Micha antics that I might draw out later

*cue fire alarm going off in kitchen*

Mammon: *runs in* Micha! Are you ok?!

Micha: *waving shirt at fire alarm to make it stop* I’m good! Just got a bit smoky.

Mammon: *sighs in relief* what were you cooking any- *notices that there’s only water in the pot* did you set the fire alarm off while boiling water???

Micha: to be fair this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

Mammon: YOU’VE SET A FIRE ALARM OFF BY BOILING WATER BEFORE?!?!

Happy birthday to Lucifer and me! (Someone didn’t like the candles Satan chose for his cake)

Request: Hi, I hope you’re having a good day! Could I get some eating out headcanons like you did for Beelzebub but for all the other brothers? Thank you so much!

A/N:I think most of my things turn into short stories so this will be a mix of my headcanons at how they eat/a mini story w/ no dialogue. Enjoy! (afab reader, but gn pronouns!)

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Lucifer:

• While he can be giving, and takes great pride in making you feel good, he is also one to tease. He knows your body better than anyone else will ever get to know, knows just where to touch you to give you a strained, bashful smile. Lucifer kisses so softly and wickedly, exposing all of you with just his tongue. There’s no need to rush when you’re before him, when you’re with a body heavy with lust, that even if you could go anywhere, you would choose to stay in front of him with parted legs. His tongue parts through you, reaching deep inside of you, and he’s thankful that of all his attributes that are less than human presenting, it’s his tongue, and just how much you enjoy it without having to warm up to it. He can be soft, and loving, and  make you release without begging, but then again, he wants to know just how far he can push you, just how much until you’re whining and begging for him- pleading with a raspy voice and desperation so thick on your words that it burns a hole in him. 
• You’ve teased him all day long and at first it was cute- you trying to be coy and letting your hands linger too long around his neck, but then the antics grew. Your hands grab at his thigh under the table, you sent him pictures when you knew he was around Diavolo when you knew that he would always open a message from you no matter where he is. It excited him; knowing just how much you wanted him, knowing that the result would end with you bent over his knee as he worked his fingers inside of you- with your bum sore and flushed from his hand. You didn’t even try to deny punishment, grabbing his hand eagerly and following him to his study with a growing smile pulled on your lips. You smile at him behind closed doors, and it doesn’t take long to undress you when you lean close to him. His gaze is cold, and his smile is pulled taut as he pushes you on his couch. 
• It’s a sight to behold to see someone such as himself on their knees. His hands are gloved and the texture is smooth on your legs. Your gaze is wide and he’s sure that you must think your punishment won’t be severe- that you might actually come out of this unscathed. But his smile is mean, and his reddened eyes predatory and filled with blood as he dips his head between your legs. There’s no need to tease you when you know what’s to come. His tongue is flat, licking a long stripe from the bottom of your sex, the tip sliding against your entrance, until it reaches at your clit, pulsing with want. You’re already aroused, dripping onto the seat without shame. He keeps your legs spread, leering over your exposed cunt, watching as it beads with your excitement and shining under the light. It’s a sight that he commits to memory, wanting to always remember just how perfect every part of your body is- something suiting both you and him.
• He’s gentle at first, leading you in security. Your heavy sighs and moans fill his ears and for a moment, he forgets just how he wanted to tease you. He leaves himself there, kissing your sex so sweetly that it makes a chill run down your spine. His face is buried, breaths and tongue filled with your essence. You’re all that consumes him as he feasts upon you, his tongue tasting and slithering its way inside of you, feeling your gummy insides mold to him, clenching tightly around his tongue. Your hands are fisted in his hair, and you’re croaking out his name in a prayer, calling him and claiming just how close you are and he stops himself. He sees how your body falls and hears the pitiful want in your voice and once more, he repeats the process- teasing and kissing you so nicely, and making you want him, and just when he can feel the familiar twitch and tightening of your body, does he pull away with heavy eyes and deep breathing. 
• Arousal has soaked the seat and filled his stomach. You’re shaking and trying to rub yourself against his buried face and he is much stronger than you will ever be. You’re tired, voice raspy and low, your nails having clawed on the couch, and cunt wet with slick and his spit. This is turning out far more pleasurable- seeing the frustration and anguish clear on your expression and he has a smug grin. Lucifer is taking great joy in seeing just how long he can deny you your own pleasure. It’s a sight that rivals that of your own quivering cunt that flutters around nothing. Dipping his head back down, he grins into you, and feels just how much you need him. Your cries are getting louder and finally, you’re apologizing for trying to tease him. You promise to be better and he knows that it’s a false promise but when you call his name with tears, he can’t help but give in to you and your wants. He rests his face there, not pulling away when he feels your high approach and letting it spill on him and spill onto the couch. Your body collapses, and you thank him under your breath. 

Mammon:

• You are a shining light to him, and he needs you to know that. Giving to you, brings him immense joy. He eats feverishly, his mind blank, only your sounds of pleasure and the calling of his name echoed, and he doesn’t need anything else but you. His hands are on every part of you that he can hold- tight around your waist, interlaced with your hands, cupping at a breast and tweaking at your budding nipples- he just needs to touch you. It’s this primal urge in him to mark you- to rub his scent over you and let everyone know that you are his. Sex only enhances that urge- getting to feel your skin, delicate under his nails, and spilling with red when he digs them just a bit too deep, only to be kissed away. He moans and whines, letting you know that being before you is a pleasure on its own. It’s sloppy and messy, and it feels so good to know that he’s making you feel good- that you’re holding onto him and begging to kiss his lips that are touched by your arousal. 
• He isn’t sure what it is when he’s with you, but there’s just something there that leaves him always wanting you. He wants you in every type of way- beside him, infatuated, clinging to him- just simply there. You’re his, and he is yours and whatever you ask of him, there’s very little chance that he would actually deny you. So, when you ask to go for a drive with just him, he’s more than happy to fulfill that request for you. His hand is on your thigh, and his eyes are on the road and every so often, he casts a glance towards you- watching as you tap your hands with the beat of the song and stare out the window. You’re in the outskirts of the town, the glow from the buildings is nothing more than just that- a blur of lights together that are dim. You give him a cheeky grin, and it takes just a little bit of flirting for both of you to move to the back of the car, limbs entangled with one another in a cramped space. Your lips are on him, and the space is tight, and you’re clutching onto him, kissing at every inch of his exposed skin and he’s taking it all in, savoring the feel of your lips against his skin. 
• Maybe it’s his sin, or maybe it’s you that has him so unsatisfied, so unhappy with what he is given, but he needs more, craves it and needs it like he needs air. It’s you that he needs in the back of his car, his body bent and cramped as you lay on the seat with your sex exposed to him. A chaste kiss is pressed against your thigh, followed by his lips pressed against your sex, hands on you grabbing and massaging at your thighs, feeling the plush skin soften and mold to his hands. It’s messy almost immediately, drool slipping past his pursed lips and staining your glistening cunt. His head spins, and his muscles are cramped and he just needs you before him, air be damned. He could live off of you forever, could never come up for air if it meant that you would continue to look at him with half-lidded eyes and a parted lips.
• Nails pinch at your plush skin, marks appearing immediately and he can feel your body tense and jerk with every random touch. Your body is bent as he’s sure you’re going to feel that later, but at the moment, he cares for nothing but how you look at the moment- hair disheveled, face flushed with pleasure, his hands on you, and your eyes fixed on him. In that moment, you look better than any other prized jewel he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s suckling on your clit, swirling his tongue over the engorged bud that pulses erratically. You’re calling his name and he’s nodding along, moaning murmured words into your heat, asking what more could you want of him, what more could he do just to have you here with him in the back of his car. 
• Desire burns in him, greater than any flame, greater than anything he’s ever felt before and it’s because of you. He yearns to taste you, to memorize you- all of you- till he’s sure he could find you blind. You’re kept close to him, unable to squirm away both from the tight space and his hands. He holds onto you- letting his nails rake down, lines swelling over where he touched, and burning in its wake. Hearing the way you hiss and feeling how your cunt humps at his face in a desperate attempt, has his heart racing, beating against his ribs like a panicked bird. Your arousal seeps onto his tongue and smears across his chin, and with the lewd wet, clicking sounds, it is evident that you’re close. Your hands clutch at the crown of his head, and his name is croaked past your lips, and he lifts his head to watch your eyes shut tight, your mouth parted as your other hand twists around the seatbelt. Your orgasm is sweet, filling his mouth and lingering on his tongue and as you shake and you let your body slack, he is still kissing you- letting his tongue lick at your slit, wanting to taste every bit of you that you have left for him. Mammon looks up at you with eyes that match yours and his hands are on your thighs, and he kisses softly, lets his tongue drag against your rim and lips purse around your budding clit as he feels your hands soothe over his now knotted hair.

Leviathan:

• Whether its the first time or the hundredth, Leviathan can be hesitant towards sex. His nerves and anxiety gets the best of him, and it leads to every touch being shaky and hesitant, a grip that’s just a bit too tight and it’s his face that’s flushed rather than yours. However, while the beginning of giving to you can be slow and ponderous, he gets into it fairly quickly. It might be due to years of repressed and perverted thoughts, but once he has a taste of you, he’s extremely focused. Your pleasure is the things that keeps him going- keeping his face to your sex, letting his tongue unfurl inside of you and take all that he can from you. Having you so close to him fuels his pleasure- hearing such perverse sounds and knowing that he’s the cause of it all, knowing that he could taste and feel all of you and that you’d want him because it’s his name that it repeated and cried into an empty room. He is anything but silent, moaning and praising, the sound of his tongue clicking and moans filling the room and matching your own cries. 
• Of course you’d find him in his room, his headset on as he yells into the microphone before angrily stepping onto the ground in quick, repeated motions. You voice your concern- a hint of a playfulness that he isn’t having fun, and concern that maybe he should take a break. He doesn’t need much convincing afterwards, choosing to shut down everything until his reflection stares at him through the monitor. The bed- or futon, but he decided that futon sounded too immature- whines under his added weight. He buries his head into your stomach, eyes closed and a headache slowly beginning to form between his brows. Your hand scratches at his scalp and the soft, hypnotic motions has his mind feeling heavy, and it’s almost disgusting how this seemingly innocent moment of comfort has something beginning to ache in his trousers. Perhaps that’s the perk of being a shut-in- it doesn’t take much to get him going, especially when it’s you. 
• It’s embarrassing to ask you- almost as if it’s some shameful thing- but he cups your sex with his hand and looks at you with red pooling on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, and you don’t deny him. Desperation soaks in him as he removes your clothing, and it’s so apparent that he wants you, that he just needs you at this moment. With your sex exposed in front of him, your knees bent and your index just teasing at your clit, he goes drunk on your cunt without taking a single taste. His mind goes blank- and suddenly he’s just aware of you- you heartbeat- your heavy, slow breathing and the way that your fingers ghost over your clit and your other hand clenches at the bedsheet under you. His mouth is dry and his tongue is heavy, and he can’t form a single coherent thought that doesn’t involve you and your cunt. 
• He is drunk off your arousal- pupils dilated and hands holding you to his face as if he had never touched you before. His mouth suckles on your clit, feeling the swell of it throb on his tongue and he yearns to hear your moans- to feel your back arch and legs cross over his back to keep him in place. If that’s where you want him, he’d never leave- he stays there, hands holding onto your bum and nose nuzzled to your clit as his tongue sweeps over the rim of your entrance. He can feel your twitches and your muscles tensing and he’s stuck between staying with his head resting between your thighs, or watching you, but then if he were to let go, he’d miss all of this- miss feeling so connected to you with just a single part of him.
• The deepest, and most intimate part of you is exposed to Leviathan and any other time, it would have reduced him to a flustered mess, except that today it reduces him to a desperate mess that only seeks to touch you. It’s his name that you are calling. No one else’s but his and he takes that so well, moaning and nipping gently at your vulva, letting his tongue lick over the superficial wound when your cry is just a bit sharper than usual. He just can’t help it. He needs to hear you cry- he needs this. His mind is swirling, spiraling in depravity as he stretches his tongue as far as it can go- licking at your cervix and pulling back and strands of spit connect from his mouth to your lips and you look so filthy and all he can think about is stretching your further. His hands meet your sex, slick coating his fingertips and it’s his meal wasted. With his face pressed so close to you, he can feel it all. He feels your high, feels your walls tighten around his tongue, the way that your clit pulses and the sweet essence that fills his tongue with ambrosia and honey. He hums in content, pushing his face deeper into sex, parting only when you call his name. He wants more- needs more. He needs all of you at this very moment, needs to show you just how far his love goes. 

Satan:

• It’s no surprise that Satan would excel at whatever it is he does. He’s precise, knowing exactly where to touch you, knowing where to kiss and which part of you is most sensitive. He wants to see every part of you- wants to know that he’s the one that  is causing such obscene sounds to sing past your lips. Even if you’ve already reached your peak, he holds you there, tongue and mouth still fixated on your sex. He doesn’t dare to let go; doesn’t dare to kiss away from you, to leave your sex alone and quivering without anything there to keep you warm. You’re there till he lets you go, until he’s gotten his full, until he’s sure that you would never forget him and that way that he makes you feel; that even if you’re alone, you’d remember him and that way that he felt. 
• While it can be argued that he has his own library stuffed into his room, it still isn’t rare for either of you to be caught in the library- either one of you focused on a book or simply just wanting to be read outloud to. It is rare, however, for the two of you to be undisturbed, the house empty of all inhabitants, only to leave the two of you alone. You sit on a chaise lounge, snuggled at the corner with your phone in hand- your partner placing stacks of books on the table, and his eyes catching yours every now and again. His steps are quiet, the books neatly organized and unblemished from the years of care. You only spare him a smile when he makes his way to you, and when he’s on his knees before you, do you actually give him all of your attention. Your eyes are wide, curiosity tilting at your head that friends him of a cat, and when his name escapes your lips, does he grab at your leg and whisper a spell to give him easy access to you. His name is repeated in a familiar chastising tone, and he can only give you a mischievous grin that is placed against your knee.  
• He leaves a trail of kisses from the outside of your knee, curving slowly to the inside of your thigh. His eyes are closed, and even so, he remembers where every freckle lies, craning his neck to kiss at each, running his hands and curving them around your thigh, waves of cellulite running under his palm. Meeting you sex, he kisses you, spreading your folds with his tongue and gripping you in his palms. He revels in the way that you sound- every swish and lewd squelching that runs on his tongue as he pulls you close to him. He’s humming and nuzzling his way against you, savoring every taste and spill onto his tongue. Even if he’s just begun, you’re already gripping his hair, knitting your hands and scratching his scalp. 
• There is no need for him to breathe when he has you right here, when he’s so consumed by all of you. His tongue runs against you, massaging as far as it can reach, moaning and nodding along when you cry and call his name. When you tell him that you’re close, he keeps at his pace, his nose buried into your sex and heart beating against his ribs as you squirm and cry. His nails pierce into your skin, pink crescents adoring your body, your cunt pulsing with want and breaths heavy as you call for him, and only him, begging for him. He releases a hand from you to work its way between his mouth and your cunt. He enters you with ease, massaging your inners with his index and middle finger. He is insatiable, your arousal dripping onto his chin, and onto the chaise lounge, and onto the carpet. 
• Your cries are louder now, and you’ve spilled onto his mouth and tongue, staining him with your orgasm. Your body shudders, shaking with the afterglow, and when he keeps kissing at your sex, you try to pull away, muttering out how you’re still too sensitive and the ever caring lover that he is, he continues to kiss you. He hooks a leg and holds you steady, preventing you from squirming away and he only pulls away from you to watch as your cunt trembles and flutters around nothing, leaking with syrupy strands, a pulsing want burning him from the inside. Your lips are puffed and his own must match yours, and your sweet voice calls out to him, a whimper to kiss you and perhaps you want him to actually kiss you, but he could never get enough of you and your taste. He wants to make you feel good in the way that you do for him. He holds you close, savoring every taste and twitch that you give to him. His mouth never stops, and he is passionate and slow, eating in a way that makes you twist and cry. 

Asmodeus:

• Every kiss of his burns- a warmth that washes over you and lulls you closer to sin, a familiar warmth that starts as you heart quickens it’s pace, heat rushing to the shell of your ears, to the pit of your stomach and aching at your sex. Asmodeus is a giving lover- making sure to take his time, never wanting to rush such a sweet meal, always pulling you closer to his mouth, kissing at every inch of exposed skin. Your skin is dotted in his marks, a breath of love whispered as he moves to kiss you once more. Never wanting to rush, he takes his time until you’re whining, breathless with a hint of desperation laced into your words to finally touch you.
• You lay with him, your lips puffed and gloss smeared on his lips and stained into the clothes. It’s a rare moment where neither of you are bothered by an outside force, simply stuck in a room together where you now are stuck to him, hands trailing over his body and holding onto his thigh, close to where his own cock has already begun to ache. Your breaths are heavy, and despite that, you can only pull away for a moment before you’re back to him. Every kiss kindles the flame inside of him, and the taste of your lips is intoxicating, spinning his mind until his lungs are empty of air and his mind is consumed by you.
• Just a simple touch to your thighs is enough to have you moan into his mouth, trailing your lips to kiss at his neck and beg just beneath his ear. He hasn’t even begun to fully touch you, and you’re already clinging to him, begging for more and he could never deny you- not when you ask so sweetly. You lay on the bed, and your clothes and his are discarded over the floor of the room. His palms sink into your soft thighs, manicured nails lightly scratching at your skin as he kisses from your collarbone, down between your breasts, to your navel and finally breathing upon your sex, letting the tip of his tongue swipe at your trembling bud. He feels how much you want him, can sense it past his own sin and sense it in the connection that he has with you. He so desperately wants you- he kisses the pulse in your core, feels the way that your feelings beat against him, and tastes you. 
• Perhaps it is mean of his to tease you so much- especially when you’re writhing under him and calling his name with a croak, wanting him to really taste you, but he can’t help it. He adores the sound of your voice, the frustration and how your sex twitches every time he so much as breathes against it- against you. His lips kiss at the inside of your thighs, his tongue soothing over where he bites. Your heels dig into the comforter, and hands twist the fabric and reach for anything to just hold tightly. There’s a desperate want in him, something so primal and so him, that he needs to touch every inch of your skin, to kiss and bite until he’s satisfied. It’ll always go past his sin with you, past anything that you could ever begin to fathom and he’s leaving his mark on you, decorating you with everything that he is. Your hands run through his hair, and he can feel how warm his own body is, sweat slick against his forehead and burning his cheeks. He’s grateful that you can’t see him in this moment, and though you would find him beautiful, he needs the moment of pure lust and adoration to be just his for a moment. 
• Deciding that you’ve been teased just enough, he finally meets your sex with his tongue. The tip of his muscle swirls around the pulsing bud, every beat of your want and hunger vibrates against his tongue. His mouth trails down, tongue slipping into your entrance, tasting your sweet arousal that pours out in honeyed strands and slips down his throat and warms his own desire. The tip of his nose brushes against your clit with every push and swirl of his tongue and lips, every moan that trembles past your lips pushes him deeper against you, smothered by your sex and thighs. Blood rushes to his ears and his face is sticky with your arousal, and you are shameless and inviting, calling out his name with such amour, chest heaving with every breath and moan. Asmodeus pulls away with a lazy cunning smile and wet lips, your body shaking in the afterglow, and without waiting for you to calm from your high, he returns to your sex, his index and middle finger squirming inside of your silky walls.

Beelzebub: 

Eating Out - Beelzebub Ed.

Belphegor:

• Belphegor’s sin embeds itself into his whole being, it makes his whole body feel heavy as if he were carrying weights on his shoulders. Everything is such a chore to the youngest brother, and it shows in his movements. Sex isn’t always so slow, but it’s the lead up to it that makes it feel as if he’s intentionally teasing you, pushing you to the brink with every lick and feel of his touch. He’s slow, kissing at your sex with such a heaviness, his tongue swiping against your folds and face buried into your sex. It’s all so sweet and tantalizing, making your body arch and curl, hands fisted into his hair as he can feel your sex throb against his tongue. He doesn’t mean to tease you, but it isn’t as if he’s sorry about the results.
• It’s late and both he and you should be asleep, but he can’t help it. You couldn’t help yourself to him, kissing him and grinding your hips over his. His eyes are closed, heavy from sleep and your own lust that fills his lungs and lingers on his tongue. It would be silly of him to deny you anything, not when you’re kissing him so sweetly, not when your own taste is more alluring than sleep at the moment. You’re on your back and the covers are pushed to the side, teetering towards the edge of the bed and his hands make quick work to discard you of your clothes. You’re so warm, so soft and supple under him. His fingers sink into your thighs, into the soft mound of your stomach and without wasting a second, he dips his head between your thighs.
• Slick already wets his lips, and pools on his tongue as the tip of this tongue licks a strip against your entrance. Your muscles twitch, a reflex as his tongue teases against your leaking cunt, arousal beading out in pearly strands. He lifts his head, nose grazing over your clit in a way that feels too hot and not enough, and his mouth latches on, suckling on the erect bud. Hands knit into his hair, his name mixed into moans as his cheeks hollow. He releases you with a pop, eyes half-lidded and face flushed; his erection is uncomfortable and strained in his pants, but it’s far too much work for him to actually do anything more than hump at the bed. Kisses are pressed against the inside of your thighs, close to the swell of your mound where his cheeks nules against it with every peck. Your thighs tense around his head, jerking under him and twitching with every kiss and pull until you’re trying to steer him with your hands still in his hair. 
• You’re needier than before, whining and thrusting your cunt into his face, trying to find any form of friction and he’s partially to blame. He’s going so slow, kissing your sex as if it were the first time, as if he were really kissing you. It’s all wet- slick and drool stuck to his chin as you whine his name in a breathless pitch. You’re pulsing- throbbing with such a force that for a moment, he thinks you’ve been really pent up, but that thought is quickly washed away when you start muttering about how close you are. At that moment, all he can focus on is getting you there. The tip of his tongue swirls the bud, vibrations sent to your core as he moans so lightly against you. He swipes down to work his tongue inside of you, swirling around your entrance and inside of your velvety walls that twitch and leak with your arousal.
• Nails drag down on your skin, and he keeps you still- as much as he can anyways. Your moans are growing, echoing against the walls and reverberating in his ears, his mind only filled with you and everything silenced by you. He keeps himself fastened between your sex, unrelenting to give up his own space, never wanting to part from you without feeling everything that you can give to him- every spasm and twitch memorized by his tongue, your taste forever embedded in his mind, and he understands what it’s meant to be hungry as he seeks your high. He commits al of you into his memory- your sounds, and the way you call his name, breathless and strained but still full of want and need. Your orgasm washes over him, spills onto his tongue and he lets out such a needy whine with his lips still kissing at your sex. A warm color spreads from your chest to your face, and you stare up at him with a lazy smile. Belphegor can feel his own smile begin to twitch into life as well. With his lips still slick with your arousal, he kisses you, undoing his pants and letting the tip of his cock slide between you.

Tangled with The Dateables

Request: Hello! I’d like to request a fluff of the brothers and dateables (maybe even Luke if that’s not weird? He’s like a tiny little teddy bear ). So when I sleep, I tend to wake up hugging anything in my vicinity . Like one time, my best friend and I shared a bed and fell asleep on opposite ends. When we woke up, we were TANGLED BRO so I wanted to see how the Obey Me characters would react to MC doing this .

A/N:I did dateables here first, but if you want the brothers just let me know how you like this one!! (also, i love luke so much, there was one scenario that I wrote that I wanted to add luke but i didn’t, i think it was for heavy thoughts) also! These are short, so sorry about that ^^’

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Barbatos:

• When you first see his room, you’re taken aback by all the stairs and doors to notice that there’s a lack of bed- or any type of personal belongings in the family. It’s not until later when you visit him and he’s in his room, that you actually take it in. Barbatos can tell that you’re upset- going on and on about how he needs sleep and when he counters that doesn’t really need sleep, at least not in the way that other demons do, you give him a pointed look and his mouth closes with a faint smile tugging on his lips. Whatever it is that you want him to do, he does so without a complaint, so when you bring up that he should spend the night with you, he taps the tip of your nose and promises that one night he will.
• After constant work around both your and his schedule, finally, you both find a night to share together. Due to him having no real bed in his “bedroom”, it’s unanimously decided that he would spend the night in your room. He knocks at your door with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, a heavy feeling in his stomach that makes him shift his weight between his feet. You open the door, and greet him with a smile, and pull him inside. He’s seen your room before, entered to retrieve you or to leave something on your bed, but it was always a quick in-and-out type of deal. Today, he gets to see you in your room, free to look around and lift a book. Your room is so shamelessly you, your knickknacks littered over your desk, water bottles half filled on your nightstand and movie ticket stubs on your dresser. He likes how you’ve made this room your own.
• He’ll admit, he’s never been to an actual slumber party- the words that you’ve chosen to describe this nightly occurrence. He’s slept in a room with others, but he doubts that would actually be called what you want it to be. He sits on the bed with you, his shoulders raised and eyes dancing along your room. It’s one thing to tease you and give in to your whims, it’s another to actually spend the night with you, curled next to each other in bed. You gesture for him to come closer and with a held breath, he nods, slipping under the covers with you; the scent of your cream lingering on the blankets and pillowcases, filling in his lungs with something sweet that makes every breath pressured and weighted. He stammers on, clearly out of his element, so unable to think, his words quick as he discusses his day with you. You cling to every word, the movie paused and your eyes on him as you rest on the pillow, his hand held in yours as you trace every line on him.
• Midway through a complaint over not getting a shipment delivered to him, he feels your tracing begin to slow, only to quicken when he calls your name. Looking down, your eyes are half lidded, giving him a tired smile when he catches your gaze. You don’t mean to fall asleep, not when he’s here, but he clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. He pulls his hand out of yours, and stills when you clutch it desperately, bringing it close to your chest, his knuckles against you, feeling your heartbeat tap against him. He lies beside you, careful to not move as you fall into a slumber. You breathe softly, still holding onto his hand and he watches you, his free hand coming up to caress the side of your face, his thumb arching over your plush cheek, and hand curling over your neck. He’s stuck in bed with you, and there could be no better thing to happen to him at this moment. He’s given you no reason to lose your trust in him, but a part of him is overwhelmed with the fact that you still felt safe to fall asleep with him beside you, holding onto his hand and under the same covers that you sleep in. Ever so carefully, he reaches for you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, before pulling away and closing his eyes. 
• Sleep does not come easily to him, but once it does overtake him, he can feel the weight of it envelop him in an unyielding hug. When he does wake, he finds it to be all the same. Barbatos is held tight, under the weight of the blanket and something interlaced with his own body. Stretching his legs, he rolls his ankles, feeling his muscles weak and soft, unable to do anything more than to yawn. He turns his head, trying to lift his arms above him, and he finds himself unable to move. Peeling back the blankets, he finds your limbs entangled with his, his eyes wide and face in shock for a moment until a slow smile graces his features and he’s laughing softly under his breath. The blanket covers him once more, his arms bringing you closer to him, and he lets sleep consume once more, knowing that it’ll give him more time to be with you. 

Diavolo:

• Diavolo is a jealous demon. He isn’t fond of sharing you with others, but he also realizes that you can’t be with him every second of the day. Not when he has work that needs to be done. Not when he knows that if you were to ask him a question, he’d drop everything to answer your question and then some. You’ve spent so much time with the others, parties and outings, breakfasts and dinners, study dates and celebratory outings. Caring for them in every intimate way that he can’t experience- sleeping beside them, cradling their head in your lap, and kissing their knuckles with your lips. He loses time spent with you, and he hates it. He hates how empty it leaves him. He decides that he needs to make up for lost time, that he needs to form a stronger bond with you. There’s a simple solution that he can offer without it being too forward, and he’s glad when you agree to have a sleepover with him.
• The castle can be quite lonely with just him and Barbatos around. While he’s grateful to have the other demon by his side, he isn’t you. When you come around, he’s forgotten just how lively it is with you around. You make things so much more interesting. The castle has always been stuffy, much too grand for just two, too rigid and cold, and he thrives off of interaction, wants to reclaim all the time that he lost when he was a child, and had to grow up far too quickly. However, when you’re here, it doesn’t seem like that. You wander around, his hand held tightly in yours, or arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you on his back, laughing and giving you a broken version of the tour he is supposed to give, much too giddy with you around to focus on the proper words. Even his study that can be so tiresome is brought to life with you there, and you have him describe his future plans and even if he doesn’t need your approval, he still craves it desperately when you nod along with every word that drips off his tongue, so eager to listen to him ramble about something so mundane.
• You stay up late, tucked in his room, your bag on his chair, and a blanket wrapped around your body. He’s beside you, laying on his back, listening to you talk about your current favorite show, and you’re so animated. Your hands are in the air, and your words are coming out faster than you can think, stuttering and backtracking, and you have this smile, radiant and stretched widely, and he’s admiring you from his bed, listening and nodding along, captivated, and he’s thankful that you’re here with him. That you’re making the castle feel more like a home than it has in a long time. You’re smiling at him, and he can feel the warmth in his chest sear across him, and if it’s you to leave such a scar on him, he’s happy for the reminder, wanting for you to be part of him in any way, shape, or form. 
• Soon, he’s joining your conversation, smiling when you lay beside him and turn on your side to watch him, and he sees just how tired you are- the way your eyes droop, how your smile is slow to tilt upwards. It’s selfish of him to try to continue the conversation, to press forward so you can answer and engage with him, but he doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t want this night to end. He wants to talk to you, to hear what you have to say and make you laugh. He wants you to come back and not find this night to be a waste. But you cup your hand over his cheek, and he comes to a stop, staring at you with wide eyes, waiting to hear what you have to say. When you tell him that you’re tired, he apologies. He doesn’t want to waste a second of your time, but you’re tired, and you’ve humored him enough. You smile, and shrug, telling him that you liked hearing him talk, that you adored spending the night with him, and there’s something that stirs in him, that makes him go still, his lungs growing flowers in them, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to think, making him only able to focus on how you come close to him and wish him a good night with your arms wrapped around him. 
• In the morning, he gets to wake up late, getting the pleasure to sleep in with you. It’s another thing of you spending the night that he cherishes- waking up with you beside him even if he knows that you leaving his side is just a few hours away. He doesn’t want to move despite his body pleading for him to stretch, he wants to stay where he is, curled beside you, your face nuzzled to his chest, and arms wrapped around him. He can’t risk waking you- both out of care for you and selfishness for him; he wants you to stay as long as you can, to wake up slowly still pressed close to him. Your legs shift against his, and it’s a slow and dragging motion, and his brows furrow. Lifting the blanket over the both of you, Diavolo finds you tangled with him, and he smiles. Even in slumber, you’ve pressed yourself as close to him as possible, and in slumber, he allowed you to, and in his waking moments, he kisses the top of your head and closes his eyes, hoping that when he wakes up, you’ll still be there, tangled with him.

Simeon:

• It’s become an unspoken routine for Simeon to spend the night with you- or vice versa- at least once every two weeks. It started off with you accidentally sleeping in his room after a study date, and it slowly turned into something where you come with your bag packed, and make yourself at home in his room. It’s calming. You sit beside him, and he just gets to talk to you without interruptions, without having to worry that you’ll be whisked away from him. Nothing special is done. There’s no big surprise that waits for you in his room- or yours on the off chance, he does sleep in your bed- it’s just you and him. You play on your gaming device and he finishes a manuscript with your hums and the clicking buttons as his background music. He reads a passage from an old book of his and you come to his side trying to peer at the words. There’s no greater joy than just having you by his side.
• Tonight, you’re in Simeon’s room. A bag is left sitting on a chair, empty of its contents and now spread across his room. Your blanket is folded neatly at the foot of his bed, your chargers left by the outlets. Your clothes for the morning are hanging in his closet and he smiles to himself when he sees that you’ve already curled yourself to the far end of the couch, focused intently on a book that he gifted to you the other day. He never thought he would get this much joy from sharing a room with you. For a moment, he can imagine that this is his life, enclosed in a space with you, uninterrupted and together. You’ve already made yourself at home, spread yourself in his room- your toothbrush against his, spare clothes tucked in his drawers, and two stuffed animals sitting close together on the bed. One for you and one for him, because they should never be separated, because you feared that they’d be lonely without the other and now, he’s unable to part the two.
• The night is still, time ticking forward without rush, and you’ve already tucked yourself under the covers, whining at him that you’ve forgotten to place the blanket over you, and he’s there at your side, tucking you in and slipping in beside you. The stuffed pair rests beside him, under the covers and staring unblinking into the ceiling. Your phone lays on the nightstand, uncharged, and he doesn’t say a word- too comfortable to go and charge it himself, and he knows that if you were to ask him, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Beside you, he has a book in front of him, and you inch closer to him, but you don’t try to peer at the words, you just lay your head beside his chest, an arm thrown around him. The corners of his lips tilt upwards and he begins to read from the book.
• You lay beside him, still and breathing softly, and he calls your name, memorizing the page number before closing the book and letting it rest on the nightstand. He peers down, craning his neck to see you fast asleep. His hands come under your body, lifting you gently to fix you in a better position. His hands flutter on the sides of your body, tucking you in and he lays beside you, staring at the ceiling. Even after so long with you, he’s still left unknowing what to do at this moment. He lets his own desire take over, twisting in bed, an arm wrapping around you, hand flinching at your spine when you let out a soft hum. He pulls himself closer to you, resting his chin above the crown of our head, lowering down for a moment to kiss where he rests. 
• In the morning, Simeon wakes with a yawn, stretching the arm around you, free from the confines of the blankets. His head buries further into the pillow, now moved to where his lips can kiss at your temple, and he does just that, giving you a feather light kiss before pulling away and laying for a few moments longer. He should prepare breakfast for you, and when stretches the rest of himself, he finds himself to be stuck. He moves slowly, lifting his legs, to feel weight above them, and on his back is warmth twisted in fabric. When he pulls once more, he’s met with resistance, your brows furrowing and you’re making soft noises of complaint still in your sleep. Lifting the blanket, he peers down to find that you’ve knotted yourself with him in your sleep. Giving you one more kiss, he succumbs to where you’ve trapped him, sleeping beside you for a few more moments.  

Solomon:

• You can see the bags under his eyes every time you go to speak to him. They grow darker by the day, his movements slower and wittiness absent as he spends his time burying himself into books. What he has left to learn, you aren’t entirely sure. You learn from the others that he’s been spending countless nights awake, staying up till the morning, drinking some sort of energy drink to give him just that little bit of push to make it through the day. During a weekly visit, you try to convince him to spend the night with you. You’re stubborn, threatening to not speak to him if he doesn’t take a break, and with that on the line, he gives in to your whims, placing a bookmark on the page and closing the book. Solomon turns to you, legs spread and arms crossed loosely over his chest.
• He looks so small in his seat, his hair ruffled and eyes already drooping, and you’re almost sure that he’s just seconds away from actually collapsing onto the floor. While you would prefer to sleep in your room with him- the lack of his books and his supplies, something that you’re sure would keep him from being tempted to wake up in the middle of the night to continue- he prefers his room. You give him a narrowed look and his smile is crooked, the usual teasing nature in it, dim compared to before, and he turns on his chair, ready to continue his studies until you call out to him. The pens on his table roll when you place your hands on top of the book, forbidding him from opening it once more. You make him promise that he won’t wake up in the middle of the night to continue his work and he sighs, leaning back into the chair, his pinky finger out to you.
• Without removing the covers, or waiting for you to pull them away, he lays on his stomach, whining and burying his face into the pillow. Once in the bed, he practically melts onto it, his whole body sinking and spreading out, as if this is the first time he’s ever been granted such rest and he gives you a peek from between the covers, catching your sad smile. You must know that at least for now in these past days, that much is true. His face is sickly pale, the dark circles under his eyes much too prominent for your liking, the only color that he’s given in his features is something that makes you frown. His whole body deflates onto the mattress, sinking into the familiar bed and he hums into the pillow, pressing himself further. You whisper under your breath, the words not holding as much power as the sorcerer before you, but the words still form, the magic in the air crackling as the blankets under him, are now above him, draping him in warmth. Slipping beside him, he’s still for a minute, until suddenly, he moves in a slow crawl over to your chest. 
• With arms curling around you, you call his name and he can only offer a noise in response. He uses his remaining energy to curl onto you, to rest his head on your chest and shift his arms until they hold you close to him. Your hand threads into the back of his hair, the silvery strands slipping between your fingers as you unknot the hair. He lays heavy above you, head pressed against your chest, and hands curling onto your clothes, holding the fabric loosely. Under his breath, he mumbles that he needs to work, that he has to continue onto something, and with a press of your lips above his head, he grows quiet. He wakes softly, coming to consciousness for a moment, and while he is still tired, he’s refreshed- every bit counts- and the spell still needs to be refined, all the kinks worked out and straightened. But, he’s warm against you, held and feeling the slow beat of your heart echo into his ear- his own lullaby granted to him. With a greater resolve than most, he moves away, trying to return to his work, telling himself that he’ll make up the broken pinky promise, but then you make a sound. It’s a low whine, tired and involuntary, and your hand tickles the nape of his neck. He is a weak man, and he succumbs to you and your whines, laying still on your chest.
• In the morning, he wakes up feeling refreshed, much more than he did when he woke up in the middle of the night. Sleep still holds onto him like a gentle lover, warmth and heaviness dragging him back into familiarity. He turns his head after a few moments, his lips pressed against the valley of your chest, close to where your heart drums against you, but not quite. Stretching his leg out, Solomon feels a tightness, a weight holding him down, keeping him still. Pulling on the cover, he finds you to be wrapped around him, legs knotted into each other, the legs of your pajama pants lifting to rest your bare skin against his. With a slow forming smile, he lays back down, and closes his eyes. 

While there’s definitely choices I do not understand about this game. There is more thought put into it than I expected when I started playing. This is a reocurring thought I have.

This time because I was thinking about TSL. And how vaguely it’s described (as far as I’ve played). The most we learn is about the characters, and just some very light hints of plot.

But yeah, I think if not intentional, then it was definitely convenient to keep it so undefined. Because it’s prophetic in nature. So it must differ between timelines.

Easter Eggs & Adoption

☆

Hey! So Easter is coming up and I wanted to write something special!

Child MC has been in a lot of my asks lately, so I decided that that would be the right way to go!

**note~

So I made this a while back, but I finished writing it today.

Hoping it’s still Easter somewhere…

Anyways, I think this was my favourite fic to write yet! Check the bottom notes, as I clarify the relationships I was trying to convey there.

☆

All throughout the room there were sounds of eggs popping open and candy wrappers, and, not surprisingly, Lucifer’s complaints.

“I really don’t see why we’re doing this.”

“For the kid, dingus!”

Mammon has to bow his head to miss it colliding with Lucifer’s flailing arm. He doesn’t, however, miss Lucifer’s deathly glare.

“MC mentioned Easter to Luke, and they’ve been raving about it for weeks, Luci.” Simeon shakes his head with a fond smile.

Solomon speaks up, mouth full of chocolate. “Where are we gonna hide the eggs, anyways?”

Solomon glaces over his shoulder to Diavolo, whom is sitting on the floor surrounded by bags of candy and colourful eggs, Barbatos to his left. He then turns to the brothers.

There are only three armchairs in the room, taken up by Lucifer, Solomon and Simeon. Lucifer is surrounded by Asmo, Beel, Mammon, and Satan at his feet, all dutifully filling up eggs with little chatter. Levi and Belphie are off to the sides. They had originally planned to race—Levi was still trying to do so—but Belphie fell asleep in an oddly painful looking position on the stone floor.

Solomon is more so on an automan than an armchair, he must admit, facing towards the majority of the brothers and the fireplace, legs in a criss-crossed position and eggs around him.

Barbatos and Diavolo are, as said, behind the white-haired wizard on the rug. Diavolo seems completely content where he is, while Barbatos seems a little tense in that my-face-is-blank-so-you-totally-can’t-tell-what-I’m-feeling way. Which, Solomon totally can. He’s been around Barbatos enough to know his little anxious tics. Did it take nearly eight months to figure out? Yes. But still.

It seemed that the brothers and Diavolo—Diavolo especially—had been trying to get Barbatos to loosen up for nearly years. Telling him that he was more family than butler, asking for his opinion, offering him breaks. It seems that MC truly did the trick, getting Barbatos to speak up about the brother’s unfitting behavior of a child’s caretaker. Solomon is happy to see the guy protect someone so fiercely and actually speak up. The butler’s usual arrogant silence annoys the shit out of him.

“I was thinking my garden, perhaps?” Diavolo.

Solomon turns with a nod, shoving some more candy in a cheap plastic egg.

Diavolo goes to speak up again, at the same time as Barbatos, who grimaces as their voices collide. Diavolo tells the blue haired man to carry on with what he was saying.

“Ah, perhaps I could hide the eggs? I’m sure you would all like to relax and—”

“Darling, really.” It’s Asmo who speaks up this time, turning and setting his elbow on his knee. “You don’t have— y'know what? No. You’re not fucking doing this on your own. We’re hiding them too!”

Lucifer let’s out a warning, “Asmo, calm yourself.” As Barb turns to Diavolo, gouging his reaction. Diavolo smiles and nods.

Thats when they hear the scream, and turn to see you running in slamming the door behind you, putting your back to it.

“MC?” You turn to the speaker, Simeon, with a flushed face a wide smile.

“Mhmm?” You cock your head to the side, panting heavily.

That’s when Luke bursts in the door, almost slamming you into the wall. Though, Barbatos appears (as he does) to pull you out of the way of the door, holding you steady by your shoulders.

Luke is just as breathless as you, face an alarming shade of red, hair glued to his forehead with sweat.

He lunges forward, hand colliding with your shoulder almost violently, screaming joyfully, “you’re it, MC!”

At the declaration everyone breathes out a sigh of relief, for it was not a shove, but a game of tag.

Before a single being blinks, both children are scurrying out of the room at a rapid pace, giggling with joy. Simeon just shakes his head with a fond grin.

“MC is an orphan.” The whole of the room turns to Diavolo, confused at the sudden outburst with no context.

“Pardon?”

“If they perhaps… wanted to stay? I wouldn’t be against it.”

The topic weighs heavily on the room. There had been jokes, occasionally someone would make a comment. It was only now that it was brought upon them. Lucifer couldn’t help but think about it as if it were a bomb, waiting to blow.

“I’m all for it.” Belphie slurs sleepily from the corner. This pulls a giggle from Asmo’s chest.

Satan speaks up for the first time since the group had entered the library. “Perhaps… it is not the brightest idea.”

“Why the hell not?!” Comes Mammon’s voice, thick with anger.

“We really must think about this. If they were to stay in Purgatory Hall, or perhaps the Palace, I would not be against it. However… between Lucifer and I’s tempers, Beel’s… consumption rate, the incident with Belphie, Levi’s apathy, not to mention the fact that we are literal demons…. well, I simply do not think this would be the right… environment for them to grow old in.” Satan came out with this all slowly, his face sympathetic as to try and tamper down any offense he must have caused. As expected, the room is completely devoid of any noise.

Except Lucifer’s voice.

“You… hold in your temper well, Satan. We will all have to make adjustments, but… I do believe you would be an… adequate guardian, at the least.” It is the kindest thing that Lucifer has ever said to Satan. Or maybe the only kind thing that has been shared between the two (not counting the time you broke down crying over an argument they were having, which was quickly wrapped up in favor of awkwardly hugging one another and assuring you all was well).

The room is silent, but of course, Asmo has to point out everything remotely cute or sweet, and in silence Diavolo is about as awkward as an elongated goose trying to step inside a mouse hole.

“Aweee!!”

“You really do have to work on your temper, darling.” Diavolo laughs at the glare he receives from his boyfriend.

“Wait! Are we not going to talk about how cute that was? Now hug! Makeup—or makeout I don’t care—!”

“I could cut down on eating a bit! I don’t want MC to be hungry…”

Simeon just laughs, shooting Beel a comforting smile before gliding over to Asmo and setting a hand on the effeminate man’s shoulder, giving it a pat, and looking back to his larger red-head brother. “No one will begrudge you your food, Beel. We know it hurts.”

“Yeah, and there is plenty of food!”

“There really is! You’re OK, Beel!”

Soon enough Asmo is seated by Barbatos, leaning on his shoulder, whilst Simeon chats softly with Lucifer and Satan. Beel has moved to prop Belphie’s head in his lap, filling the eggs that Belphie had collected in a race to appease Levi. Mammon is leaning back against Lucifer’s legs, quiet for once, just listening, seemingly a peace. Though, he occasionally stuffs a chocolate in his mouth or pocket.

Solomon is still on the automan, filling eggs. He pauses every few moments to glance around the room. He never thought he would see this peace, this happiness, and yet here it is.

He cannot help it. He’s curious, and he turns to Diavolo, seeing the prince staring lovingly at his lifelong friend and butler. Solomon gazes at the uptight, fidgety man to find him, too, at peace, with Asmo at his side.

His gaze travels back to Diavolo, and they share a knowing look. Then, the Prince is stealing the little room left on the automan, and they’re filling eggs together. Diavolo does most of the talking, filling the space with warm noise that makes Solomon feel fuzzy and lightheaded.

Maybe, he dares to think, maybeI'll have a family.Maybe I already do.

But, one thing he knows for sure, is that you will.

Because it lays unsaid, but ultimately known. And in the air he can almost smell the warm (and slightly plastic-y) scent of Easter eggs and adoption.

☆

I feel like I need to clarify!

The only official relationship I show in here is DiaLuci, but there are hints of Barb x Asmo!

I have had trouble deciding how I wanted to write these characters for awhile now. It’s like I had the whole puzzle finished except I was missing on piece.

The was I was writing characters, mainly the Undateables, felt very OOC.

It was really fun to experiment with all the characters in one room and really develop their personalities in my eyes.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Pain in one picture

Pain in one picture

What if Satan secretly hates us

I want Diavolo to be my uncle

I want Diavolo to be my uncle

There are two types of people

There are two types of people

Does that mean Beel can smell your

Does that mean Beel can smell your

No it’s not

Did Levi make the tank big so he could like swim in there with Henry or something otherwise homie looks kinda lonely

Did Levi make the tank big so he could like swim in there with Henry or something otherwise homie looks kinda lonely

So… so um, those vouchers, about those vouchers….

So… so um, those vouchers, about those vouchers….