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defectivevillain · 3 months ago

Text

the human condition

pairings: the brothers/Reader, Diavolo/Reader, Solomon/Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic)

summary: You’re sorting through paperwork with Lucifer when you accidentally slide your fingertip against the corner of a page. “Ow,” you say instinctually, more out of reflex than genuine pain. “Are you alright?” Lucifer asks, looking up from his papers for the first time since you started this task. “Oh, yeah,” you wave his concern off. “Just got a paper cut.” “A paper cut,” Lucifer repeats with bemusement and skepticism. “You got hurt by a piece of paper,” he says incredulously.

The demon brothers learn a valuable lesson as they grow to include you in their lives: humans are very strange.

word count: 3.3k | ao3 version

warnings: mentions of sickness, medical care, injury.

I know demons are virtually the same as humans canonically, but I’ve always wanted to explore the brothers’ reactions to human things MC does, whether it’s a sneeze or a bruise or getting sick… And, well, here we are.

This won’t be canon compliant. This is set to take place sometime after Episode 15 and all seven brothers are included. The reader’s race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used**. There’s one bit where they’re stated to wear glasses & another where they had braces and currently wear retainers. But I feel like that’s a pretty easy thing to imagine, so… yeah!

**The reader is referred to with it/its pronouns once in Belphegor's snippet—skip reading it if it bothers you. i use these pronouns so i wrote that mostly for me 🤘

“Darling, what is that ghastly thing?” Asmodeus asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“What thing?” you frown. The two of you are sitting in his bedroom, sprawled across his bed as you talk about stupid things. Asmodeus had been ranting about something when his eyes locked on something near you with startling focus.

“This!” he says, pointing at your forearm.

You follow his gaze, finding a spot of slightly discolored skin halfway down your arm. “Oh,” you say, “It’s just a bruise.”

“A bruise?” Asmodeus repeats, his nose scrunched in confusion.

“You know, a bruise,” you repeat. There’s nothing close to comprehension on his face. “...A contusion or whatever?” …Still nothing.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the demon frowns. “And wow, is it unsightly.” Asmodeus remarks, disgust passing over his face before intrigue takes over it. He leans over you, before proceeding to poke at your skin curiously.

“Ow, Asmo—” you hiss, batting his hand away. You don’t put much strength behind the gesture, but Asmodeus goes along with it anyway and removes his hand.

“It hurts?” he then blinks owlishly.

“Yes,” you say, letting your arm fall back to your side.

Asmodeus shakes his head in disbelief. “Humans are so weird.”

It’s late at night and you need to refill your glass of water. You’re tiredly walking out to the kitchen when a sudden noise breaks through the silence.

“Hey.”

You inhale sharply, fear coursing through you until you recognize the familiar voice. “Holy shit, Beel,” you murmur, placing your hand on your chest momentarily and squinting through the darkness. You can only see the general outline of his form. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Beelzebub says. You think he must be frowning now. Again, it’s difficult to tell. “I thought you saw me.”

“Um…” you squint again. “No.”

“Oops,” he says. You hear a light shuffling sound. “Can you see me now?” he asks.

You blink again. “Sort of.”

Suddenly he’s standing right in front of you. You can’t suppress a flinch this time, instinctually leaning backwards.

“Beel, stop that—!” you exclaim, nearly stumbling over yourself.

He sets you straight with a hand on your shoulder, a frown rising on his face. “You can’t see in the dark, then?” Beelzebub hums.

“No,” you sigh. It’s as if he didn’t believe you—like he had to test it for himself to make sure.

“Hmph,” Beelzebub frowns again. Or, at least, it sounds like he’s frowning. “That’s inconvenient.”

“I guess,” you concede.

“What’s wrong with your skin?” Belphegor asks you one morning, when the two of you are relaxing in his room.

“Hm?” you blink, momentarily distracted from looking down at your D.D.D.

“Your skin,” he restates. “Look,” he demands, pointing down at your forearm. You follow the demon’s gaze, only to find goosebumps scattered across your skin.

“Oh, those are just goosebumps,” you answer casually.

“Goose… bumps,” Belphegor repeats, his nose scrunched in evident revulsion.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m not sure why they’re called that, but they show up on your skin if you get too cold.”

“Well, stop being cold,” Belphegor orders, as if you’re inconveniencing him. He probably thinks you are, although it’s entirely out of your control. You hardly have a chance to react before you’re promptly pelted in the face with a sweatshirt. “Here.”

“Oof,” you say, peeling it off the crown of your head and putting it on. “Thanks, Belphie.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of pink rising on the back of his neck, as if he’s embarrassed. “Stupid human. Can’t even keep itself warm.” He huffs. You valiantly ignore the remark.

“Why are there teeth in the bathroom?” Levi asks as he enters the room. And wow, what a way to make an entrance. Satan and you look over at Levi from where you’d been reading.

“What?” Satan blinks questioningly, clearly just as confused as you are.

“Teeth,” Levi repeats himself, “in the bathroom.”

How he expects the same exact remark to make more sense, you have no idea. It takes you a few moments to connect the dots, but you do eventually. “Oh!” you exclaim. “Those are just my retainers.”

“Your retainers,” Satan repeats. There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And what do they retain, exactly?” he asks sardonically. You scoff.

“My teeth,” you respond. “Obviously,” you add, if only to combat his sarcasm.

“So… what do you do with them?” Levi asks curiously, tilting his head as he looks at you.

“I wear them every night when I sleep,” you explain. “They’re supposed to prevent my teeth from shifting.”

“Your teeth shift?” Satan exclaims incredulously. “You mean they can move?”

“Um— yes,” you respond. “Human teeth always move, even after a person has braces.”

“What are braces?” Levi demands.

“They’re metal brackets that an orthodontist puts on your teeth when they’re crooked. They guide the teeth into a more neat shape.”

“I’m convinced you just made that up,” Satan says helpfully.

You roll your eyes. “I had braces. But since my teeth can still move, I have to wear the retainers.”

“For how long?” Levi blinks.

“The rest of my life.”

Satan whistles. “That sucks.”

You shrug amicably.

“And I thought normies were weird,” Levi huffs. “But humans are even weirder.”

“Hey, wait: how’d you even see my retainers in the first place?” you realize aloud. “I always keep them in a case… in a drawer.” You wouldn’t just leave them on the counter—that would be pretty unsanitary.

As if caught in a lie, Levi freezes and quickly bolts away. “Gotta go shower, bye—!” he says, slamming the bathroom door shut with more force than necessary.

You stare after him in disbelief, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from your throat.

“He was just curious,” Satan explains with a shrug. “Not that I blame him. Do your teeth truly keep growing?”

“Not growing, necessarily,” you contemplate. “Babies are born with baby teeth. Then, as you get older, you lose your baby teeth as your adult teeth grow in.”

“That’s similar to demons,” Satan confirms.

“Our teeth eventually stop growing, but they can shift and move still,” you clarify.

Satan shakes his head in annoyed disbelief. “Humans are truly an anomaly.”

You’re sorting through paperwork with Lucifer when you accidentally slide your fingertip against the corner of a page. “Ow,” you say instinctually, more out of reflex than genuine pain.

“Are you alright?” Lucifer asks, looking up from his papers for the first time since you started this task.

“Oh, yeah,” you wave his concern off. “Just got a paper cut.” You squint down at your finger and grit your teeth in annoyance. You’re so concentrated that you don’t know Lucifer’s pensive silence or furrowed brows.

“A….. paper cut,” he restates, a mix of bemusement and concern in his voice.

“You don’t get those?” you ask.

“You got hurt by a piece of paper,” Lucifer says incredulously. Suddenly he’s getting to his feet and striding over to you, taking your hand in his and investigating your fingertip. “Hm. You weren’t joking. How strange.”

He continues to study your skin with a frightening intensity. Your hand is almost shaking in his grip, as you attempt to fight off your restlessness at his proximity. Eventually Lucifer sighs and lets his grip fall away. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Paper cuts are just a minor inconvenience… But for whatever reason, they can really hurt sometimes. Feels like your skin is splitting apart.” They really shouldn’t hurt, but they do. One time, you had one that spanned your entire fingertip. This one doesn’t look nearly as bad, fortunately. But it still burns.

“You’re rather breakable,” the Avatar of Pride notes.

“It’s just a paper cut,” you feel the need to say defensively.

“Of course,” Lucifer responds, an indulgent and amused smile on his face. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and you roll your eyes, abandoning the argument.

Solomon and you often get stuck accompanying one another to the human realm whenever you need anything. The demon realm is great, but it doesn’t have everything humans need. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to breathe in some fresh air or be among other humans.

Today’s visit has a purpose, though. After a rather unfortunate incident involving Mammon, you, and a chandelier, you find yourself with broken glasses. (Thanks, Mammon.) It’s been roughly a year since you’ve had an eye exam, so it’s about time for another appointment anyways. Unfortunately, the Devildom doesn’t have eye doctors (and you still remember the perplexed look on Levi’s face when you casually asked him one day). That’s how you find yourself in your ophthalmologist’s office in the human realm. Solomon dropped you off with the promise that he’d return the moment you texted, leaving you to slowly waste away in the waiting room.

Fortunately, your name is finally called and you’re able to undergo all of the various examinations. You emerge an hour later with dilated pupils, an updated prescription, and reassurance from the doctor that nothing is amiss. You manage to text Solomon—through slightly blurred vision—and he arrives within five minutes.

You can only hope to slip into the manor unnoticed. But from the very moment you slip through the front doors, Mammon is bounding up to you like an overexcited puppy. He seems moments away from looping an arm around you and dragging you off into some misguided adventure when he locks eyes with you and freezes.

“Whoa, what the hell—?” Mammon exclaims, staring at you intently. “Oi, human, don’t tell me ya got possessed—!” His hands clamp on your shoulders and he starts shaking you roughly.

“Mammon, stop it,” you object, grabbing onto his shoulders and attempting to prevent him from shaking you any harder. He calms down a little, but he still looks confused. “I’m not possessed. I just had an appointment with an eye doctor.”

“Well, how’d they screw up so bad then, huh?” he spits. In another situation, his concern would be touching; but now, it’s mostly just amusing. “Ya look like a shark!”

“It’s just one of the tests,” you explain. “They had to dilate my pupils.”

“Humans are crazy,” Mammon asserts. He’s studying you from far too close—occasionally changing his angle as if it will somehow give him new insight. “You look so freaky.”

“Thanks, Mammon,” you sigh.

“Does it hurt?” he asks. “I bet it does; yer such a baby.” The insult seems to be a cover-up for his concern.

“It doesn’t really hurt,” you reassure him. “It just feels a little strange. The drops really just affect your vision. I can’t focus on things in front of me, and it sort of looks like I’m seeing double.”

“Well, there’s nothing for it but resting your eyes,” Mammon sighs theatrically, looping an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s watch the next episode of Destroyman.”

“How is that supposed to help my eyes?” you ask skeptically.

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for ya all day!” Mammon exclaims. “We’re watching the next episode, even if it looks all blurry to you.” The demon is soon yanking you along before you can object.

“There’s the culprit,” Belphegor remarks, looking up at you as you enter the dining room for breakfast. The brothers are staring at you intently.

“Good morning to you too,” you huff, shoving your hands in the pockets of your uniform and taking the empty seat at the table. It’s a bit unusual to see all seven brothers at the table like this, especially so early in the morning. “What’d I do?” you blink cluelessly.

“You don’t remember?” Beel pipes up, blinking at you curiously. He seems to be mid-bite, with some food hanging out of his mouth. Lucifer chides him for table manners and Beel huffs, promptly demolishing the rest of his food.

“You were roaming the halls in the middle of the night like a ghost!” Mammon explains before anyone else can. He sounds particularly energetic this morning. “It was freaky.”

Roaming the halls at night? You don’t remember doing that, which can only mean one thing. “Oh, I was probably just sleepwalking,” you realize aloud.

“Wonders truly never cease,” Lucifer says dryly. “Just how many eccentricities do humans possess?” he muses.

You sigh, remembering all of the strange interactions you’ve had over the past few weeks. “I’m not choosing to do any of this, you know,” you frown. “I can’t control it.” It’s not like you wanted to get a paper cut, or a bruise, or goosebumps. These are just facts of life.

“We know, dear,” Asmo reassures you.

“It’s okay,” Levi says, barely sparing you a glance as he stares down at his plate. “None of these human behaviors are super annoying.” That’s very meaningful coming from Levi of all demons.

“They’re just weird,” Satan supplies helpfully. You roll your eyes at him.

“It seems my brothers were just… worried,” Lucifer explains.

“Hey, you were worried too!” Mammon objects. “You were the one to—” Whatever the Avatar of Greed means to say next promptly fades into obscurity, as Lucifer sends his younger brother a murderous glare to silence him.

“Okay,” you eventually remark, uncomfortable with the sudden tension settling in the room. “Well, sorry to disturb you guys, I guess. Sleepwalking is normal for humans, though.”

“I’m starting to think nothing about humans is normal,” Satan mutters under his breath. Lucifer nods in agreement. You just roll your eyes and pretend not to hear the remark, serving yourself some food and beginning to eat breakfast. Despite the fanfare, it’s nice to know the brothers care about you—even if they don’t show it in very orthodox ways.

“Oh,” a familiar voice says one afternoon. You blink blearily, your dizzy vision momentarily clarifying to reveal Diavolo standing over you. You’re crumpled on the floor, your cheek pressed to the cold hardwood as sweat rolls down the nape of your neck. “I must say, when I heard of your absence, I assumed you ditched classes for the day.”

It’s difficult for you to process what he’s saying; his voice sounds warped. The headmaster just hums. “Are you… all right?” he asks. You can barely manage a weak nod. Diavolo sighs. “Forgive me for the foolish question. You’re clearly not all right. Here, let’s get you up…”

You hardly have the chance to object before the demon is lifting you into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all. He sets you on your bed with deceptive gentleness, before staring at you and frowning.

“I don’t suppose you know what’s happening to you,” Diavolo says.

“I think I’m sick,” you manage to respond. Your voice sounds a little raspy and your airways feel a bit tight. You clear your throat, wincing at the dryness the gesture provokes. You must have a fever, because your body temperature keeps oscillating between frigid cold and searing warmth. Before you can think better of it, you blink dazedly and reach out to grab Diavolo’s hand. “Tell me if I feel warm.”

He’s clearly a bit confused, but he allows you to guide his hand to your temple.

“You’re hot,” he observes after a moment.

“Thanks,” you huff deliriously.

“Your temperature,” he clarifies with a knowing smile, shaking his head. “What does this mean?” Diavolo frowns.

“I have a fever,” you answer. “When a human’s body temperature is too high, it causes sickness.”

“What can be done about it?” he continues.

“Depends,” you reply. “Sometimes it breaks on its own; sometimes you need antibiotics.”

“Antibiotics,” Diavolo repeats, the concept clearly foreign to him. “I can’t say I’m familiar. But it’s clear that you should rest. I’ll watch over you.” Whatever else he says is lost on you, as you close your eyes and surrender to the persistent fatigue burning your eyelids.

You wake several hours later to a room devoid of Diavolo. You’re not exactly surprised that he had to leave—he’s the ruler of the Devildom, after all. He surely has far more important things to do than look after you. You blink away traces of sleep as you look around the room, your vision clarifying to reveal Solomon sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. You blink at him silently.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Solomon says. “How are you feeling?”

“…Fine,” you admit, touching your temple experimentally. Your headache has subsided a little, but your skin still feels a bit warm. At your movement, Solomon pushes himself to his feet and feels your forehead.

“Your temperature’s coming down, finally,” he hums.

“What are you doing here?” you finally manage to ask.

“Diavolo summoned me,” Solomon explains. “Supposedly, he attempted to enlist the help of the brothers, but they proved to be rather useless. They are… woefully uninformed when it comes to humans, after all.”

That’s true. “Thanks,” you remember to say. He didn’t have to come, after all. Just because he’s the only other human, doesn’t mean he’s relegated to nursing you back to health.

“No problem,” Solomon nods sincerely. He doesn’t seem too bothered by the whole arrangement. “It’s nice not to be the only human. Although, I expect around the clock service and care the next time I fall ill.”

You smile tiredly. “Of course,” you agree. It’s a frighteningly easy promise to make.

After your sickness, you notice that the brothers begin to ease up on you a bit. Mammon’s no longer texting you in the middle of the night, demanding that you entertain him; Lucifer doesn’t mind if you occasionally take a day to complete your work remotely at the mansion; Asmo’s physical affection is gentler than normal; Levi doesn’t tease you about being a normie as much; Beelzebub doesn’t ever touch your plate or food; hell, even Belphegor is behaving himself—no longer interfering with your naps or sleep.

One afternoon, Lucifer approaches you in the living room. He greets you before settling on the couch next to you, his posture rigid and proper. “You may have noticed that my brothers…” Lucifer starts, before pausing and shaking his head, “...that we have been acting a bit different than normal.” You nod.

“In the past few weeks—especially in light of your bout of sickness—we realized that we’ve been neglecting you and your health. A demon’s stamina is much stronger than a human’s—we need less sleep; food is more of a luxury than a necessity; our bodies are more resistant to injury… You understand.”

“What I mean to say is…” Lucifer trails off again, an uncharacteristic sign of hesitation from him. He takes a slow breath. “I apologize for the oversight.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him.

“It is not,” Lucifer states firmly. “We have neglected to consider just how difficult this transition must be for you. We—I—didn’t think to ensure your health and safety were priorities.”

“But no more. I’ve spoken to Diavolo and Solomon at length, in addition to doing some elective research, to ensure we are not so unprepared in the future. And, should your accommodations be unsuitable—should anything here be unsuitable—I want you to inform me at once.”

That… sounds a lot more serious than what you were expecting. You blink. “That’s— That’s really not necessary,” you try to say.

“It wasn’t a request,” Lucifer interjects smoothly. It’s a firm but well-meaning statement. “Do you understand?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“Good.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. “Truthfully, my brothers were very worried for you.” Lucifer pauses for a moment. “I was very worried for you,” he admits.

You’re sure you look surprised now. Lucifer only laughs, before getting to his feet and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You can almost convince yourself that the look in his eyes is unbearably fond. But he’s soon withdrawing, leaving you to wonder if you imagined the entire interaction.

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demonvibez · 3 months ago

Text

Morning Surprise

Characters: Demon Brothers x GN Reader

Word Count: 2.4k+

Rating: Mature

Tags: fluff, kissing, erections, fade-to-black, suggestive

A/N: My first request back! Thought I'd go with something fun. There's no explicit smut but it is quite suggestive. Hope y'all enjoy!

Summary: Your favorite Demon Brother wakes up with you in his arms - and morning wood between his legs. What will happen next? Well...

[link to original request]

Lucifer, ever the prideful demon, can't help the smile on his face when he wakes up and looks down, only to see you safely asleep in his arms.

Ah, yes. The two of you had spent your first night together - not doing anything scandalous, just peacefully sleeping together. Although, he also couldn't help the way that smile ceased when he noticed the situation happening between his legs. He didn't notice his morning wood at first, due to the fact that you had your leg slung over him in your slumber - you were the only thing he noticed. But now a small seed of insecurity has been implanted into the back of his mind. What would you think, waking up to such an intrusion? Surely, the Avatar of Pride should be able to maintain control of himself, even his autonomic bodily functions. He wants to be nothing short of perfect in your eyes, even if that means going to extreme lengths to control the impossible. He's practically ready to get out of bed and start working on a plan forward - that is until he looks down into those sweet eyes of yours, and realizes you're awake. His moment of insecurity is fleeting, deciding that the state he's in is natural, and nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. You are his lover, after all. He leans down to steal a kiss from your lips, that cheeky smirk on his face after he pulls away.

"Good morning, my love. It seems as though you've stirred something within me," he said, before he leaned back down to start lightly nipping at your neck. You won't be making it out of his bed anytime soon, that's for sure. Quite scanadalous, indeed.

The first morning the two of you spend together, Mammon wakes up with an adorably dopey smile on his face. He's so happy to be cuddled up with his human, all cozy and warm, that he doesn't even notice the situation in his sweatpants at first. As he regains his consciousness, the feeling between his legs connecting to his brain, his eyes widen and he throws the covers off as he jumps out of the bed. You're barely even rubbing your eyes, muttering out his name in a questioning tone, when you hear the sound of your bathroom door slamming. You're wide awake now - yet so is he. Asking him questions through the door is just met with his signature brand of denial as he shouts at you to "GET BACK TO BED, STUPID HUMAN!!" You roll your eyes and grumble, opting to just go back to sleep and figure it out later. Luckily for Mammon. He doesn't need you getting the wrong idea - he's the Great Mammon after all! And no, he totally doesn't have a huge crush on you. The last thing he needs is such an awkward situation with the human he isn't crushing on.

The next time it happens though, he doesn't have quite the same reaction. You two are much closer than you were the last time, and he'll be damned if he's gonna hop out of your bed early. You wake up and he immediately steals a kiss, a blush already on his cheeks - and it doesn't take you long to figure out why. Giggles escape your lips if you ask Mammon if that gift is meant for you, which turns into full on laughter as his blush deepens and he stammers out his denials. And then, he gives you this look - an innocent lil puppy dog eye'd look with those shining gold-and-blue orbs of his. Always greedy for you, he doesn't even have to say the words. You already know what he wants.

"Treasure, please," is all you'll get from him. Which is all you need to hear, anyways. This greedy demon is eager to take anything you can give him.

Why oh why can't he just melt into the floor? At that current moment, Leviathan felt cursed. He finally got to spend the night cuddling with his Player 2, and THIS is the state he wakes up in?! He feels like the grossest lowlife to ever walk the realm. If Father could just send some lightning straight down here and take him out, he'd be oh so grateful. Because how the hell is he possibly going to deal with this?! You were currently laying on top of him, snuggling with him in his bath-bed and tangled up in his tail. The level of gymnastics needed to escape from your hold and this room far surpasses an Olympic level feat. And when he looks down at his chest to see you looking back up at him, he swears his demonic heart actually stopped. The scream emitted from his room could be heard all the way from the Demon Lord's Castle, as well as the subsequent slamming of his door. You are just left laying alone in his room in bewilderment as your ears ring.

It takes quite a bit of time for Leviathan to get over this whole incident. It actually starts to bum you out how long he's kept himself locked away in his room this time, refusing to talk or even come down for meals. His Brothers thought it was funny at first, but now that they see you upset, they take it upon themselves to chat with him. It doesn't work at first, until Mammon kicks down his door himself. Then, one by one, they stop by to chat with little success. It isn't until Lucifer stops by for an earnest pep talk that the Avatar of Envy finally comes around.

When it finally comes time to hang out again, Levi opts to pretend the whole thing never happened. Unluckily for him, it happened again. He's ready to have another mental breakdown, but you're determined to prevent that - you love him, and it's really not a big deal. You were never mad, or creeped out, it just happens. As you cradle his blushing cheeks with your lil human hands, you whisper words of reassurance to your Lord of Shadow.

"I-I-I-Uhhhh-" is all he can stammer out in reply, until you shut him up with those soft lips of yours. He'll have to write you a message later - for now, you have him pushed back into his bath-bed, ready to take the lead and conquer him like an adventure quest.

Laying in his bed with you, surrounded by his books as you sleep in his arms, Satan lies awake with his emerald eyes staring at the ceiling. This wasn't the first time he was experiencing this issue. He had read plenty about it, to the point that he knows it's an autonomic function of his body. And yet, he can't help but to feel a bit ashamed of himself, as if he had any control of it at all - as if he were gentlemanly enough to be able to stop it from happening. He's better than this - a thought that sounds eerily like the words of someone he loathes, and now he's even more irritated with himself. Ugh, how could he have not seen this as a possible outcome?! While one of his arms is wrapped around you, the other lays by his side as he grips the bed-sheet so hard that his knuckles changes shades. He needs to come up with a plan to make a quiet escape so he can go calm down. He could probably slip out of bed fairly easily, the only problem being the mountains of books creating obstacles all around his room. He knows these book piles like the back of his own hand, and yet his anger clouds his mind. He highly doubts he'd be able to make a clean escape.

Before he can start to peel the sheets back, he feels you stirring from your sleep. You look up at him to see a bright blush on his cheeks, clearly avoiding eye contact with you. With a light giggle, you ask Satan whats wrong, and he begins to rapidly apologize while info-dumping everything he's read about the subject. About two-thirds of the way through his rambles, you simply cut him off with a kiss. When you pull away, you swear you see sparkles in those sage orbs of his. You break the kiss and start to pull at the drawstrings of his pajama pants, a tiny giggle escaping your lips. A light blush coats his cheeks, and all of the poetry previously ingrained into his brain has now fled from his memories.

"Amazing," was all he could whisper, and he is most definitely talking about you. He'll have to express his gratitude when he can regather his mind, but for now, he's happy to be locked in his room with you. This is one study session he plans to be absolutely rigorous about.

Already awake, yet pretending to still be asleep, Asmo is doing his best to keep a mischievous grin off of his pretty face. He was well aware of the situation happening between his legs, and he isn't fazed by it in the least. He's the Avatar of Lust, after all, and this is his arena! And he is perfectly comfortable pressing his morning arousal into the flesh of your thigh as he continues to pretend. Of course you begin to stir, slowly waking up and taking in your surroundings, immediately taking notice of Asmodeus. Your eyes scan his sleeping form, one of your hands gently rubbing his back as you feel him press himself into your leg once more. A small gasp escapes your lips, and before you know it, his gorgeous sunset eyes are staring up at you.

You greet each other with whispered greetings and soft kisses, Asmo nuzzling your neck as he waits for you to bring up his arousal. You're a bit used to this - it's Asmodeus, after all, so none of this is really surprising. What was surprising, however, was how coy he was acting with you when you finally breached the subject. "Who, meeee~?! ♡" in that signature sing-song voice of his, as you look at him with a deadpan expression. He busts out into a fit of giggles, showering you with little kisses, before his kiss transforms into something a bit more sensual. His lips on your neck, his hands trailing your curves. You know exactly where this is going, but it's one of the many things you love about your Asmo.

"Do I even have to ask, darling~? ♡" His lips softly trail as he slides down your body, and you mentally prepare for the marathon of euphoria your lover is about to experience with you - and how it may cause you to ruin yet another set of silk sheets. Just another day being in love with the Avatar of Lust!

Now, you were quite used to snuggling up with the giant demonic teddy bear that is Beelzebub. Ever since Lucifer tried to 'punish' you by making you live with Beel temporarily, the two of you enjoyed sharing a bed and cuddling up at night. It seemed to be an average evening - you had retired with Beel to his room after dinner, ready to cozy up and drift off in his arms as the two of you watch his favorite show, Barbeque Life. What wasn't average, however, was the way in which you were awakened the following morning. See, the funny thing about sharing a bed with Beel is that you no longer need to set your own alarm clock - the roar of his rumbling stomach is more than sufficient to wake both of you up in the morning. But this morning was different. This morning, something rather stiff poked into your side, jarring you awake from your dreams.

It takes you a moment to fully wake up and realize what was happening - that Beel's other hunger could possibly be making itself known on this early Devildom morning. Although it could be nothing, it doesn't take you too long to find out. Soon enough, Beel is waking up as well, and you can tell he's certainly in a mood. With rosy cheeks and bashful eyes, he's looking at you with that same sparkle he has at the buffet line. Whatever he must have been dreaming about - and it certainly wasn't cheeseburgers - has clearly made him ravenous with lust. Always a gentleman, he takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, before kindly asking if he may proceed. He's so adorable that you answer him with a kiss, throwing your arms around his neck before he pulls you closer.

"Y'u tas- sssoooo g'd," he mumbles between kisses, as if his mouth was full, "I luv y'u s' muhh."

Beel always loves having sweets for breakfast.

Oh, Belphegor. That bratty little sloth demon. He sure does have a way of getting exactly what he wants - something that no one in this household would deny. You were starting to think he had planned this entire situation. He can control dreams after all, so it wouldn't shock you if he was creating lust-filled dreams in order to cause this to happen on purpose. One snap of his fingers and he's in the middle of a sex scene - and you can only imagine who his partner was. All so he could wake up and pester you with those pouty purple eyes of his, while he presses his hardened member into your side.

At first he feigns innocence and ignorance, wanting you to be the one to use your words to point it out - he'd do anything to get you flustered. That is, until you call him out on it - that you're sure of what he was doing in his dreams. He pouts, he whines, he blames you completely for it all - for his dream, and for his arousal. You're not really gonna make him beg are you? He'll just pretend to go back to sleep. His pouty eyes turn serious, a glint of threat glimmering in his purple orbs, and you can't help but to let out a laugh and steal a kiss. You can feel the tenseness leave his body as he melts back into your arms, getting comfortable as he returns your kiss with passion. You can feel his fangs lightly nip your bottom lip as you pull away for air, the poutiness returning to his face as he looks at you incredulously.

"Well, you're gonna help me, right?!" Turns out there's more than one way for the Avatar of Sloth to keep you in bed all day.

· demonvibez ♡ 2025 · do not copy, repost or modify ·

· comments, reblogs and likes are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

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temis-de-leon · 1 year ago

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Who's their emergency contact

Lucifer: Mammon, his favourite brother and the one he turns to when things get serious. For the sake of his peace and sanity, there are things he'd rather keep secret from Diavolo and just for this reason he can't trust Barbatos either; telling something to the butler would only result in the prince knowing.

Mammon: you, whether you like it or not. Depending on the situation, Lucifer may leave him longer than necessary in the hospital (or wherever he's retained) and his younger brothers tend to make fun of him most of the time. If he has to face someone's wrath, please let it be yours.

Levi: Lucifer, the default option. As much as he loves and trusts you, he needs to be realistic: there are some things you cannot handle. Besides that, of course, his eldest brother is responsible when making decisions, especially if his family is involved.

Satan: Lucifer and he hates it. It used to be Asmo until he had an accident with a spell and ended up in serious trouble. When Asmo arrived he cried so hard out of worry that they had to call Lucifer, so he reluctantly changed it to save some time in the future.

Asmo: you. If something happens to him, the first person he wants to see when he wakes up is you and, if it were really serious anyway, you wouldn't go alone to get him. Plus, he'd also die of happiness under your care since he'd be receiving all your attention!

Beel: Lucifer, who he trusts the most in stressful situations. He loves Belphie with all his heart, yes, but he can't trust his twin to be awake at random times; emergencies can happen at any hour, after all.

Belphie: Beel. Does he have to explain? Besides you, there's no one in the family he trusts more than him, so it just makes sense.

You: Lucifer. Mammon tried to negotiate. He tried.

Main Masterlist

This is so damn stupid. I promise I'm writing my normal posts, but I was watching Grey's Anatomy and it just happened. If it looks wonky, it's because I'm sleepy

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion

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bluewolfangel01 · 7 months ago

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Expanding on my last post

*In the HoL group chat*

Asmo: Has anyone seen my white jacket?! I need it for a party!

Satan: Didn't you leave it on Mc?

Asmo: Yes, but it's not on the couch and they haven't returned it, so I don't know where it is!!!

Beel: I can't find mine either.

Asmo: Lucifer!

Lucifer: Mc, would you care to explain?

Mc: Mine

Lucifer: Pardon?

Mc: You relinquished your jackets to me, therefore they are mine now. Thanks <3

Belphie: ...

Mammon: ...

Satan: ...

Asmo: Okay hun, I'll find something else then!

Mammon: Understandable have a nice day ✌️

Levi: Hope you all have back up jackets LOL

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sailor-song · 28 days ago

Text

it's ridiculous, the way you make asmodeus feel. there really isn't a better word for it.

he was the avatar of lust-- he was a being made to love and be loved, to lust and be lusted over. he's experienced everything imaginable when it comes to romance and sex. he knows the feeling of two hearts beating as one while they're entangled together in the sheet of one bed. he knows what it's like to go on cute dates, to go to strip clubs where he's the centre of attention, what it's like to be absolutely adored by everyone and everything around him. it gives him a thrill like no other; it's his purpose. his hearts beat rapidly as he soaks in their love, his cheeks are flushed in excitement as he feels everyone's eyes on him and him alone, electricity runs through his veins.

all of that, and yet there's nothing like doing your make-up quietly in his room.

he loves you, he knows that. he's never been one to deny it when he loves someone-- he loves a lot of people. he loves his fans, he loves his brothers, he loves solomon, he loves the people he makes love to. but nothing has ever compared to loving you. it's soft and special--like nothing he's ever lived through before. when he's with you, it's like time slows down, and he's just him outside of his beauty and sin.

how could he not love you? he gets flustered and shy when you look at him too intensely. he loves your eyes on him just as much as he doesn't know what to do when you look. he wants to impress you with all that he is, he wants you to see why he was the jewel of the heavens before he fell. he wants you to know that there is no one more beautiful than him. but most of all, he wants you to fall in love with him like he has fallen for you.

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hyuniemyunie · 5 months ago

Text

Beneath the Masks

obey me boys x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): reverse comfort.

is the fandom dead cuz😭😭😭 I MISS THESE BOYS SO MUCHHHH UGHHH. whos ur fav cuz i cant choose between mammon and asmo..(its mammon)

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The Weight of the Crown

The House of Lamentation was unnervingly still.

Normally, Lucifer’s presence was a constant force—measured footsteps in the hall, the quiet rustle of papers in his study, the occasional exasperated sigh whenever Mammon did something idiotic (again). But tonight, the silence felt heavy, pressing down on the walls like a storm waiting to break.

You found him at his desk, as expected, but something was wrong.

His usually pristine posture was absent—he was hunched over, elbows on the desk, head resting in one hand. The other gripped a glass of Demonus, but he hadn’t even taken a sip. His brows were furrowed, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The candlelight flickered against the sharp angles of his face, making the tired lines around his eyes more pronounced.

Lucifer was rarely unguarded. Even in moments of quiet, he held himself like a statue carved from obsidian—elegant, untouchable. But right now?

Right now, he looked tired.

"Lucifer."

He didn’t react immediately, only inhaling sharply through his nose before straightening, his usual mask slipping back into place as if it had never cracked.

"You should be in bed." His voice was smooth, steady. But there was something strained beneath it.

"So should you." You stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed—just for a second—before exhaling and leaning ever so slightly into your touch.

"There’s still work to be done."

"Lucifer." Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck, gentle. "You say that every night."

His silence spoke louder than any excuse.

Carefully, you reached down and took the glass from his hand, setting it aside. He didn’t resist, just watched you with those sharp crimson eyes, searching.

"What happened?" you asked softly.

He sighed, tilting his head back slightly. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual.

"Diavolo has entrusted me with another task. A delicate one. And my brothers…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "…continue to be themselves."

You almost smiled. Almost. But the weariness in his voice was enough to keep your expression soft.

"You don’t have to do everything alone, you know."

"Yes, I do." His answer was immediate.

"No, you don’t," you countered, shifting to kneel beside his chair so you could look up at him properly.

Lucifer’s gaze flickered.

"Who else will?"

That was the heart of it, wasn’t it?

For thousands of years, Lucifer had been the protector. The eldest. The one who took the fall, who bore the punishment, who carried every burden so his brothers wouldn’t have to. It was ingrained into him, a duty written into his very bones.

But even the strongest pillars cracked under too much weight.

"You don’t trust anyone else to help." Your voice was gentle, not accusing, just understanding.

Lucifer sighed again, closing his eyes. "It is not a matter of trust. It is simply reality."

You hesitated before reaching out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers were tense, cold from exhaustion, but he didn’t pull away.

"Then let me be part of that reality."

His eyes opened, startled. You squeezed his hand.

"You carry so much, Lucifer. Too much. You hold up the Devildom, the House of Lamentation, your brothers. But who holds you?"

Lucifer didn’t answer. He just stared at you, something unreadable in his expression.

"Let me be that person," you whispered. "Even just for tonight."

Something in him broke.

Not in a dramatic way. Not in some grand display of emotion. But in the way his shoulders slumped just a little, in the way his fingers slowly curled around yours, gripping you like a lifeline.

"You are too good to me," he murmured.

"You deserve it," you countered.

Lucifer exhaled, a slow release of tension, and for once, he let you guide him. You tugged him gently up from his chair, leading him away from his desk. He hesitated, casting one last glance at his unfinished work, but ultimately followed as you pulled him toward his bed.

He sat at the edge, and you stood between his knees, running your fingers through his hair. He melted under your touch, leaning into it without resistance.

"Close your eyes," you murmured.

Lucifer obeyed.

For a long moment, you just stood there, combing your fingers through his dark locks, letting the weight of the day slip away from him. His breathing steadied, and the tension in his body slowly eased.

"Stay," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

"Always."

And that night, for once, Lucifer let himself rest.

Golden, Even in the Dark

The first sign that something was wrong was the eerie silence.

Mammon wasn’t yelling about some new scheme. He wasn’t bragging about his latest purchase or complaining about his brothers. He wasn’t even trying to drag you into some get-rich-quick plan.

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

When you found him in his room, he was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed with his knees pulled up, staring at the wall. His D.D.D. lay forgotten beside him, the screen dim. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen.

This wasn’t his normal sulking after losing a bet or getting scolded by Lucifer. This was different.

"Mammon?"

He flinched slightly at your voice but didn’t look up.

You didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, you sat beside him, close enough that your knees brushed. He stiffened for a second before sighing, running a hand down his face.

"You shouldn’t be here," he muttered. "Ain’t exactly good company right now."

You bumped your shoulder against his. "Too bad. I like your company."

Mammon let out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah? Well, you’re probably the only one."

That was what made your stomach twist. The way he said it—flat, resigned, like he truly believed it.

You stayed quiet, giving him space to talk.

It took him a moment, but eventually, he sighed again, running a hand through his messy white hair.

"I just... I dunno." His voice was quieter than usual. "Some days, it just feels like—like everyone’s right about me."

Your chest tightened.

"What do you mean?"

He scoffed. "C’mon, ya know what I mean. I screw up all the time. I owe Grimm to half of the Devildom. I mess up every job I get. No one takes me seriously, and maybe they shouldn’t."

His hands clenched into fists.

"I get called a scumbag so much it’s startin’ to sound like my damn name."

You reached out, gently prying one of his fists open to hold his hand. His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away.

"Mammon." Your voice was soft but firm. "You are not a scumbag."

He let out another bitter laugh. "Ya don’t gotta say that just ‘cause you’re my partner."

"I’m not just saying it. I mean it." You squeezed his hand. "You mess up sometimes. So what? That doesn’t make you bad. That makes you human. Well… demon. But you know what I mean."

His lips twitched, just barely, before he sighed again, rubbing at his eyes like he was trying to wipe away thoughts he didn’t want to have.

"It’s just…" His voice wavered. "Sometimes, I think—what if I really ain’t good for nothin’? What if they’re all right?"

That was it. That was the thought eating away at him.

Without thinking, you moved, shifting so you were right in front of him. He blinked at you, startled, as you took his face in your hands.

"Mammon. Look at me."

He hesitated but obeyed, his eyes flickering with something vulnerable.

"You are not worthless. Not even close. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

His throat bobbed. "…A greedy idiot?"

You flicked his forehead lightly. "No, dummy." You gave him a soft smile. "I see someone who cares. Who loves his family even when they’re mean to him. Who protects the people he loves even when he’s scared. I see the Mammon who makes me laugh when I feel awful. The Mammon who gave me his jacket when I was cold, even though he pretended it was ‘just ‘cause I looked pathetic.’"

His ears went red. "Oi—!"

"I see the Mammon who would give me the last bite of his favorite food if I asked."

"Tch, yeah, ‘cause you steal it from my plate."

"And yet, you never stop me."

Mammon grumbled something under his breath, but his shoulders relaxed a little. His fingers squeezed yours back.

"You’re a lot of things, Mammon. Stubborn. Loud. Sometimes reckless. But you are not worthless. And I don’t ever want to hear you say that again, got it?"

His eyes searched yours like he wanted to believe you, but something was still holding him back.

So, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his.

"I love you," you whispered. "You. Not some perfect version of you. Just you. The greedy, dramatic, ridiculous, caring, golden-hearted dude that I fell for."

Mammon sucked in a sharp breath.

And then, to your surprise, he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder. You felt the way his breathing hitched, the way his fingers clutched at your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.

You hugged him just as tightly.

"You really mean that?" His voice was so quiet it nearly broke your heart.

"With everything I’ve got."

He didn’t respond right away. But after a moment, you felt him nod against your shoulder.

"…Okay."

It wasn’t a grand declaration, but you knew what it meant.

So you just held him, letting the silence settle, warm and comfortable.

Eventually, you felt him shift, mumbling into your hair, "You… You ain’t gonna let go yet, right?"

You smiled, squeezing him tighter.

"Not a chance."

Glitches in the System

Something was wrong.

You knew it the second you stepped into Leviathan’s room. The usual comforting glow of his multiple screens flickered erratically, casting strange shadows across the mess of figurines, manga stacks, and game cases scattered around. But the most unsettling thing?

Levi was silent.

No muttering about some new event in Mythic Devildom, no complaints about normies ruining a franchise, no excited rambling about an upcoming gacha banner. Just… silence.

Your stomach twisted.

He was at his desk, hunched over with his back to you, but he wasn’t playing anything. His keyboard was untouched. His headphones hung around his neck, blinking like they’d been disconnected mid-game.

"Levi?"

He tensed, fingers curling into his sleeves. "Go away."

Your heart sank.

"Not happening." You stepped closer, hesitating only slightly before reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched.

"I said—!" He spun around, eyes burning with frustration—until they landed on you. His glare faltered, flickering into something more uncertain.

You took that as a win and pulled over a chair, sitting beside him.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

Levi scoffed, dropping his gaze. "Tch. Like you care."

Your chest ached.

"I do care, Levi. That’s why I’m here."

He hugged himself, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, a defensive habit you knew all too well.

"It's stupid," he muttered.

"If it’s making you feel like this, it’s not stupid."

He inhaled sharply but still wouldn't look at you.

"…I lost," he finally said.

You blinked. "Lost?"

"Yeah." His voice was bitter. "I was in this tournament—one of the biggest ones for my game. I practiced for weeks. I barely slept, barely did anything else, and I still—" He cut himself off, gripping his arms tighter. "I lost. And everyone saw. Everyone in the chat was laughing, calling me a failure, saying I was all talk. And maybe they’re right."

Your heart broke.

"Levi."

"No—!" He shot up suddenly, knocking his chair back. He started pacing, his movements frantic. "They are right! I am a failure! I call myself a pro gamer, but what kind of pro gamer loses like that?! It wasn’t even close! I embarrassed myself in front of thousands of people! I—I—" His voice cracked.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, shoulders shaking. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You realized with a jolt—he wasn’t just upset. He was panicking.

You moved without thinking, stepping right in front of him.

"Levi, look at me."

He shook his head violently.

"Levi."

Nothing. He was spiraling, lost in his own thoughts, drowning. You hesitated only a moment before cupping his face gently, forcing him to focus on you.

His wide eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown out in distress. His breathing was ragged, his whole body trembling.

"Breathe with me," you murmured. "Okay? In—" You inhaled deeply, exaggerating it. "—and out."

His breath hitched, but he followed, shaky and uneven.

"Again," you urged.

Another breath. This one a little steadier.

And another.

Slowly, the tension drained from his body. His fists loosened, his breathing evened out.

And then—he collapsed against you.

You barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a desperate, shaking hug. His face buried itself in your shoulder, and you felt a dampness against your shirt.

"I—I tried so hard," he whispered, voice raw. "And I still wasn’t good enough."

You held him tighter. "Levi, you are more than a game. More than a tournament. Losing doesn’t make you a failure."

His grip tightened. "Then why does it feel like it?"

You exhaled softly, running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp the way you knew soothed him.

"Because you care. Because you put everything into the things you love. That’s not a weakness, Levi—that’s passion."

He shuddered against you.

"But they—everyone in the chat—"

"They don’t matter. They’re just voices in the void. I’m real. Your brothers are real. And we all love you no matter what."

He let out a broken noise, gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

You held him through it, letting him feel everything he needed to feel.

Minutes passed. Eventually, his breathing steadied, and his hands wrapped loosely around your wrist—a quiet, instinctual gesture of comfort.

"You’re really not gonna leave, huh?" His voice was hoarse but teasing.

You smiled against his hair. "Not a chance, Leviathan."

He sniffled. "Tch. Normie."

But his arms never let go.

Tears in the Pages

The library was quiet, as it usually was in the late hours. But tonight, there was a noticeable absence of the usual rustling of pages, the low murmurs of Satan reading, lost in a novel or some new research.

Instead, there was just silence, thick and heavy.

You found him curled in the corner of the library, a worn book resting untouched in his lap. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered against his pale skin, but his usual sharp gaze was nowhere to be found. His eyes were staring blankly at the floor, distant, lost in a sea of thoughts that you could almost feel pressing down on him.

"Satan?"

His head lifted slowly, and you saw the faint traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something you hadn’t seen in a while. Vulnerability.

"I didn't hear you come in." His voice was softer than usual, quieter, almost subdued.

You hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting beside him. The familiar scent of old books and the warmth of the fire were comforting, but the coldness in his posture was anything but.

"Satan, what’s going on?"

His eyes flickered, briefly meeting yours, before he turned away again, like he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze. "It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it."

You knew that tone. It was the same one he used when he didn’t want to be a burden, when he wanted to keep whatever was bothering him locked away. But Satan was many things—sharp, confident, clever—but the one thing he wasn’t good at was hiding his true feelings from you.

"It’s not nothing," you said gently, your hand reaching out to rest on his.

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t speak either.

"You can’t keep it all inside," you continued. "Whatever it is, I want to help."

Satan’s fingers twitched beneath yours, and for a long moment, he stayed silent, as though he was debating whether or not to speak. His chest rose and fell with a deep, almost imperceptible sigh.

"I’ve been...thinking about something." He finally spoke, his voice strained. "Something from a long time ago. Something I thought I had dealt with."

You leaned in slightly, concern creasing your brow. "What is it, Satan?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pressing together in a thin line, before he spoke again, his words quiet, almost fragile.

"The truth about my origins. The things that… were done to me before I became who I am."

You blinked, taken aback. Satan rarely spoke about his past, about the early years of his existence, before he was the commanding and intellectual demon you knew so well. It was always a sensitive topic, one he tried to avoid, but now it was spilling out, the weight of it too much for him to carry alone.

You placed your hand gently on his shoulder, offering silent support. "You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but I’m here for you."

He let out a bitter laugh, though it held no mirth. "It’s not about being ready. It’s just that…" He hesitated, his voice almost breaking. "I’ve spent so much time focusing on proving myself. On showing that I’m not what they made me, but…" His voice trailed off, and you could feel the tension radiating from him.

"But what, Satan?"

He swallowed, his jaw tightening. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid that, despite everything I’ve done, I’ll always be... that thing."

You didn’t hesitate. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His body stiffened at first, as if he wasn’t sure how to react, but then, slowly, he relaxed, melting into your warmth.

"You are not that thing," you whispered firmly, your voice strong, unwavering. "You’re Satan. The demon who’s fought so hard for everything he has, for the person he is. None of that changes, not because of your past. Not because of anything."

He buried his face into your shoulder, his grip tightening around you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight of his walls coming down.

"But what if I’m not good enough?" His voice was muffled against you, raw with emotion. "What if I’ve ruined everything by trying to be something I’m not?"

You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, to see the sincerity in your eyes.

"You’re more than enough," you said, your voice steady, full of conviction. "You’ve always been enough."

Satan’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the two of you were locked in that quiet space—where only truth mattered. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against yours.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I’ve always been afraid of being a disappointment. To you, to my brothers, to myself."

You kissed his forehead softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "You could never be a disappointment. You’re perfect to me, just as you are."

For a long while, neither of you moved. Satan was still, his body language soft and open, and you could feel the way the heaviness in his chest had lightened just a little.

And for the first time in a long while, you both allowed yourselves to just be.

"Stay with me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less burdened.

"Always," you replied, pulling him close once more, never wanting him to feel alone again.

A Night of Roses and Reassurance

The House of Lamentation was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong, like something was missing. You didn’t even have to check your phone to know—Asmo hadn't messaged you all day. No excited texts about the latest Majolish trends, no voice notes gushing about his new skincare routine, not even a single selfie.

Something was wrong.

You found him curled up in his room, hidden beneath a sea of silk sheets, his usual scent of roses and vanilla barely noticeable under the weight of something bitter. He didn't look up when you entered, which was an immediate red flag. Asmo always acknowledged you, always made a show of greeting you, even if he was in the middle of a dramatic episode about a chipped nail.

But not this time.

You approached slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped, and Asmo stirred just enough to peek at you with tired, dull eyes. His makeup was smudged—something he’d never allow in normal circumstances.

"Hey, sweetheart," you said gently, brushing a strand of soft champagne-colored hair from his face. "Rough day?"

Asmo let out a heavy sigh, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. His lips trembled slightly before he spoke.

"It was awful."

You didn’t rush him. Instead, you took his hand, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his palm, waiting for him to continue.

"Everyone was so… so mean today." His voice wobbled, and your heart clenched. "I know people call me shallow, but today it felt different. I overheard some demons talking about me—saying I was nothing but an airheaded flirt, that I don't really matter beyond being pretty. Like I'm some… disposable accessory."

His fingers tightened around yours as he whispered, "I know I shouldn't care what lesser demons think, but I do. And I hate that I do."

You didn't hesitate.

"Asmo," you murmured, shifting closer, your free hand cradling his cheek. He leaned into the warmth, his eyes squeezing shut like he wanted to block out the world.

"Listen to me. You are not shallow. You are not just ‘pretty.’ You are the most radiant, kind, loving person I’ve ever met. You make people feel seen. You make me feel seen. And anyone who reduces you to just your looks is too blind to recognize the heart behind them."

Asmo let out a shaky breath, his lower lip quivering.

"But what if they're right? What if I am just—"

"They're not." Your voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Do you think I love you because of your looks?"

His eyes fluttered open, glistening with unshed tears.

"...I mean, it helps," he tried to joke, but his voice cracked. You huffed out a small laugh before cupping both of his cheeks, thumbs stroking his skin.

"I love you because you're you, Asmo. Because you're the one who remembers how I take my tea. Because you send me cute messages just to make me smile. Because you give the best hugs, even when you're the one who needs them."

His breath hitched.

"Because you care so much it hurts. Because you have so much love in your heart, you don’t even know what to do with it. And because I—" you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, "—would be lost without you."

A single tear slipped down his cheek. You wiped it away before he could, and that was all it took for the dam to break.

Asmo let out a choked sob and threw his arms around you, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him together. You held him just as tightly, rubbing his back as his body trembled against yours.

"I hate feeling like this," he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.

"I know, baby," you whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "But you're allowed to feel like this. You don't always have to be perfect."

He let out a wet laugh. "That’s funny coming from you, my little perfectionist."

You snorted, giving his side a playful squeeze. "Says the demon who takes an hour to pick a lip gloss."

"Excuse you, that’s a crucial life decision." His voice was still thick with emotion, but a little bit of his usual spark was returning. You smiled.

"How about this? We do a little self-care night. Just us. No outside world, no mean demons, just cozy blankets, snacks, and pampering. You can rant all you want, and I'll be here to listen. Sound good?"

Asmo sniffled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "You really mean it?"

You booped his nose. "Of course, silly. I’d do anything for you."

He let out a watery giggle before pouting dramatically. "Ugh, you're too sweet. It's so unfair. How am I supposed to stay miserable when you're this cute?"

You grinned. "That's the point."

Asmo exhaled deeply, his body finally relaxing. "Okay, okay, you win. But only if we do facemasks. And you let me paint your nails."

"Deal."

And as you pulled him into another warm embrace, feeling his heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, you knew—no matter how bad his day had been, he would always have you to make it better.

The Weight of the World

Beelzebub had always been a rock—unshakable, steadfast, and incredibly reliable. But tonight, something was different.

You found him in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge, staring at the vast array of food with a look of emptiness in his eyes. It wasn’t like him to be lost in thought like this, especially when food was involved.

“Beel?”

He didn’t respond right away, his hand still resting on the fridge door. He was so still, you could almost believe he wasn’t even breathing.

You stepped closer, quietly, making your way around the kitchen island to where he stood.

“Beel, talk to me.”

He let out a long sigh, closing the fridge door gently and leaning against it, his broad shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping much, or maybe he had been sleeping too much, trying to escape whatever was weighing on his mind.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but even you could tell that was far from the truth.

You didn’t let him hide this time. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm, your touch warm and grounding. “Beel, I can tell something’s wrong.”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar nervous habit of his.

“I don’t know why I’m feeling this way,” he confessed, his voice heavy. “I’ve been so tired, and no matter how much I eat or how much I rest, it’s like there’s something missing. Like I can’t shake it off. It’s...”

He trailed off, his words stuck in his throat. You could see the turmoil in his eyes.

You stepped closer, closing the space between you, and took his hands in yours. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself. I’m here for you.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, his grip tight on your hands as though he were afraid to let go. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve been so focused on making sure everyone else is okay... but I haven’t been okay. And it feels like I’m failing.”

You blinked, surprised. “Failing? Beel, you’re one of the strongest people I know. You’re always there for your brothers, always looking out for them. You don’t fail.”

Beel’s shoulders slumped further, and he shook his head slowly. “It’s not just them... it’s me. I... I feel like I’m always just... eating to fill something up. It’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I don’t know how to stop, and I don’t know what else to do.”

You could feel the weight of his words sink into you, the pain of struggling with something so deeply personal and self-destructive. You took a deep breath, squeezing his hands.

“Beel, you don’t need to do this alone. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, but he finally let go of your hands to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His chest was warm, but his grip was shaky, as if he needed this more than anything right now.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

You hugged him back, tightening your hold. “You won’t hurt me, Beel. You never could. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

He stayed like that for a long time, his face buried in your shoulder, his body heavy against you. But little by little, you felt his tension start to ease. The weight he’d been carrying slowly seemed to lift, just by being here with you.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Beel murmured quietly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little tired, but there was a softness there now, a sense of relief.

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied with a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “We’ll get through this together. One step at a time.”

Beel gave a small, thankful smile before pulling you back into his arms. This time, there was no tension, just a quiet comfort in knowing you were there for each other.

And as the night wore on, you stayed by his side, letting him rest, letting him be, while you both found the strength to face whatever came next—together.

Whispers in the Dark

The lights in the attic were dim, only the moonlight filtering through the small window to cast soft shadows across the room. You had been looking for Belphegor for a while now, knowing he’d been unusually quiet. Normally, he'd be lounging around or teasing his brothers, but tonight, the silence was unnerving.

Finally, you found him curled up on the couch, his head resting against a pile of pillows. His eyes were closed, but there was something about his stillness that made you uneasy. Normally, he was playful, sleepy, maybe a little too sarcastic, but tonight, he was just... absent.

You stepped closer, your voice quiet but gentle. "Belphie?"

He didn’t stir, not immediately, but you could see his shoulders shift slightly, as though he was aware of your presence but didn’t want to face you.

You sat down next to him, your gaze soft, watching him closely. It wasn’t like him to shut himself off like this.

"You’ve been quiet." Your voice was a little hesitant, knowing how he sometimes liked to keep to himself when he was upset. "What’s going on?"

Belphegor finally opened his eyes, slowly blinking at the ceiling, as though he didn’t have the energy to move. "It’s nothing."

You knew that wasn’t true. Belphie had a tendency to keep his feelings locked away, but you also knew that he didn’t want to talk about things he couldn’t fix. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his, resting against his side, silently offering your presence.

"It’s not nothing," you said softly, watching the way he stiffened for just a moment before his hand relaxed against yours.

He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of his frustration. "I’ve been... feeling like I’m not good enough. Like I don’t belong. I thought maybe, if I stayed away, it would pass, but it’s not going away. It’s just..." He trailed off, his words barely a whisper. "I don’t know what to do."

Belphie never liked feeling like he was a burden, and the weight of those emotions was evident in his voice. He didn’t need to say it, but you could hear how much he was struggling, how isolated he felt in the midst of everything.

You leaned in closer, your voice gentle but firm. "Belphie, listen to me. You don’t have to carry everything alone. You’re not a burden, and you do belong. You’re a part of this family, and you’re important to me."

He shifted, his gaze meeting yours, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to believe you but the other part that still felt unworthy.

"I just don’t feel like I can do anything right," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I’ve been so... tired of everything. It’s like I’m stuck, and no matter how much I sleep, I’m still exhausted, still empty."

You brushed your thumb across the back of his hand, your touch soothing, trying to ground him. "You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Belphie. It’s okay to feel this way. You’re allowed to have bad days, to feel lost sometimes. But you don’t have to stay there."

He turned his head toward you, his eyes softening as he studied your face. Slowly, he lifted his hand to your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. "I hate feeling like this," he admitted, his voice quiet but vulnerable. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You smiled softly, moving closer until you were right next to him. You pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping your arms around him, offering the comfort he didn’t know how to ask for.

"I’ll always be here, Belphie. You don’t ever have to face this alone," you whispered into his hair, your heart swelling with the desire to make him feel safe. "I’ll help you carry it, okay?"

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. But you felt his grip tighten around you, his body slowly relaxing in your embrace.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I don’t deserve you..."

"Yes, you do," you whispered back, holding him a little tighter. "You deserve all the love in the world, Belphie. And I’m going to make sure you always feel that."

Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease. He rested his head against you, his breathing steadying as he allowed himself a rare moment of peace.

And for that moment, the world outside felt far away. It was just you and him, holding each other close in the quiet, letting the weight of everything else drift away.

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another-lost-mc · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome Home: When MC returns from the past.

Featuring: The Demon Brothers x gn!Reader

SFW // Content: Bittersweet angst with a happy ending. It's implied that MC has been gone for a significant amount of time and that the demon brothers spiraled after MC disappeared. Includes mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms including: drinking; implied self-isolation, depression; destructive or violent behaviour; mention of blood/injuries; mentions of Lesson 16 events. 6.9k words.

Read The Worst Goodbye (part one) here.

LUCIFER

Lucifer glances at the clock on his desk and sighs wearily, rubbing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

He already knows it’s going to be another long night of forcing himself to focus on filling out paperwork, on preparing student council memos and the countless other tasks he’s taken upon himself since you disappeared.

A cursed record plays quietly and the fire in the hearth crackles each time a log shifts or splinters.

A nearly-empty glass of Demonus leaves a rim of condensation on the dark wood desk. He used to keep track of the days that have passed in your absence, but now he counts the empty bottles of that bittersweet amber drink instead.

It’s not only his own vices that weigh heavily on his mind; his brothers aren’t faring any better without you. Their behaviour swings wildly from bored indifference to reckless abandon. He’s not sure what’s worse: forcing them from their rooms when some of them refuse to go to class or work (or eat and bathe or shower), or dealing with their chaos when they decide to replace grief and misery with the wicked temptations and misdeeds of their sins.

You would be disappointed in them, he thinks. You would be disappointed in them all.

But what else can they possibly do while they wait for some glimmer of hope that you’ll come home again?

He remembers the tense conversation he had with Diavolo about your situation after you disappeared with barely a hint of warning. All he had were Solomon’s vague assurances of your eventual return to comfort him.

Lucifer listened to Diavolo’s insufficient apologies and condolences, but he couldn’t help but glance at Barbatos whose sharp gaze was at odds with the neutral expression on his face. He wondered how much the butler knew about your misfortune, and he’s wondered since then if he should’ve fought harder to force him to bring you back from wherever you were.

Now he passes his time with busywork because he has no one to remind him not to work. He drinks too much to dull the pain in his head and his heart. He sleeps on the couch in his office, or sometimes he slumps on his desk when exhaustion consumes him, because it’s better than lying in his large, empty bed alone.

It shouldn’t have surprised Lucifer that Cerberus eventually realized you were gone too. He went to the family tomb one evening, startled awake by three mournful howls that shook the foundations of the house. He used the bit of magic that gave Cerberus a manageable house-friendly size and without warning, the dog ran past him up the stairs. When Lucifer found him again, the three-headed dog was whining pitifully and pawing at your bedroom door.

Lucifer hadn’t entered your room since you left, but he had to prove that you weren’t there. That didn’t stop his hound from searching the rest of the house before returning to Lucifer’s side, ears drooping and each head whining in confusion as they bumped against his legs.

Cerberus has barely left his side since, trailing after him and sleeping in front of the fire while Lucifer’s pen scratches quietly across the papers on his desk.

Lucifer contemplates giving up on his work for the night and resting on the sofa, but he frowns when Cerberus stands up suddenly and trots across the room. The door must not have been closed tight because he nudges the door open with one of his snouts. All three heads tilt curiously and he sniffs noisily. Lucifer rises from his chair with a curse when the hound bolts out of the room, howling as he runs out of the library and into the dark hallway past.

Lucifer’s steps are slow and clumsy at first as he shakes off his desperate need for sleep, but he needs to catch the noisy creature first. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is his brothers waking up in the middle of the night in foul moods and causing even more of a ruckus.

The dog’s strange howling stops somewhere near the front of the house, and Lucifer freezes when he turns the corner just in time to see Cerberus knock someone to the floor.

You.

He knocked you to the floor so each of his heads could yip excitedly and lick at your face. When you laugh and try to push the animal away, Cerberus plops down on your legs and seems content to keep you trapped there.

Lucifer, staring wide-eyed and speechless, takes a hesitant step, and then another, before breaking into a run.

It’s not long after that when each of his brothers each stumble drowsily into the hallway, grumbling and snarling and glaring because of the loud disturbance that woke them from their sleep.

Their tempers die down and it's utter chaos when they process the sight in front of them: Lucifer chuckling while you hold each other in the middle of the hallway floor near your bedroom, the Avatar of Pride wearing a rare smile and with even rarer tears shining in his eyes, and Cerberus panting happily nearby as if he was the one who brought you home for his grumpy master to find.

MAMMON

Mammon spins in a slow circle where he dangles from the dining room ceiling. The rope binding his hands behind his back doesn't budge no matter how hard he tries to rip it apart and set himself free.

"Yo, someone get me down from here, will ya? All this spinning's makin' me dizzy!"

But he knows it's useless. None of his brothers will test Lucifer's short fuse by setting Mammon free, and there aren't any brave humans around to help him anymore.

"It wasn't even that bad. I swear I was gonna return it..." Mammon grumbles to himself. So what if he's gotten a little reckless lately? He's no worse than his brothers are, but that arrogant prat Lucifer doesn't tie them up like this.

He braces himself for a long, boring day, spinning for hell knows how long, until Lucifer remembers to set him free.

"Oh no. Mammon. What did you do to upset him this time?"

His body jerks when he hears—thinks he hears a familiar voice. He recognizes the silhouette of the shadow that stands in the doorway briefly before stepping towards him, but he shakes his head like it’ll make the illusion fade away.

That's gotta be his imagination, right?

"You son of a—this is a cheap shot, even for you," Mammon snarls, cursing Lucifer for teasing him with an illusion of all things. Why else would you suddenly appear before him like a dream - or a nightmare - except to taunt him?

Isn't suffering without you punishment enough?

“Here, let me help you…” The voice is quieter now, but close. Gentle hands tug uselessly at the cursed rope holding him in place and he clenches his eyes shut tight and reminds himself that you’re not here.

But then he recognizes the sound of a tongue clicking in frustration, the barely-audible murmurs about Lucifer needing to loosen up, and he crumples in a heap on the floor when a spell he doesn’t recognize causes the ropes to vanish without a trace.

He bumps into someone’s legs when he rolls over, but he doesn’t get up. He throws an arm over his eyes instead.

It's not you, it's not you, it's not you—

But he grunts when a heavy weight suddenly plops down on top of him and he can’t help but breathe deep when a familiar scent tickles his nose. It makes him shiver, gives him hope, and he whimpers.

You nudge his arm aside so you can cup his cheeks in your palms and force him to look at you. Your thumbs swipe away the tears that slip from the corner of his eyes; you're not sure if the sound that rips from his throat is a sob or a laugh.

He stares at you for a long time before he speaks again, and for the first time in ages, he feels something other than pain.

"Don't you dare think of leavin' me behind the next time you decide to disappear like that," he threatens. There's no heat in his voice, only slow acceptance and relief that you're finally back where you belong—with him.

He crushes you against his chest in a tight hug while you whisper apologies into the crook of his neck, and you stay that way - curled together in the middle of the dining room floor - until the others find you later.

LEVIATHAN

Thump-thump-thump.

Levi's TV across the room drones on quietly, a random anime DVD playing on repeat for the dozenth time, but he doesn't pay attention to it.

Thump-thump-thump.

Levi's computer pings faintly, barely audible over the hum of Henry's aquarium. He hasn't sat at his desk in ages, he hasn't logged in for any of his gaming events or guild raids and he stopped keeping track of what his favourite idols are up to. Notifications on his social media accounts and emails are ignored and left unread.

Thump-thump-thump.

His D.D.D. vibrates somewhere in the tangled mess of blankets and pillows underneath him but he ignores that too. It's probably Lucifer reminding him that he needs to go to class sometime this week.

Unlike his brothers, Levi's not going to pretend he's fine.

He hasn't been fine for a long time.

Thump-thump-

A knock on his door startles him and his tail stops thrumming against the side of his porcelain tub. He pokes his head out from the nest of blankets he buried himself in and glares at the door across the room. The orange of his irises flare in a menacing glow from underneath the hood pulled over his head, the drawstrings chewed and frayed ages ago.

Everyone knows not to bother him. It was a very simple request.

Are they stupid?

He pulls himself out of the tub with his teeth bared. Maybe a little scuffle with one of his nosy siblings will make him feel better—will make him feel something.

He yanks the door open but freezes when he recognizes you, standing in front of him as if you didn't vanish from his life without a trace. Your knuckles are raised like you were about to knock again, and you rock back and forth on your heels as you lower your hand in embarrassment.

Levi's mouth flaps open and shut, but before you can say anything, he lets out a high-pitched squeak and slams the door shut in your face.

That's not the worst reaction you imagined, so you consider it a win.

You press your ear against the door. There's shuffling inside his room, the faint sounds of something hitting the sides of his tub. You knock again softly to warn him before you push the door open and let yourself inside.

Aside from the glow from the aquarium, his room is dark and suffocating. You step gingerly over the piles of books and movies strewn haphazardly across the floor; he never used to be so careless with his collections. An empty food wrapper crinkles under your foot and you hope he hasn't been surviving only on his private stash of imported candy.

There's a familiar lumpy shape laying across the bottom of the tub when you peer over the edge. His sniffles are muffled by the blankets and pillows he's hiding under. The only part of him you can see is his tail that dangles limply over the side.

You sit down next to his tail, careful not to touch it in case he doesn't want you to. It was always a sensitive part of himself and he didn't like others touching it so freely; you're not sure he'll grant you that privilege again anytime soon.

"Levi?"

His tail twitches at the sound of your voice. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes peer out from a gap in his little hideaway. There's a lot of emotion swirling in the gaze that narrows at you suspiciously: pain, confusion, anger—all tempered with the tiniest bit of hope.

You lean forward and press your hand against him where you think the curve of his shoulder is. You're gentle enough that he can ignore it or shake you off if he wants. His body deflates under your hesitant touch like he finally let go of the breath he's been holding for so long. He blinks at you, eyes widening as he dares himself to believe you're actually there. More of his face peeks out at you when he slowly peels the blanket away.

"I'm back." The words croak out of you, and your voice is watery like the tears that sting your eyes. His only response is a wounded noise he makes at the back of his throat. You recognize it instantly—you made sounds just like it when you were first torn away from here. Away from him.

You know you have so much to explain and apologize for, and you don't even know where to start, but before you can say anything else, his tail coils around your wrist. You tumble forward when he pulls you down into the tub with him. His arms and legs and tail curl themselves around you, and if you didn't miss him as much as you did, you might complain about how uncomfortable it is.

He mumbles apologies into your chest because he was convinced that whatever happened to you was his fault somehow.

You spend a long time trying to reassure him it wasn't his fault at all.

SATAN

As soon as you get your bearings, stumbling in your room where the portal suddenly dropped you, you want to see Satan. You need to see him.

You love him. You missed him. You worried about him, and you worried for him. He might not always show his rage or act on his violent impulses with you anymore, but you can only imagine what he must've felt when you disappeared.

You saw what he was like before—young, lost, bewildered and so unspeakably angry—and you need to see for yourself what's happened since your untimely absence.

It's disorienting trying to make your way out of your bedroom. It's dark and a bit dusty, and the furniture isn't quite where you left it. You bump your knee and trip more than once making your way to the door. The knob sticks as if it hasn't been opened in ages.

Part of you pushes down the sting that maybe the brothers abandoned your room completely and tried to pretend you didn't exist since you’ve been gone.

(If you could see better in the near darkness, you'd know that most of your bookshelves and drawers are almost empty, picked clean by each of the siblings who took your belongings to keep in their rooms instead.)

Nothing can prepare you for what you find when you head up the stairs to the second floor and stop in front of Satan’s door, or what's left of it. There's giant gashes in the wood and you're careful not to scratch your arm on the sharp splinters where claws (or perhaps his tail) broke through it.

You used to tease Satan about the stacks of books he kept on the floor, organized chaos to anyone but him because he could tell you exactly where each and every book was kept. There's no wobbly piles of books on the floor to stumble into now. Broken book spines and torn pages litter the ground beneath your feet, and you can feel the crunch of glass that you assume are the remains of his old lanterns. Even his bed is barely recognizable—the mattress is ripped to shreds and the frame is bent and disjointed.

His bedroom is the embodiment of the fury deep inside him when he realized you were gone. Missing. Taken. And for all his power and his intelligence and wit, even he couldn't find a way to bring you back.

It wasn't your fault either, but faced with the evidence of his misery, you can't help but feel guilty.

You leave his room and in your daze, your feet lead you to the library next. There's a small part of you that fears Satan might've laid waste to another precious room in the house, but there's a flickering light underneath the doorway and you're hopeful it might be intact after all.

Like your room, the library's not quite the same as it was before. The shelves aren't as orderly, as if whoever's been reading the books and ancient tomes couldn't be bothered to put them back properly. There's a small stack of dishes piled on the table near the sofa—a strange sight because everyone knows it bothers Satan if they eat or drink in here. He hated the idea of spills or greasy fingerprints ruining the books by accident. Next to the sofa, a pile of books catches your eye because they're yours, taken from the bookshelves in your room. The spines are creased as if they've been read over and over again, acting as a poor replacement for your company.

There's a soft groan and you suddenly notice the figure laid back on the sofa. A familiar tuft of Satan's blonde hair rests on your pillow and your blanket spills over his legs and waist and onto the floor. The library is his temporary room, the sofa a makeshift bed where he keeps reminders of you close by, and he breathes deeply while he sleeps. His brow is creased as if he's unhappy even in his dreams.

You take a step forward and debate whether you should wake him up or not when the air shifts around you.

He moves faster than you can track with your eyes, launching himself off the couch and pinning you to the floor before you can even stutter out his name. His emerald gaze flickers with fiery rage, his hot breath fanning across your face, and his chest rumbles with a deep, predatory warning. His tail rises menacingly behind him and your throat runs dry at the very real threat hovering over you.

"S-Satan..."

It's almost comical, the way his eyes widen with recognition when you stutter out his name. He drinks in your appearance and by the time he scrambles off you and his demon form is gone. When he was confident in his anger moments ago, now he hesitates when he reaches out to you. He's not sure if you're really there or simply a mirage, the remnants of a dream he wishes he didn't have to wake up from.

As soon as you open your arms to him, he's in your embrace and nearly topples you both over in his haste to be close to you. His hands smooth up your arms and he cradles your jaw, tilting your head slowly as he checks for any sign of injury. He bumps his nose against yours when he's satisfied that you're unharmed, whether by his own hand or from someone else's, and he smiles a bit sheepishly when you do.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm sorry I left you."

He seems content holding you on the library floor, nuzzling against your temple and inhaling the familiar scent of your skin. It's such a simple thing, but he enjoys it.

He hasn't felt this relaxed in ages.

"I saw your room." You're not sure why you blurt that out of all the things you could talk about instead. "I went there first to find you."

He clears his throat and turns away as pink dusts his cheeks. "Ah, well...I might've gone overboard." He's quiet for a moment before he looks at you, feigning a look of innocence that poorly masks the amusement underneath. "If I told you it was Lucifer's fault, would you believe me?"

Laughter bubbles out of you and he chuckles too. "Not a chance! But I'll help you no matter whose fault it was. There's nothing we can't fix together, right?"

"I'd like that," he murmurs against your cheek.

ASMODEUS

Asmo was heading to the kitchen when he crashed into someone coming out of your bedroom. His arms flailed wildly at his sides while he tried to keep his balance and stop himself from toppling over. He ran his fingers through the curtain of hair that fell into his eyes, and the venomous anger pouring from his mouth came to a screeching halt when he realized the person he bumped into was you.

Your eyes were wide with shock, but you couldn't decide what surprised you more: colliding with your beloved demon after so many dreary days forced apart, or the anger that poured from him in waves.

"I'm back," you explained dumbly. Obviously. But he blinked his eyes rapidly like he wouldn't believe it.

"How?! I mean, when did you—?"

Whatever he was going to say next caught in his throat as his eyes flitted over your appearance. His gaze was critical, honing in on the smallest little details, the things that are different from the way you looked when he last saw you. Something about your hands gets his attention, and he holds them both gently in his palms.

"Oh, hon, who's been helping you with your nails? The polish is chipped."

His mood shifts so rapidly that it gives you whiplash, and you glance down at your fingers. Maybe it has been a few days, and sure, they might look a little worse for wear, but you're baffled that he noticed that of all things.

"Well, technically, you've been doing them for me." You smile gently at the joke because his past self was just as attentive to your needs and loved taking care of you in the simplest ways.

It might be the wrong thing to admit out loud, though. The guarded look Asmo gives you is so cold, so detached that the amusement fades from your expression.

"The least I can do is help clean these up for you now that you're back, hmm?" His voice is loud and a bit shrill, cracking on some of the words. He spins on his heel and tugs on your hand as he heads towards the staircase.

He doesn't notice - or maybe he just doesn't care - that the commotion reached the dining room. His brothers stumble into the hallway and you can't make out anything they're saying as they all rush towards you and try to talk over each other.

A terrifying growl rips through the hallway and startles them all into silence. it makes your skin crawl because you know the sound came from Asmo. His brothers don't seem impressed by him attempting to keep you to himself when you've just returned, but his aura crackles with something menacing and even Lucifer thinks twice about trying to stop him.

"We'll talk to you after you've had a moment to catch up in private," he suggests loudly. Asmo huffs in annoyance but his pace doesn't falter. He holds your hand tightly in his grip and you have little choice but to follow him up the steps towards his room. You shoot Lucifer and his brothers an apologetic glance before they disappear from view.

You're nearly at the top of the steps when a flurry of movement on the ground startles you. Familiar black shapes weave between your legs and snap teasingly at your ankles. You curl against Asmo's back with a nervous little yelp.

"They won't hurt you, you know that," he reminds you with a coo, and there's a gentle cadence to his voice that reminds you so much of the demon you missed all this time. He winks at you over his shoulder before he looks down at the scorpion familiars skittering on the floor, each of them radiating the faint pink glow of his power. "They'll make sure my brothers don't bother us."

As soon as Asmo ushers you into his room, he steers you gently towards his bed. The smile curling his lips looks strained. "Wait for a moment, darling, I'm going to—"

You reach for the sleeve of his dressing gown and stop him from leaving to do whatever he had planned. "Asmo, wait." You pat the bed. "I don't care about that right now. My nails can wait until later."

He bites his lip and his eyes are glassy as they fill with tears. He sniffles a little under his breath and wipes his face with his sleeve. "But I'm the one who's supposed to take care of you, not—" he looks away as his cheeks turn splotchy. "It's not fair that he was there for you when you belong here with me." He bites his bottom lip when it starts to quiver and he chokes out a sob. "I missed you so much."

You glance around his bedroom and his strange behaviour starts to make sense when you notice all the small things he's changed while you've been gone.

His vanity and closets are cluttered and not organized flawlessly like usual.

Your eyes pause on a strange, heart-shaped stain on his vanity mirror that you’re too nervous to ask about right now.

(In a moment of frustration, he smashed his fist into the glass the first night you disappeared. He repaired it with magic but smears of blood remained even when the cracks in the mirror vanished. He drew the little heart with his fingertip while he whispered your name like he thought it might summon you back to him, and he cried when it didn’t.)

His bed smells like the fragrance you normally wear, something you brought with you from the human world and he claimed he didn't like very much.

He removed his pillow cases and slipped some of your shirts over his pillows instead.

You wonder how you didn't realize sooner that the dressing gown he's wearing is yours, one of many gifts he gave you after you started dating.

His room is filled with your belongings, things he clung desperately to while he hoped and begged for you to come back to him.

"I think tonight we should take care of each other then, don't you?"

You hold your hand out to him, and it only takes a moment for him to stumble over to the bed. He gathers you in his arms and holds you so tightly that it's hard to breathe, like he's scared to let you go. You tangle your fingers in his clothes because you're just as needy as he is.

He whimpers your name against your neck, interspersed with little kisses that are featherlight but still enough to make your head spin; your tears roll down your cheeks and mix with his, and they're wet and salty on his lips. He murmurs an inaudible mantra as he drags his mouth over your jaw so he can kiss you properly, and it leaves you both breathless.

—I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

The others aren't surprised at all when you and Asmo lock yourselves away in his room 'til morning.

BEELZEBUB

The joy of returning home turns bitter in your heart when you realize Beel isn't there. His brothers are in the dining room and hear the noise when the portal unceremoniously drops you in the middle of your bedroom floor. They hear a thump and a soft oof! and by the time they scramble out of their seats and into the hall, you're already stumbling through the door and rubbing the soreness from your back.

The weight of six demons attempting to hug you drags you back down to the floor, but this time you're cushioned in someone's lap and suddenly the floor doesn't seem all that bad. Even though you're being squeezed within an inch of your life and they're all talking (and crying and stuttering) over each other, their voices are similar yet so different from the ones you heard in the past, you can't bring yourself to care.

By the time they quiet down to give you a chance to get a word in, you're hugged and warmed and loved like you haven't been in a long time.

The only thing that's bittersweet about your long-awaited reunion is Beel's absence.

"He's at Fangol practice," Belphie says. His voice is slightly muffled since he can't seem to stop nuzzling your shoulder. "He should be home soon."

Asmo's fingers are already tapping quickly across his D.D.D. "I tried calling already but he didn't answer. He'll want to know you're back."

"He might not see the message in the middle of practice," Lucifer warns him from somewhere at your back. "Perhaps one of us should go get him?"

There's a tinkling ping not long after and Asmo waves his phone in your face, but you can't possibly read it.

"Ha! And you thought it would be a waste of time, hmm? Well, I'll have you know that Beel said...'ok'? Huh." Asmo winces when disappointment flickers across your face at Beel's lack-of response. "I'm sure he's excited to see you! You know he's not very fond of texting."

"I think I'll wait for him in his room." The brothers slowly detangle themselves from you and return to the dining room to give you some privacy. They might not like it, but they know that something happened between you and Beel before you disappeared.

You turn around at the sound of footsteps jogging behind you and see Belphie trying to catch up. "I didn't want to say anything with the others around," he says quietly, "but you don't have anything to worry about. I already know he's rushing home to see you even if he didn't say he was."

"How can you be so sure?" You sniffle quietly and stare at your feet. "We had the worst fight before I—before what happened, and he was so angry."

Belphie glances at you over his shoulder as he pushes open the door to the bedroom he shares with his twin. “Trust me when I say that he’s not angry anymore, alright?”

You step into the room behind Belphie and instantly glance at the side of the room where Beel sleeps. You didn’t realize that your bed was stripped before but your pillows and blankets ended up on his bed. There are framed photos of you and Beel on his bedside table, and the sign you made for his last Fangol game - the one you missed when you disappeared - is hanging on the wall.

“I can’t believe he kept that,” you whisper. The bright, sparkly paint spells out Beel’s name and jersey number in large, bubbly writing. The edges of the poster board are frayed and bent, but it’s obvious he tried to preserve it.

Maybe he missed you as much as you missed him after all.

Thundering steps outside catch your attention and you turn around in time to see Beel lean against the doorway like he sprinted home.

There are bags from Hell’s Kitchen hanging from Beel’s arm but Belphie hops off his bed and plucks the bags from his brother with a hum. “I’ll put these in the kitchen for later.” He pauses and gives his brother a pointed look, nodding not-too-discreetly in your direction, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

You’re not sure how long you stare at each other. His eyes take greedily over your face and body and he frowns like he’s scrutinizing your appearance, trying to see how—if—you’ve changed, searching out any potential injuries you might be hiding and how he can punish those responsible.

Likewise, you take in his field-worn appearance, the grass stains and dirt that clings to his uniform and skin. His hair is matted down and he smells strongly of evening dew and sweat.

He’s filthy and grimy but you’ve never wanted him more in your life.

He grunts when you nearly launch yourself into his arms. Maybe later he’ll feel guilty about ruining your clothes with mud from the Fangol pitch, but when he breathes in deep and soaks in the familiar scent of your skin, all those insignificant problems melt away.

“I brought dinner for us,” he murmurs quietly as his cheek nuzzles against you. “If you don’t mind putting up with seeing me like this a little bit longer, I’d like to eat with you before I shower.” His chapped lips brush over your brow. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You cup his cheek and offer him a bright and teary-eyed smile. “And you know what? I think I’m starving.”

It’s not long after that containers of your favorite takeout are spread out on the dining room table. The others have vanished, probably at Belphie’s insistence, and you’re grateful to have this quiet time together.

If you end up in his lap while he practically feeds you, sneaking little tastes for himself with lingering kisses he presses gently to your mouth, that’s no one else’s business but yours and his.

BELPHEGOR

Belphie can't remember the last time he's gone this long without a proper night's sleep. When his brothers have trouble sleeping, plagued by haunted memories and their most insidious fears, he can put their minds at ease.

He tells himself it's a selfish gesture, because if his brothers' dreams are too vivid or too disturbing or too terrible for him to ignore, he can't sleep either.

The truth is, he doesn't want them to suffer.

Unfortunately, the Avatar of Sloth has no such saviour to save him from his own bad dreams. He can't call them nightmares because that's not what they are. They're fragments of memory and echoes of his deepest desires that plague him every time he closes his eyes.

More often than not, his brothers’ dreams are haunted by the ghost of you that disappeared without a trace. Every night when someone dreams of you, Belphie dreams of you too.

It reminds him of the cold, slippery sensation the night that your consciousness was dragged away into the unknown. The place in his dreamscape where your little pond of dreams and nightmares used to be is a black void in his subconscious, a gaping wound in his mind that rivals the empty spot in his bed where you used to sleep. Your warmth is gone and it leaves his sheets and heart bitter-cold.

Today, Belphie wakes up from a rowdy disturbance coming from somewhere else in the house.

His brothers can be so loud sometimes.

The voices downstairs that wake him quiet into an excited hush when they notice his arrival.

"Belphie!" Asmo cries happily when he reaches the bottom of the attic stairs and steps out into the hallway. "We were about to come wake you—look who's finally come back to us!"

Whatever his brother yammers on about next is drowned out by the static ringing in his ears; Belphie stares at the awkward group hug on the floor in front of him and has no idea what to say.

You looked a little embarrassed sitting in Lucifer's lap while Mammon clings to one arm and Levi holds the other. Your eyes are bright and watery with tears and a wobbly smile tugging at the corner of your lips when you realize he was there.

A trembling hand reaches out to him, uncertain but inviting. A hopeful gesture.

Countless times, Belphie imagined what he might do or say if–when–you finally came home. He was ready to spill his guts at your feet and beg you not to leave him like that ever again. He would apologize over and over again for all the terrible things he’s said and done before because he couldn't help thinking this was somehow his fault.

For reasons he can’t explain, unexplainable anger rises inside him and smothers the impulse to celebrate your return. The desperate urge to crawl into your lap and cling to you fizzles into nothing the longer he stares at you.

You know how badly he sleeps when you're not cuddled in bed next to him. It’s your fault he feels so awful, isn’t it?

He can only imagine what he looks like now, with his bedhead hair and pouty lips and the flaky crust of dried tears still clinging to the corners of his eyes. He rubs his face to wipe away the remnants with sleep, but he feels the familiar sting of hot tears building up instead.

Your love has made a terrible mess of him, and he’s not ready for this after all.

Someone shouts after him when he turns on his heel and heads back up the attic stairs without a word. He keeps walking and ignores the soft, wounded noise behind him; his brothers were quick to try and comfort you where he cannot.

"Let's give him a bit of space," someone suggests quietly.

Slamming the attic door doesn’t feel as satisfying as Belphie hoped it would. He collapses back onto the bed and throws the blanket over his head. He tosses and turns and by the time he falls into another restless sleep, he still can't decide whether he's relieved or devastated that you didn't follow him.

It's deep in the twilight hours when Belphie senses a familiar dip of the mattress when someone slips into bed beside him. He tries to stay submerged in the weightless realm of sleep, but the sudden warmth of a hand resting hesitantly on his back ruins that plan.

"Isn't there someone else you can bother?" he grumbles into the pillow. He fell asleep face down and he stubbornly refuses to look at you. “Go away.”

"I’m sorry.” A heavy pause. “I couldn't sleep." Your voice is quiet but it shakes with something vulnerable that catches Belphie's attention.

With an indignant huff, he turns his head and pries an eye open and glances your way. The attic is shrouded in darkness but he can still see the downturned frown of your lips. When he rolls onto his side and leans closer, he looks past the watery film that makes your eyes shimmer and notices the dark shadows underneath them that he didn’t notice before.

Exhaustion radiates off you and he can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since you had a proper night’s sleep too.

He doesn’t ask about the things you did while you were gone or the things you saw. He remembers well enough what his own heart was like back then in that murky stretch of time when he clung to rage and hatred to soothe his own despair.

He doesn’t ask if you still have bad dreams about death or monsters that wear his face and sneer as you struggle against the bruising grip around your throat. He feels guilty that maybe he wasn’t there to save you from the version of himself that lurks in your memory.

The stiffness in his bones deflates as the chill from the attic subsides, replaced by the warmth of your body lying close to his. He places his hand tentatively on your waist and when you don’t flinch or move away, he urges you closer.

"I can help if you want," he offers hesitantly, a feeble apology to start to make amends.

But you understand the meaning behind the gesture for what it is: a peace offering for now until you can talk properly later. Considering his reaction earlier, this is more than you could've hoped for.

“I was scared to ask for help at first," you admit quietly when you rest your ear over his heart and sigh as the soft, familiar rhythm thumps deep in his chest. “You were angry earlier and I didn’t want to upset you even more if you weren’t ready to see me yet.”

Belphie ducks his head low and rubs your back as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck. The vibration of his noncommittal hum tickles your skin. “I’ll help you sleep tonight so you can make it up to me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that–

Convinced that he isn’t going to push you away and judging the coy grip of his tail that’s suddenly found itself wrapped around one of your legs, you let yourself lean against him fully with a long, weary sigh. It doesn't take long for your eyes to slip closed or for your breathing to sync with his as he lulls you gently into a peaceful state of rest.

Belphie feels his eyes grow heavy once he’s certain that you’re dreaming peacefully. He does sleep better when you’re here, after all. He’s held you in his arms like this before, far too many times for him to count, but it feels different than he remembers.

Has holding you like this always felt this satisfying, or did he take for granted all those times he dragged you to bed and assumed you'd still be there when he woke up?

He won’t make that mistake again.

"I missed this, you know," he whispers against the soft spot on your throat where your heart beat is strongest, pressing lazy kisses against your skin. He closes his eyes with a satisfied smile even though you don’t respond; the way your body melts against his is proof enough that you missed him too.