vnknownmc

[vnknownmc]

Idk if this weird but did a redraw of one of @blamebonk s drawings of mammon with facial hair because I was so enraptured and pleased with the original drawing, I had to express my love through art instead of just staring at it for 5 hours... He looks like such a Dochebag I need him

[vnknownmc]

Levi doodles

[vnknownmc]

The silly ?

[vnknownmc]

The Asmo X mc X solomon enjoyers are perhaps the only right people in the entire fandom. Respect to y'all fr fr

[vnknownmc]

I have a smutty request 🥵 Can we get the Obey Me boys(including Barb and Dia) reactions to their s/o grabbing their horns while riding them/getting eaten out?

it is all nasty below the read more

☽ ◦ ◦ ◦ ✩ ❤ ✩ ◦ ◦ ◦ ☾

If Lucifer has sunk himself between your thighs and he hasn't made you grip onto him for dear life against the mercy of his tongue. He isn't doing his job well enough. He finds it all so amusing as your voice goes hoarse from crying out his name, and body shudders from a simple flick of his tongue, but ever still your hands hold onto his horns everso.

Mammon's head is completely thrown back, slurred curses pouring out of his mouth as your hole swallows his cock again. For a second he doesn't even register that you've stopped moving once he's all the way inside, until you're hands make their way to wrap around his horns, pulling his head back up to look at you. He whines. "Look at me." He'll do whatever you ask like this. His eyes quickly meeting yours. "Good boy." And when you praise him like that, his whole body shudders.

Levi wants you to yank them. Not to hard, but hard enough that a whimper falls out his mouth at the sensation. "Come on Levi, I'll never cum like that." Yeah, he's into it. He's trying to eat you out. Tongue lapping at your sex. He can't tell if he's actually doing a bad job or if it's just something your doing to tease him, but when you yank his horns to guide him where to actually guide his tongue he's painfully hard.

Asmo can't decide if he wants you to be more gentle or tug on his horns harder as your hips collide with his. On one hand, he spends lots of time polishing and keeping them in good shape on the other hand. You're too cute when you hold onto his horns for dearlife as he bullies his cock into you.

"That's it. I've got you." Satan will practically be purring in your ears the second your gripping his horns. He'll snap his hips up to meet yours, leaning his head into your hands. He wants to see how much tighter he can make you hold onto him, purposefully increasing the pace and sliding a stray hand down to brush against your sex.

"Beel!" The moaning of his name and the taste of you on his tongue would have been enough to keep Beelzebub between your legs forever. But when your hands make their way down to tug against his horns, has him groaning against your sex. You can hear him murmur again into the space between your legs as he repeats the flicking of his tongue is a similar motion.

"Do it again." Belphie is into it. "See what happens." But in a way that he takes it as an invitation to get rougher with you. Like maybe he's being lazy while eating you out so you yanks his horns, and instead of getting what you want he starts biting at your thighs and goading you to pull them like you mean it.

Barbatos will hiss through clenched teeth if you grip onto him tightly, his hands snapping to your waist forcing you still on his cock. "If you don't treat them gently I'll have to punish you." He doesn't mind if you lightly grab them, but if you're too harsh he means it. It doesn't matter how close you are to cumming, he'll make you stay completely still on his cock until you remember your manners.

Diavolo is very pleased when your grip around his horns tighten as his tongue laps at your sex. Even more so when his name falls from your lips. "That's it my love," he'll even encourage you to grab them as he savours himself between your legs. Your entire body shaking with delight at his mercy.

☽ ◦ ◦ ◦ ✩ ❤ ✩ ◦ ◦ ◦ ☾

[vnknownmc]

still on my shit even while camping. Mammon stretching be apon ye

[vnknownmc]

sleeping positions that fuck up your spine feel so good for no reason it’s literally the devil’s deepest temptation

[vnknownmc]

[vnknownmc]

Late night Husband!Lucifer thoughts

Husband!Lucifer who treats you like the universe’s greatest gift to him 

Husband!Lucifer who will sit on the counterside in the bathroom so you can continue rambling about your day 

Husband!Lucifer who, no matter how cold his is himself, will always lay his coat over your shoulder when you visit town 

Husband!LuciferH who will buy you your favourite food and ensure that Beel doesn’t touch it 

Husband!Lucifer who will give his paperwork to Mammon so the two of you can enjoy a date night 

Husband!Lucifer who when he awakens in the morning will plant a kiss on your forehead and tuck the covers up making sure you rest properly

Husband!Lucifer who places a hand on your back when walking through RAD

[vnknownmc]

my favorite headcanon is that when a demon chooses someone as his mate, he and his partner must perform a ritual similar to making a pact, but much deeper and more serious, and this ritual can only happen once in a demon's life, as they choose their mate once and for all. can you write your vision of this with each of the brothers? thanks in advance!!!

Choosing A Mate Ritual With The Brothers

LUCIFER

It's a ritual devoid of any majestic displays or luxurious offerings. No wings are puffed up, nothing materialistic is given. What is exchanged, is each other's burden. Whether it be heavy or light—whether it be his brothers arriving home past curfew, or the burden of his sister's death, to the thoughts that keep him up at night, nothing is left in the dark.

Because you're his mate, the only being he can be vulnerable with, put down the stern exterior and intimidating gaze, you're the place where he can go and rest his head in peace. You're his sanctuary, and so is he yours.

"Lucifer," You croon, resting your forehead against his as he sighs in response. Even in the darkness of the night, Lucifer shines the brightest—even if he's devoid of his white wings and halo, even if horns have replaced it, he still shines the brightest, just like he once did in Heaven.

His wings are drooped in the moonlight, and they ruffle up at your touch, just like the smile that forms on seeing you. It seems his wings are a mirror of his emotions—and it finally clicks why Lucifer takes special care in scrutinizing the state of his wings—they ruffle up in pride and droop in sorrow. Taking his gloved hands in yours, you gaze into the demon's eyes, which stare at you with nothing short of love. "You slave for us all, bearing your burdens alone." You whisper, interwining your fingers with his as you place a hand on his chest, feeling the thrumming of his heart, filled with love.

"Share them with me, just like I will with mine."

MAMMON

This ritual involves showing each other where they keep their treasures hidden, and for the Avatar of Greed, it means showing his mate the location of all his valuables and treasured possessions—whether they be materialistic items like gold and jewellery, or those he holds dear, Mammon will reveal all their locations to you.

You, in turn, do the same, showing the demon what you treasure the most, and Mammon does the same. But, the conundrum is that each other's treasure have been already taken by the other.

"Show me," You mutter, waiting for the demon to reveal his valuables just like you will do with yours, but Mammon doesn't move from his spot. You stare at him in confusion. Mammon hoards a lot of things—from empty wrappers and faded photographs to expensive watches, he stores what he deems valuable. But you're left wondering what exactly is that Mammon holds so dear that he is hesitating in showing.

You gently take the demon in a hug. "I won't judge you, Mammon." You whisper, holding him closer as he stiffens, before gently removing you from the embrace. "Right here." He whispers, and when you stare at thin air you arch an eyebrow. But when the demon points a trembling finger only then you realize what he holds dear the most.

The finger is pointed at you.

LEVIATHAN

The ritual involves showing what you love about yourself. The smallest things—a smile to a caring nature—everything is mentioned. And it's hard for Leviathan, challenging even, for even if he has conquered video game levels and the ocean alike, love is something he doesn't consider himself worthy of.

Even you are faced with challenges, but Levi is there to encourage you, hell, he could write down a whole book about what he loves about you, and so can you for him, but when it comes to discovering what one loves about themselves, hesitation is unavoidable. But you're there to help each other.

"I—I love the w-way I—" The demon stammers, before his voice breaks out completely at the end. It's hard, he can find love for others but not for himself. And why should he? He deserves nothing, he's a worthless shut-in who's crying at such a serious moment like this.

What he doesn't see, is the passion that he holds. The way he collects things and takes care of them, how he sews costumes with delicate care and the way he takes care of Henry, the way his eyes lighten up and his tail bounces when he talks about something he's passionate, or the way he can form brilliant strategies. Leaning forward, you wipe the tears away and gaze into his eyes—filled with nothing but self-loathing. "You're passionate about what you love." You whisper, resting your forehead against his, and Levi looks at you in bewilderment for a moment, before shaking his head slightly as he smiles through the tears.

"I—I love how passionate I am about the t-things I love."

SATAN

In this ritual, you both show each other the dark side of yours—one that is hidden away from the others, save for one's mate. Underneath all that love for animals and knowledge, Satan is wrath. Pure, fuming wrath that destroys.

He's learnt to hide it, put on a mask to separate himself from his sin, but it escapes. It's a part he loathes, the part he fears might hurt you—claws that could tear through skin, a tail that was spiked and a tongue that could speak poisoned words. It's something he doesn't want you to see.

But you see every part of him, the good and the bad. And you show him yours in return. You accept each other.

Satan remains quiet as he observes you inspect his demon form, his tail idly flicking around at your request, with his horns and boa for you to gaze upon. You say nothing, instead choosing to observe the tail which flicks around, hooking itself onto books or reaching for the nearest thing, which happens to be your leg. It languidly curls around you, soft and gentle.

"You haven't seen the worst." He points out, staring at your mesemrized form which fills him with confusion. You're yet to see the most awful, wretched parts of him—of torn books and sharp nails, of a stare that could inflict fear and claws that could kill. You're yet to see him like that. But all you do is take his face in your hands, gazing into his own bewildered ones as you murmer, "I know. And I accept you as you are."

Your words leave him tongue-tied as he gently holds your own hands, mindful of his claws. You confuse him, sometimes, with your kindness and love, but he revels in it all the same.

"Thank you." The demon whispers, each word filled with gratitude and love. "Thank you."

ASMODEUS

The ritual is simple, yet puzzling in its own way. A blindfold over your eyes for sixty-six hours, and your memories of his face forgotten temporarily. The reason you can't see Asmodeus is because you'll be seeing his persona, the beautiful and the ugly parts, his personality, without his mesmerising looks.

For a demon who spends hours on his appearance, it's hard for Asmodeus to bear the fact that his mate can't see him. But he's even more scared because his looks are the only thing he presents to the world, adored by jewels and lavish garments. It's the face and body people fall in love with, not his personality, not his soul.

But you see everything, the good and the ugly, you see Asmodeus.

"What do you think I look like?" The demon whispers, letting your hands trail over his face, gently tracing each feature. You remain quiet for a moment, before gently cupping his face. "I see someone who takes meticulous care of his appearance. I see someone who shines bright, and makes others shine as well. I see someone dedicated and adored. I see someone who wants to be loved the same way he was once."

Asmodeus remains quiet at the last line, stunned at your words. His watery eyes blur his vision but he remains silent, utterly bewildered at your words. He refuses to believe them, at first, but the more he tries to ignore the more he realizes they're true, and this time, he accepts it. He's often wondered what he would do if he found someone whom he loved more than himself, but today, he found the answer. And your next words seal it in stone.

"I see all of you, Asmodeus."

BEELZEBUB

The ritual isn't something to be performed within a particular time frame or day. Rather, it consists of protecting each other. From a spider that's on the wall, a potential threat or nightmares, you are there for Beelzebub, just like he is there for you.

Beel isn't a demon of many words, but his actions make up for it. The way he shields you from all the evil in the Devildom, to protect you, because he failed once, and he doesn't want to let that happen again. He can't lose you.

You protect each other, whether it be in ways big or small.

"Beel," You mumble, shaking the slumbering demon gently to wake up him from the nightmare. He has been whimpering in his sleep, and you can feel the pain in his voice as he mutters incoherent words. "It's a nightmare." You soothe him, gently interwining your fingers with his own as Beel tucks his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you closer until he's curled into you.

It is at times like these, when you realize that Beel deserves, needs, to be protected in the same way you do. Even if the danger is nightmares instead of other demons. You can feel the guilt that consumes him, of not being able to save his sister. You see him stand tall to protect his family, an intimidating figure, yet even he crumbles. You'll protect him, just like he does.

No words are said, for they aren't needed, not when you hug Beelzebub tightly as he holds you closer, and the demon sighs in relief.

BELPHEGOR

The ritual seems like a mundane task, but for the Avatar of Sloth it's a tedious one, where he has to be at your beck and call for the entire day, physically and emotionally. Sloth is being asked to practice diligence, the same diligence he demands from others but never gives it himself, Belphegor will now give it to his mate.

It's his way of asking forgiveness, apart from giving a pact. It's an immeasurable amount he's trying to pay off for killing you, something he swears won't happen again. It's his way of showing that he will put in the effort required into your bound, give as much as he demands. He will devote himself to you the same way you do.

"Anything else you need?" The demon inquires, setting down the tray as he stands besides you—tall and alert, a sharp contrast to his slouched posture. It's a surprise to see Belphegor like this, utterly devoted and active, and the thought fills you with warmth, because it's only for you.

He serves you tea with the exact amount of sugar you like. You never told the demon your preferences, and yet he knows them all. He makes your favourite desserts, with skills you never knew he had before. He loves you.

"Your love." You whisper, and Belphegor widens his eyes before shaking his head, smiling warmly before kissing you. "You already have it all."

[vnknownmc]

Jealous

Rating: PG

Pairing: Lucifer X F!Reader

CW: Possessive

Word count: Roughly .4K

A/N: While having tea with Diavolo and Lucifer one of the Little D.'s acts out.

Images belong to Solmare.

Summer Obey Me blurbs

Laughing as you take another sip of your tea, enjoying the pleasant mood at the table in the garden. Or more so enjoying the way Diavolo teases Lucifer about his fan club while passing you more of Barbatos’s cookies. 

“I mean, come on Lucifer all those lovely lady demons fawning over you? It must just make your pride swell.” Tacking on before nibbling one of the baked goodies, Diavolo roaring with laughter at your terrible innuendo. 

One of his large palms slaps his thigh while Lucifer just frowns at you from across the table. “You don’t need to join him.” If it’s possible you can see the hint of what looks like a pout. Something you’d never expected to see on the prideful demon's visage.

“That was a good play on words.” Placing his hand over yours on the table and your laughter fades as you feel your heart starting to pound inside your chest. 

“Keep your grubby paws to yourself.” Your head snapping towards the voice, only to frown at one of the little D.’s. Did he just talk back to Diavolo? 

Except Diavolo doesn’t seem too upset by it, just laughing and removing his hand from yours. “It isn’t like No. 1 to get so possessive.” Turning his head towards Lucifer whose pallor has gone paler than before. “I wonder what could be causing that?” 

“I have no idea what you’re getting at Diavolo.” His cheeks turning crimson as he folds his arms. 

“Um… Why would Lucifer know why one of the Little D.’s is being rude?” Tilting your head before reaching out to place your hands on the tiny demon and pulling him closer. You do find them all adorable and they often help you out around RAD. 

“Ah, it seems you don’t know.” Diavolo looks absolutely giddy like he’s been given a massive present to unwrap. “Each of the little D.’s that reside here in the castle-” 

“I think we’ll be taking our leave now.” Interrupting the demon prince and placing one of his gloved hands on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “We do have work to finish.” 

“Oh. I thought we got everything finished?” Confused but you don’t miss him sending you look that could kill as he gives your shoulder another squeeze. You take the hint. “Thank you for the invitation Diavolo!” Letting go of the Little D and leaving with Lucifer. 

“Perhaps I should hold her hand more often.” Taking a drink of his tea. “At this rate Lucifer is going to lose his chance.” Chuckling around the rim while No. 1 frowns. 

“He’s never going to tell her.” 

Someday when you learn that seven of the Little D.’s correspond with the bothers your mind goes back to that moment and it makes a lot more sense all of a sudden.

[vnknownmc]

Lucifer might be growing soft

gender neutral, no dialogue, pre-established relationship

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

A record plays, stationed in the corner of Lucifer's study. A new one he bought after his anxiety got the best of him, unsure the effects cure vinyls may have on humans. 

The room is fairly quiet. 

At the ordained wooden desk sits Lucifer, left in only a button up, slacks, dress shoes and the tie he's been pulling at and fidgeting with for the past hour and a half as he works. Deliberate gloved fingers shuffling through papers and writing with a pen that likely cost more than your over world apartment. 

Originally you sat on one of the plush red chairs, but within an hour you moved to the floor, using the coffee table as a desk rather than going to your room. 

You’ve been here for well over three hours. Joining Lucifer not long after dinner. But now, the fireplace is castling delicate lighting on the regal room. 

You’ve chosen to ignore your work  —most of it is done anyways—  in favor of watching the demon. 

Thin silver glasses set low on the bridge of his nose, hair ever so slightly jostled from when he runs his hands through it. 

The fireplace illuminates the right side of his face, emphasizing his carved out jaw bone and deep eyes. 

It's hard to tell the time in Devildom if you haven’t lived here for very long, but you are confident it's late. Late enough to rest your heavy head in your hand, eyes half lidded as you watch the practiced movement of pride himself. 

And maybe this isn’t the best place to fall asleep. Yet the promise of back pain doesn’t urge you into moving. You don’t pack your belongings and you don’t go to your room. 

You also don’t acknowledge the ever growing fondness flowering in your heart. 

Instead you fall asleep, slowly closing your eyes, facing a man you should fear.

A man who looks at you with warmth in his eyes when he notices you napping. A man who will gently carry you to your room and place water on your bedside, and act like he did no such thing the next morning. 

A man named Lucifer who may be growing soft for a mortal. 

[vnknownmc]

Sneak peak into newest drawing but look at the difference between my colours and mammons actual canon sprite colours oh my Lord

[vnknownmc]

hc that Mammon gently kisses the tips of your fingers after any magic you do near him or for luck at the casino (cuz you're such a delicate human after all + that's oddly reasurring)

[vnknownmc]

I love making mammon skinny as fuck but I fully respect the buff mammon truthers out there- it gets me hard, keep telling your truth

[vnknownmc]

The mugs are still there—unused, dry, waiting to be picked up.

No one in the house uses them. Even when all the clean cups run out, they would rather wash some than use those utensils.

They’re sacred, in a solemn way. That they are yours, and that you will someday come back to use them. Complain after climbing the counters, annoyance in your tone as you grab your beloved porcelain mugs. They retain heat better, you would say, and they look so cute!

The handle with a cat's tail, a capybara in another.

Beelzebub wipes the dust from them religiously, once a week, as if for the utensils to be collecting dust means a personal insult. Might as well be. In a fight that had broken out a few weeks before, he came to the kitchen in shambles, Satan and Beelzebub with fangs bared at each other, but that corner of the cupboard untouched.

Desecretion would not be tolerated.

He’s never seen his brothers so guarded.

Lucifer snaps out of his thoughts when his D.D.D. pings with a text from Lord Diavolo. Fifty-five pages of audit reports which need to be reviewed. He puts down his empty coffee mug and gets to work with a sigh.

Over the video call, as numbers and charts are shared, he finds it easy to get lost in them. In the drudgery that work brings, focuses on budget optimizations and new contracts. The Mausoleum needs restoration. Barbatos brings it up—seepage in the lower walls, a threat to the structural integrity over time. That is why they are having this video conference. The contractor on call with him is a renowned one, having restored previous other structures in the realm. A deal is made.

Guaranteed to last at least another one thousand years! He had read it on their website, glasses sliding down. The last time such a renovation was done was when Leviathan decided to give Mammon the silent treatment. Temporary annoyances, renovations and all. Man-made structures in the human world have it done more frequently that demons do. Lucifer wonders how much of a pain in the ass it would be.

He really should take a bath soon, his face and body feel sticky.

He cracks his neck and holds his head in his hands. Then he picks up the pen with his left hand, the right one picking up his D.D.D. to type a text to the contact he never deleted with eagerness and hope associated with that name:

"Will you be free to visit the opera with me tomorrow?"

There's a sharp curse that breaks the silence, and the man puts the device down.

Habits are hard to break.

He wonders whether he will forget this one in the coming millennia.

Belpheghor's the one to alert the others.

He never screams, never has the raucous voice that some of his siblings do. So when he calls, it's urgent.

His inhumane hearing picked up on the tone, his baby brother's voice breaking off at the end, and Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as he set down his quill too harshly, departing for the garden.

The soil is wet under his shoes, clinging to the soles as Belpheghor stands in front of the flowerbeds, jaw clenched. "What is it?" Satan asks on one side, furrowing his brows, and the youngest moves to give a clear view.

There's a gasp heard from someone, and Lucifer crouches down to stare at the plant.

The black Poinsettias planted by you have shrivelled up and died.

The brothers are trying to not think about the implications.

"T-The soil's too damp!" Mammon blurts out from behind him, picking up the earth to inspect it, letting it brown his fingers and stain his rings with mud. Brown clings to gold. "Too wet! S'why its happenin—we outta talk to Barbatos to revive it—"

The flower has folded into itself, petals and leaves now a sickly color, reduced to half its height. He could have sworn it was lively the last time he saw it.

"......I'll see what can be done." Lucifer declares. "Everyone, back with your work."

He departs before the others can see his expression.

The plant survived a decade with you. Thrived and bloomed, its scent reminiscent of you. It isn't fair, it isn't fair, it isn't fair.

The demon is still clinging onto whatever parts of you he can still access. Your clothes, with your fading scent, your books with scribbles, your hair clip and your scrunchies.

The death of this flower feels like defeat, loss seeping into his life and colouring it grey.

Asmodeus asks about Barbatos's visit later at dinner. Lucifer lets the taste of deviled zebra steep on his tongue before it turns to disgust. "I've asked him to visit tomorrow, we'll see what can be done about the matter at hand."

Then his gaze falls at the empty spot, and his resolve hardens.

He feels as if he is dining with ghosts sometimes, two beings gone more lively in the silence in the grim life that the ones alive bring. Without you, everything is dull. That's why you should visit more often.

He has to make it mandatory for dinner to be had at the dining table, desired the added conundrum it would bring with the inconveniences. At least for one meal, he has to see them together, in front of him.

"Put the phone down when you're at the table," a chide, and Mammon groans. "Jeez, you're being more uptight than ever. It's not like we talk!"

Mammon's casualness irritates him.

"Then shall we discuss vital matters at this table? Especially your grades." The younger demon winces. "Minus C in Potions and Hexes." Lucifer announces, taking a bite of the food, then his eyes fall on another. "Belpheghor, no sleeping in your soup."

The next day, Barbatos arrives. Saturday, when there are no classes.

He inspects the wilted flower with a clothed finger, cradles it in his hand while Lucifer stands and watches, impassive. The air is heavy with humidity, makes the back of his neck feel sticky. The brown grocery bag is neatly folded on a bench, ah, the port market is open today.

"It cannot be revived. There is rot from within."

He dusts off the dirt and stands gracefully, not a wrinkle on his clothes despite the movement. Maybe he starches his garments, Lucifer thinks. Irons them thoroughly at night so that it is always crisp. "My apologies."

Of course, the words are softer. He's not apologising for the plant.

Lucifer hums quietly. Nods his head as he gawks at the sight with a straight face. Ignores the way his breath stutters halfway through his throat.

At night, he finds himself waiting near the entrance. Coat absent, tie loosened and hair a mess. His eyes dart every once in a while towards his watch. Two in the morning, and is this a time to arrive at home?! Must this occur every weekend?! He should impose a curfew, Lucifer thinks, pacing around. Make it so that repeated offenders are punished. Maybe hang them from the chandelier or prevent them from going out anymore.

Keep them on a tight leash so that no more mistakes can be committed, no lethal ones, no fatal ones, no more no more—

The door swings open, and his head darts towards the sound. The scent of perfume hits him first: Devildom rose and something fruity in its layering. Then he arrives, the reason for this act in the middle of the night, stumbling and giggling, hiding his face in his arms as he haphazardly removes his footwear.

Lucifer watches with narrowed eyes, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue. But Asmodeus does not let him say anything, shushes his mouth before he can open it to speak. "Luciferrrr" He slurs, and the alcohol on his breath hits him. "Were you waiting for me by the door? That's so sweet of you! Hic-were you worried for me?"

The eldest has a thousand reprimands on his tongue tonight. But he assesses the state the fifth-born is in and concludes that he won't even register the admonishment.

"Wash up and go to sleep." He steadies his brother, lets him grab onto his forearms as he sways. His jewellery catches the light. "I will scold you tomorrow."

There's glitter on his clothes now, evident in the light, and the demon dreads washing it. Glitter in the rest of the laundry, washing machine, shoes. Great.

"All you do is scold—" A manicured finger at his chest, nail polish glittering in the light—"and scold. Noooo fun. Loosen up." Asmodeus whines, and the eldest narrowly manages to avoid him from hitting his head on the nearby pillar. Helen would have been pleased. "Maybe I should call MC—they never failed to make you smile."

Yeah, he is drunk.

He straightens his posture. "Go to sleep, Asmodeus." His voice is flat now. Measured. Controlled. He manoeuvres the fifth-born towards the stairs. If he falls he falls. That would be a good lesson learnt. Do not get so wasted as to fall off from the stairs when you arrive sloshed at home despite having a curfew imposed.

His brother frowns and stumbles for his room.

Lucifer adjusts the footwear in the shoe rack, and sits down on the steps. Cradles his head and sighs in anticipation of the headache that will form in the next thirty minutes.

Ignisprofen.

And a glass of water.

It was decided that your belongings would never be tampered with.

Safely tucked away in your room with a spell to prevent the ravages of time from affecting it. The arrangement worked well for a century or two, then the house flooded with water one fine day because of Leviathan's anger, submerging the ground floor.

With the water drained and the wood restored, your room put back in its proper state, Lucifer assumed everything was saved.

But the tree in your room was rotting, the usually firm trunk now soft and soggy, leaves falling off discoloured on your bed. Air damp and bedsheets wet.

It's not like anyone is going to inhabit this room anytime soon.

They won't let anyone else.

You were theirs.

While searching for damage, your digital camera was found in a corner of your closet. Conspicuous, dust clinging to it, with those worn out stickers still on it. Dolphins and Blackjack, now smudged and half-torn. Mammon had stared at it before taking it along with him too; unwilling to part with it. Snatched it up and held it as if it were more precious than Goldie, fingers cradling the body, thumbing over the torn part of a sticker.

Lucifer picked it up from his brother's room when Mammon was away.

He had to see it.

Despite the heartache that would come with it.

So, after a week filled with meetings that seemed to go on for hours and hours, soothed by Barbatos's tea and sleep that came fitfully, he decided that it would be opened.

His memory fails him now. What pictures and videos were there in it? You had always been possessive of it, never letting one of his brothers even take a glance. The camera came with you on trips—aquariums, zoos, Siren beach— Lucifer does not know what he was expecting to see.

You would have wrenched it out of his hands by now, if you were here, that is.

He sees the first photo, has to jog his memory to remember. Oh, the underground maze, with Henry 1.0.—wait—did they sneak in there without informing anyone?! The demon's brows furrow, then a chuckle resounds in the room. At least its funny now. Then another photo, then another, another, another—

His vision blurs, the candlelight morphing into a yellow-orange halo. The man sits back in his chair and chokes on a sob.

A photo of him laughing at Cerberus’s antics, the moonlight catching on his cheekbones. Another with Mammon on his device, headphones in his ears. Leviathan in his bathtub, grin evident on his face. Satan petting a calico in an alleyway. Asmodeus in the club, with glitter on his body shining. Belpheghor cheering for Beelzebub in a Fangol match.

Countless others—all of them were of him and his brothers.

He tears his gloves off, throws them somewhere, just to grab and pull at his hair.

While they all had been holding onto you for centuries, you had been holding onto them when alive.

The soundproofed walls are his saving grace.

Lucifer's in the human world on behalf of Diavolo's business when he sees it.

In the middle of a crowded street, headphones and earphones and chatter that hurts his ears. Too chaotic. Something rushes by past him, and his attention comes to a hault.

That same shade of hair!

Recognition bubbles in his chest, and he's partly horrified by the fact that he didn't remember that color for the previous five decades. Being immortal does that to you.

But it isn't you.

He finds himself laughing at his brothers antics some weeks, watching Mammon peel onion with the hairclip that was yours, complains about Beel's underwear on the chandelier, Asmodeus's headache-inducing perfume and the fact that he can never put wet towels in the laundry. Belpheghor's tardiness and stubbornness, Satan's scheming and Leviathan's karaoke matches that shake the windows.

It doesn't make itself known.

But it shows up when he goes to make himself coffee late at night and finds his hands picking two cups. Or when shopping for groceries and purchases the flavour of ice-cream you loved. Still hasn't throw away the hellfire rose you gave him on a date. Keeps it pressed in his book. Cooks for you in remembrance. Takes care of himself because you would want him to.

And maybe, you will live on through him and his brothers. Because you were theirs and they were yours.

You'd stayed in the Devildom for them, and they would stay for you.

[vnknownmc]

would they be good with handling an mc who’s brain sometimes moves faster than their mouth can??? Pt.1

Pt.2 and Pt.3

Barbatos, the man you are…It’s like the butler has telepathy all of a sudden.

“Ah, [MC], how can I serve you today?”

“Weltaburgs bbnos bows crasmpsinfd”

“Ah, dehydration. I shall prepare refreshments at once.”

I think Diavolo would rely on intuition for it.

“[MC]!! Hi, I’m glad you’re here!!”

“Walpurgisnaunt Apples bee.”

“Ok let’s have a dance then!!”

Somehow he’s always hitting the nail on the head.

Solomon I think would—

“So, how was your day today, [MC]??”

“Stop I ate the shfuftednysgdgajcb doe”

“Hell yeah, I agree with that statement.” He says as he just pulls MC into his arms and makes it a cuddle session, understanding NONE OF IT 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

Leviathan wouldn’t understand it but find a way to communicate via internet references

“Player 2, the new episode of Agh!! My Pen Has Turned Into A Hot Demon Incubus And I’m Just A Twink Poet And Now I Imagine The Church Hymns As His Voice!! Came out!!”

“Yummes newton pussypop.”

“oh shit—uh—FLINT AND STEEL🗣️🗣️‼️‼️”

“🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️LA-LA-LA-LAVA‼️‼️‼️ 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️CH-CH-CH-CHIKEN‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️”

“Oh okay yeah we can eat while we watch”

“YATAHHHH🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️”