A/N: You guys have only been giving me fluff (which is great) but I’m at my limit so now you all can have some pain, love you ★

You are my sunshine,

He was laughing. The way Luke angrily shied away from Simeon’s teasing once again was endearing, Solomon couldn’t help but give a soft laugh now and again. He enjoyed spending time with them, but something else nagged at the back of his mind every time. Glancing to his side, he couldn’t help but physically feel how empty the space had been; noticing movement in the doorway, he looked up only to be blinded by the smile that was gracious enough to shine its light onto him.

“Ah, good morning, MC.”

“Good morning!”

They slid in the seat beside him, instantly warming up against him. He listened intently as they spoke of their morning shenanigans, excitedly gesturing and painting pictures of the scene with their voice, but once they spoke of the demon brothers, his attention started to waver as all his focus moved to the curve of their lips instead.  

The bell rang, signaling for class to start, so they gave him a large, apologetic grin and turned their focus to the front when he nodded in understanding. He faced forward as well, but couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing sideways every so often to simply bask in the fact he gets to live and breathe in the same space as them. They were… warm.

My only sunshine.

Solomon had troubles focusing on much of anything lately, if it didn’t involve MC. His mind liked to constantly travel to thoughts of them, replaying interactions in his memory that especially made him happy—ones that made him feel butterflies, or as though he were… human.

Of course, he was human. He knew that; it was even more obvious when surrounded by demons down in Devildom. As a powerful warlock, however, it was easy to lose oneself in the mess of power, and even more so when the power’s great. Solomon kept his composure fairly well, but underneath the soft smile he shot the world and the ‘shady’ appearance he gave everyone, he felt like he was drowning.  

Deeper and deeper into the darkness, Solomon wasn’t sure how he even managed to remain breathing. Nothing ever seemed to help, and no one ever seemed to try and save him. Swallowed whole, falling deeper into the abyss, Solomon figured he’d never be able to swim his way out, and started to accept his fate, until the day he ran into them for the first time. Like the sun, their light hit the water and splintered around him, shining bright as the water around him light up like fractals; the light hurt his eyes. Without realizing, his arm moved on its own to reach towards the light; stretching, straining his shoulder just for a chance at reaching it. Slowly, as time went on, he could feel how bad he wanted it—how bad he needed it—and silently begged for it to come save him.

Rumbling through the distorted waters vibration, he could barely make out words–’Nice to meet you,’ he heard. He struggled harder, kicking at the dark tangles that wrapped around his legs and begged him to stay and play. Right in front of him, the water started to grow thin, clear, and easily parted as the light grew stronger; his hand reached once again, feeling as a warm one gently grabbed a hold of him and pulled, guiding him through the waters as the world around him grew more and more bright until he started to go blind. He held his eyes shut tight for a while, feeling as the water on his skin started to dry because of the warmth they gave off. For once, he could hear clearly; slowly, he opened his eyes to bear witness to the sun god themselves as the smile on their lips moved to speak– ‘My name’s MC’.

You make me happy, when skies are grey.

With the darkness always nipping at his ankles, it was easy to wallow in the rain as the sky cried for him. Or was it because of him? He wouldn’t be surprised whichever way it may be, but he didn’t mind watching the clouds. Most of the time, they were comforting—like looking into a mirror as the darkness and grey reminded him of his own appearance—or maybe he simply tricked himself into thinking they were there for comfort? After a break in the clouds allowed him a single glance at clear blue sky and the warm of a ray of sun on his skin, he quickly realized that being pelted by rain was no way to live.

On his darkest days, he can always count on a genuine smile from MC. A text, a call, a distraction, even the slightest bit of a hug or form of affection is enough to melt away anything that dared to hang over the warlock. On days he feels the threads tangle around his throat, he seeks out MC before realizing that his feet are even moving.  

Just basking in their very presence is harmony. It’d been far too long for him to remember the last time he felt true peace or ignorant bliss, but something about them made him feel like a child; free, playful, his youth bounding and laughter that causes a cold burn in his lungs. When he was with them, it felt like they were both children, innocent and sweet.

They’d run through the tall grass, arms out with hands brushing through the flowers, causing petals to sweep along with the wind. Their game of tag was full of smiles and laughs, the air was warm and sweet. They’d speak of such beautiful imaginations, what-if’s and rambles about anything that made them smile. It came so easy.  

He’d visit them at the House of Lamentation, under the ruse of a study session or to watch and discuss a show with them—he knew he was only there to exist near them and found it hard to focus. If they sensed any sort of ill-feeling from him, they’d jump into what he called their ‘protective mode’; they’d make it known that they were open to listening to him, and coddle him as though they were trying to shield him from the world. It made him feel loved.  

Their hands through his hair as he lay his head on their lap, the room perfectly warm, the silence comfortable. Solomon was always happy.

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.

All his thoughts consisted of them. He felt like a small school boy with such a crush that weighed heavy on his heart. Everything they did was beautiful; every word spoken was golden, every movement soft and fluid like clouds—they sparkled like stars and comforted like the moon. His eyes, his heart, his skin and his soul could never get enough.  

His eyes followed them wherever they went—he tried to keep them to himself, but he couldn’t. Subconsciously, he’d smile when they did, he’d bite their lips as they spoke—even if it wasn’t to him—he’d reach out and try to touch them however he could even if it was just a brush to the hand. He loved them. He loved them so much that he no longer knew what to do with himself.

The sun, logically and scientifically, causes hormones in the brain to release serotonin. Solomon knew this. Of course, his sun would make him feel so happy that he just might melt. Warm, happy, fuzzy both in his gut and in his mind—they made him feel good. They made him feel happy. They made him feel safe, as they’ve parted the clouds just for him and reached into the depths of the dark just to offer him their hand. They made him feel loved.

He could never express that. All the magic in the world couldn’t help him find the right words to convey any of it to them. Did he even deserve the chance to do so? He wanted to even if he didn’t, but it was clear from the get-go that it was never going to happen.

MC stood across the room, leaving him mid-conversation for one of the demon brothers who said it was urgent they speak to them. Solomon couldn’t hear their conversation, but body language said enough. The way they stood, leaned in close, eyes sparkling and smile even brighter, he’d seen enough to know. He didn’t need to see anymore.

He slipped by them without saying a word, heading to his room—to solitude. The dark hands shot out the moment he opened the room to the darkness that greeted him, not bothering to turn on a light. On his bed he sat, staring at what he assumed was the floor, but was too dark to see. He could feel it—the heavy weight of the hands that ran along his body now; they were dark, cold, full of anger and hatred as they wrapped around every inch of his body, wrapping tightly around his throat until he could no longer breathe.

Solomon slumped over, noticing there wasn’t so much as a light from under his door, or MC’s name on his phone. What else could he do? He held his face in his hands as his breathing became uneven.

His body involuntarily started to break into an ugly sob. He didn’t realize it was going to rain today; when did the clouds return? There was a pain in his chest that twisted like a knife had ripped through him. He coughed, sputtered, and thought there may as well have been his own blood on his hands. Solomon laid on his back and immediately the abyss sat on his chest, crushing his lungs and causing his sobs to falter; it hurt. That’s all he could think of—it hurt. He wanted to cry out for MC.  

In the darkness, his eyes played tricks on him as though he could see the ghosts of the sun still in front of him. Reaching out, he was met with nothing.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Beelzebub with #4

Summary: Number 4 - Just simping for you. It’s a lot of food allegories to call you nice.

from this prompt list

Asmodeus would often tell him that when food is beautiful, it tastes better. Something that Beelzebub had called dumb, that the presentation doesn’t change it yet maybe it just wasn’t the case with food.

Because there was something about you, maybe even everything yet he couldn’t keep it that simple. If he related it to what his brother had said about food, then it would just be your “presentation” not the inside “taste” of who you were past that. So this presentation, how you were plated, was delicious on it’s own yet when backed by the taste of who you were, a delicacy was created. A food that was meant only to be loved and looked at, not to be eaten like cake support made from rice krispies instead of the plush fluff it could be believed as.

A delight, bread shared between multiple cultures, to be commonplace and known by every baker close to any heat to prove your truth. Your grace, the ideal look of your eyes when you were happy, how your fingers looked cross hatched with his own. However, just like how they could not gain a place that belonged to him you were not a recipe to be followed, impossible to yield the same beautiful result of delicacy.

The ideas of relating you to baking certainly made sense in his brain on how food looks would make it taste better just like its certain that your kisses and smiles are much better directed at him. Yet he could go further, Beelzebub could relate you to more despite this uniqueness he had come to terms with. You could be soup really, and the best he decided you were. Perfect at keeping him warm, from his cheeks to how content he felt on the inside after a bowl while sick.

A word, three even,, came to mind when he thought of this journaling. Well-rounded, but most of all, perfect.

Taglist:@hyper-super-clover

“Camera” with Leviathan

summary:[sent 11:39 am] MC, after the panel will you help take my photos?

from this prompt list

You and Leviathan have been preparing for this weekend, it was a smaller convention in its first few years of activity. It was also, in the human world. Not one of the Devildom convention centers that Leviathan was used to, doubling the nerves as well as the excitement jitters as the transport bus pulled from the parking lot to the actual convention hall.

Binging anime series, games, and translated mangas that hadn’t been “properly” released yet on somewhat worrying websites, had been replaced for the two weeks prior to this very outing. Instead, Leviathan would watch any convlog you found acceptable. From old ones from years back of when you first gained the interest to ones of this convention specifically. It was soothing to him, to know the similarities in how humans acted compared to demons and the basic lay out of the vendor’s hall to the makeshift arcade room.

As much as it was helpful, it was also enthralling, having trusted your judgement before his own was a wonderful and perhaps even pogdecision. He loved the different accents, the regional dialects and slang, the reaction of seeing someone’s hero, the voice actors in character to cosplayer, the memes that the human fanbase had picked up instead, and especially how many people actually dressed up rather than going casually.

Of course he was going to wear one of his comfort cosplays to his first human anime convention with you that was already law, written in stone really. Though it was, nevertheless, comforting.

The rest of the bus was filled with people similar to himself and you, yet entirely different from the archetype of the character to the franchise company as a whole but it was never close to full of hate or questionable quip’s at Leviathan’s attire. When he had actually gotten compliments other than your own before even stepping foot to the badge line.

It was something surprising to him especially when his pose had been so stiff, freshly available after having stretched his legs from the cramped condition of the car and how his charms had dug into his side from the seatbelt. Leviathan was already in his habitat despite the clear change from Devildom’s hellish humidity to the chill of the automobile insides.

His shoulders were loose, not as tense as normal, yet still huddled close to you like a lifeline.

Like a better comfort than his head pillow, craning his neck towards you to look at the schedule you had pulled up on your phone.

The day was becoming hazardous as most good con-days were. Trying not to stumble into people’s large wings, not getting caught by a loose dress layer to the escalator, having to send the quick and mistyped version of “where are you” after getting lost from going to different booths in the artist alley when you are across from each other, the change from cute heeled shoes to sneakers with memory foam insoles.

It was closing in on lunch when Leviathan’s “Oh My God! My Lover Looks So Cute When He’s Happy Enjoying What He Loves! In Character Q&A” Panel was about to begin, settling into the folding chairs set in neat rows not before clearing the forgotten water bottles left behind. There was about five minutes before the hour long panel would begin when Leviathan would flare up, blush hidden under concealer and setting powder but visible at his ears. Whipping out his phone in his ungloved hand and typing out a message haphazardly.

Clearly embarrassed when you leaned over, curious at recognizing your icon at the top of the bar, so flustered he had to backspace quite a bit to recover the text from the jumbled keysmash. And within the next minute it would have been unknown he was so shy, the message looking relatively chill. Maybe, even calm and collected.

Yet you had seen the nervous grip messing with his phone case, even the way he had folded his arms on his lap, making himself small as if someone had asked to share his seat.

[sent 11:39 am] MC, after the panel will you help take my photos?

Such a text that would lead you close to 1pm, being handed Leviathan’s phone in front of the park fountain near by. A shy smile held in return by the seriousness you gave to such an honoring role before swiping to his camera to bring focus to his first few poses. Lens and eyes behind it on him with the right amount of exposure, him becoming comfortable and confident to play his character more in your delightful company.