worshipful and greedy. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you again. His thumb brushes across your nipple and your breath catches. Your back arches slightly, pressing into him. Your body answers him like it knows no other language but his.

He leans in, his breath hot on your neck. “You’re always so responsive. So eager,” he murmurs. “You ache for me, don’t you?” You nod, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you manage to whisper. “I need you.” His lips curl against your skin. He kisses your jaw, slow and possessive, then trails a path down your neck. He takes his time, tasting every inch, marking you with each press of his mouth. When he reaches your shoulder, he bites, softly, but enough to make you flinch, to moan.

You barely notice the flicker of confusion that touches your face when he straightens, stepping back. Your body immediately feels the loss, cold air brushing against your heated skin.

Your arms reach for him, instinctively. Desperately. “Why did you stop?” you whisper, breathless. But he only looks at you, his eyes devouring the sight in front of him. There you are, perched on his piano in nothing but lace panties, flushed and trembling with need, your hair mussed, your lips swollen from his kiss.

“Lucifer, please…”

Those two words. The sound of your voice, the way you say his name, so soft, so desperate, it punches the breath right out of him. He twitches hard inside his pants, his control hanging by a thread.

He moves slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs, running a finger along the inside of your thigh, trailing upward, just shy of where you want him most.

His fingers move with slow, deliberate intent, brushing over the buttons of his black shirt one by one. Lucifer never allows himself to be seen like this, unguarded, exposed. But here, in front of you, he parts the fabric, revealing his chest inch by inch as if unveiling something sacred. There’s a divinity in him, dark and devastating. And tonight, that divinity belongs to you.

His eyes never leave yours as he lets the shirt fall to the floor behind him. “I don’t show myself like this to just anyone,” he says, voice low and velvety. “But you’re not just anyone.” The weight of those words presses between your thighs, hot and heavy.

You can’t speak, not when he’s kneeling in front of you now, not when his hands are already sliding down the curve of your hips. He hooks his fingers beneath your panties and pauses. You lift your hips, just slightly, obedient, eager. That’s all he needs.

He peels the lace down your legs with practiced ease, the soaked fabric clinging for only a moment before falling to the floor with a soft, humiliating wet sound. Lucifer looks at you, truly looks, and the slow, wicked smile that spreads across his lips is nothing short of triumphant.

“So wet for me already…” he murmurs, his voice almost amused, but thick with lust. Without warning, a single finger slides inside you. You gasp, sharp, startled, and your hands fly to his hair, tangling into those inky-black strands like you need them to keep you grounded.

But he isn’t done.

His mouth descends, and then, gods, his tongue drags slowly between your folds. He groans against you, savoring the taste like the finest wine. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your fingers tightening in his hair as your body arches toward him, completely lost in the pleasure.

He closes his lips around your clit, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue around it with maddening precision. Another finger pushes inside you, stretching you deliciously. He begins a rhythm, tongue and fingers working in sync, building pressure inside you like a rising tide.

“You taste like sin,” he whispers against you. “Like temptation itself.” You can barely breathe, let alone respond. When your fingers pull too hard at his hair, panic flickers in your chest. You glance down, lips parted in apology, worried you’ve gone too far, hurt him, provoked him.

But Lucifer only chuckles. The sound is rich, dark, indulgent, and when you look closer, he’s smiling, lips glistening, eyes burning. One of his hands is on himself now, stroking his hardened cock through his pants with lazy satisfaction, like he’s enjoying the show just as much as the taste of you. “So sensitive. I wonder what sound you’ll make when I finally fuck you.”

Your cunt clenches at his words, instinctive and desperate. And he feels it, feels you tighten around his fingers. That smirk returns, arrogant and feral. “Oh... you liked that, didn’t you?”

It doesn’t take more than a minute. Your body arches, your breath catches, and you finally let go, completely undone beneath his mouth, his hands, his voice. You don’t even realize he’s pulled back slightly. Not at first. You’re too lost in the high, in the trembling chaos of release. But then, You feel it.

The thick, deliberate pressure of his cock grinding against your swollen entrance, the blunt head teasing, rubbing, not quite inside. He’s hard and hot and dripping, and he doesn’t ease you into it. Not Lucifer. His fingers plunge back into you with sudden, ruthless force, fast, deep, relentless. You can’t keep up.Your body jerks with each thrust, legs shaking as your hands scramble to hold onto anything.

But all you find is him. His shoulders. His name. Your head falls back, mouth parted in a silent scream, as his lips return to your clit, biting, sucking, pushing you right to the edge again. He’s going to break you. And you want him to. But just as the peak rises again, just as you start to fall apart for the second time, he stops.

He pulls back. Mouth gone. Fingers gone.

The void he leaves behind is cruel, deliberate. A strangled whimper escapes your throat before you even realize it. You're shaking, your body aching for release, your orgasm torn just out of reach like a punishment.

You barely have time to breathe before he stands. Tall. Commanding. Intimidating in the most beautiful way. He looks down at you, still flushed, glistening, thighs spread across the piano like an offering. Without warning, his hand seizes your jaw. Strong fingers grip your cheeks, forcing your face up to him. The pressure isn’t painful, but there’s no mistaking who holds the power.

He tilts your chin until your eyes meet his. When did I say you could come?” His voice is low. Dangerous. Smooth like obsidian. He studies your expression with quiet amusement, watching the way you struggle between guilt and need. “I told you to be good for me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lip. “But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

His eyes darken as he watches you struggle beneath him, as if pleading for something you don’t even know how to ask for.

He releases your jaw, slowly, letting his fingers trail down your throat, brushing lightly over your collarbone as if savoring the contrast, his power against your surrender. The thick head of his cock pressing at your entrance, hot, heavy, relentless.

“No more teasing,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “I’ve waited long enough.” With one sharp thrust, he pushes inside. The air leaves your lungs in a broken gasp.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Doesn’t ask if you’re ready. He knows you are, your body has been begging for him from the first kiss. He drives into you slowly at first, savoring the stretch, the way you tighten around him like you were made for no one else.

Your hands clutch at his forearms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep him close, to keep him in. “Look at you,” voice rough now, frayed with pleasure. “Still so tight, even after I’ve ruined you with my fingers.”

He leans over you, bracing himself with one hand on the piano behind your head, while the other slides down to your thigh, lifting it higher, opening you even more for him.

He sets a punishing rhythm, slow, but deep and hard, each thrust claiming you again and again. Your nails dig into his back, your voice lost in the moans tumbling from your lips. His lips find your ear. “You’ll only ever come on my cock, do you understand me?”

You nod frantically, not even pretending to hide how badly you need him, how full he makes you feel, how perfectly he fits inside.

But he’s not done.

He pulls out almost entirely, leaving just the tip, before slamming back into you with a growl. Your cry echoes through the room, raw and shameless. The piano creaks beneath you. His name is a mantra on your lips.

He reaches down between you, his fingers finding your clit again, slick, swollen, aching. He circles it with practiced cruelty, watching your reaction with delight. “Come for me now,” he commands, voice pure sin. “Now.” And this time, you do.

Your body shatters around him, back arching off the polished surface, walls tightening in waves around his cock as you scream his name like a prayer. He doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it, riding your orgasm until he can’t hold back anymore. With a low, guttural sound, he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep as he comes, his hips stuttering against yours, eyes locked to your trembling, blissed-out expression.

Your body a mess of overstimulated nerves and lingering pleasure. Every inch of you is spent, used, filled, worshipped and wrecked.

Lucifer hasn’t moved.

He stays deep inside you for a long moment, his hand resting casually on your thigh, his eyes drinking in the sight of you completely undone beneath him. Your hair is a tangled halo. Your chest rises and falls in shallow gasps. Your lips are parted, swollen, still whispering his name.

And then, he smiles. That slow, prideful, wicked smile.

The kind that makes you feel like he hasn’t even begun with you. He leans down, brushing his lips over yours, not quite a kiss, more like a reminder that he owns every part of you now.

“Don’t think for a second that it’s over,” he whispers, his voice silk-wrapped steel. His hips roll slowly, just enough for you to feel him still thick and hard inside you. “You're not leaving this room,” he murmurs against your neck, biting softly at your skin, “until I’ve had my fill.” He thrusts again, deeper this time. You cry out, thighs instinctively tightening around his waist. “And darling... I’m nowhere near done with you.”

[vylosinbound]

haii!! hope requests r open..

could you write the brothers (+ side characters) finding mc jerking off while moaning their names? and could beel and belphie be like.. in the same one.. where they both fine him and decide to tease him?

thank you for the request! It was definitely a spicy one to explore, I’m glad you trusted me with something so bold!

Caught in the act

Their reaction to hearing you moan their name

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Suggestive / Heated / Tempting Tease

Caught in the act, but they don’t stop you. They smirk... and ask if you need help.

LUCIFER

The heavy door creaked open behind you.

You froze, heart pounding. But it was too late, Lucifer had already stepped inside, eyes dark and unreadable. “You truly have no shame… whispering my name so sweetly while wrapped in your own pleasure.”

His gloves came off slowly. Deliberately. “If you’re going to say my name like that, the least I could do…” he stepped closer, brushing your chin with elegant fingers, “...is show you how I say yours.”

The air around him pulsed with power and want. You were no longer in control.

MAMMON

“MC? You in here?” Silence. Then a broken moan of his name.

His breath hitched.

He stood there, stunned, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Then the corner of his mouth curled into something cocky. Dangerous.

“Y-you seriously want me that bad?” He dropped his jacket to the floor. “Then don’t hide under the blankets, babe. Let me help ya out.” His voice dropped an octave, and he knelt beside the bed. “You ain’t gonna finish this without me. Not now.”

LEVIATHAN

He entered your room to ask about a game, then stopped cold.

Your voice trembled, soft and needy, his name escaping your lips like a prayer. He turned crimson. His hand gripped the doorframe for balance.

“O-omg, you’re actually… thinking of me?”

Then, slowly, nervously, he stepped closer. “Do… do you want the real Levi? I mean, the real real one.” He reached out to stroke your flushed cheek. “If you’ll let me, I’ll make your fantasy even better…”

SATAN

He heard his name in the softest moan. Your voice. Yearning.

He entered the room with a calm expression, though his green eyes burned. “I didn’t expect you to be so bold,” he said, shutting the door behind him. He reached for your wrist gently, guiding your hand away.

“You’ve had your fun,” he murmured, mouth close to your ear. “Now it’s my turn to teach you how to truly use a name in bed.” The bed dipped beneath his weight. Your world blurred.

ASMODEUS

He burst in without knocking, and froze.

You were tangled in sheets, cheeks flushed, breathy with need. And his name had just slipped past your lips.

A flush lit up his cheeks, and then...“Oh, darling,” he said, grinning wide, “why didn’t you invite me to this beautiful show?”

He climbed onto the bed, straddling the space beside you. “One hand for yours, one hand for fun,” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “Let me be the one who makes you cry out my name , louder this time.”

BEELZEBUB & BELPHEGOR

Beel entered first, stopping mid-step. Then came Belphegor, peering behind him. “...You moaned my name first,” Belphegor said, smirking.

“But I got here first,” Beel replied, lips parted and curious. Their eyes locked onto yours. “Well,” Belphegor whispered, sauntering over, “you called us. Didn’t you expect us to come?”

Beel sat beside you, warm hand brushing your thigh. “You look like you could use both of us,” he said softly. Their fingers, their heat, their wicked grins, there was no escaping.

[vylosinbound]

Too sweet for words

MC gets emotional when words hit just right.

Part two

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, Simeon, Raphael, Thirteen, Mephistopheles.

Genre: Fluff / Light Comfort

MC tends to get visibly emotional, whenever someone says something truly heartfelt or sweet to them. The side characters begin to notice, and their reactions vary… from teasing, to affectionate, to downright protective.

DIAVOLO

He’s laughing with you about something ridiculous when he pauses, eyes softening. “You really bring light into this realm, you know that? I think… the Devildom’s a better place because of you.”

You blink up at him, trying to keep your smile steady, but the warmth in his voice and the weight of his words hit like a wave. Your eyes shine almost instantly.

“Are you, are those tears?” he asks, startled but endeared. “Oh no, did I go too far?” You shake your head with a laugh that’s half-sigh, and he just pulls you into a bear hug. “I’ll tone it down,” he whispers. “Or maybe I won’t. You’re adorable like this.”

BARBATOS

The butler sets down a freshly brewed cup of your favorite tea. “I remembered how much you liked this blend from last week,” he says, voice smooth like the drink he offers. “And I must say… Your presence is a rare kind of peace, even in a timeless castle like this.”

Your lips tremble in a smile, and when your gaze lowers with emotion, Barbatos tilts his head.

“Ah, I see,” he muses. “You’re the kind of person who truly feels. That is… remarkable.” He gently dabs beneath your eye with a silk handkerchief. “Shall I continue, or would it be too dangerous?”

SOLOMON

“You know,” he says, nonchalantly leaning against the table, “for all the magic I’ve seen, nothing surprises me quite like you. You make immortality seem… less lonely.”

You glance at him, heart fluttering, and your face betrays it all. The emotion rises before you can stop it.

“Oh,” he chuckles, nudging your chin up. “Got you, didn’t I? Caught you right in the feels.” You roll your eyes with a smile, wiping the corners of your eyes. “I should say nice things to you more often. For science, obviously.”

SIMEON

He’s always gentle, but today he reaches out, taking your hand. “You have a gift… You listen like every word matters, and you care with your whole heart. The Celestial Realm could learn something from you.”

It’s said with such honest reverence that your breath catches, and your lashes flutter with the effort of holding it in.

Simeon just smiles warmly. “You don’t have to hide those feelings,” he whispers. “They’re what make you radiant.”

RAPHAEL

He doesn’t usually say things outright, not like the others, but this time, his voice is quiet. “It’s rare… to meet someone who makes me reconsider the way I see the world. But you do.”

Your throat tightens. The sincerity behind his normally stoic facade cuts deeper than expected.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs, noticing the shimmer in your gaze. “The soft eyes thing.” You lightly elbow him, and he gives the smallest smirk. “I’ll be careful next time. Or not.”

THIRTEEN

“You’re like… stupidly good, you know?” she says, arms crossed. “Like, disgustingly sweet. And sometimes I wonder how someone like you even likes hanging out with someone like me.”

You try to reply, but emotion chokes the words. Thirteen squints.

“Are you crying?? Omg, wait, no, don’t do that! I didn’t mean to make you sad!” You reassure her with a watery laugh. “Ugh, you’re such a softie. Okay fine, I’ll hug you. But only this once! …Or maybe twice.”

MEPHISTO

He rolls his eyes mid-conversation. “You’re infuriatingly likable, you know. And somehow, I don't even mind it. You… brighten rooms. I hate that it’s true.”

He scoffs as you turn away, blinking fast.

“Are you tearing up right now?” You nod a little, flustered. “Oh great. Now I feel bad for saying something genuine.” He hands you a silk pocket square with a grumble. “Here. And don’t tell anyone I made you cry. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

@scr0lling4days0nend

[vylosinbound]

Halloo, can I please request a scenario where MC's overally emotional whenever someone or somebody starts saying the most sweetest and or the most heartwarming thing to them?? With the demon brother's and dateables(*^^*)

Hopefully what I said made sense( ;´･ω･`)

I absolutely loved the idea of MC being so emotionally touched by sweet and heartfelt words, it’s honestly such a soft and wholesome concept that fits beautifully with all the characters. As always, the side characters will be featured in a second part so I could give them the proper attention and space they deserve!

Too sweet for words

MC gets emotional when words hit just right.

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor

Genre: Fluff / Light Comfort

MC tends to get visibly emotional, whenever someone says something truly heartfelt or sweet to them. The brothers begin to notice, and their reactions vary… from teasing, to affectionate, to downright protective.

LUCIFER

You weren’t expecting Lucifer to say something so kind, especially not during such a casual moment. He had been helping you organize some old documents in the House of Lamentation study. You muttered a tired sigh, and he suddenly looked at you, pausing his work.

“I’m proud of you,” he said simply. “You’ve handled so much more than anyone expected... even more than you know.”

The moment hit you like a soft punch to the chest. Your eyes glazed with emotion, and your fingers stilled over the page you were flipping. You looked down quickly, blinking rapidly. Lucifer noticed. He gently closed the folder between you. “...You’re crying,” he murmured, voice unusually soft.

“No, just, my eyes sting a little.” “Tears of strength, then,” he said, before brushing a gloved thumb under your eye without another word.

MAMMON

It happened when he bought you a charm, a silly little trinket shaped like a Devildom gold coin.

“Got it for ya. Y’know, ‘cause you’re my treasure and all that...” he mumbled, refusing to meet your eyes. You blinked down at the coin, smiling a little too widely. The way he said it, so awkwardly sincere, tugged something deep in your chest.

Your eyes went glassy before you could stop it. “H-Hey!” Mammon suddenly flailed. “Don’t cry! Crap, was it too cheesy? I ain’t good at this stuff!” You laughed through it. “No, dummy. It was perfect." “O-Oh. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flushed. “Well... good. You better keep it forever.”

LEVIATHAN

Levi was rambling about his latest favorite anime when he paused and looked at you very seriously. “Y’know, I always thought no one would ever want to be around me. But you... you make me feel like I’m not a mistake.”

Your breath caught. A warm pressure built behind your eyes. Levi blinked at you in horror. “W-Wait, are you okay? You’re tearing up!! Was it too cringe?!”

You laughed shakily, wiping at the corners of your eyes. “It was actually the nicest thing I’ve heard all week.” His face went bright red. “Y-You’re... really unfair, you know that?! Saying things like that back—!”

SATAN

You had gifted Satan a rare book you tracked down yourself. He flipped through it, stunned, before closing it gently.

“You always know what I need,” he said. “Even when I don’t say a word.” You smiled, a little too tenderly, and it showed in the shimmer of your eyes.

Satan set the book down slowly, gaze never leaving yours. “...Did that move you?” You nodded, swallowing past the emotion. “Then I’ll have to say it more often,” he whispered, brushing your hand lightly. “You deserve words that make your heart tremble.”

ASMODEUS

Asmo was doing your hair when he suddenly leaned in and whispered softly near your ear: “You don’t have to do a thing to be loved. You already are.” You blinked slowly, heart stuttering. “I mean it,” he added, catching your gaze in the mirror. “I see it in every little thing you do.”

You exhaled shakily. Your lashes fluttered as tears threatened, not from sadness, but from being seen. “Awww, look at you~” Asmo cooed, beaming. “So precious. I love making you feel loved.” He gently dabbed your eyes with a tissue before your mascara could smudge.

BEELZEBUB

You were handing him a snack as usual when Beel suddenly reached over, placing a hand atop yours. “You always think about everyone else. I hope you remember someone thinks about you too. Me.”

It was so earnest. So purely Beel. You looked up at him with a soft, open gaze, but your vision blurred before you could say anything.

“...Oh. Are your eyes okay?” he asked, gently tilting his head. “Did something get in them?” You shook your head, brushing at your cheeks. “It’s fine. Just something sweet got to me.”. “Was it what I said?” You nodded. He smiled and offered you half his cookie. “Then I’m glad.”

BELPHEGOR

You were dozing next to him when he murmured half-asleep: “You’re the only reason I dream in colors now…” You stilled. His voice had been so soft, unsure if he even knew he said it aloud.

You turned, touched his arm, but Belphie opened one eye and frowned softly. “Hey... why are your eyes wet?” You smiled, wiping them quickly. “You’re sweet when you’re half-awake.”. “Tch... I better not make that a habit,” he muttered, hiding his face in your neck. “But if you cry like that... maybe once in a while.”

[vylosinbound]

Hi hi!! ^^ It’s me again, the one who requested the artist reader :>> i wanted to share another request if ever you choose this one <33 this might be a little suggestive, but not too much, just kissing them-

GN! Mc with the brothers (+solomon if you can!) who just suddenly approaches them and gives them a kiss on the lips, slightly making it last long on purpose before pulling back, turning around and walking away without a word and as if nothing even happened. It can be a bit funny, at the same time just a little teasing towards them :))

Thank you for such a fun and cheeky idea, it has the perfect mix of teasing, surprise, and a little bit of chaos😆

Stolen kisses

Their stunned response to MC’s kiss

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor and Solomon

Genre: Fluff / Comedy / Light Romantic Tension

MC kisses them suddenly, slow, lingering, teasing, and walks away like nothing happened. The tension? Unmatched.

LUCIFER

You approached him while he was lost in thought . He was standing near the stairs, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other cradling a glass of demonus. His eyes flicked toward you with their usual cool precision, but before he could speak, your lips pressed to his. Slow, controlled. Deliberate. His breath caught, not because he wasn’t expecting it, but because of how long it lasted. You pulled back, your eyes locking with his for one slow heartbeat… then you turned and walked away. No words. No smirk.

Behind you, Lucifer’s fingers twitched, his glass forgotten. “…You little minx,” he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You’ll pay for that later."

MAMMON

Oi, MC, whatcha—" You kissed him. No warning. No teasing glance. Just lips to lips, hands grazing the lapels of his jacket as you leaned in and took your time. His hands flailed at first, then landed lightly on your waist as he made a shocked little noise into the kiss. When you pulled away, Mammon looked completely short-circuited. You turned and walked off without even looking back.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then finally yelled, "HUH?! W-WHAT WAS THAT?! YOU CAN'T JUST... WAIT, COME BACK!"

But he was smiling like an idiot, face beet red.

LEVIATHAN

He was sitting on the floor of his room, headphones on, watching an anime when you climbed into his space. He barely registered your presence until your lips were already on his. It was soft at first… then firmer. Deeper. You lingered, fingers brushing against the side of his neck. When you pulled away, Levi's eyes were wide and glossy behind his bangs.

"ERROR. ERROR. SYSTEM OVERLOAD," he stammered, face flushed to the tips of his ears. You winked and walked out. "YOU NORMIE—wait… wait, I-I think I need to lie down."

SATAN

He was leaning over a book in the library when your shadow crossed his page. He looked up with a gentle, questioning smile. You didn’t say anything, just cupped his jaw and kissed him slowly, your lips brushing once, twice, and lingering. He dropped the book. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

You broke the kiss and walked away.

He sat frozen for a long second, processing. Then, with a slow, pleased smirk, he murmured, "Well… that was utterly dangerous of you."

ASMODEUS

You found him admiring himself in the mirror, humming a tune. He turned just in time for you to kiss him. His eyes widened, then fluttered closed as he leaned in with a pleased sigh. He kissed back, far too willingly, and when you pulled away and turned to leave, he gasped.

“MC!” he called dramatically, lips still tingling. “You can’t just tease me like that! Ugh, my heart! I need another, no, five more! Come back here!”

BEELZEBUB

He had food in both hands, halfway through a chocolate pastry. When you stepped close and tugged gently at his sleeve, he looked down at you, confused. Before he could ask, your lips met his. He froze, his snack forgotten. You kissed him gently, warmly. He blinked down at you, chewing paused.

You pulled back and walked away with a wink.

He stood still for several seconds. Then slowly took another bite. “…I think that tasted better than the pastry,” he mumbled.

BELPHEGOR

You caught him dozing on the planetarium couch. He cracked one eye open lazily. "What is it...?"

You leaned down and pressed a long, sleepy kiss to his lips. He hummed into it , drowsy but clearly enjoying it. When you pulled back, he blinked slowly. “Mm… come back here,” he murmured, reaching for you.

But you were already walking away with a grin. “…Rude,” he mumbled, curling back up with a smirk.

SOLOMON

He was brewing something in the kitchen. Focused. Serious. Until your lips brushed his. A teasing little kiss that turned deeper when he didn't pull away. His hand stilled over the spoon, then moved to your waist. But before he could lean in further, you pulled away and turned like nothing happened.

Solomon stared after you.

Then chuckled. “Oh, you’re playing a dangerous game, dear MC. And I do love dangerous games.”

[vylosinbound]

May I request Dia x MC who is afraid bc she doesn't wanna have a kid but she knows Dia needs an heir? It's okay, If not. (I also said she, since yk, pregnancy)

Thank you for your request, and I hope you’ll enjoy what’s coming next! 💕

DIAVOLO

The weight of legacy

Characters: Diavolo x femMC!

Genre: Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Introspective Romance

MC, though deeply in love with Diavolo, carries a fear she hasn’t dared to voice: she doesn’t want to have children. Not because of Diavolo , but because the idea of pregnancy terrifies her.

The ballroom shimmered in a warm, ethereal light, soft gold interwoven with glimmers of opaline white, like sunlight filtered through morning mist. The glow seemed to dance along the high vaulted ceilings, catching in the folds of gossamer drapery and flickering off chandeliers that hung like frozen constellations. From the towering obsidian pillars, rich silken banners cascaded downward in long, regal streams, purple, and midnight blue, swaying with the movement of the air, as though the room itself breathed. The scent of burning lavender and crushed pomegranate curled through the vast chamber like an invisible enchantment. It clung to the air, sweet and spiced, familiar yet otherworldly, luring the senses into reverie. It was the perfume of forgotten summers, of sacred rituals, of whispered promises sealed in secret.

Your heels clicked against the marble floor with a delicate rhythm, the sound almost lost beneath the swell of velvet music that poured from a hidden orchestra, violas weeping in waltz-time, flutes trilling like birds in a golden cage. The marble beneath your feet gleamed like still water, reflecting fractured glimpses of gowns, masks, and jeweled finery as you moved. At your side, Diavolo walked like a vision carved from fire and shadow, his presence magnetic, unquestioned. You followed him through the sea of nobles, creatures of elegance and excess, each one adorned as if they stepped from a dream. Gowns bloomed like exotic flowers, shimmering with pearls and moonlight. Capes fluttered like the wings of mythic birds. Masks hid secrets behind feathers, lace, and gold, their eyes glinting with curiosity and quiet hunger. Laughter danced like wind chimes caught in a breeze. Glasses clinked, catching the light like cut crystal stars. Every voice was dipped in honey or smoke, every gesture laced with old grace and newer intentions. The atmosphere was heavy with charm and something deeper, something unspoken. It was a world wrapped in velvet and perfume, dressed in masks, stitched together by music and illusion. And you, poised within it all, felt the surreal weight of the moment: the grandeur, the unreality, the pulse of magic that thrummed just beneath the surface.

He looked radiant tonight. Not just handsome, not merely royal. Radiant. The rich red and black of his formal robes caught the light just right, and the smile he wore as he nodded to guests and shared short laughs was genuine, warm. He had a presence that demanded attention, and tonight, all of it belonged to him.

And you were by his side.

He had made sure of it. You weren’t just his guest. You were his partner, his consort in all but name. You'd spent the evening quietly observing how he reached for your hand without thought, leaned closer to whisper jokes, introduced you with pride. It should've felt like a dream. But there was an invisible weight pressing against your ribs. It had started earlier in the evening, when one of the older nobles had approached you both. An elegant woman, maybe a duchess or a countess, with eyes like onyx and a smile too sharp to be genuine. She had bowed low to Diavolo, then turned to you with a glimmer in her eye. "When the royal heir arrives, I hope they have your grace, young one. The Devildom could use beauty and strength together in one crown." It was a compliment. Everyone laughed. Even Diavolo gave a soft chuckle and thanked her. But your breath had caught in your throat like a hook.

Heir. Your fingers had clenched slightly around your wine glass. And the thought had festered since.

Now, as you stood at the edge of the dance floor, pretending to be focused on the music, your thoughts were all over the place. You kept your expression calm, kept your posture steady, but inside, everything was spinning. You knew it was only a matter of time. Diavolo was a prince, the future king of the Devildom. His life wasn’t entirely his own. It was tied to tradition, to duty, to things older than either of you. No matter how kind he was, no matter how modern or gentle or loving, there were some expectations that even he couldn’t escape.

And you... You weren’t sure you could give him what everyone else expected. It wasn’t just about saying no. It was fear. Real, gut-deep fear. You’d read about what pregnancies were like in the Devildom. About how the presence of demonic energy made everything more intense, more unpredictable, more dangerous. The way the body had to adapt to something it was never meant to carry. The way the child wouldn’t just take from you physically, but magically. Spiritually. How some didn’t survive it.

And his mother? Dead. She died giving birth to him.

That thought stuck with you. You couldn’t shake it. The idea of your body being pushed past its limits, of something growing inside you and feeding off your mana, your strength, your very sense of self, it scared you more than you could admit out loud. What if you broke? What if loving him meant losing yourself completely?And yet... what would it mean to walk away?

The ballroom had grown louder, the laughter and clinking of crystal echoing against the polished marble walls of the castle. Music floated through the air like silk, elegant and noble, underscoring the carefully orchestrated warmth of Lord Diavolo’s evening gathering.

You stood not far from the refreshments, a glass of wine held lightly between your fingers, half-forgotten. Your smile, if one could even call it that, was gentle but strained. The kind of expression meant to blend in, not stand out. Your gaze drifted across the crowd, past nobles in dazzling attire and masked strangers engaged in charming conversation, but you weren’t really seeing any of them. Your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Thoughts you didn’t want. Feelings you didn’t ask for. Words from earlier still lingered in your chest like dust refusing to settle. “It’s only natural,” someone had said, in that casual, well-meaning tone people use when they don’t realize they’re holding a knife. “He’ll need an heir, eventually. It’s tradition.” They hadn’t said it to hurt you. Maybe they hadn’t even been speaking directly to you. But it had landed anyway, heavy and quiet, like a stone dropped into a deep lake. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

You brought the glass to your lips, but didn’t drink.

Around you, the celebration pulsed on, laughter, elegance, the soft swirl of gowns against polished floors. Everything was beautiful. Everything was perfect. And yet, you felt out of place. Like a ghost in silk. A guest in a life you were still unsure you belonged to.

Would Diavolo understand? Could he? He was so full of light, of warmth and vision. But this, this fear inside you, wasn’t something that could be reasoned with or softened by kind words. It wasn’t about logic or even love. It was something deeper. Something that lived in your bones. Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass. You didn’t want to ruin this night. You didn’t want to be the shadow at the edge of his golden world. But the truth was still there, sitting quietly behind your eyes. And it wasn’t going away.

You hadn’t noticed Diavolo watching you.

He had been speaking with Lucifer, head dipped respectfully as the two exchanged a few quiet words about upcoming arrangements, another RAD engagement, another ceremony, another responsibility waiting to be handled. But even as he nodded and responded with practiced ease, Diavolo’s gaze kept drifting, slipping past Lucifer’s shoulder, drawn back to you.

He saw it immediately.

The shift in your body. The way your posture had straightened a little too suddenly, shoulders a touch too tense. The fingers wrapped around the stem of your glass, still, but not relaxed. And your face… calm, composed, but not present. Your smile had faltered. Just slightly. Just enough for him to know something had turned inside you. There was a sadness in your eyes, quiet but unmistakable. An ache he recognized with painful clarity.

He didn’t need to ask. He didn’t need to wait.

Lucifer was still speaking when Diavolo set his own glass down with a soft clink and murmured a gentle, “Excuse me.” No excuses. No delay. Just calm, focused urgency in his stride as he stepped away from the conversation and walked straight toward you.

You blinked in surprise as his presence wrapped around you like a sudden warmth, the familiar shadow of him stretching across your feet. “Dance with me,” he said, simply. There was no command in it, no expectation, just an invitation. Soft and steady. A request spoken with the kind of warmth that slipped into your ribs before you could think of saying no. A request meant for you, not for the room. You didn’t even have time to process it fully. His fingers had already brushed against yours, light and reassuring, and with the faintest tug, he led you away from the sidelines and into the heart of the ballroom. His other hand settled gently at the curve of your waist, and before you realized it, you were moving.

Together.

You swayed beneath the golden chandeliers, wrapped in the music’s slow and elegant rhythm. It carried you like a tide, and Diavolo moved with you effortlessly, graceful and attentive, every motion designed to keep you steady. His hand at your back pressed just a little closer, not possessive, but grounding. Reassuring. You could feel the quiet strength in his touch, not just physical, but emotional. As if through every step, every soft pivot, he was reminding you: I’m here. I see you. You’re safe. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d stopped breathing properly until your breath caught in your chest.

But you didn’t speak.

Not yet.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured after a moment, voice low, nearly lost in the music. His head lowered just enough for his cheek to brush close to yours, not quite a kiss, but intimate in the way only familiarity allows. “I know what it means when you smile like that.” You swallowed, your voice barely above a breath. “Like what?” He didn’t hesitate. “Like it’s for everyone else… but not for you.”

Your chest tightened in response, an involuntary reaction to the truth laid so gently in front of you. He didn’t ask you to explain. He didn’t probe or press. Instead, he just stayed close, as though the nearness itself might ease whatever storm was building behind your ribs. And in some small, invisible way, it did. It didn’t make the feelings go away, but it made them bearable. Softer at the edges.

The music faded behind you like a memory you weren’t ready to keep. You stepped back from Diavolo’s arms with a softness that almost felt like apology. He didn’t resist, just blinked in quiet surprise as your hand slipped free from his, your smile polite, practiced, and far too tight around the edges. “I… just need a moment,” you said gently, and for the briefest second, your eyes met his. You silently begged him not to ask. Because if he asked, you wouldn’t lie. And you weren’t ready to tell the truth either. “I’ll be right back.” He didn’t stop you. You turned before the hesitation in his face could crack through your resolve. The grand marble doors opened with a soft, reluctant creak, and closed again behind you with the sigh of layered enchantment, the warmth, and the glow of golden candlelight.

Outside, the gardens stretched around you like a dream softened by night. The dark velvet of the grass shimmered faintly under the moonlight, interrupted only by pale marble statues and floating lanterns that hovered in the air like fireflies, flickering gently. The air was cool against your skin, cooler than expected, with the faint, familiar scent of nightflowers that bloomed only beneath the silver Devildom moons.

It was quiet. Still. Calmer than the ballroom. As if the world had exhaled. And for a moment, so did you. Until... “Oh! MC?” You turned, startled, to find Simeon approaching from beneath one of the ivy-covered arches. The moonlight made his white and silver robes glow faintly, casting a soft halo across his calm, open features. Beside him, Luke clutched a little silver tray with the remains of desserts, evidence of their own escape from the noise of the party.

Simeon stepped toward you, gentle concern already etched in the soft crease of his brow. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Luke chimed in quickly, his small face pinched with worry. “Yeah… you look kinda… not happy.” You gave them a smile. Not fake, exactly. Just enough to keep things steady. “It’s nothing. I just needed some air.” Luke didn’t seem entirely convinced, but after a pause, he gave a slow nod. Simeon’s gaze lingered a second longer, patient, perceptive. He always had a way of seeing the things people weren’t saying..“Alright,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “We’ll let you be. But if you ever feel like talking—" “I know.” You gave him a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

The two of them passed by, continuing down the garden path with soft steps and low voices. Luke said something that made Simeon laugh gently, and the moment slipped away, leaving only you, the night, and your thoughts.

You moved without thinking, feet leading you toward the familiar marble bench nestled beneath the moonvine tree. Its branches arched high above, draped with silvery blossoms that shimmered faintly, as if brushed with starlight. The petals rustled with the breeze, soft, soothing, ancient. You sat down slowly, folding your hands in your lap, back straight despite the weight pressing down on your chest.

Above you, the Devildom sky stretched wide and endless. Constellations you didn’t know blinked down at you, beautiful and strange. The stars here didn’t move like they did in the human world. Sometimes they pulsed. Sometimes they changed. You never asked why. You just watched them. Something inside you ached. Not pain exactly. Something deeper. Tighter.

Pressure.

The pressure of fear you hadn’t named aloud. The pressure of love sitting too close to reality. The quiet tension of wanting to give everything, almost everything, but not at the cost of losing yourself in the process. You loved him. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was what love might eventually ask of you. What being beside someone like Diavolo could mean when the world started to press in harder. When duty began to weigh more than affection. When expectation looked less like a future and more like a sacrifice.

The laughter from the ballroom had begun to fade. You could hear the final notes of music winding down, the clink of glass softening, the voices of nobles trailing off as carriages rolled over enchanted stone. The castle, once full of warmth and noise, was beginning to fall quiet. The celebration was coming to its natural end. But still, you sat beneath the moonvine tree, unmoving. And for the first time all evening, you let yourself feel the weight of it. Not just the fear. But the longing, too.

You heard him before you saw him. Heavy footsteps, unhurried but deliberate. They echoed softly down the garden path, calm, grounded, steady. Not like a king making an entrance, not full of pomp or weight. No, this was something else. Someone looking for something he couldn’t bear to lose. You didn’t turn right away. But his presence settled behind you, unmistakable. Not loud. Just there, like gravity gently pulling at the center of your chest. A silence that meant more than most words ever could.

Then, softly: “…You left.” You closed your eyes. His voice wasn’t sharp. It carried no accusation. No wounded pride. Just quiet concern. A question wrapped in care. Maybe even sadness.

“I needed to think,” you said, barely above a whisper. There was a pause. You could feel it, the way he stood still, just a few steps away, giving you space, but holding the moment steady between you. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but delicate. Like silk drawn taut. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he said finally, his tone low and careful. “I noticed something shift… during the dance. I couldn’t pretend not to see it.”

You looked over your shoulder then.

His eyes, catching the light of the lanterns and stars, had softened in a way that unraveled something deep inside you. He took one quiet, cautious step closer, but didn’t reach for you. Not yet. “I would never ask more of you than you’re willing to give,” he said. “Not even if the whole realm demanded it. Not even if it was something I thought I was born to need.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “…Even an heir?” The words hung in the air, heavier than either of you wanted to admit. He didn’t flinch.

His expression shifted, not with shock or resistance, but with something quieter. Sadness, maybe. Understanding. As if he’d asked himself that same question before, and never quite found a clean answer.

“I want a future with you,” he said slowly. “But not one built on fear. Not one that costs you pieces of yourself. If it ever came to a choice… I’d choose you. Over tradition. Over bloodlines. Over everything I’ve ever been told I was meant to be.” You turned toward him, fully now, and the look you gave him must’ve carried all the weight you hadn’t spoken aloud, because his hand moved instantly, gentle and open, reaching but not demanding.

His fingertips brushed your cheek. “I won’t lose you,” he whispered. “Not to duty. Not to fear. Not even to fate.” Your lip trembled, and when you spoke, your voice cracked at the edges. “I was afraid,” you admitted. “Not just of… what pregnancy might do to me. But of failing you. Of not being enough for you. For this.”

And in that moment, his arms came around you, solid, warm, and certain. You sank into him. Not because you had nowhere else to go, but because he was where you wanted to be. His embrace was firm, but gentle. Like he was holding something precious. You felt the way his chin came to rest lightly against your hair, how his thumb moved in slow circles across your back, steady as breath. “You’re already more than I ever dreamed I’d have,” he said. “You don’t need to be anything else.” You let your forehead press against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, ancient and comforting, familiar in a way that made your ribs ache. Like stone warmed by sunlight. “I’m tired,” you murmured, a confession more than a statement.

“I know,” he replied quietly. And before you could protest, he lifted you into his arms. Your breath hitched in surprise, but he only chuckled, low and soft, like thunder wrapped in velvet. “You’re allowed to be carried,” he murmured at your temple. “Just this once. Let someone else carry the weight.” You didn’t argue. Your eyes fluttered shut as your arms came around his neck, the tension in your body loosening inch by inch. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath your cheek, slow and sure. The scent of the garden, the warmth of his skin, the gentleness of his hold, it all blurred together. Sleep pulled at you like a tide.

He walked slowly, steadily, back through the quiet, glowing halls of the castle. The golden light had dimmed, the celebration now only a memory lingering in the tapestries and stone. He didn’t speak. But you felt him lower his head slightly, pressing his face into your hair. A soft inhale. A silent moment. Even as your breathing slowed, he could still feel the tension lingering in your shoulders. And so he whispered, just for himself, not for you to hear: “I’ll wait.” A vow, soft as starlight. “No matter how long it takes.”

And he meant it.

With every fiber of his immortal being he meant it.

[vylosinbound]

Hey everyone! Just a little message to say I’m really sorry for my recent absence, I took a small break to rest and reset.

To those of you who’ve sent in requests: you haven’t been ignored at all! I’ve seen every single one (I’ve got around 35 in the queue 😭), and I’m already working on them bit by bit.

Thank you so much for your patience, I want to give each request the love and care it deserves, so stay tuned! 💌

Oops, I mean… Partner?

MC gets called something unexpected.

Part two

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, Simeon, Raphael, Thirteen, Mephistopheles.

Genre: Fluff / humor / slight emotional tension.

The side characters accidentally call MC their spouse and must deal with the aftermath of their slip-up.

DIAVOLO

Diavolo was giving a speech at RAD’s charity gala. The ballroom was full, his smile was charming, and everything was going smoothly... until he gestured toward you. "And a special thanks to my..." he paused, laughing nervously, “my beloved spouse for helping organize this with me.”

The crowd went still. Lucifer visibly choked on his drink. Your own eyes widened. “Wait—!” Diavolo laughed a bit too loud. “That was just, uh, a slip of the tongue! I meant assistant! Advisor! Hahaha!”

Later, he pulled you aside with flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile. “I… uh, I guess I’ve been thinking about you a little too much lately,” he admitted softly, gaze warm. “Do you mind if I don’t take it back?”

BARBATOS

It was during tea in the royal gardens, the silver tray perfectly arranged, the tea steeped just right, as always. “If you’d allow me, I’ll prepare your favorite blend, as I always do for my spouse.”

There was a clink as you nearly dropped your teacup. Barbatos didn’t even blink. “I meant… my honored guest,” he corrected after a beat. But the faintest smile tugged at his lips as he poured. “Unless you prefer the first title.”

When you asked if he was joking, he simply raised a brow. “Do I seem like the type who jokes without meaning?”

SOLOMON

The two of you were in the library researching binding spells. Solomon passed you a dusty tome and said with a smirk:

“Here you go, spouse— ah, sorry, I meant MC.”

You stared at him.

“No, you didn’t,” you said slowly. Solomon laughed, leaning back in his chair with maddening calm. “No, I didn’t. But you have to admit, it has a nice ring to it.”

Cue one full hour of him referring to you as his “spouse” with the most casual tone possible. When you threatened to hex him, he grinned. “Wouldn’t be our first lovers’ quarrel, huh?”

SIMEON

You and Simeon were baking together at Purgatory Hall. You handed him a bowl and he chuckled:

“Thank you, dear spouse—” his eyes widened. “I mean—! I didn’t—!” Simeon looked mortified, cheeks pink and hands halfway to his mouth. He muttered a thousand apologies while fumbling with flour and cinnamon. “I’ve been reading too many romance novels, clearly,” he said bashfully.

But later that evening, as he helped you clean up, he murmured, “Still... I think I’d like that future. If you’d ever want it too.”

RAPHAEL

You were sparring lightly in one of the Celestial Realm’s training courts. Raphael gave you a nod of approval. “Well done, spouse,” he said smoothly, then blinked.

Silence.

You blinked back. “...Spouse?” A beat. Then another. “I misspoke,” he replied, voice flat.

“Oh? That wasn’t some holy vision of the future?”. “Focus on your form,” he said, turning away, but the tips of his ears were definitely red.

THIRTEEN

You were helping her test out a new prank when you tripped and fell right into her arms. She caught you with ease.

“Careful, spouse. Wouldn’t want my one true love dying before the prank’s even done.” “…Thirteen???” She winked. “What? I’ve got to warm you up to the idea somehow.”

You weren’t sure if she was joking or dead serious. (With Thirteen, it was always both.) “I’ll start drawing wedding invitations tomorrow!” she sang. “Black roses and skulls for centerpieces, oh, and you have to wear something spooky.”

MEPHISTO

You were arguing over the layout of the RAD student newspaper, again.

“I told you that headline font was dreadful, who would even read that, spouse—” he froze. Your jaw dropped. Mephisto’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. “Don’t you dare repeat that!”

He spent the next ten minutes trying to correct himself while tripping over his own tongue.

“I meant… that in the figurative sense of partnership in… editorial endeavors.” “Oh?” you teased, “So we’re work spouses now?”. He glared. “I’ll have you know I have very high standards for marriage, wait, that didn’t come out right either!”

@spiderbaby123

[vylosinbound]

Hello! I just read your work for Mc calling them brothers their husband! I loved it! It actually made me want to ask if you could do one where the brothers accidentally call mc their spouse and how they would react after their own slip-up. 😊 and maybe Diavolo and Solomon if you could! I think those two would be hilarious about it afterwards.

Hi!! Thank you so much for your kind words, I’m so happy you enjoyed the “MC calling them husband” post! Your request is adorable and I absolutely love the twist! the reactions will definitely be fun to explore! Thank you for sending it in! 💌

P.S: The side characters (including Diavolo and Solomon) will be in a second part, so I can give them the attention they deserve. Stay tuned!

Oops, I mean… Partner?

MC gets called something unexpected.

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Fluff / humor / slight emotional tension.

The brothers accidentally call MC their spouse and must deal with the aftermath of their slip-up.

LUCIFER

It was during a routine meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos that it happened. You’d been sitting beside Lucifer quietly, listening in and occasionally sipping tea when Barbatos posed a logistical question about a joint human-devildom initiative.

Lucifer’s response was immediate. “I believe my spouse and I could oversee that transition smoothly.”

Silence.

Lucifer blinked. His teacup froze midway to his mouth. Diavolo choked on his drink. You turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“Your what?” Diavolo echoed, barely containing his grin. Lucifer cleared his throat sharply, every trace of his cool demeanor slipping. “My—MC. I meant MC.”

You tried not to laugh. “Did you just call me your spouse?” He looked straight ahead, ears slightly red. “It was... a slip.” Barbatos smiled knowingly. “A revealing one, Lord Lucifer.”

Later that night, he didn’t deny it again.

MAMMON

It happened in the middle of an argument with Levi.

“I ain’t gonna just let ya talk ‘bout my spouse like that!” Mammon snapped, puffing up like a furious cat. Levi blinked. “Your what?!”

“You heard me! My—” He froze, face paling. “WAIT NO I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT.” You peeked around the corner with a surprised expression. “Mammon?”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP I DIDN’T MEAN SPOUSE LIKE SPOUSE, I MEANT… LIKE... FIGURATIVELY?!” Levi cackled. “Bro, just admit it. You’re simping out loud.”

Mammon refused to look at anyone for hours. That night, however, you found a hastily scribbled note under your door: "But like, if ya were my spouse… I wouldn’t hate it or nothin."

LEVIATHAN

“Yeah, I was playin’ that new co-op route with my spouse—uh, MC, and—”

The voice chat went silent. Levi's streaming audience was already blowing up the chat with spam.

"YOU HAVE A SPOUSE??? 😱💍"

" SPOUSE REVEAL WHEN?"

Levi nearly fainted. His face turned purple as he muted himself and scrambled for damage control. “Oh my god oh my god I can’t believe I said that, MC’s gonna die. I’m gonna die. I can’t exist anymore.”

You knocked lightly on his door. “Sooo… I’m your spouse now?” He screamed and yeeted a body pillow into the air. “But like... do you wanna be?” he muttered later while clinging to you, voice tiny.

SATAN

It happened while he was reading. “…My spouse always reminds me of this character,” he murmured aloud, flipping a page. Then he paused.

His eyes widened.

You, lying next to him with your own book, raised an eyebrow. “Your what?” He looked mortified. “I said that out loud?”

You smirked. “Yep.”. “…Would it be inappropriate to say I’ve considered it?” You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached for his hand. He kissed your knuckles without another word.

ASMODEUS

“Oh darling~! This scent is perfect for my spouse...wait-”

You turned around slowly, your eyebrow arched as he froze mid-spray with perfume in hand. “I didn’t mean spouse! I meant future spouse! I mean, potential! POSSIBLY?!”

He tossed himself dramatically on the bed. “I hate how honest my tongue is. Ugh. But also… I mean if the shoe fits~”

He later gifted you that same perfume. “I only give signature scents to my lovers,” he whispered with a wink.

BEELZEBUB

You had just handed him a wrapped sandwich. “You’re the best. Thank you, spouse.” He said it so casually that it didn’t register.

You blinked. “Beel… did you just call me spouse?” He stopped mid-bite. “…Oh. I guess I did.” He chewed thoughtfully. “I like the way it sounds.”

You choked on your drink. “You… do?” He nodded seriously. “Would you like to be?” And he wasn’t joking.

BELPHEGOR

It slipped out during a nap.

You were half-asleep too, curled beside him in the attic when he mumbled, “C’mere, spouse… warm…”

Your eyes popped open. You whispered, “Did you just call me your spouse?” He didn’t respond. He was out cold again.

Later, when you brought it up, he smirked lazily. “Dreams tell truths we don’t say aloud, right?”. Cue a blush from you, and a sleepy arm around your waist.

[vylosinbound]

HI can I request how the brothers and perhaps diavolo (if you want) getting manhandle by mc as a little prank:)

Hi there! I had such a good time putting these drabbles together, and I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them! Thank you again for your patience and for sharing such a creative prompt with me ♡

One-handed wonders

The characters with an MC who plays rough

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor + Diavolo

Genre: Comedy / Fluff / Light Crack

MC decides to surprise the brothers (and Lord Diavolo) with a harmless prank, catching them off guard by playfully manhandling them. Whether it's flipping them onto the couch, lifting them with unexpected strength, or pinning them for fun, reactions vary from flustered to competitive to utterly confused. Let the chaos ensue!

LUCIFER

Lucifer was not easily startled, nor was he ever caught off guard.

Until today.

He was adjusting his gloves in the hallway when MC strolled by with a knowing smirk. Without warning, they grabbed the front of his coat and spun him around, using his own momentum to push him gently but firmly onto the nearby couch in the common room.

Lucifer blinked. Stared at the ceiling. "...Excuse me?"

MC leaned over with a mischievous glint in their eyes. "Surprised, aren't you?"

He sat up slowly, smoothing his coat with feigned dignity.

"If you think you can just—" They poked his chest and he actually flinched. "Alright. You’ve made your point. But don’t think I’ll forget this."

Plot twist: he absolutely will. In fact, he’s already planning revenge. But he also kind of liked it.

MAMMON

"H-Hey! What’re ya—WHOA!"

MC had tackled him from behind while he was lounging on the couch, sending them both tumbling onto the cushions.

Mammon flailed helplessly, caught in a flustered mess of limbs and blushes. "You can't just do that, human!"

"Why not? You looked bored."

"B-Bored?! I’m the Great Mammon! I ain’t never bored—!" MC flipped him over onto his back, straddled his hips, and grinned down at him.

Mammon: [blue screen of death]. He'd short-circuited. Fully broken.

Later, he refused to admit he liked it. "Tch. I let ya do it. Yeah. Totally on purpose."

LEVIATHAN

Levi screamed.

It wasn’t even a dramatic yell, just a high-pitched, anime-protagonist level scream.

He was mid-game when MC appeared behind him and suddenly lifted him out of his chair like he weighed nothing.

"AHHH—put me down, I’m fragile!!" MC just laughed and spun around with him, bridal-style.

He clung to them like a terrified koala, his headset dangling off one ear. "T-This isn’t fair! IRL physics don’t work like this!"

Later, in the privacy of his room, Levi dramatically collapsed on his bed. "They manhandled me like an otome love interest… I’m not okay…"

Spoiler: he was very okay.

SATAN

Satan was reading in his chair.

Keyword: was.

MC crept up silently and yanked the book from his hands, tossed it onto the cushion, then grabbed his arm and hauled him up with shocking ease.

"What are you—" They twisted and gently tripped him onto the plush rug, rolling him over like a confused cat.

He just… stared at them.

Then at the ceiling.

Then at them again.

"Is this… some sort of new flirting technique?"

MC just grinned.

Satan grinned back. "Interesting. I’ll take notes."

ASMODEUS

Asmo squealed, but not out of fear. More like theatrical surprise.

"MC, you beast~! I was NOT ready!"

He was applying lip gloss in front of his mirror when MC snuck up and swept him off his feet. Bridal style. No warning.

"Darling, you’re going to smudge my contour!"

He clung to their neck anyway. MC spun them both around in front of the mirror.

"Oh, we do look good together like this… Should I make a couple post?"

Ten minutes later, there were 12 photos of Asmo being carried like royalty, with glitter filters and captions like: "Caught by surprise by my strong, mysterious lover 💋🖤"

BEELZEBUB

MC didn’t really expect to move Beel.

So when they told him to look the other way and then shoved him backwards onto the bed (with a lot of momentum and a tiny hop), it actually worked.

Beel blinked up at them, sprawled like a sleepy bear. "…You’re really strong." MC flopped down beside him, panting.

"I cheated. Floor was slippery." Beel just nodded solemnly and handed them the snack he was holding.

"You win. Want a cookie?"

BELPHEGOR

"…Are you trying to start something?"

That was all Belphie said when MC yanked him by the collar and dragged him out of his napping spot.

He didn’t resist.

MC tugged him onto the couch, wrapped a blanket around them both, and snuggled in as the dominant big spoon.

Belphie blinked.

"…I see. This is a power play." He sighed. "Fine. You win. But I’m going to nap on top of you now."

MC didn’t object. He did, in fact, do exactly that.

DIAVOLO

No one dared prank the Prince.

Except MC.

Barbatos was just out of the room when MC crept up behind Diavolo during a meeting break. With zero hesitation, they grabbed both his arms and spun him around, pinning him playfully against the bookshelf.

"Surprise!"

Diavolo looked stunned.

Then amused.

Then very interested.

"Oh? I didn’t expect that from you, MC."

Barbatos walked back in, paused, and blinked at the sight. Diavolo laughed heartily. "Barbatos, I’m under attack. Call for help."

Barbatos: sips tea and leaves again.

[vylosinbound]

How he looks like canonically vs. How I draw him (Lucifer from OM!SWD)

P/s: man i miss this game 🥀💔

[vylosinbound]

Hello

I have a request, can you do mc that indian with brothers + extras because I always want to imagine what would happen, and all the amazing moments .

Hope I am not troubling you with this request.

Thank you

Hello dear! Thanks so much for your request , I’m absolutely thrilled to write about an Indian MC with the brothers. I’d like to clarify that Indian culture is incredibly rich and diverse, with many different languages, customs, and traditions depending on the region. Since I’m not a native speaker of any Indian language, I sincerely apologize in advance if there are any inaccuracies in phrasing or representation. I’ve done my best to approach this with care and respect. 💛

Between sarees and sigils

Life with an Indian MC

Part one

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Cultural appreciation / Fluff & slice-of-life

MC from an Indian background influences the brother, through clothing, food, language and traditions

LUCIFER

• At first, he’s curious in a quiet, respectful way. He asks direct but thoughtful questions about MC’s traditions and faith, he wants to understand.

• The first time he sees MC in traditional attire (sari or sherwani), he actually goes speechless. Like, pauses mid-sentence. That kind of stunned.

• Secretly loves how the vibrant colors of Indian fashion contrast with his mostly dark palette, he even lets MC convince him to wear something festive once (begrudgingly… but he liked it).

• Is fascinated by classical Indian music. The instruments, the depth, especially if MC sings or dances to it. He’ll silently watch with intense admiration.

• He insists on researching MC’s native language(s), he wants to understand terms of endearment when MC uses them. Bonus if MC flusters him in Hindi/Tamil/Telugu/any language.

• Likes listening to MC recite old mythological stories. He often draws comparisons between Indian epics and Devildom lore.

• MC teaches him about Indian etiquette, and he starts subtly incorporating it in formal events, a quiet bow, a respectful gesture.

• Diwali? He plans a candlelit dinner in the House of Lamentation. Lucifer with soft lighting is deadly.

• He sometimes scolds Mammon for “mocking” cultural stuff but is secretly keeping his cool because he doesn’t want to mess it up either.

MAMMON

• “Y’mean you guys got, like, whole festivals where you just throw color around?! I WANNA GO!!”

• Absolutely obsessed with MC’s traditional outfits. Will physically pout if MC wears one and doesn’t let him take a selfie together.

• Tries Indian snacks and cries. “WHY IS THIS SO SPICY?! Wait, actually, give me another one.”

• Calls them “his Bollywood star” dramatic as hell.

• LOVES when MC dances. He’ll try to mimic them but ends up flailing around, insists he’s doing the “Mammon-style Bollywood.”

• MC catches him watching Indian romantic movies in secret. “W-What?! The music’s good!!”

• Finds MC’s cultural jewelry super pretty, especially bangles. He buys them more, pretending he’s “just investing in bling.”

• Learns pet names in their language just to fluster them. “Jaanu~ That mean somethin’ spicy, right?!”

• Tries Indian wedding sweets and wants to marry them immediately. “You got laddoo? I got a ring.”

LEVIATHAN

• He immediately brings up Indian animes/doramas. “Did you ever watch Ramayana: The Legend of Prince Rama?!” (He owns the DVD.)

• Has a whole folder of cosplays he wants to do with MC, includes Indian-inspired fantasy looks.

• Watches Bollywood movies and gets hyper about the editing and song transitions. “IT’S SO OVERDRAMATIC I LOVE IT.”

• Overwhelmed but enchanted when MC wears bright, sparkly Indian clothes. "I-It’s like you just stepped out of a legendary RPG cutscene…!"

• Tries Indian food and cries. “I have been slain by biryani… MC, avenge me…”

• Makes an Indian-styled opening for his Devildom livestreams once. MC helped.

• Has a soft spot for old Indian mythologies and visual epics. He lowkey wants to write fanfiction about them.

• Asks MC to do a dance trend with him. Fails, but records it anyway.

• Gets shy when MC teaches him words of affirmation in their language. He replays the recordings in secret.

SATAN

• Satan is immediately fascinated by MC’s knowledge of Indian mythology, especially the darker, more philosophical aspects, they end up having deep late-night discussions about karma, dharma, and reincarnation.

• When MC reads books in Hindi or another Indian language, he’ll sit beside them, quietly asking for translations just to hear them speak.

• He's absolutely obsessed with Indian classical music, when he hears MC humming a raga, he asks them to teach him more.

• The sight of MC in traditional clothing, especially something rich in gold embroidery or silks, makes him go entirely silent. He commits every detail to memory.

• He surprises MC by ordering ancient Indian texts for the House of Lamentation library, he insists on reading them together.

• One of their earliest bonding moments was during a heated debate about Indian vs. Devildom philosophy, and MC actually won.

• He keeps asking to watch Indian films and dramas with them, eventually developing a taste for emotional, complex storylines.

• When MC teaches him a few words in their language, he makes a secret notebook where he writes down every phrase and pronunciation note.

• Satan is unexpectedly protective when MC faces any stereotyping or ignorance in the Devildom, he won’t hesitate to correct others, sharply.

ASMODEUS

• Asmo immediately becomes obsessed with MC’s skincare rituals, natural oils, and traditional beauty routines, they end up swapping tips constantly.

• He’s in awe of traditional Indian clothing, especially lehengas, sarees, or sherwanis. He insists on helping MC accessorize perfectly.

• Asmo is the one who insists MC wear a fresh jasmine garland in their hair, he says the scent suits them.

• He’s constantly trying to incorporate Indian beauty products into his routine, and brags to everyone that MC is his personal beauty guru.

• The first time he sees MC in full traditional dress, he literally gasps and spins them around like he’s on a runway.

• He’s super playful about trying on MC’s bangles, bindis, or scarves, sometimes even borrowing their dupattas to drape over his shoulder dramatically.

• He gets really into Indian dance with MC, and insists they choreograph a full performance together.

• MC once did his makeup in a classic Indian bridal style just for fun, he loved it so much he wore it to dinner.

• He can be unexpectedly soft when MC talks about missing home, he listens carefully and promises to bring that warmth to the Devildom.

BEELZEBUB

• First encounter: MC offers biryani. Beel eats two plates, declares them soulmates.

• MC hands him jalebi, Beel sniffs, “Sweet. Crunchy. Perfect.”

• He bows to help MC carry groceries during festival prep, endearingly chivalrous.

• Watches MC’s braids swing gently while they laugh, Beel feels warm pride.

• MC shows him traditional jewelry like bangles; he carefully tries one on, spinning it.

• He loves being invited to join Indian prayers or smudging rituals, respects everything.

• Beel asks for MC’s cooking secrets, practices every day for them.

• After MC’s storytelling, he holds their hand, smiling from a place of contentment.

• MC laughs at Beel trying to master Hindi count “ek, do, teen… I can teach you.”

BELPHEGOR

• Loves the relaxed beauty of MC wearing an Indian kurta while lounging.

• MC speaks softly a prayer, Belphie’s respect shows as he kneels beside them.

• He nibbles ladoo into bed, “Tastes like your voice sounds.”

• Joins MC for a midnight chai in their pajamas, cozy and dreamy.

• Belphie steals MC’s favorite dupatta to wrap around himself like a blanket.

• He listens, half-asleep, to their folk tunes playing softly.

• MC teasingly complains “You’re using my blanket!” Belphie mumbles, “But you’re inside it…”

• When MC wakes him in the night for chai, he hands them a flower he picked, moonlit romance.

• He calls MC "meri neend" (my sleep), loves the poetic sound.

[vylosinbound]

Hello! May I request a situation (fluff/angst) where the MC (any gender) barged into a character's room on the verge of tears? Any reason is fine and you could also do any character, but for me preferably Mephisto because I could see him letting his pride down to comfort MC.

Thank you so much! ♡

Thank you so much for sending in this request! I truly love working with emotional scenarios like this, especially when it involves a character like Mephistopheles, whose pride makes moments of softness so impactful. I hope this short drabbles brings the emotion you were looking for to life!

On the edge of breaking

When MC cries in front of them

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor + Mephistopless

Genre: Angst / Hurt/Comfort / Emotional Vulnerability

The character is caught off guard by MC’s sudden breakdown and drops their usual behavior to provide unexpected comfort.

LUCIFER

You slam open his door, and for once, he doesn’t lecture you.

His eyes narrow at your trembling form, and without a word, he sets his pen down.

"Come here," he says quietly.

You don’t even make it halfway before he meets you, tugging you into his chest, letting your tears soak into his shirt.

For a long while, all he does is run a hand down your back and murmur, “I’m here. You’re safe. Whatever it is… we’ll handle it.”

MAMMON

He jumps when the door bursts open. “Oi! You can’t just—”

Then he sees your face. And the attitude drops.

“Hey… hey, hey. What happened?”

He rushes to you, arms hesitating for a second before fully wrapping around your shoulders.

“I gotcha, alright? The Great Mammon’s here.”

You don’t say anything, just hold onto him. And for once, he doesn’t try to be cool. Just holds tighter.

LEVIATHAN

You enter in a blur, and he nearly panics. “W-What?! Did I do something? Was it the last game night?”

But the tears in your eyes say it’s deeper. Real.

Levi's voice drops to a whisper. “Oh… oh no.”

He awkwardly guides you to his bed, wrapping a blanket around you both like a cocoon.

“You don’t have to talk… Just, uh, sit here. I’ll stay. I promise.”

SATAN

You barge in, and he’s halfway through a book when he looks up, confusion replaced by concern in seconds.

His brow furrows. “Who hurt you?”

You can’t even speak. But he sets his book down without marking the page, and that’s how you know he’s serious.

He takes your hand gently. “Let me be your quiet for a bit.”

And you sit in silence, breathing in the scent of old pages and comfort.

ASMODEUS

His smile fades the instant he sees your watery eyes. “Oh, love…” he says softly. “Come here.”

He doesn’t ask what happened, not yet. He just opens his arms, letting you fall into them.

He strokes your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

“You’re still beautiful when you cry… but I’d rather see you smiling.”

BEELZEBUB

He stops mid-bite, mid-chew, the only time food is completely forgotten.

“Are you okay? Wait, stupid question.”

He sets the food aside and rushes to you, pulling you into his arms with gentle force.

“You’re shaking… do you want to talk? Or just stay like this?”

You nod into his chest, and he just holds you, solid and warm like a shield.

BELPHEGOR

He’s half-asleep until he hears the door, groggily annoyed, until he sees you.

Immediately alert.

“Tch. Come here, you’re not crying alone.”

He pulls you into bed with him, tucking you under the blankets and into his chest.

His hand strokes your back slowly, soothing. “Whatever it is… it’ll feel smaller tomorrow. I’ve got you till then.”

MEPHISTO

You push into his room uninvited, and he opens his mouth to complain, sees your expression, and it dies on his lips.

He stands slowly, letting out a careful breath. “...Who do I need to destroy?”

You shake your head, lip trembling.

With a small sigh, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it around your shoulders, guiding you to the chaise.

He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just sits beside you and says, “Stay here. Cry if you must. No one will see but me.”

[vylosinbound]

Could I request Mammon relationship headcanons with a half angel half human female reader? Sfw and nsfw, please and thank you!

Hi there! I really enjoyed writing this one, Mammon always brings such a fun and chaotic energy to the table, and pairing him with a half-angel, half-human reader made things even more interesting 💛

Divine trouble

Mammon with a Half-Angel Half-Human MC

Characters: Mammon x Female!MC

Genre: Romantic / Emotional Intimacy /Obsession & Contrast / Devotion through Sin

What happens when the Avatar of Greed falls for a Half-Angel Half-Human MC?

MAMMON

SFW

• Mammon was suspicious AF at first. “You’re what? Half-angel?! You gonna start judging my credit score next?”

• You? Calm and radiant one second, calling Mammon your sweet greedy dumbass the next. He lives for it. He doesn’t know whether to flirt with you or duck for cover.

• You roast each other daily, but Mammon gets pouty if someone else dares to. “Oi, only I can call her a holy menace, got it?”

• Your wings? You let Mammon touch them maybe once… and he nearly cried. You said you’d smite him if he told anyone. He told everyone. You smacked him with your halo.

• You’re surprisingly good at hustling, despite your divine heritage. Mammon calls it “the perfect crime duo, Heaven and Vegas, baby!”

• When you argue, it’s drama. Door-slamming, demon-yelling drama. But it always ends with one of you softening first. Usually him. “I-I didn’t mean it, okay?!”

• You keep a halfway sarcastic, halfway sweet pet name for him: “My little sinner.” He eats it up and denies it every time.

NFSW

• You’re not innocent, and Mammon knows it, but there’s something about your dual nature that drives him wild. The contrast of your angelic glow with your very human moans? He’s obsessed.

• He gets weirdly reverent sometimes. “You’re part angel. D’you even know how dangerous it is to let me touch you like this?" Yet he’s already got your thighs around his head.

• He loves seeing you lose control, hair messy, wings trembling, fingers gripping him tight. It’s like watching divinity fall just for him. “You still pure after this?”

• Mammon talks big, but when he finally gets you beneath him, he’s speechless. At least at first. Then it’s nothing but growls, praise, and gasped curses.

• On especially intense nights, he leaves marks just below where your feathers sprout, like he's staking his claim between the sacred and the sinful.

• Aftercare is real: he’s sweaty, smug, and snuggled into your wings, mumbling, “You’ll never leave me for some choir boy, right?” You just kiss his temple and let him pretend he’s not completely obsessed with you.

[vylosinbound]

hiii!!! do you think you could write headcanons with the brothers about mc being russian? and like being multilingual.

thank you!!! ^^

Omg yes absolutely!! Love this idea, thank you so much for sending this request. A multilingual Russian MC?? The brothers would be so intrigued!

Rooted in you

The brothers react to a russian MC

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor

Genre: Fluff / Slice of Life | Curiosity / Romance /Cultural Discovery

What are the brothers like when they find out about MC’s origins , their nationality, language, culture, and how being multilingual shapes who they are?

LUCIFER

• The first time you speak in Russian, it’s by accident. You drop something and let out a sharp «Блин!» under your breath. Lucifer turns his head slowly, eyebrow raised, but doesn’t say anything. He files it away in his mental notes like a detective collecting clues.

• Eventually, when you mention you're Russian and speak multiple languages, he just nods with his classic composed expression. But deep down? He's impressed. Immensely.

• “A mind that can think in several languages is a disciplined one,” he says, almost like a compliment hidden under formality.

• He starts researching Russian culture, not in a creepy way, but so he can understand you better. From literature to history to cuisine. You even catch him reading Pushkin in the original language with the help of a dictionary.

• If you ever mutter something in Russian when annoyed, he’ll lean in, voice low: “Care to translate that for me?” There’s a hint of mischief in his tone.

• He’ll try to use a Russian phrase during a formal event to impress you. It’s grammatically perfect. Typical Lucifer.

MAMMON

• “Wha— hold up, hold up! You’re sayin’ ya know, like, a bunch of languages?!” His eyes are wide, and there’s this mix of shock and awe that only Mammon can pull off.

• Once he realizes Russian is your first language, he’s constantly asking what random words mean, especially slang. “So like… what’s Russian for ‘I love you?’ Wait no, what’s Russian for The Great Mammon?”

• Gets jealous if you speak in another language with someone else in front of him. “Oi! I don’t speak fancy human tongues, don’t leave me outta the convo!”

• He insists you teach him a phrase, messes it up spectacularly, then pouts. “What?! I said it right! ...Okay, maybe not. But ya still love me, right?”

• If you ever teach him a Russian term of endearment like солнышко (solnyshko) or котик (kotik), he’s immediately obsessed and demands you call him that all the time.

• Lowkey thinks it's the coolest thing about you. Brags about it every chance he gets. “My human? Speaks like a bunch of languages. Top that.”

LEVIATHAN

• You’re casually scrolling through your D.D.D., watching something in Russian, and Levi overhears. You explain that you’re fluent, and he turns red. “T-That’s like… super rare protagonist energy?!”

• He gets super flustered when you say his name in a Russian accent , especially if you do it teasingly.

• If you ever speak rapid-fire Russian while gaming, trash-talking an opponent, his jaw drops. “That was… kind of scary. But also… hot??”

• He’ll try to learn a few phrases so he can communicate better with you. You walk in on him practicing in front of a mirror, headphones on, muttering «Ты потрясающий» (You’re amazing) to himself. He almost dies of embarrassment.

• Watching anime with you dubbed in Russian becomes his new obsession. He starts calling you his “subbed AND dubbed soulmate.”

SATAN

• The moment he learns you’re Russian and multilingual, he’s hooked. Not just because it’s rare, but because it opens the door to so many books.

• “Would you mind helping me translate this? It’s a first-edition Chekhov.” You end up having long conversations about Russian literature, philosophy, and history. He genuinely wants to understand your cultural background, especially the nuances in how language shapes thought.

• He notices how your expression changes slightly when you speak in Russian, how your body language shifts, how different emotions color your tone.

• Will absolutely ask you to curse in Russian just to hear what it sounds like. He finds it poetic, in a weird way.

• When you get homesick, he’ll surprise you with a book in your language, a handwritten note on the inside in Cyrillic, and a cup of tea. He’s that kind of thoughtful.

ASMODEUS

• “Oh MC, You’re full of surprises! You have to say something sexy in Russian for me. Right now. Pleaseee?”

• He is obsessed with the sound of your voice when you speak other languages, especially Russian. “It’s so mysterious. So dangerous. Ugh, I love it.”

• He starts calling you his “Russian Rose” or “Winter Flame” depending on your vibe.

• Demands you teach him pickup lines in Russian. He uses them wrong but confidently. “Hey hey, what does ‘У тебя красивые глаза’ mean again?”

• You once scolded him in Russian and he got all giggly. “You’re mad at me and I still want to kiss you. What kind of magic is that?”

• Will start incorporating Russian words into his speech whether he uses them right or not. “MC, your улыбка is giving me life today~”

BEELZEBUB

• He’s genuinely curious and open. “So... is there Russian food? What’s your favorite? Can we make it together?”

• If you teach him how to pronounce something in Russian, he listens carefully and does his best to get it right. He may not remember grammar, but he remembers you.

• You teach him to say “thank you” and “you’re amazing” in your language. He uses them every time he talks to you after that.

• Quietly protective of you if anyone mocks your accent or makes you feel like an outsider. He won’t raise his voice, he doesn’t have to. One look is enough.

• If you cook him traditional Russian meals, he’ll remember each one and associate them with warmth and comfort.

• Will ask you to teach him a lullaby in your native language, then hum it under his breath while snacking. It's incredibly sweet.

BELPHEGOR

• Acts like he doesn’t care at first. “Oh, cool. You’re Russian. Wake me when it matters.” But when he hears you speak it? He perks up, just a little.

• Gets attached to how your voice sounds when you’re sleepy and muttering in another language.

• Will jokingly mispronounce things on purpose just to make you laugh. “How do you say ‘I love you’? Ya tebya lubloo? Heh.”

• If you ever vent to him in Russian while lying on his chest, even if he doesn’t understand, he finds it calming. He’s like, “Keep talking. I don’t care what you’re saying. It just feels like home.”

• Keeps a recording of you softly speaking Russian. Claims it helps him fall asleep faster.

• Calls you his “dreamwalker” in Russian once, though he definitely had help from Satan for the grammar.

[vylosinbound]

Dia x mc who worries alot abt dia leaving them?? Could be smut or fluff or both! I don’t mind!!<33

Hey! Just wanted to let you know I’ve written a short fic that includes everything you mentioned, it blends emotional vulnerability, comfort, and that soft-spicy touch too! I really tried to capture the mood you were looking for. Hope you enjoy it!

Beyond mortality

Diavolo x MC who is afraid that he'll leave them

Characters: Diavolo x Gn!MC

Genre: Angst / Comfort / Slow Intimacy / Soft-Spice

TW: Smut, vulnerability, fear of abandonment

MC has a lingering fear that Diavolo, with all his duties and the weight of his title, will eventually leave them behind. One late night, that fear surfaces… and Diavolo refuses to let it stand.

DIAVOLO

The Devildom was quiet.

For once, the castle, so often a monument of power, felt less like a symbol and more like a sanctuary. It breathed with stillness, cloaked in moonlight and silence, as if the world outside had paused just for the two of you.

Diavolo’s bed was vast, but the warmth between you made it feel small, your bodies loosely tangled beneath soft, heavy blankets. His breath brushed against your skin in slow, rhythmic waves, a quiet melody that might have lulled anyone else to sleep.

But not you.

Sleep hovered just out of reach, like a bird reluctant to land. Your eyes remained open in the dark, searching the ceiling, tracing the shadows on the wall. The quiet had become a mirror, reflecting every fear you’d kept tucked away, whispers of doubt, like vines creeping through the cracks of your mind.

You shifted slightly, just enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm. Real. Present. And yet… so impossibly far from your world. You, human and fleeting. He, eternal and divine.

A single thought clung to you, small but sharp: What if one day this all fades? What if I can’t hold onto something so infinite?

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through it. But the silence made everything louder.

Then, without a word, Diavolo stirred.

As if he had felt the change in your heartbeat. As if even in sleep, some part of him knew when you needed to be reminded you weren’t alone.

His sleepy eyes slowly opened looking at you with concern. “Love?” His voice was thick from sleep, but alert. Gentle. “You’re trembling.”

You closed your eyes. Tried to will it away. The ache. The fear. The sharp little voice whispering that you were just a fleeting chapter in a book that had existed long before you were born.

But your fingers clutched the fabric of his sleep shirt like it was the last thing keeping you anchored to the world. As if loosening your grip meant losing him entirely.

“I…” Your throat felt tight. Dry. You swallowed, forcing the words through the storm rising in your chest. “What happens when this doesn’t last?”

His arms tightened around you, protective, alert. “What do you mean?”

You paused. You weren’t sure you could say it without breaking. But the silence between you was too full, and your heart had grown too heavy.

“I’m human, Diavolo,” you breathed, voice trembling with the truth you’d been burying. “And you’re not just a demon… you’re the demon. Crowned. Chosen. Eternal. And I—” you shook your head, shame prickling under your skin. “I have a ticking clock. I get older. Slower. I’ll wrinkle. I’ll fade.”

You felt the sting of tears welling, hot and unrelenting. “What happens when someone better comes along? Someone who won’t age. Someone who fits your world better than I ever could? Someone who can stand beside you without dragging you down?”

Your voice cracked. “What if one day you wake up, and you realize I was just a phase? A sweet little fantasy while it lasted, before reality calls you back to where you’re meant to be. Without me.”

You couldn’t stop the sob that escaped you then. It wasn’t loud. Just a quiet, raw sound, like something inside you had finally torn open. You pressed your face into his chest, ashamed and aching, your tears soaking into his skin.

“I know I shouldn’t think like this,” you whispered. “But it’s so hard not to. When I look at you, all I can think is, you deserve forever. And I don’t know how to believe I’m enough for that.”

His thumb brushed your cheek with reverence, as though you were made of stardust instead of skin, something rare and celestial he dared not lose. “You don’t understand how deeply you’ve etched yourself into me. There is no 'better.' No replacement. Only you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if saying it too loud would shatter the moment. “You saw me. Not as a prince. Not as a ruler. Just… me. And no one else has ever done that.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a second heartbeat. You could feel his magic coiled beneath the surface, not aggressive, not overwhelming, just there, like warmth from a hearth you didn’t realize you’d been cold without.

“I’ve walked through centuries of shadow, MC,” he murmured, lips ghosting the space beneath your eye. “But your love is the first light that made me want to stop walking.”

Your eyes stung. You hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears slipped free anyway, quiet and warm as they slid down your cheeks. He caught one with his thumb, kissed another as it fell. “Don’t you see?” he breathed. “You’re not a fleeting moment. You’re the axis my world turns on.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your hand found his, fingers weaving together, anchoring you both in the stillness.

And for the first time that night, the fear didn’t scream so loud. It hushed. It softened.

Because even in the silence, he was still there. Steady. Unmoving. Yours.

He leaned up and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not tomorrow. Not in a hundred years. If I could chain time itself just to keep you here with me, I would.”

You felt his magic pulse gently beneath your skin, curling like heat in your stomach.

His lips found your neck next, soft kisses tracing down with reverence. Your breath hitched as his hands slid beneath your shirt, slow, testing, but filled with need. His touch wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t carnal or hungry. It was possessive in the way a soul clings to its match. Every kiss was a vow. Every movement said, you are mine. I’m yours. Don’t doubt it.

You gasped when his fingers brushed lower, circling with deliberate care. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly against your skin.

“Look at me,” he whispered against your collarbone, voice rough. “If you’re going to worry about anything... worry about how you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You laughed, shaky, breathless, broken in the most beautiful way, and something between you shattered and reformed, raw and unspoken. It wasn’t just desire. It was devotion laced with longing, and Diavolo… he was holding on to his control by a thread.

“You’ll be sitting beside me on the throne,” he murmured, voice low and rough with emotion, like a promise etched in stone.

He pulled your shirt over your head with slow reverence, like unwrapping something sacred, and his hands didn’t leave your skin for a second. His breath ghosted down your body, warm and deliberate, igniting every nerve he passed. You could feel his restraint unraveling with each kiss, each flick of his tongue against your skin, as though worshipping every inch of you was his royal duty.

When you arched your hips into his touch, seeking him, craving the friction, he groaned against your inner thigh, a sound that vibrated straight into your core.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, lips brushing so close it stole the air from your lungs. “Let me remind you just how deeply you are wanted… how utterly you belong to me.”

And then, he did.

The rest of the night passed in murmurs and sighs, not rushed, not wild, but slow, heady, and reverent. As though time itself had bent around you both, allowing space for every ache, every desperate breath, every whispered reassurance that you were not just wanted… but irreplaceable.

Diavolo touched you like he was learning worship. His hands mapped every inch of your skin with gentle hunger, memorizing, savoring, anchoring himself in the way your body arched under his. His mouth followed in kind, lips brushing over your neck, your shoulders, your chest, not hurried, but with intention, with fire tempered by devotion.

"You are not temporary," he whispered against the dip of your collarbone, voice low and rough. "You are not replaceable. You are mine."

Your fingers tangled in his thick hair, pulling him closer as your thighs parted for him instinctively. The heat between you bloomed , slow and consuming, your breaths catching with every graze of his palm, every press of his hips, every groan that rumbled from his chest when you moaned his name like it was sacred.

He made love to you with a passion that bordered on desperate, not for pleasure alone, but to prove it, to pour every ounce of love, fear, longing, and possessiveness into you, into every thrust and whispered vow.

“Look at me,” he murmured against your lips as his pace deepened. “Feel how you’ve ruined me. There’s no future, no kingdom, no eternity I want without you in it.”

Your bodies moved together like waves, the rhythm sensual, molten, maddening. Every moment stretched, and yet passed too quickly, pleasure crashing down between gasped confessions and tangled limbs.

And when the release came, slow, drawn out, overwhelming, it shattered something in both of you. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, and he held you through the tremors, your body shaking with more than just pleasure.

You clung to him afterward, skin damp and hearts racing. And still, he didn’t let you go.

He held you, strong arms wrapped around your bare form, his lips brushing soft promises against your temple as your breathing slowed, your eyelids fluttered.

And just before you drifted into sleep, his voice reached you one last time, warm and certain against your hair:

“Mine. For as long as time dares to move forward, so will I, with you.”

He held you through the hush of the early morning light. And long after.

[vylosinbound]

hi i love your writing and blog so much!! i got this idea just now of the seven om brothers reacting to mc calling them their “current boyfriend/husband” (like the trend!!) and i was wondering if you could please write some headcanons or a drabble (whichever is easier!) of how they would react to that?? thank you so much and i hope you’re having a good rest of your day!! :D

Heyy! Thank you so much for your sweet words, they really made my day! And well, let’s just say your request couldn’t have come at a better time! With the announcement of the new Obey Me game, this trend feels incredibly on point. So I thought: why not go full “husband” mode? I had so much fun writing this one, especially seeing how each of them would handle it.

Husband? Already?

The brothers when MC calls them their husband

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Romantic fluff / teasing / emotional warmth

Inspired by a trending joke, MC casually refers to each of the brothers as their “husband.” Some are flustered, some smug, and others... might take it a bit too seriously.

LUCIFER

You catch him mid-paperwork when you offhandedly murmur, “My husband is working so hard today…”

The pen stills in his hand.

“I beg your pardon?” he says, though his voice is more curious than stern.

You glance up to see him studying you over his glasses, his expression unreadable, but the faintest flush colors his ears.

“Do you really understand what that word means, MC?” You tease him in return, but later that evening, he appears at your door. He’s brought you tea, a rare gesture from him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins quietly, “If I were truly your husband… I’d want to be the kind who listens. Who supports. Who makes you feel safe.”

You blink. He avoids your eyes. “So… if that’s what you meant, then yes. I’ll accept that title.”

MAMMON

You call him “my husband” in passing, maybe while introducing him to an exchange student.

Mammon.exe has stopped working.

“H-HUHUHUH?! H-HUSBAND?!”

He repeats the word like it’s physically attacking him, then tries to act cool about it thirty seconds later. “I mean, of course ya’d call me that! I am your first, after all…”

He becomes a hot mess for the rest of the day, stumbling over compliments, bringing you random gifts, and texting you “do ya rly mean it or were ya jokin?”

The next time you call him that, he beams like the sun. “Say it again. Just once more. Please.”

You say it. He melts.

LEVIATHAN

You’re in his room, watching an anime together. As he’s explaining something passionately, you smile and say, “You’re so cute, husband.”

Levi freezes.

The anime keeps playing.

He stares at the screen, pretending he didn’t hear it, but the deep pink blush blooming across his cheeks says otherwise.

“…I-I’m not worthy of such a high-ranking title!! I mean, husband?! That’s like, the SSR of relationships!!” But then he adds, quieter, “Unless… you really think I’d be a good one?”

He makes a custom character in one of his games named “MC’s Husband.” You don’t find out for weeks.

SATAN

You say it during a quiet moment, while handing him a cup of tea. “Here you go, husband.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips quirking. “That’s a rather dangerous thing to say, MC.”

“Oh?” you reply playfully. “Why’s that?”

“Because now I’ll have to live up to that title.”

He begins casually incorporating husband-like gestures: walking you home every day, pulling your chair out, making sure your favorite books are stocked in the library.

You think he’s joking, until he pulls you into a slow dance in the middle of the study one night. “No ring yet,” he murmurs in your ear, “but someday?”

ASMODEUS

You joke about it while getting ready for a party. “Hurry up, husband, or we’ll be late!”

He squeals. “Husband?! HUSBAND? Oh MC, do you know what you’ve just done?”

He spins dramatically, grabbing his perfume and fluffing his hair. “Now we have to match! And I simply must take a thousand photos to commemorate our honeymoon-phase debut!”

He doesn’t let it go for days. He introduces himself at the party as your “future spouse” to anyone who’ll listen.

Later, in a quiet moment, he leans on your shoulder. “Even if it was just a joke… I liked hearing it from you.”

BEELZEBUB

You call him “my husband” while handing him a snack, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Beel stops chewing. Looks at you.

“…You really think I’d be good at being your husband?” You nod. He smiles shyly.

“I’d want to take care of you. Like you take care of me. That’s what a husband should do, right?”

He eats the rest of his burger quietly, but his eyes are softer than usual.

Later that day, he makes you a snack plate without being asked and simply says, “For my wife.” You’re not sure if he’s teasing or not, but your heart flips all the same.

BELPHEGOR

You call him “husband” while dragging him out of bed.

“Ugh… so demanding…” he groans, but his sleepy smirk says otherwise. “Is this how married life is supposed to be? You stealing my naps and my heart?”

You laugh and try to pull him up again, only for him to yank you back down and wrap his arms around you.

“Husbands get to cuddle their spouses whenever they want,” he murmurs into your neck. “And I’m not letting go until you say it again.”

You give in. He wins. Again.

[vylosinbound]

Hi!! I just stumbled upon your account:)) I really love your fics a lot! Mostly the fluff and angsty ones 🫶🏻 And I think if I remember correctly I saw that your requests are open? If so, I do have a request! ^^

The brothers with a Gender Neutral MC who is an artist/painter.

Ever since they arrived at devildom, MC would continue to paint and draw— and of course, an artist needs to have a muse right? So the brothers began noticing that MC always drew this seemingly random person, in their sketchbooks, paintings, and such. They never really asked about it, until they found out how the person that MC always paints/draws actually used to be MC’s former lover who has passed, and still mourns for that said lover, even having a locket necklace with their painted picture on it huhu.

This could be rather bittersweet/angsty, since the brothers has grown attached to MC, but also them finding out that MC still pretty much loves their former partner :,))

(You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to! So no pressure at all ☺️)

Ahhh, thank you so much for your lovely message! It honestly means the world to me that you enjoy my writin, and the fact that you took the time to send such a heartfelt request? Truly touched my heart. Thank you again for the trust. Sending you the biggest hug!

Painted in memory

The brothers with MC who is an artist/painter

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Bittersweet / Angst / Soft Hurt-Comfort / Gn!MC

TW: Loss (mentioned), emotional vulnerability

The Brothers discovers a hidden part of MC’s past. The contents reveal a past love, a lost dream, or a version of the person they never knew existed. As emotions surface, the discoverer must decide: do they bring it up, or carry the secret alone? And how will this change their relationship moving forward?

LUCIFER

Lucifer first noticed it when he walked into the music room late one night, only to find you asleep on the couch, paintbrush still in hand, and a half-finished portrait resting against your knees. The subject wasn’t a demon, nor an angel, nor anyone he recognized.

At first, he said nothing. But then he saw more of them. Sketches tucked between books, half-rendered silhouettes on canvases, brush strokes soft with familiarity. Always the same face.

One evening, when you stepped away from the dining table, Mammon made a comment, half-joking, about your "mystery muse." You stiffened. Lucifer saw it. And when you finally told them, about the lover you lost in the human world, the one whose image you couldn't stop painting, whose memory lived in every color you used, he didn’t lecture. He just sat in silence, nodding once.

Later that night, he passed your room and noticed something had changed. The necklace you usually hid was resting outside your sketchbook now, open, vulnerable, with that painted face inside.

Lucifer didn’t ask questions. But his next gift to you was a new leather-bound sketchbook. It came with a note: "May your art always have a place, even when your heart aches."

MAMMON

He found the locket by accident, he was not snooping, no matter what you said later. He just happened to trip and land on your desk. And, well, the sketchbook was already open...

“Oi—who’s this?” he muttered aloud, flipping pages. Dozens of drawings. All the same person. At first he thought it was some anime actor. Then he realized how careful the strokes were. How every line was drawn like you were trying to remember.

The locket confirmed it.

You came in moments later. His eyes were wide, but he said nothing. Not at first. Then, quietly: “Ya still love ‘em, huh?”

You nodded. And Mammon’s heart cracked just a bit, not from jealousy, but something softer. He reached over and closed the sketchbook, placing the locket on top. “…They were lucky, y’know? Bein’ loved by someone like you.”

From that day on, he never said another word about the drawings. But he started carrying a little pack of your favorite paints whenever you two went anywhere. “Just in case,” he’d say. "Never know when inspiration hits."

LEVIATHAN

Levi caught a glimpse during a stream.

You were sitting behind him, doodling absentmindedly as he played. The moment he died in-game, he turned to whine, and saw what you were drawing.

Not a demon. Not a character. Just a soft, wistful face. “Who’s that?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

You flinched.

The silence stretched long. Then you said it, quietly, like it still hurt. “Someone I used to love. They're… gone.”

Levi didn’t know what to say. Grief wasn’t something he could button-mash through. So he didn’t say much. He just scooted a little closer, handed you one of his fancy markers, and said:

“C-Color it in. I mean, if you want. I’ll shut up.”

After that, he started coding you a little visual archive, something private, just for your artwork. “For the memories,” he called it. And maybe… a way to keep them with you, without it hurting quite so much.

SATAN

Satan had always been curious. Observant. Analytical. So it wasn’t surprising he picked up on the way your fingers lingered over certain pages in your sketchbooks, the ones you never let anyone else flip through.

He waited. Patiently. Until the day he found you painting in the library, tucked between stacks of poetry books. You were quiet, focused. The figure on the canvas was serene. Familiar to you. A stranger to him.

He didn’t ask who it was. Not yet. Instead, he sat beside you, watching the way your hands moved, carefully, as if painting someone you were terrified of forgetting.

Later, over tea, you told him the truth. About the person you'd lost. The way they used to pose for your drawings. The way they smiled. How the grief still snuck up on you when you were least expecting it.

Satan didn’t offer hollow comfort. He simply listened.

And later, when you returned to your room, you found a rare poetry book sitting on your desk. Inside was a pressed flower and a bookmark labeled: "For your muse. They would’ve loved this one."

ASMODEUS

Asmo had noticed long before anyone else. How your paintings shifted tone when you worked alone. The way your eyes softened when you looked at certain portraits.

He thought maybe it was an old celebrity crush at first. Then, one evening, while you were painting in your room with music playing, you didn’t hear him come in. He saw the locket open beside your brushes. And he saw the tear that dropped onto your canvas.

His heart broke for you.

Later, after you told him everything, Asmo didn’t pry. He didn’t tease. He just pulled you into his arms and said, “No wonder your art is so beautiful… you painted it with love.”

He offered to help you create a shrine, something elegant and peaceful where your art could rest. A gallery of love, he called it. He even framed one of your favorite pieces himself.

And when you cried, he held you. “You don’t have to stop loving them,” he whispered. “There’s room in your heart for the past and the present. I promise.”

BEELZEBUB

Beel found one of the paintings by accident, he was helping you move canvases so you could make room for a new easel. One slipped from his arms, and he caught it before it could hit the floor.

The person in the painting looked peaceful. Familiar. Beel had seen that face before, in the way your eyes lost focus when you stared out the window too long. In the quiet sighs when no one else was looking.

He looked at you, and you nodded before he could even ask. “I miss them,” you said.

Beel didn’t say anything. He just sat beside you and offered half of his pastry. You took it. And for a while, that was enough.

Later, he asked if he could carry one of your drawings with him. “So they’re with me too,” he said. “They were someone you loved. That makes them important to me.”

BELPHEGOR

Belphie noticed when you were painting late into the night. Again. He was supposed to be napping, but your light had stayed on too long. When he finally opened one eye, he saw the figure on your canvas.

“You’ve drawn them before,” he said sleepily. “Do you dream about them too?” You flinched, but nodded.

You told him everything. Belphie didn’t say much. Just rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “…It sucks, doesn’t it?” he mumbled. “Loving someone who’s not here.” You didn’t respond. But he knew you understood.

After that, he’d nap in your art room sometimes. Not to bother you, just to be there. Quiet, grounding. And once, you found him asleep with your sketchbook in his hands, cradled to his chest like something precious.

He never said it out loud. But from then on, he started painting stars with you. Not your muse, but you. You in the sky, you in dreams.

As if to say: “You’re still here. So I will be too.”