Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thursday evenings are for coffee in the common room.

You had decided this fairly soon after you’d arrived in the Devildom, though it had taken a fair amount of time to pluck up the courage to go through with it.

You began with simple instant coffee to avoid giving the kitchen a strong enough scent to attract curiosity. You padded down the hallway carrying your mug in both hands, careful not to spill anything or make too much noise, nudging open the door with your hip and quickly ducking your head in to check you wouldn’t be bothering any of the brothers with your surely unwelcome company.

You’d spent your Thursday evenings with your coffee in the common room.

Time had moved on. You had studied and passed exams with a surprising amount of hair left on your head after several sleepless nights running frustrated hands through tangled locks. You had shared uncontrollable laughter with two angels and an ageless Biblical king, hurrying hand in hand with beings of insurmountable power as they rushed you home from Purgatory Hall before you had been caught out past curfew. You had grown closer to your friends and your housemates.

And you had been threatened. You had been hurt. You had been murdered, your ribs crushed and the air forced out of your lungs as your ears rang with cold and sharp laughter. You had watched yourself fade out of this world in the arms of your dear friend.

But ultimately, you had survived your year in the Devildom.

Then you had left them.

And now you had returned.

You no longer mind drawing attention while you prepare coffee for Thursday evenings in the common room.

You hum to yourself as you stand in the kitchen, stirring Turkish coffee with the wariness of someone who has scrubbed burnt coffee off of stovetops countless times after it had been left unsupervised for a few seconds and bubbled over.

You’d assured the boys you could handle yourself and shooed them out of the kitchen to wait for you in the common room. Though Mammon had grumbled about leaving you alone and having to spend time with his brothers,  the sweet smile you shot him coupled with the request that he find the best seat for you two to sit together sent him hurrying out the door. The rest had followed, Levi muttering his displeasure under his breath and Asmo loudly announcing that he would fit himself in any space next to you – just you wait.

You open a cupboard door to look for eight suitably small glasses and find yourself staring at the exact Turkish coffee cup set you’d shown Barbatos on your D.D.D. as you asked if he had anything like them laying around that you could borrow. A bright smile spreads across your face and you promise yourself you’ll ask him to join you for coffee someday soon so you can properly thank him.

Determined to be as careful as possible with your newly acquired treasure (and not quite tall enough to ensure their safety from the ground), you haul yourself up onto the countertop and shuffle up on your knees to be able to reach. You huff, muttering something or other to yourself about how is anyone expected to be able to reach anything in this house?

“I guess demons are usually taller than humans,” comes a yawning drawl from behind you, making your fingers clasp the edge of the cupboard tight enough to turn your knuckles white.

You turn your head to lock eyes with Belphegor, climbing out from under one of the tables in the middle of the room and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Belphie.”

“Hey,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender at your stern tone. “You asked a question.”

You open your mouth, then quickly decide it’s not worth going into what volume is appropriate for a conversation and that your comment was absolutely not within that range. You roll your eyes, beckoning him over with a tilt of your head.

“Help me, then. The coffee’s ready but I need to get these onto a tray.”

He nods, taking the coffee cups from you and setting them on the counter. He thankfully doesn’t rub in the fact that he definitely could have reached all of them without climbing on the counter like a toddler.

After you find a tray and set down the coffee, cups, and some baklawa you had made the other day, you can’t help but allow a small smug smile to grace your lips. Your grandmother would be proud. It’s good she can’t see precisely where you are or what you’re up to, but this one small display of impeccable hosting would make her proud.

You pick up the tray and leave the kitchen with Belphie in tow (holding a large container of more baklawa reserved for Beel), continuing your hummed melody from earlier.

As you approach the common room, you hear the brothers chatting within and you stop before you can be seen through the open door. You fall silent. Your eyes close and you sigh, feeling a sense of calm wash over you that you’d initially thought you could never feel in a place like this. The feeling spreads through your whole body, pricking the corners of your eyes and making you draw in a shaky breath.

It had taken so long to get to this point. You were sure you would spend every night in the House of Lamentation alone and on edge until you could finally get back to the Human Realm and forget it had ever happened to you. Then this house became your house. You were no longer terrified of turning a corner in the dark hallways and coming face to face with a demon; you welcomed it.

You’d had to put in a lot of effort to convince Lucifer to join you once you’d let slip this was a group activity and his hackles had raised. But you were armed, having memorised his schedule and ensured that he was in a good mood before mentioning that this was a bonding activity humans often participated in, which would sound very good in a report to Diavolo.

The other brothers were easy to convince; all you had to do was ask if Asmo wanted to try some coffee you’d brought with you after dinner to initiate a (sometimes less than civilised) discussion. Mammon immediately insisted on joining you to protect you from Asmo’s advances. Levi whined that it wasn’t fair you wanted to carry out the romantic ‘Let’s Grab a Coffee’ trope with Asmo, who hadn’t done nearly as much research into it as Levi had. Satan voiced his interest in trying a new Human Realm beverage. Beel agreed as soon as you let him know there would be sweets to go with the coffee, and Belphie was happy to spend the evening conked out on one of the plush sofas.

You feel Belphie’s hand on your shoulder bring you back to the present moment and turn to face him, meeting his concerned look with tear-filled eyes. You sniffle, not wanting to walk into a room of your closest friends looking like you’d been dragged there against your will.

“I’m just so happy to be here with you all again,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “I feel like I’m home.”

Belphie’s eyes widen briefly before softening, lips forming into a smile that sleepily reflects yours.

“You are,” he replies gently.

You take a moment to collect yourself, exhaling and letting the tension drop from your shoulders. You walk in and set the tray on the ornate table, noticing how Mammon has saved you a space on the plush leather sofa by spreading his legs impossibly wide in what you have to assume is a very uncomfortable position. You chuckle as you pour the coffee into eight cups, aware that the conversation is dying down in favour of watching you carry out this task.

“This might not be to all of your tastes,” you warn as you begin handing out the coffee to each brother and marvelling at how they seem even smaller in the hands of demons. “It’s really bitter, so add sugar if you like. And try the baklawa too! Beel, there’s a box of it for you.”

Beel’s face lights up as he takes the box from Belphie’s hands and he sends you a star-shattering grin that makes your heart melt. You settle down on the sofa next to Mammon, handing him his coffee and thanking him for finding the perfect seat.

“Of course I did!” his chest puffs out. “Ya thought THE Great Mammon would find anythin’ but the best?”

Before you can say anything, there are six replies of “yes” and one full-mouthed nod that you can’t help but snort at. Before Mammon can deflate, though, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek. His cheeks flush and he turns away from you, flustered and sputtering. You smile back at the various huffs and sounds of disagreement from around you, and Mammon is torn between acting like he would never want a human to even touch him and rubbing the fact that you’d kissed him in his brothers’ faces. You’re just glad to delay this particular argument for a little longer.

You spot Belphie moving towards the marble hearth in front of the fireplace and wave to get his attention. You open your arms and he happily walks over to you, plopping himself down with his head in your lap and immediately closing his eyes to make up for the sleep he missed during the walk to the room. Your hand gently runs through his hair absent-mindedly until you realise almost every pair of eyes in the room is upon you. You’re almost sure the decorative dragon fixed above the mantel is staring at you in shock, too.

“What?”

It seems Satan is the only one who can express the feelings shared between the remaining six brothers. He looks over the rim of his coffee cup as his features return to his usual politely disinterested expression.

“I suppose we were not expecting such a barrage of public displays of affection so suddenly on your return. Especially between you and Belphie,” he explains.

You frown a little, eyebrows furrowing. You would rather not get into the past you and Belphie share. It seems Belphie has picked up on your apprehension as his eyes snap open and he lifts his head from your lap, searching your face for a sign that he should get up and give you some space.

“He asked if he could use my thighs as a pillow. I said yes,” you laugh, all traces of previous anxiety having left your features.

Your hand returns to its place in Belphie’s hair, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief and rest his head back in your lap. None of the brothers want to push it any further. You know they’ve all seen at least some of the ways the start of your relationship with Belphie has affected you, and you’re glad they realise how huge this step is. You don’t want to change the night into an impromptu therapy session either; you’d decided that Thursday evenings were for coffee in the common room and you were going to have your dream realised.

“So all we have to do is ask?” Asmo chirps from the sofa opposite you, resting his coffee against his knee as he crosses his legs.

“Yes…” you reply warily, not trusting the upward inflection of his voice.

“Then can I rest my head between your thighs?”

You knew what was coming, and yet you’d encouraged it. You grab a cushion and hold it above your head as Asmo giggles. Lucifer gives you a stern look and you lower your arm, realising how much coffee could be spilled in this particular war.

“You won’t lay a finger on my human, ya pervert!” Mammon barks.

“Finger ‘on’ or fi-“

“Asmodeus.”

Asmo very quickly shuts his mouth when Lucifer speaks, not wanting to invoke the Wrath of Pride no matter how cute you look when you get mad. He waves his hands in defeat and smiles sweetly at you to assure you that his line of questioning is done for now.

You laugh, the high ceiling of the common room carrying your voice and making the joy you feel crystal clear to all present.

“I really did miss you all,” you sigh, leaning over Belphie to set your cup on the side table. “It was so lonely in the Human Realm without you.”

“Well… Well, you’re here now, human!” Mammon’s senses have returned to him as he hooks an arm around the back of the couch, behind you. “No need to be thinkin’ about how miserable ya were without yours truly.”

You can tell where this is going, having witnessed countless build-ups to the regular six-against-one. And although Mammon really brought it upon himself this time, you want to prove that these gatherings can work for everyone. You decide to lean into Mammon’s side, close as you can without disturbing Belphie’s already deep sleep. Mammon is rendered useless for the second time this evening as you make yourself comfortable.

“All of you,” you say firmly. “I missed all of you. I missed loud breakfasts and quiet study sessions and always knowing someone would be there. It’s kind of difficult back there now. Maybe I didn’t realise how different our relationships are to the ones I have in the Human Realm. So if I seem touch starved it’s only because I definitely am.”

You think you feel Mammon’s arm move ever so slightly closer to your shoulder.

“I missed getting caught up in planning the ultimate life of luxury with Mammon,” you continue, purposely not looking at the demon beside you so he won’t need to make up an excuse for the beautifully soft smile gracing his features.

“I missed stumbling out of Levi’s room and almost falling asleep in the hallways after all-night anime marathons,” you lock eyes with the third-oldest very briefly before a blush overtakes his cheeks and he lifts his arm to block his face from your view.

“I missed studying in the Library with Satan until we’d inevitably get back to planning how to open a cat sanctuary,” your gentle laugh is answered with a genuine smile from the Avatar of Wrath.

“I missed lying on Asmo’s bed in a fluffy robe reading gossip rags while we waited for our face masks to dry,” your gaze lands on Asmo as he lays one hand over his heart and the other fans his teary-eyed face.

“I missed inventing new foods with Beel whenever we found each other in the kitchen,” you chuckle, meeting the redhead’s bright smile with one of your own and a nod. “Thanks for eating the evidence, too.”

Your focus turns to the youngest brother, who you thought was still asleep in your lap. When your eyes meet violet-and-pink hues, you realise they look nothing like the cold stare that still sometimes meets you in your dreams. You don’t want to look any deeper. You’re glad you see Belphie, your friend, and not Belphegor, your betrayer. When it takes you longer to speak than it had for his brothers, worry creeps into his sleepy expression.

“I missed finding myself effortlessly comfortable curled up next to Belphie, no matter where we were,” you stroke his hair, the soothing motion assuring him that he, too, holds a place in your heart.

You look up again to face a room of quiet and apparently humbled demons, and you take a moment to structure your next sentence in a way that won’t seem disrespectful to the remaining brother.

“Lucifer,” you begin, subconsciously correcting your posture and looking up to meet his steady crimson gaze. “I missed… Well…”

You pause, a hundred sweet memories all trying to force themselves out of your mouth at the same time but still leaving you unable to form a sentence.

“The night we spent together?” he supplies coolly, one corner of his lips quirked upwards.

You immediately stand up, sending Belphie tumbling to the floor with a groan while a chorus of shocked and indignant remarks ring out around you. You clap your hands together and smile, knowing your face is heating up and the fact that you haven’t denied anything speaks volumes.

“Well, hope you enjoyed the coffee! Maybe we’ll try poison next time!” you manage to say loud enough to confirm you will be taking no further questions.

You hurry out of the common room, shooting a glare at Lucifer on your way past. His deep chuckle and the cries of his brothers follow you as you make your way back to your bedroom.

You're not sure if coffee has ever actually tasted any good anyway.

Chapter Text

Last Friday morning, you had woken up to an overwhelming amount of messages from several of the brothers demanding more information about the comment Lucifer had made the previous night.

You had set your D.D.D. back on your bedside table face down and decided it was broken for the rest of the day.

You didn’t know why you’d woken up so early, but you knew it meant you would be able to get to the kitchen and back without being spotted. You would have time to fix yourself a hot drink and mull over how to get through breakfast.

You slipped off of your bed and into the white fluffy slippers Simeon had bought you (he’d presented them to you on your second sleepover at Purgatory Hall, very enthusiastic about the stuffed wings on the sides), pulling a cosy sweater over your ruffled sleepwear.

You hurried through the hallways with bated breath, reaching the kitchen and exhaling your thanks to whatever gracious entity kept watch over the Devildom that you hadn’t bumped into anyone along the way.

You began strategizing, preparing your coffee with your brow furrowed. You hadn’t noticed anyone enter the kitchen after you until a deep voice shocked you back to reality.

“Rather early for you, isn’t it?”

Your head snapped towards the sound, fingers clenched around the spoon you’d almost dropped.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Lucifer.”

The first born stood before you, hands folded behind his back and a small smirk playing on his lips. He was already dressed in his RAD uniform, every inch of his outfit prim and perfect even at this godforsaken hour. The ever-roaring fire to your right cast a glorious light over his form, flickering yellows and reds illuminating sharp features and neatly parted raven hair. Even in such an ordinary moment, he was stunning.

You had to take a moment to remember you were mad at him.

He raised an eyebrow, daring you to continue the stern tone with which you’d greeted him. So you did.

“You are unbelievable,” you hissed, spoon pointed squarely at his chest. “Do you have any idea how wild your brothers are right now? I swear Mammon would’ve broken down my door had Solomon not taught me that strengthening charm, Levi has made a point of blocking me on Mononoke Land, and don’t even get me started on Asmo.”

The amused look spreading across Lucifer’s face only served to frustrate you further.

 “Maybe I’ll miss breakfast so I can pretend I got so ill I forgot what happened last night. And every night since the day I was born. I’ll finish my coffee and go research amnesia,” you huffed, folding your arms and fully accepting how childish you looked.

Lucifer took a step towards you and you immediately straightened.

“I will ensure that they no longer ask you what happened between us.”

You’d opened your mouth to protest until Lucifer closed the gap between you. One gloved hand reached behind your waist to rest against the countertop and the fingertips of the other barely brushed your jawline. Your breath hitched and your retort disappeared in your throat.

 “I am looking forward to next Thursday evening,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his lips to ghost yours. “Keep in mind that I am a busy demon and my time is precious. Do not disappoint me.”

You felt your face heat. Your head tilted, your body instinctively adapting to accommodate the shape his formed around you.

Lucifer abruptly pulled away from you, satisfied with how easily you turned to putty in his hands.

“You’re unbelievable,” you breathed, hand over your chest in a feeble attempt to control your frantic heartbeat.

You caught the smug smile on Lucifer’s face as he turned to leave.

“I am well aware.”

You had been looking forward to this Thursday evening in the common room.

As promised, you’d had no further questions from the brothers about Lucifer’s scandalous comment since last Thursday, and things had returned to normal.  

It is the least Lucifer could have done, since it was his fault there had been a fuss in the first place.

You enter the common room with a firm grip on your overladen tray of food and drink, glad you’d asked the boys to give you some time before heading down themselves.

After unloading the tray onto the table, you step away to survey your offerings. Perhaps you had gotten a little carried away; several small mountains of petit fours and profiteroles surround a large, generously frosted carrot and walnut cake. You hadn’t meant to make so much, but you’d ended up on a video call to Luke and his boisterous enthusiasm had encouraged you to keep baking well into the night until he’d had to suddenly end the call so he could pretend to be asleep when Simeon checked in on him.

You aren’t reminiscing for very long before lithe arms snake around your waist from behind and you’re hit with the familiar scent of a rose and vanilla perfume.

“This is you giving me time, Asmo?” you ask, reaching behind you to lay a very careful hand on the top of the demon’s perfectly styled champagne-coloured hair.

“Of course!” he trills, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t want you getting lonely in this dusty old room.”

You chuckle, patting one of his hands.

“What a gentleman,” you reply. “I suppose this is ready enough, then.”

“Perfect! Sit with me this time. I’ve barely seen you since you came back!”

You hum and tap a finger against your lower lip, feigning indecisiveness. Asmo huffs, breath tickling your neck.

When you finally chirp an “okay!”, Asmo releases you from his grasp and claps his hands together with a certain mischievous joy you’d grown equally wary and fond of. He grabs your hand and pulls you over to the end of one of the sofas, sitting down and opening his arms wide.

You manoeuvre yourself to squeeze in beside him, back against the armrest and legs laying over Asmo’s lap. You sigh contentedly as you settle in, lacing your fingers through his. You’d missed the casual intimacy you shared with the fifth-born.

You look at your hands joined together. His long, delicate fingers tipped in perfectly manicured, carefully painted nails cast a stark contrast to yours.

You pause.

The sight before you makes you realise you really did have a difficult time readjusting when you returned to the Human Realm. It hadn’t taken long for the daily beauty routine Asmo had drilled into your head to escape, replaced with real world responsibilities and the nagging feeling that something was missing and could very well stay that way for the rest of your natural life. The products he’d painstakingly picked out for you had been left in your bathroom cabinet untouched and the flattering clothes he’d helped you find had all been shoved unceremoniously into the back of your wardrobe. You just couldn’t find a reason to keep any of it up.

The distant look on your face must be betraying what’s on your mind, because Asmo pulls your hand closer to him to inspect your nails.

“Darling, what happened?” he turns your hand over to look from your flaking nails to the dry and cracked skin on your palm.

You chew your lip. What had happened?

“It’s hard to say,” you reply quietly. “I guess it was harder than I thought it would be going back to the realm I’ve lived in all my life. I know I’m meant to belong there. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. A lot can happen in a year, I suppose.”

Asmo looks at you for what feels like an eternity, brows knitted together. If you’d known you’d be spending the night under his scrutinising gaze, you might’ve worn some makeup to hide the blemishes you’d accumulated from the stress of finding yourself lost in what you’d previously been confident in calling your own life. The silence stretches on and you struggle to keep yourself from recalling every flaw you’d noticed during moments spent in front of the mirror staring sunken-eyed at your reflection.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you do that too long, you know,” you murmur, finger pressing against Asmo’s forehead.

He blinks. A stunning smile spreads across his face to hear something so him coming from you. He pulls your hand closer to him and kisses your knuckles.

“Come to my room later. I have a new jasmine and witch hazel toner you just have to try!”

His voice sounds so normal. You feel relief rush over you, washing away the heaviness that had lodged itself in your ribcage. You nod enthusiastically.

“I’d love to.”

“And who knows where the night will take us! It’s so hard to tell when your skin is actually being taken care of when those troublesome clothes are in the way. Besides, self-care is more than just external, you know. I could show you so many products th-“

You flick his chest, shutting him up before he can get too into detail. You’re not sure if you’d be more embarrassed about what he’d say or how you don’t think it sounds like such a bad idea at this point.

“I knew. I knew it was coming. And yet, here I sat with my mouth shut like a fool,” you scowl.

Asmo pouts, rubbing the spot you’d flicked.

“You’d better hope that doesn’t leave a bruise! If I deprive the realm of seeing me with a low-cut shirt, the consequences will be devastating.”

“Asmodeus,” you place your hand over the one fussing with the life-altering wound he’s imagined for himself. “If the impact of my weak human fingers travelled through the several layers of clothing you are wearing today and formed a bruise on your skin horrendous enough for you to keep the world from seeing you in all your glory, I will stay by your bedside and dedicate myself to nursing you back to full strength.”

“I have the perfect outfit for you, then!” Asmo puts his hand over yours.

“I hope it’s sexily appropriate medical wear!” you mimic his sing-song voice, completing the stack as you place your other hand over his.

You and Asmo are lost in fits of giggles as the other brothers begin to file in. Mammon grumbles when he sits next to Asmo, clearly annoyed that there’s no way to sit next to you in this situation. You stand to get the drinks ready, goofy grin plastered on your face.

You kneel by the table in the centre, feeling the rush of chaotic energy fill the room as the brothers take their seats. Beel arrives last with Belphie on his back, happy to sit on the floor and let his smaller twin lean against him to continue his nap. The widening of Beel’s eyes as he takes in the sweet feast laid before him makes your heart swell – you immediately cut him a generous slice of cake and delight in watching his expression as he wolfs it down.

“I know the coffee last time wasn’t exactly the right fit for everyone, so let me know if you want to try some mint tea instead. Much sweeter,” you pat the lid of the teapot you’d brought with you from home.

You look over just in time to catch Mammon breathe a sigh of relief. You can’t say you didn’t love watching his nose scrunch up with pained regret last week after he’d chugged way too much of his coffee to qualify as a normal first-taste sip. Not all demons can handle bitter tastes, you suppose.

You work through your mixed orders as the room fills with the pleasant sound of casual conversation. You reach Satan, sitting with his legs crossed and a hand on the book in his lap.

“I assume this is Human Realm mint, correct?” he asks as you hand him a small glass of tea.

“That’s right,” you nod. “Peppermint.”

“Interesting. Did you bring some with you when you returned?”

“I did. They’re cuttings from plants in my parents’ garden, which were cuttings from my grandmother’s garden,” enthusiasm and pride colour your voice as you respond. “I thought my little stalks would last for a few days or so, but Barbatos is letting me use a little corner of his greenhouse to actually grow them and a few more herbs.”

Satan hums an interested note, studying the rich honey-brown colour and fresh scent of the drink in his hand. You find yourself, as you often do with the well-mannered demon, wanting to extend this interaction in any way you can.

“You should come with me next time if you’d like to see how they grow. The smell is divine.”

“I’d love to,” Satan replies, looking up from his tea and giving you a small, honest smile.

When you return to your place half in Asmo’s lap, you sigh audibly and close your eyes momentarily. When you open them again, you find Asmo and Mammon looking at you, eyebrows raised.

“Who can blame me for enjoying my moment of domestic bliss?” you ask.

“You call this domestic bliss?” Levi pipes up from the couch opposite you, frowning.

After taking a moment to consider it, you figure you understand why Levi is so opposed to your contentment.

“Yeah,” you shrug, a smirk creeping onto your face. “Maybe you were thinking more along the lines of coming home after a long day at work to wrap your arms around your beautiful wife who’s just finishing up dinner wearing a cute apron?”

Asmo gasps, nodding.

“A cute apron and nothing else?”

“And she greets you with a ‘welcome home, Master!’” you continue in a high-pitched voice, apparently channelling Asmo’s impish nature through direct contact with him.

Levi’s words fail him. He covers his furiously blushing face in an attempt to stem the flow of strangled noises falling out of his mouth. You notice Satan watching you as you speak, and you’re not sure why the tranquil smile on his face makes you feel a little warm.

Levi sulks and trains his focus back on his D.D.D., pointedly ignoring you. You don’t feel too bad about teasing him; he still has you blocked on Mononoke Land after all. In any case, you know it won’t last long since there’s an event coming up and you’re sure he’ll need your help to get all the rewards.

You turn back to the demons you’re sharing the sofa with. Mammon seems to be enjoying his tea while he scrolls through his D.D.D. and Asmo is twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, appreciating how it bounces back when he lets go.

“Mammon,” you begin, digging your feet under his leg. “What’s your domestic fantasy?”

Mammon is used to you using him as a heat source. In private. It takes a raised eyebrow from Asmo to remind him that he should act like you’re a burden.

“Hey. Human. Get yer nasty feet offa me,” he huffs, making no effort to push you away at all.

“Should I really ask Asmo first…?” you hum, wiggling your toes under him and earning a grunt from the white-haired demon.

Mammon sees Asmo’s face brighten and speaks before his younger brother can turn the conversation into a spoken-word erotic fanfiction that will most likely feature you.

“Fine! I mean… Y’know. Guess I’d have ta live someplace close to somewhere fun,” he shrugs. “Go to high-class casinos. Buncha cars, champagne, whatever we want we get. Stay up all night rakin’ in money to spend every night after.”

 “It suits you,” you nod, receiving a grin in return.

Far be it from you to question a demon’s fantasy, even if you were hoping for something a little more romantic.

“You ever think of something plain, though?” you lean back, making sure not to place too much weight on Asmo’s lap.

Mammon tilts his head, squinting at you. You hum, allowing yourself to recall the daydreams you’d so often get lost in when you needed an escape.

“I used to dream of sharing a cosy little cottage with someone in a place that’s quiet but not too remote. Those wisteria trellises in the front, hydrangea bushes around the edges. With a few pets to keep us company.

“We’d do mundane things together, you know? Washing dishes and doing laundry and cooking dinner. And then things like putting on music and dancing together until it gets so late we know we’ll regret it the next morning. Going out on walks and getting lost on purpose so we can make our adventure even longer.

“Thinking about things like coming home knowing there’ll always be a place for me wrapped up safe in warm arms… Doing separate things together and not having to think of something to say, because awkward silences don’t exist between us. Simple comfort like that.”

When you finish, you realise you’ve drawn the attention of everyone in the room. Mammon’s expression looks oddly dreamy. Asmo is absent-mindedly tracing circles on the side of your thigh, free hand propping up his chin as he follows you into your fantasy. Levi has looked up from his D.D.D. and is staring hazy-eyed at the floor. Beel has paused midway through devouring the rest of the cake, a goofy crumb-covered smile on his face. Belphie sighs in his sleep, even more relaxed than he had been when he’d curled up on the floor at the start of the night. Satan’s usually disciplined expression has softened, fingers gently tapping the cover of his book. Lucifer’s appearance is similar (though you would never mention it to either of them), gaze focused on Asmo’s fingers trailing patterns on your skin. He looks up and your eyes meet. Your gentle smile broadens and you swear you can see his cheeks tinge pink ever so slightly.

“How romantic,” Asmo sighs.

“You said cooking, right?” Beel asks, mouth full.

“Right,” you reply. “Want to go find a cottage with me, Beel?”

You hop up from your seat, cackling as Beel’s reply is cut off as expected by Levi, Asmo, and Mammon’s loud protests that carry on for as long as it takes you to tidy up the empty glasses and plates.

“Good night, boys! Let me know if you dream about our cottage tonight!”

You leave the common room with your tray in hand, revelling in the mischief you’d caused. Serves them right for the state they’d had you in last week.

You’re pretty sure you’ll be dreaming about your cottage tonight, too.

Chapter Text

You had always found comfort in Simeon.

Since the first day you’d met him, you knew you could trust him. Though some would say it was because he was a literal angel, you knew it was more than just his species. He was him. More than just his scripture, he was kind and wise and understanding and he was everything you could cling to.

You’d found yourself missing Simeon as much as you’d missed the demon brothers while you were back in the Human Realm.

He had made it clear to you that he was always available to talk, more than once helping you sneak over to Purgatory Hall in the dead of night after you’d had a nightmare and letting you sleep curled up close to him in his bed. He’d wrapped his arms around you and assured you that he would stay awake and watch over you. You would press your face into his chest and hold on to him tight until you drifted off, fingers finally relaxing their tight grip on his soft pyjama shirt and leaving deep wrinkles in the fabric.

He never mentioned that or any other way you’re sure you must have inconvenienced him during those nights. He just kept you safe in the sanctuary of his arms, his hand stroking your hair gently as your breathing slowed.

He was the only person you knew whose fingers never got caught in your curls.

You couldn’t wait to spend the afternoon with him, getting ready in your bedroom as Mammon flopped on your bed. You hadn’t had the chance to see him since you’d returned and your excitement had been building for several days as your little date approached. You’d picked out a simple white sundress to compliment his usual graceful attire.

“You’re gonna see him at RAD tomorrow, ya know,” Mammon muttered, picking a loose thread from your sheets.

You waved your hand dismissively at the pouting demon.

“I’ll see you there tomorrow too. Doesn’t mean I don’t love seeing you when we’re not in class.”

Your complimentary reply immediately flustered him. As you straightened your dress in the mirror, you watched him in the background experience an interesting combination of pride, embarrassment, and sheer joy.

“I’ll see you later tonight, Mammon,” you went over to the bed and knelt beside him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Enjoy your day, okay?”

You hurried out, not bothering to usher him out of your room. You trusted that he wouldn’t try to find and sell any of your valuables (again) at this point, and you really didn’t mind when he’d stay on your bed for a while and leave your sheets smelling faintly of his cologne when you crawled in at night.

You bumped into Lucifer almost as soon as you’d left your room. He politely entertained your eager chatter as he accompanied you on your way to the front door, reaching to open it for you until you held out your hand to stop him.

“What do you think?” you asked, holding out the skirt of your dress for him to inspect.

“Divine,” he stated simply. “Though I am sure red would suit you better.”

You beamed and placed your hands on his shoulders, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Red next time, then,” you nodded.

The smile Lucifer gave you is the one that assures you of his origin in the Celestial Realm. Radiant and charming, even as restrained as it always is.

Simeon was waiting for you at the bottom of the steps when Lucifer opened the door for you. You could barely contain yourself, hurrying down two steps at a time and throwing your arms around his shoulders when you reached him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and laughed, the serene sound illuminating the ever-present darkness around you.

“I missed you, I missed you!” you cried, holding on to him tight and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“I missed you too, my dearest,” he chuckled. “But I can’t actually see you until you let go.”

You finally gathered the strength to pull away and Simeon held you at arm’s length. He took in your appearance, appreciating you in a way that made you feel like you’d been created right beside him, worthy of praise and adoration.

“You look beautiful,” he said as he squeezed your hands. “White really is your colour.”

“I just love it when we match,” you laughed.

Simeon’s smile-crinkled eyes looked past you to the still open front door and he laughed again, letting go of one of your hands to wave over your shoulder.

You turned your head to see seven nosy demons gathered in the doorway, watching your reunion. You looked back at Simeon solemnly.

“You’d think it would be impossible to live with seven brothers who are all also your dad, but each day gives us a new miracle.”

“Amen,” Simeon replied quietly, indulging you in your teasing before looking back to the brothers. “We’ll be back before your coffee night, I promise. Next time you should join us!”

You looped your arm through Simeon’s as a few of the brothers responded half-heartedly to his comment (though you’re sure you heard a firm ‘no way’ from Mammon), bright smile still plastered on your face.

Though you loved spending time with the brothers, you were glad that this time it was just the two of you.

You looked back at the crowded entry to the House of Lamentation once more. A sea of vividly coloured gazes met yours, ranging from mildly curious to intensely jealous. The big fuss of a send-off made it feel like you were being given away to be wed rather than for a walk in town.

You decided to lean into it, blowing an over-exaggerated kiss to the brothers before tugging Simeon away through the enormous iron gates towards town.

You barely make it home in time to greet the delivery demon from Madame Scream’s at the door. Simeon had offered to help you carry the massive order in with you, but you’d assured him you could handle it and sent him back to Purgatory Hall so Luke wouldn’t worry that he’d been away too long.

It doesn’t take you long to regret your decision as you carefully navigate the maze of hallways to the common room. The stack of boxes in your arms obscures your vision, but you’re too stubborn to turn around and find someone now. Besides, you can’t reach your D.D.D. and you can’t see anything or anyone past the small area around your feet as you shuffle to your destination.

You recognise the change in the pattern of the hall runner and feel a sense of accomplishment at having almost reached the common room with goods intact. You move slightly faster, encouraged by your success.

Then you walk right into something very big and very solid and you feel the tower in your arms start to topple. A horrified yelp leaves your mouth and your eyes squeeze shut so you don’t have to witness the devastation that will surely ensue.

When you don’t hear or feel the catastrophic result of your clumsiness around your feet, you dare to open your eyes.

You find that your line of sight is no longer obscured. You look up, bewildered, to find Beel watching you with a look of slight concern, easily balancing seven boxes in his arms and leaving you with a very manageable three.

“Beel!”

He looks at you guiltily.

“I didn’t see you coming. Sorry.”

“No, it was my fault!” you reply. “Thank you!”

Beel looks a little confused but returns your manic grin with a small smile, until you hear his stomach growl loud enough to make you tighten your grip on the remaining boxes in your arms for fear of dropping them.

“Right, let’s set these down and get ready to eat.”

Beel immediately hurries into the common room as soon as you finish your sentence. You follow and set your boxes on the table next to his, stretching the ache out of your weary arms. Beel watches you, hand clasped around his wrist and brow furrowed in a humble display of self-restraint.

“You’re a real sweetheart, Beel. Come, there’s an extra box to keep you until the others get here.”  

Beel looks overjoyed at your praise and your promise of food. He can barely contain himself when you hand him the box of pastries you’d ordered just for him. As he begins to wolf down his prize, you hear distinct shuffling footsteps from the doorway that could only belong to the recently-awakened Avatar of Sloth.

“The fact that you got Beel to wait for food is about as wild as the idea of you beating him in a physical fight,” comes Belphie’s mildly impressed voice.

 “I could beat Beel in a physical fight,” you shrug.

Belphie snorts.

“Fine, I’ll show you,” you reply. “Hey Beel, would you lie down on the floor, please?”

Beel nods, lying down and placing the half-finished box of pastries on his chest so he can keep eating. You step into position over him, feet either side of his hips. You look at Belphie and raise your arms in victory.

“Winner!” you cry.

You lean over, picking a macaron out of the box and holding it to Beel’s mouth to share your celebration.

Belphie laughs as he watches Beel sit up under you to happily accept your offering.

“I don’t think that counts as a physical fight.”

“Booooo. You’re mad I’ve proven my untameable power and displayed my dominance.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t eat your fingers next time you feed him.”

“I wouldn’t eat your fingers,” Beel frowns. “Not on purpose.”

You snort, crouching to hover over Beel.

“That’s very reassuring, Beel, thank you,” you reply.

You pick up another macaron to offer to him (wondering if you should try holding your palm flat like you would when you feed a horse) and lean in again. This time, though, you lose your balance and almost punch him in the nose. Your hand flies past his face and lands on the ground next to him – fingers curled protectively around the macaron in your palm – and your knees land either side of his waist. You inhale sharply through your teeth, cursing under your breath.

Beel blinks, eyes flicking to the hand with the macaron in it. You lean back so you can sit up and assess the damage, your hips aching slightly with the stretch of suddenly having to accommodate such an impossibly wide frame between them. You feel heat wash over your entire body and your brain short-circuits at the realisation that you are currently straddling the divinely sculpted demon lord.

You’re about to get up and stammer your apologies when Beel grabs your wrist.

“Wait.”

He unfurls your fingers to reveal the remains of the macaron, the buttercream that used to hold the two halves together now smeared across your hand. You’re about to apologise when Beel licks a long stripe up your palm. Your breath is caught in your chest. You watch in stunned silence, heart pounding, as he takes each of your fingers into his mouth one by one and pulls them out with an audible pop. When his job is done and not a crumb is left, he looks up at you with purest contentment.

The sound of Belphie snickering brings your soul back into your body and you scramble to your feet, backing up a step. Your mouth is clamped shut.

Belphie helps a completely oblivious Beel to his feet and shoots you an insufferably knowing grin. You wonder if you have enough time to run back to your room and pretend you forgot it was Thursday.

“What an interesting atmosphere to walk into!”

You look to the door, mortified to see Asmo leading the troupe of brothers into the room. You don’t want to know how he knows. You’re desperately hoping he won’t mention how his sin is emanating from your body in scalding hot waves.

It’s probably too late to pretend you forgot it was Thursday.

You pretend you didn’t hear Asmo and focus all of your energy on regaining control of your libido. You welcome the others into the room, hoping that throwing yourself into hosting your precious evening will push the memory of Beel’s tongue on your skin out of your mind. Asmo doesn’t take his eyes off you, a devilish smile on his lips.

After dispensing drinks (while ignoring Asmo’s burning amber stare), you weigh your seating options. You don’t think your overheated brain can last the night sitting on the floor with Beel and Belphie, and although Mammon is looking at you expectantly, you refuse to sit between him and Asmo this evening. You know not being next to him won’t stop Asmo from interrogating you, but maybe putting some distance between the two of you will make it a bit easier for you to pretend you don’t hear his probing questions.

Your eyes sweep over Lucifer, sitting in the armchair between the two sofas, across from the fireplace. He looks over what you assume to be minutes from the last RAD council meeting, long legs gracefully crossed at the knees and one gloved hand propping up his chin, pinkie finger occasionally tapping his lower lip as he murmurs to himself. If you wanted to sit with Lucifer, you’d either have to sit at his feet or on his lap. You push the thought of presenting yourself as Lucifer’s obedient pet from your mind immediately. You know where this train of thought will lead you and you don’t want to give Asmo any more reason to cross-examine you.

You finally land on the couch occupied by Satan and Levi. Both are already occupied with their chosen media; Levi’s face is inches away from his D.D.D. screen, and Satan’s nose is buried in his book. The perfect vibe to help you cool off after your encounter. You make your way over, ignoring Mammon’s loud grumbling.

“Mind if I squeeze between you two tonight?” you ask.

Although Levi stares at you like he’s been hit by a bolt of lightning, Satan’s measured voice gives you your answer almost immediately.

“It would be our pleasure.”

You smile, patting Levi’s thigh to ask him to make some room for you. You can feel his muscles tense under your touch and your hand recoils, giving him an apologetic look.

You’d spent several nights bathed in the cool blue glow of Levi’s room, curled up to the third born in a tangle of limbs after staying up far too late to finish the tenth ‘one last episode’ of the newest anime Levi had insisted you watch together, but you sometimes forgot how different he could be when you were no longer safe inside your shared sanctuary and away from the jeers of his brothers.

The brief interaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Satan.

“If there’s no more room, you can always sit on my lap,” he offers, giving you a charming smile that makes your stomach flip.

You have no idea how you can be so consistently reduced to a hormonal teenager despite having left those days behind you several years ago.

“I wouldn’t want to inflict that on you,” you chuckle, hoping the elegant demon doesn’t notice the waver in your reply.

Satan’s lips quirk downwards disapprovingly at your self-deprecation, but before he can respond, it appears that Levi has found his missing voice.

“No way! I’m not sitting here while you two act all lovey-dovey right in front of me!”

“What do you expect if you don’t make room?” Satan says, waving a hand at his scowling older brother.

“There is room,” Levi huffs, scooting over to give you space. “Get over here, normie.”

You beam, taking your place between the two and allowing yourself to finally relax.

As the night progresses, you sink further back into the plush backrest of the couch. Your eyes are half closed as you find comfort in listening to the casual chatter around you, realising you’d almost drifted off when you feel your head bump against Satan’s shoulder. You sit upright again, muttering a reflexive apology.

Satan looks up from his book to give you a somewhat puzzled look.

“I can’t help but notice that you tend to avoid being in contact with me,” he remarks.

“I do?” you ask, looking just as confused as he does.

He nods and stays silent, waiting for you to carry on.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I did,” you reply as you chew your lower lip, thinking back on your interactions with the reserved fourth-born.

You had rebuffed his offer for you to sit on his lap earlier in the evening, but it was more to do with your hesitance to sit on anyone’s lap for an extended period of time rather than any problems with the demon himself. Though, as you ponder for a while, you suppose you do try to restrict your physical contact with him as much as possible so you don’t end up bothering him.

You’d developed much more casual relationships with his brothers – with the exception of Lucifer, probably for very similar reasons – because you’d found that they let their guard down around you more often than Satan had. You were naturally inclined to respond to their openness with your own, and that shared vulnerability had led to you finding yourself more easily reaching out to the others, emotionally and physically.

You wouldn’t hesitate to call Satan a precious part of your found family, but you don’t often find yourself in a position where you can comfortably tease and trade jokes with him as you do with the others. He was polite to you and you were polite to him. It was simple.

Satan gently exhales, looking slightly disappointed when you stay silent. He moves to reopen his book and you reach out to take hold of his hand, stopping him.

“Really, Satan. I’m sorry I didn’t notice,” you begin, still worrying your lip. “I just don’t want to bother you. I love being with you.”

His expression softens, hand gently squeezing yours.

“You don’t bother me.”

“Give me time,” you snort. “I’ll change your mind. I’m still banned from playing with Belphie’s tail after I made the end frizz up last time.”

Satan lets out a short, bark-like laugh. The unexpected sound makes you grin.

“It still hasn’t gone back to normal,” Belphie grumbles from his position on the floor, curled up on the edge of the Persian rug closest to the fire.

“It looked like a pom-pom. It was really cute,” you say as you shuffle over to nudge him with your foot. “Let me fix it for you.”

Belphie gives you a half-hearted frown and a lazy wave of his hand, resting his head back on his pillow. You snort, readjusting yourself back in your seat and allowing yourself to rest against Satan’s shoulder lightly. His hand stays connected to yours, warm and comforting.

He’s so much softer than you thought he would be.

You fall asleep before the night is over, exhausted after your busy day, having drifted off to the comforting sound of chatter surrounding you. You’re still leaning on Satan, fingers intertwined with his loosely. You look so peaceful that the brothers even manage to keep their voices to a controlled volume that won’t wake you up as they animatedly bicker about who will return you to your bed.

When you sigh and grip Satan’s hand slightly tighter in your sleep, the decision is made.

He gently loosens your fingers to free his hand, slips an arm under your knees and one under your arms, and pulls you close to his chest as he stands.

Satan takes you to your room and his brothers follow in a strange silent procession, all wanting to make sure their prized human makes it to bed safe. He lays you down and pulls your blanket over you, leaning over you to press a kiss to your forehead so gentle that no one would ever believe it had been planted by the personification of Wrath.

Your tranquil form is watched over for a few seconds more by seven of the most powerful creatures in the underworld, each determined to be next in line to send you to bed this way.

With a wave of his hand, Lucifer extinguishes the faintly flickering candlelight by your beside and motions to his brothers to leave you to sleep in peace. Five brothers leave your room – followed by Lucifer with a firm grip on Mammon’s collar – and your door is closed very carefully.

That night, you sleep better than you have in years.

Chapter Text

You were exhausted.

You had woken up at 3am on Leviathan’s floor to the sound of his horrified gasp and the feeling of him wrenching himself from your arms wrapped around his waist. He jumped to his feet, breaking free of the mess of blankets you’d found yourselves curled up under, and bolted to his computer. From the snippets of his distraught babbling you caught, you realised he had to rectify his mistake of not being one of the first viewers waiting for the premiere of Sucre Frenzy’s newest music video.

Unable to sleep with the sound of panicked typing, you’d returned to your own bedroom (once he’d sworn you to secrecy about how much he liked being the little spoon) and woken up a few hours later with an ache in your lower back that followed you the rest of the day.

Your day at RAD hadn’t been any better.

After struggling through surprise tests that didn’t seem like a surprise to anybody except you, you’d gotten too enthusiastic at lunch while telling a story to a wide-eyed Luke and made a sweeping gesture with your arm that swept your lunch straight off the table and onto the floor. You’d slumped in your seat, defeated, as Simeon tried to reassure you that not many of your classmates had even noticed the spectacle you’d caused and maybe they were all just talking about something very funny. You almost believed him until you heard Mammon howling with laughter from across the table.

Hungry and humiliated, you’d barely stayed awake for the last of your classes and kept quiet during the walk home with Beel. You’d been very clear that Mammon was not welcome to walk beside you after he’d loudly imitated the noise of the wet plop of your meal hitting the ground, inviting a round of cackles from others sitting nearby.

You headed straight to the common room, shucking your uniform jacket and shoes at the door and dropping your bag beside the sofa where you collapsed face-first. You groaned loudly into the velveteen fabric.

You heard Beel’s uncertain voice behind you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, setting his bag next to yours.

You turned over, lying face up and staring at the ceiling. You heaved a heavy sigh, hoping that the force of your exhale would dispel the deep fog that had settled over you over the course of your day.

Your head turned to Beel, who was crouched by his bag and rummaging around for any food he had left over from his stash. He paused when he noticed you looking, eyebrows raised, as he waited for your answer.

You opened your arms out to him.

When the demon hesitated, you sat up and tilted your head in question.

“I’m pretty big…” he muttered, standing and rubbing his wrist.

“You are. But I know you won’t hurt me,” you replied evenly.

You held your arms up again and beckoned him over with a wave of your hands.

He sat gingerly in the seat next to you, unsure of how to fit himself into the position you were requesting. You took his hands and pulled him closer until he lay on top of you, head on your chest, lower body fitting perfectly in the space between your legs.

You shuffled underneath him to sink down further, bringing your knees up on either side of him and letting go of his hands. His hesitance had disappeared by the time he’d found a comfortable way to bury his arms under your waist and you propped your head up with one hand, burying the other in Beel’s hair.

You exhaled, the gentle motion prompting Beel to readjust and nuzzle into your soft stomach as he tightened his grip around you momentarily. You closed your eyes, finally beginning to unwind.

He was big. He was heavy. He was reassuring.

Even though your body could only form a barrier around half of his, you felt like you could protect him. It didn’t matter that he’s so much larger and infinitely more powerful than you; in that moment, you knew you would keep him safe.

Beel’s breathing slowed as he found his peace nestled in your warmth. You were on the brink of drifting off yourself until the door slammed open and you heard your name yelled at the top of a very familiar agitated voice.

Beel opened his eyes, looking towards the source of his irritation. Halfway between waking and sleeping, you could see echoes of Belphie in his expression.

You yawned as you looked to your treasured first demon, the hand in Beel’s hair stroking soothing patterns to guide him back to sleep.

“Mammon, are you okay?”

Mammon planted his hands on his hips with a scoff.

“Am I okay? Stupid human! Y’been missin’ for ages an’ now that I’ve found ya you’re gettin’ pinned by that big lug!”

Beel’s eyes flicked open once more, looking up at you with that same hesitation you’d seen earlier. You immediately wrapped both arms around him and squeezed your knees together, caging him in.

“He’s so comfy,” you sighed contentedly. “I could sleep like this forever.”

Beel beamed at you, cheeks flushed, and settled himself into your embrace as his eyes closed once more.

Mammon folded his arms, pouting. You could tell the protests and weak insults were bubbling up in his chest and would erupt at any moment.

“I had a bad day today,” you said. “So if I relax now, I can have more energy when we go on our shopping date tomorrow, right?”

Mammon blinked, then brightened, then blushed.

“W-… We-…” he stammered before regaining his flimsy composure and squaring his shoulders. “Right! You should! Since you’re jus’ gettin’ ready for the main event!”

You smiled at the way the tips of his ears went red and you nodded. He turned quickly and left the common room, a little more of a bounce in his step.

You noticed how he was careful not to let the door slam behind him this time.

You dozed off fairly soon after Mammon left, arms wrapped tenderly around the impossibly muscular frame of one of the most powerful beings in the Devildom.

After your nap with Beel, you feel much better.

Memories of your day fade into wisps of richly scented steam as you pour hot coffee into four small cups and set them on the table next to three delicate glasses of mint tea.

Before your housemates arrive, you have just enough time to gaze proudly over your impressive array of brownies laid out in extravagant serving dishes around the drinks you’d just poured.

You feel so much better.

You decide to take your place first tonight, dropping into the middle seat of one of the sofas and squeezing both hands around your coffee cup to warm them while you wait for your guests to show up.

Levi is, surprisingly, the first to arrive. Your eyebrows raise as you check the time on your D.D.D.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” you ask, noting the way his hair is sticking out at odd angles and the heavy bags under his eyes.

“Sleep?” he snorts derisively. “As if I’d be able to sleep after an out of body experience like that!”

He plops himself next to you, lethargic limbs contrasting the burning fire in his eyes.

“They were incredible! It was like they heard me screaming for them! SU-CRE FREN-ZY!” he yells, two triumphant fists raised in the air.

“We heard you screaming for them,” Satan drawls as he enters the room.

“It was so hard to sleep with that noise…” Belphie sighs from behind Satan, clutching his cow print pillow.

Both brothers glare at Levi, who is too caught up with humming the melody of his new favourite song to spare them a second glance. Asmo, who had followed right after Belphie, takes advantage of this small distraction to hurry past them and claim the free space next to you.

“Sucre Frenzy!” Asmo trills, smiling smugly at his brothers.

Belphie shrugs, dropping his pillow to the floor by your feet and promptly curling up on it and closing his eyes. You offer Satan an apologetic smile, which turns his frown into a light-hearted eye roll as he settles for sitting on the opposite couch by the fireplace.

The rest of the brothers file in, filling the room with the lively warmth you’d come to expect from the highlight of your week. Mammon flops next to Satan, groaning about a new casino app he’d downloaded that he is sure must be rigged. Beel picks up an entire dish of brownies and sets it on his lap when he sits on the floor next to Belphie. Lucifer takes his place in his favourite armchair, giving you a pleasant smile as he walks past.  

As the night progresses, conversation turns to a party you’d missed while you were back in the Human Realm.

You piece together some of the backstory, figuring that it had been for some kind of Devildom celebration and that Lord Diavolo had used as an opportunity to go all-out. Most of the faces around you display some kind of displeasure at the memory of the night (other than Levi’s, as he has long since drooped in his seat).

Mammon bitterly recalls how he’d almost been launched off the castle balcony when the Prince of the Devildom had insisted on using massive cannons to blast confetti over the Kingdom for the most impressive view. You don’t bother hiding your snort at the image.

“I coulda died!” he protests, scowling at you.

“Aw, Mammon,” you coo. “I’m sure he was just trying to make everyone happy!”

Belphie’s nose wrinkles and he makes a noise of disapproval. You stretch out your legs and shove him with your foot.

“It sounds fun to me,” you shrug. “Bet it was like going to a party thrown by a fun dad.”

The room falls silent. You raise your eyebrows, looking around you at expressions of confusion and disbelief (and downright betrayal from Mammon).

“What?” you ask, immediately defensive. “I think he’d make a good dad!”

You know you sound a bit ridiculous. But this is the hill you’re determined to die on.

And you receive no response.

“Like the mischief he gets up to, but the fact that he’s still a good leader!” you exclaim, begging for someone to understand your point of view. “The authority! Like he can be fun and cute and still set firm boundaries!”

The continued silence has you believing that you won’t see the light of day again if you carry on digging this hole.

“Cute,” Belphie quietly repeats the word with an incredulous tone, bordering on disgust.

You throw your hands up in frustration.

You suppose they hadn’t been there when you’d gone to Diavolo’s office to speak to him alone upon your return to the Devildom and he’d picked you up in a bear hug so unexpected and so joyous it’d extracted a sudden shrieked giggle from you loud enough to draw Barbatos to the room, primed in demon form and ready to fight for his master.

You make the mistake of locking eyes with Lucifer.

You recall the night you’d danced with him at Diavolo’s castle on the second day of the exchange student retreat, one of your hands in his tight grip and the other resting lightly on his shoulder as he pulled you close by your waist, murmuring into your ear. Though his words were a threat to remind you to display an appropriate amount of respect to the royal he’d pledged his loyalty to, you’d found yourself longing for the dance to last longer. He’d pulled away and fixed you with an intense crimson glare that assured you he was more than willing to act on his words.

You don’t seem to be displaying an appropriate amount of respect to the royal Lucifer has pledged his loyalty to right now.

“I suppose if you were Lord Diavolo’s mate, you wouldn’t have to worry about test scores again,” Asmo sighs.

You sit bolt upright. You can feel the tension in the room reach a spike you are wholly uncomfortable with.

“Where exactly did that thought come from?!” you cry, hands on your reddening cheeks as you feel an impossible amount of emotions in the span of a few seconds.

Asmo raises his hands, shocked at your reaction.

“You said he’d be a good dad!”

“That’s a general statement, Asmo!” you squawk. “If I said someone would make a good dentist it doesn’t mean I want them to personally rip my teeth out right then and there!”

Your flustered retort oddly seems to soothe the brothers, rigid postures relaxing once more. Even Lucifer reclines in his seat ever so slightly.

“Oh, then there’s still hope!” Asmo chirps.

“I should pinch you,” you hiss.

You try to stay irritated when Asmo giggles, but you find it hard to keep the scowl on your face when Levi snorts drowsily at your childish threat. You nudge him with your elbow and roll your eyes, leaning back into your comfortable position.

Though you have a small relieved smile on your face, you can’t help but wonder if the reaction from the brothers is less about their mixed feelings about Lord Diavolo, and more about the idea of you being his instead of theirs. The idea of them being a little bit jealous sparks a fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You’re snapped back to the present before you get caught up in your thoughts by the sound of Mammon gushing about an upcoming event at The Fall.

“Oi, human! You’re comin’, right?” he asks, leaning on the very edge of his seat. “Masquerade night! It’s gonna be real fancy. Perfect for me!”

“Masquerade night?” you muse. “I don’t know. I haven’t gone out in so long. I haven’t even brought any clothes I could wear to a fancy party with me. If there’s a mask that matches an oversized t-shirt with a smiling frog on it, then maybe.”

Asmo makes an offended noise at the thought of you going out in your lazy day clothes. You wiggle your eyebrows at him, drawing the outline of a shirt in the air of your index fingers and nodding enthusiastically. He refuses to look at you.

“What have you even been doin’ in the human world, then?” Mammon asks, unable to comprehend the idea of not attending at least one party per week.

You shrug.

“Working, mostly. A lot of my friends live too far away for us to arrange exciting stuff like that. A bunch of them have kids now, too.”

 “So?”

 “So… It’s pretty hard for them to go out?” you can’t hide your confusion at his confusion.

“Human young tend to be very vulnerable for several years,” Satan responds before you have to elaborate further. “They remain with their parents for much longer than demons and often require full-time care, which can be especially draining during the first few months. Many humans do not partake in the night life for quite some time after they reproduce.”

You’ve never heard parenthood described quite so clinically. You feel like a well-researched alien species, but you nod anyway; you don’t really have any better way of putting it.

Mammon nods too, though his face is contorted in a mixture of doubt and mild disgust. He turns that look to you and you squirm as you realise he’s clearly wondering if there’ll be a time when you can no longer accompany him out long enough to have to sneak back into the House of Lamentation through the windows at ungodly hours of the morning.

 “Come on,” you scoff, repulsed. “This can’t be the topic twice in one night. Not me, not ever. I’m never going to be a parent. That’s it.”

Mammon doesn’t look convinced.

You recognise that expression from years of having to brush off invasive questions from family and friends who wouldn’t accept your very clear decision and assure you that you’ll change your mind when the right person comes along.

“I know myself, Mammon,” you frown. “I’m not someone who could do a good job like that for at least eighteen years. And I’ve had this conversation more times than I can count.”

“Ooh, eighteen years?” Asmo places a hand over your stomach, grinning at you. “How about a week?”

“Asmo!” you yelp, slapping his hand away.

You pause.

You squint at him.

“… Can demons and humans…?” you begin, trying not to sound too concerned.

Asmo nods, smile broadening. Your eyes widen, cheeks heating up, and you can’t help but cast Lucifer a worried glance.

He looks over the rim of his coffee cup at you, a small smirk on his face.

“If they choose to. Many don’t,” he says as he takes an infuriatingly calm sip of his coffee.

Asmo is too distracted by discussing what seems to be one of his favourite topics to notice the way your eyes narrow at Lucifer. You compose yourself, relieved in the knowledge that Lucifer has subtly assured you he is part of the many who don’t. You push all other thoughts of him to the back of your mind.

“I think you humans used to think it was only succubi and incubi, with this weird little ritual. But it’s so much easier. Too easy, maybe! Depending on the demon, of course,” Asmo happily explains.

You regret asking.

Mammon swallows dryly, avoiding eye contact with you. Satan seems to have found an incredibly deep interest in the patterns on his teacup. Beel fidgets with a brownie until it crumbles to little more than powder in his hands.

You’re incredibly grateful that Levi and Belphie have both fallen asleep again.

Asmo is delighted, revelling in the discomfort of his audience.

“There’s so much to learn and I am a fountain of knowledge!” he claps his hands together. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

 You ignore the devious smile on Asmo’s face and stand, the movement causing Levi to slip down slightly and jolt awake with a confused grunt.

“Next time, we’re discussing our favourite shades of grey,” you announce, hoping that the furious blush on your face has lightened to a more acceptable level.

You wish them a good night and hurry out of the room, accompanied by Asmo’s disappointed whine.

“I’ll send you some great resources!” he calls after you.

You let the door slam behind you as you make your way back to your bedroom.

Tucked up in the comfort of your bed, you refuse to admit you’re possibly looking forward to looking over those ‘resources’.

Chapter Text

You sit on your bed in a nest of oversized pillows, staring blankly at your D.D.D.

You’d been going through old messages, not motivated enough to do anything other than sink into the most comfortable position you could find, and realised how far you’d had to scroll down to find anything from Lucifer.

You think about how long it’s been since you’d properly spoken to the eldest brother outside of short conversations and brief ‘good morning’s before he would inevitably be drawn away to deal with some kind of Student Council business or another of his brothers’ messes.

It’s been too long.

You sit up, finally finding your reason to get out of your room. You’re going to find Lucifer and finally spend time with him again.

You leave your bed and look yourself over in the mirror, checking your outfit at all angles before deciding to replace your casual t-shirt with a deep red button up. You’ll most likely pretend you’d thrown it on without a second thought instead of having bought it months ago specifically to win Lucifer’s favour.

You make your way to Lucifer’s study, padding softly along lavish hallway runners as you consider how to begin this conversation.

It never felt like you needed a reason to see the other brothers.

When you felt like being around someone, you would often find yourself sprawled out on the couch in Mammon’s room or Levi’s huge beanbag chair or on the twins’ strangely comfortable floor. You’d sometimes spend hours scrolling through Devilgram and describe posts that made you laugh to your companion as he carried out whatever task he’d been doing before you’d arrived.

Shared spaces were even easier; you could find almost anything to talk about or do with whoever walked in. It wasn’t forced. You didn’t feel like you were pulling them away from something important.

With Lucifer, though, it felt like you had to justify taking up his time. Like you couldn’t make up an excuse good enough to be the reason he’d neglect his duties.

You inhale, hand frozen in a fist in front of the rich oak of Lucifer’s office door, about ready to admit that you’d let your anxiety get the better of you before you could gather the courage to knock.

A deep voice comes from behind the door, startling you out of your inactivity.

“The door opens, you know.”

You curse under your breath. Of course he’d know you were there.

At least you’d had sufficient time to embarrass yourself before even seeing him face-to-face.

You let out the sharp breath that had trapped itself in your chest and enter, closing the door gently behind you.

Lucifer sits at his desk, peering at you from behind steepled fingers. Though he is illuminated by the gently flickering glow of the fire roaring to your left, his perfectly poised figure is inherently intimidating. You can’t help but feel like you’ve been called in to have ‘a talk’ with your boss.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks.

You take another timid step into the office, hands retreating into your sleeves. You still haven’t thought of an answer; your mind had been too occupied by the worry of being a nuisance. Lucifer’s eyebrow quirks as he watches you approach his desk.

You finally break the silence with a tentative question.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

Lucifer hums.

The second he takes before answering is enough to make you reconsider speaking to him at all, already convinced you’re interfering with his business. Perhaps you can catch him on another day. Or wait for him to have a reason to come to your room and talk to him then. Or maybe just send him a fun chat sticker and leave it at that.

“No,” he replies before you can retreat. “I’ve had enough for one day.”

He extends his hand, gesturing at the luxurious chairs angled towards each other in front of his desk. Since it’s already too late to flee, you nod and perch yourself on the edge of the chair closest to you.

Lucifer stands and smartly brushes off his impeccable suit, casting an impressive shadow on the wall. You’re mesmerised by the way he removes his coat from his broad shoulders and places it on the back of his chair with a flourish. You watch him as he rounds the desk, collecting two lowball glasses in one hand from one of the many shelves next to him decorated with bottles of spirits you can’t even begin to guess the price of.

He sits on the chair opposite you, setting the glasses on the small coffee table.

The quiet clinking sound snaps you out of your trance and you hold your hand out to stop Lucifer before he can open the intricately patterned bottle already on the table. He casts you a sideward glance.

“It’s not Demonus, is it?” you ask, nose wrinkling. “If I’m going to have to sip something and pretend I’m not disappointed it has no effect on me, I’ll just go with water.”

Lucifer’s low chuckle reverberates throughout the room, sending an electric buzz up your spine.

“I assure you, this will serve its purpose. I asked Barbatos to find some human alcohol should a moment like this arrive.”

You pause, hand lowering. Your heart warms at the thought of Lucifer going out of his way to accommodate you, especially considering this was the only bottle already set out on the table. You accept the glass he pours for you (after realising you’d been staring at his elegant hands for far too long as he carried out the task) with a broad smile.

“Now tell me,” Lucifer begins, reclining slightly and crossing one graceful knee over the other. “What did you want to talk about?”

Before you answer, you take a long sip from your glass and hope the burn in your throat and nose will travel directly to your brain and give you the courage you need.

“Us,” you manage to respond without coughing.

Lucifer nods but stays silent, encouraging you to continue. You drink again.

“We haven’t really spoken since you left,” you set your now empty glass on the table, content in the knowledge that you’ll be feeling the effect of the strong drink soon. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I thought about you a lot. Every day,” you swallow. “And the fact that I didn’t leave you with the best image of me.”

You run your finger around the edge of your glass, no longer able to meet Lucifer’s eyes.

You think of the night you’d spent together.

You’d thought of that night over and over again, feeling the ghost of Lucifer’s hands grip your thighs and the memory of his lips press burning kisses onto your skin. You’d think of how he had you breathlessly chanting his name like a prayer, one hand gripping the extravagant midnight sheets beneath you and the other clawing deep red marks into his back.

Then you’d remember the panic and grief that fell upon you like a heavy curtain as the realisation suddenly dawned on you that the blissful night you were experiencing would be the last with your beloved demons.

You’d try not to think of how you’d clung to him and sobbed hopelessly into his chest until you’d tired yourself out.

You were always alone when you recalled the experience, and the heartache would hit you just as intensely as it had on that night with him. But he wasn’t there to hold you in the Human Realm.

You try your best to keep it together as you shrink down in your seat, an indent forming in your fingertip from how many times you’d circled it around the edge of your glass.

You try to continue, but a lump has formed in your throat and you press your lips together tightly. You fall silent.

Lucifer reaches a gloved hand out to you and gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze once more.

“The night we spent together is one that I will remember for the rest of my life,” he begins, a familiar note of pride evident in his tone. “And I must admit that I wasn’t expecting your reaction.”

You struggle to keep your eyes up, feeling your face burn as you try not to relive your humiliating moment in too much detail.

“But only because I had pushed the thought of you leaving from my mind,” he continues, leaning closer to you as his voice drops lower. “I assumed you had too. I couldn’t bear it.”

You can’t help it.

You hiccup, a tear rolling down your cheek as you watch the expression on Lucifer’s beautifully measured face morph into one of genuine sorrow.

The gravity of the situation is not lost on you; the Avatar of Pride has allowed you to witness his moment of weakness.

“I could never think any less of you for feeling exactly how I felt,” Lucifer murmurs, thumb running a soft line across your cheek to wipe the tear from your face. “Though it may not have shown on the outside, my heart broke with yours.”

Lucifer moves his hand from your chin to cup your cheek.

“But there is no need to dwell on it, my darling. You came back to me.”

You give him a teary-eyed smile and lift his hand to kiss to his palm.

“I had to.”

Lucifer smiles, and the look of adoration he gives you wraps around your heart and urges you to grasp his hand tighter.

The drink you’d had coupled with Lucifer’s admission helps you find your nerve.

You stand, still holding his hand. His expression is briefly puzzled as he watches you come closer, then eases back into his signature confident smirk as you hook your knees either side of his legs and settle yourself in his lap.

“How bold,” he remarks.

“What can I say?” you respond, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “It was a good drink.”

You can feel Lucifer’s chuckle rumble through his chest as he rests his hands on your waist. He pulls you closer effortlessly, leaning in to press a kiss to your jaw. His voice is so deep you can feel it in your fluttering stomach.

“Ever since you left the Devildom,” he kisses your neck. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”

You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head to grant him better access.

“I even considered going to the human world,” he reaches your collarbone. “To find you… and to bring you back here.”

Your hands find purchase in his silky hair as one of his begins to unbutton your shirt with surprising efficiency.

“But never once did I imagine,” his free hand pulls one side of your shirt over your shoulder to continue trailing kisses down your burning skin. “That you’d come back to me on your own.”

He pulls away to look at you, one hand returning to your waist and giving it a gentle squeeze to refocus your attention. You meet his intense gaze, the desire-fuelled haze in your mind clearing briefly.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

You bring both hands up to cup Lucifer’s cheeks and kiss him. He returns your eagerness and seems almost disappointed when you pull away prematurely.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, beaming, though tears once again prick your eyes. “But you’re going to make me cry.”

Lucifer places his hands over yours, pulling one away to kiss your palm as you had done earlier.

“Never again, my love.”

He pulls you closer again, a gentle but firm grip on the back of your neck. Your hands fumble with his tie, loosening it with what you hope is care as he kisses you again, this time red-hot and forceful. Your soft breaths turn into desperate gasps when he runs a hand up your stomach under your half-undone shirt.

You manage to unfasten Lucifer’s vest and the first few buttons on his pristine black shirt before the door slams open. Startled, you pull away from Lucifer, eyes wide and hands withdrawing lightning fast to stop undressing the demon and instead focus on pulling your shirt back over your exposed chest.

Lucifer doesn’t seem surprised at the sudden intrusion, head tilted towards the door to address the unwelcome visitor. But you can see his upper lip curl ever so slightly into an imperceptible snarl at the shrill, panicked voice of his brother.

“Lucifer! Help!” Asmo cries, hands outstretched.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” Lucifer replies flatly, a possessive hand gripping your hip and keeping you upright as you try to shrink out of view.

“I can’t say I don’t understand why you’d say that,” Asmo is definitely referring to how you’re seated so perfectly in Lucifer’s lap, face flushed and still out of breath. “But this is no time to indulge in escapism! So listen –“

The door closes in Asmo’s face as he begins explaining the perilous situation. You look up, hearing him continue his monologue even after being shut out.

“Lucifer,” you try to say sternly, but you’re sure he can see the smile threatening to spread across your face.

“I didn’t hear a word you just said,” he announces, clearly enough for Asmo to hear. “I know nothing about it, and I’m going to keep it that way.”

You look at the door too, waiting for a response, until Lucifer’s hands run up your inner thighs to your hips. He has your attention.

“Same goes for you. Understand?”

You hurriedly nod, not trusting your voice to be anything more than a squeak. Lucifer looks pleased with your response.

He waves his hand and you hear the door lock.

 “Lucifer… aww, come on!” you hear Asmo’s muffled whine.

Your laugh gets caught in your throat when Lucifer takes the edge of one of his gloves between his teeth and peels it off of his hand, eyes fixed on yours. You try to keep yourself from squeezing your thighs too tightly around his legs.

Though his voice is dripping with lust and his gaze borders on predatory, you feel the sincerity in his words:

“Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

You had woken up in Lucifer’s bed in the early hours of the morning to the sound of his D.D.D. ringing.

You felt his arm withdraw from its rightful position wrapped around your waist and whined, earning a chuckle from the demon as he sat up to take the call.

Turning over to face him, curled up in heavenly soft silk sheets, you laced your fingers through the ones on his free hand as Diavolo’s booming voice rang out through the small device as clearly as if he were in the room right beside you. Lucifer watched you absent-mindedly run your fingers over the smooth red polish on his nails with a small smile on his face.

After the call, Lucifer set his D.D.D. down on the bedside table and murmured your name, fingers curling around yours. You didn’t hide your disappointment when your half-asleep brain finally realised he would have to leave the cosy paradise you’d created between you to attend to some business.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until breakfast,” he said as he gently untangled your hands.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, watching the graceful demon stand from his place beside you in somehow unruffled deep red silk sleepwear. You considered lying in his massive bed without him and sighed louder than necessary.

Your gaze wandered behind the firstborn to the horrifying ‘sculpture’ behind him, decorating the corner of the room. You imagined waking up alone to the sight of it and sat bolt upright, firmly declining his invitation.

Lucifer nodded his acknowledgement and began to unbutton his shirt, disappointingly heading off to get ready in his en suite. You slid back under the now-cold sheets, wandering between waking and sleeping until you heard Lucifer return, polished boots clicking their way into your half-lucid state.

You groggily made your way to the bathroom to begrudgingly start your day too, several hours before your usual routine of waking up in horror when you realised you’d pressed snooze on your alarm too many times.

You found a light pink toothbrush ready for you on the grand bathroom counter on top of soft matching towels, complementing the deep red set that lay drying on the radiator with enough space left for you to place yours once you’d finished. You took a moment, hand on your chest, to appreciate how the simple gesture warmed your heart.

You knew you had your place here, too.

After getting ready, you joined Lucifer in front of his full-length mirror as he buttoned up his uniform. Your arms slinked around his waist and you buried your face into his back, eyes closing.

“I’m tempted not to let you leave at all,” he said, adjusting his medallion to rest perfectly over his shoulder.

“What, are you going to tie me up?” you asked, drowsy sarcasm muffled by the fabric of his coat.

Lucifer hummed.

You stood on your tiptoes to peer over his shoulder and lock eyes with his reflection. The smirk playing on his lips gave you goosebumps.

“You know, I’ve always thought your neck was too bare,” he mused, revelling in the flustered look on your face. “Perhaps a collar would rectify the situation.”

It was too early in the morning to unpack the myriad thoughts going through your mind. While you stood malfunctioning, Lucifer unwrapped your arms from around his middle and turned to give you a far too innocent kiss for the tone he’d just set.

“Don’t be late for breakfast, my dear.”

You know Lucifer heard you mutter a winded ‘unbelievable’ as he left the room, and you didn’t have to see his face to know his smug smile had broadened at your reaction.

Once your brain had reformed into a semi-functioning state, you decided to spend the hour or so before breakfast ensuring you returned Lucifer’s room to its usual immaculate state. You knew he would never leave anything out of place for too long, but hoped that your tidying up would mean one less thing he had to worry about over the course of the day.

You shed the silk pyjamas you couldn’t remember getting into last night and found a space in Lucifer’s dresser to tuck them in as a promise you’d return soon. You realised he’d left that space beside his equally luxurious set open for you to do just that. You were sure if your heart swelled any further you’d crack a rib.

You found the (impressively still intact) clothes you’d worn the day before folded neatly on one of the chairs by the fireplace and your shoes by the door.

You wondered when Lucifer had even managed to do any of this in the time you spent together. You’d kept him so busy.  

Figuring the least you could do was change the sheets, you pulled off the bedding and fluffed the pillows, humming to yourself.

You lost track of time as you worked, indulging yourself in a very human fantasy where Lucifer would return from his hard day’s office work to your beautiful shared home and sweep you into his arms, commenting on how wonderful your cooking smelled and how he’d missed you while he was gone. You imagined sharing romantic dinners and going for evening strolls arm in arm and inviting his very attractive brothers over for pleasant company.

You stopped mid-fluff, brows furrowed, as you wondered how your already unconventional relationship with the brothers would translate into your Human Realm fantasy.

Maybe they’d be your six handsome pool boys. Six boys-next-door. Six baristas you shared thousands of meet-cute scenarios with.

You snorted to yourself, gathering the sheets you’d stripped from the bed into your arms. You supposed you could settle for having seven demon lord housemates for the time being.

Closing Lucifer’s bedroom door behind you, satisfied you’d done a good job, you headed down the hallway to begin your day in the laundry room.

Everything is the same as usual this evening.

The coffee is the same finely ground blend you use every time from the same pouch you keep safely stored on the highest shelf in the kitchen you can reach (the bottom one) in the cupboard closest to the fridge. The mint leaves are plucked from the same sturdy little plant in the corner of Barbatos’s greenhouse set aside for your thriving mini herb garden. The tea is the same plain black loose leaf from the teal pot you keep on the counter next to the fine porcelain tea set you’ve never seen the brothers use. Even your dessert is the same baklawa recipe from the first evening you’d shared all together.

But, as you set your heavy drinks tray down on the polished wooden surface of the coffee table between the two wine-coloured sofas, you’re sure all these same things are a little different.

It may be due to how light your shoulders feel for once, or how your breathing doesn’t feel restricted by an unexplained tightness in your chest for the first time in ages, but everything looks and smells so much better this time.

You perch on the armrest of the couch closest to you, feeling the warmth of the fire lap against your legs as you exhale and allow your eyes to close and your head to tilt back.

Everything is in order.

You stay in your relaxed position for longer than you thought would be comfortable, soaking in the tranquillity of the room around you.

After a while, your peaceful half-meditative state is tinged with the delicate scent of roses.

“Asmo,” you hum, opening your eyes to smile warmly at your approaching companion.

“Is that all?” he asks, standing in front of you with a pout on his face and his hands on his hips.

You rest your hands on top of his and pull him closer.

“Asmo! Thank you for blessing me with your presence!”

“That’s more like it!”

“I’m the luckiest person in the three realms!”

“Exactly! You-“

You grip Asmo’s hips tighter and slip off the armrest, cutting him off mid-sentence by flinging him to the side in one smooth motion. He shrieks, landing on the couch in a heap of long limbs and designer fabrics.

“Coffee or tea today, my dearest?” you ask sweetly.

You cackle, knowing you won’t receive a reply while Asmo is busy rearranging his clothes and loudly complaining about your horrible mistreatment of his perfect body. You kneel by the table and carefully pour two cups of coffee while you happily wait for his high-pitched outrage to subside.

As you set the coffee pot down, you notice a black gloved hand outstretched in front of you. You look up to see Lucifer stood beside you and return his charming smile with a beaming one of your own. You take his hand and he helps you up, pulling you close to him once you’re back on your feet.

 “Did you have a good day?” you ask softly.

 “It would be impossible not to,” he replies, tilting your chin up and leaning close enough to you to receive a jealous squawk from Asmo.

You close your eyes in anticipation, but before Lucifer can close the gap between you, an obnoxiously loud voice from the hallway shatters the peace of the common room.

“Lucifer’s in a real good mood lately, I’m tellin’ ya! Bet that penny-pincher’ll finally lend me some Grimm to really get goin’ on Hell Pay if I ask today!”

The voice gets louder until you see Mammon at the open door, head turned to face Satan who follows behind him, completely uninterested. Mammon almost jumps out of his skin when he finally watches where he’s going and sees Lucifer, arms folded and radiating an intimidating aura so intense you can almost see it.

“Will he?” Lucifer asks flatly.

“W-will- Lu- … Hey, Lucifer, there ya are!” Mammon stutters, stopping still with his hands held in front of him defensively.

Satan snorts as he ducks around Mammon to get inside.

You pour two more cups of coffee. Before Lucifer can advance on his younger brother, you grasp one of the sleeves of the coat draped over his shoulders and tug it lightly.

“It’ll get cold,” you say, holding out the small cup with both hands.

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head, sending Mammon one last threatening glare before accepting your offer and withdrawing to sit in his usual place in the armchair between the two sofas. Mammon lowers his hands and exhales a sigh of relief.

Beel arrives moments later carrying Belphie on his back, the younger’s chin resting on his twin’s shoulder as he gives you a lazy wave. Beel places a hand on the small of Mammon’s back to gently encourage him to stop blocking the doorway, which immediately startles the second-born and sends him skittering over to your side like a nervous puppy.

You pat messy white hair with your free hand, offering Satan a cup of coffee you’d added a generous teaspoon of sugar to with the other. Mammon leans in to your touch momentarily before remembering himself, recoiling and throwing himself onto the couch furthest away from you to sulk.

You busy yourself with preparing tea for Beel and Belphie, too at peace to pay any mind to Mammon’s reaction. As you reach for a third glass, you look around and realise you’re missing one lanky, indigo-haired guest.

“Where’s Levi?” you ask.

“He’s been skulking around the entrance hall,” Satan replies.

You respond with a small ‘oh’, wondering what would be so important that the notorious shut-in would stay out in the open for so long. You assume it would have to be some kind of delivery, trying to remember the list of Very Important Akuzon Purchases Levi had gushed about recently.

You aren’t left wondering for too long.

“Oi, normie!” Levi calls from the door, approaching you with a scowl. “I’ve been waiting all day for my Gold Edition Amazonia Ruri-chan figurine to arrive. All day outside my room! My legs ache from all the hours I’ve been pacing in front of the door!”

“Right…” you respond, uncertain why his tone is so accusatory.

“But it was your package,” he hisses as he thrusts a small box towards you.

Your brows furrow.

“I didn’t order anything,” you reply, setting the teapot down on the table.

“Well, it’s here! And it’s not my Ruri-chan!” he snaps, shoving the box into your hands.

You take it with a bewildered look on your face, turning it over to look for the sender’s details. The box is small and deep purple, secured by an elegant gold ribbon. The only identifying feature you can find is your name, written in beautiful gold script on the top of the box.

Mammon scrambles to get out of his seat and all but launches himself at you, already driven wild by the anticipation of whatever treasure could be presented so beautifully.

“Open it!” he barks, hands clasped together.

You carefully slip off the ribbon and remove the lid of the intriguing little container, revealing a lining of dark blue velvet. Tucked into the middle of the fabric, gleaming impressively under the flickering light of the fire in front of you, is a stunning silver band with a glimmering heart-shaped diamond set into the middle. The words ‘be mine’ are printed in that same gold script font on the inside of the lid.

You finally realise why the handwriting looks so familiar and a small smile creeps onto your face.

And realisation hits the brothers in a brutal wave.

Levi’s eyes widen and his face turns paler than you thought could ever be possible. Mammon’s hands lock together, nails digging into his skin. Beel and Belphie stop mid-conversation, the former looking distraught and the latter more awake than you’ve ever known him to be.  Satan’s form is unnervingly still, though his eyes dart from the box to your face restlessly. Lucifer’s gloved fingers dig ever so slightly in to the armrest of his chair; a barely noticeable action that betrays his concern.

Asmo leaps from his place on the couch and rushes over to you, grabbing the box out of your hands to inspect the ring himself. The metal gleams, the jewel reflecting the light in a gorgeous spectrum. It’s real.

He turns glassy eyes to you, the corners of his mouth quivering.

“It’s from Solomon!” you say as you wave your hands frantically, horrified.

This explanation does not have the effect you intended.

You are immediately surrounded by horns and wings and tails and suddenly suffocating tension. The brothers don’t say a word, but the room is filled with the sounds of thrashing tails and agitated wings and the occasional restrained snarl.

Lucifer seems to be the only one with a firm grip on the true feral nature of a threatened demon, fingers steepled in front of his mouth and legs gracefully crossed as usual. However, framed by four midnight black wings and crowned by dangerously sharp curved horns, he strikes more fear into your heart by sitting still and fixing you with a burning red glare than his brothers and all of their instinctive, threatening displays combined.

You exhale a trembling breath and assure yourself that you can handle this.

You know you can.

“Listen to me, please,” you implore, channelling the calm you’ve felt all day to keep your voice even.

The room is still a mess of wounded egos, though most of the focus has turned to you rather than on the offensive little band. Levi’s tail thumps against the floor close to your feet as he still stares at the ring box so intensely you can visualise it bursting to flames in your hands.

Slowly, you set the box on the table and approach the Avatar of Envy. You take one of his clenched hands in yours and rest the other on his chest, fingers splayed against the teardrop pattern of his hoodie.

“I told staff at Hell’s Kitchen it was his birthday to embarrass him a while ago. He got someone to come in and pretend to be my grandma in class. It all kind of escalated since,” you explain with a small chuckle, looking up into late sunset eyes as you address the room. “We mess with each other, that’s all. He knew this would rile you all up, I’m sure that’s why he did it.”

Levi’s tail stills and he exhales a shaky breath, shoulders returning to their naturally slouched position. You watch relief wash over his face briefly before he frowns.

“Stupid normies,” he mutters, turning his face to avoid looking at you.

You offer a small apologetic smile and remove your hand from Levi’s chest, taking a small step back to give him some space. Before you can move too far away, you feel his tail snake around your leg in a quiet display of affection.

Beel and Mammon’s demon forms retract as suddenly as they’d appeared upon hearing your explanation. The two most sensitive of the pack hadn’t reacted with the same level of fury as their brothers, but rather a sincere hurt you can’t bear to see. When he catches your eye, Beel gives you a warm smile – one that puts your heart at ease, conveying the extent of the understanding that comes so naturally to the sixth-born.

Mammon notices you searching his face for forgiveness and freezes halfway through a deep relieved exhale, replacing his calm expression with an over-exaggerated pout.

Belphie looks exhausted as his horns shrink and his tail disappears, flopping backwards on the floor with a loud groan. Levi’s grip on your leg relaxes and he lets you go as his demon form also subsides.

You approach Satan, who watches you with slitted eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a very careful hand on his knee.

The elaborately folded ribbon on Satan’s chest rises and falls with the deep breaths he takes to calm himself down. After a few seconds, his hand is on top of yours and he manages a tight-lipped smile. You take his hand in both of yours to press a kiss to his knuckles.

You back off once more, appreciative of the space Satan needs to fully regain control after his demon form is drawn out of him on instinct rather than free will.

“I warned you about Solomon,” Lucifer sighs from his once again relaxed position nearby, long since having returned to his human appearance.

You can only offer a sheepish smile in return. You know you’ll think of suitable revenge.

“That’s it?!” Asmo asks incredulously, cheeks still pink.

“I said I’m sorry!” you reply, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively.

“I’m never forgivin’ you,” Mammon huffs, standing beside Asmo.

You squeeze between the two protesting demons to sit in the middle of the couch behind them.

“Don’t forgive me, then,” you snort. “But it’s not like some ring would make me anyone else’s but yours.”

You hear Levi’s strangled gasp (as intended) and a soft ‘ah’ from Mammon. Asmo is far less subtle, hurrying over to sink into the seat beside you and throw his arms around your shoulders with a squeal.

“There’s way more room than you think on these things, you know?” you say, holding your free arm out.

Mammon rolls his eyes, but quickly takes the place next to you, one arm hooking over the backrest behind you. Levi sits next to him, taking your hand as you extend it over Mammon’s lap and holding it with both of his.

Beel stands and surveys you all for a moment, before leaning down to pick you up – untangling you from his brothers – and sitting in your place, setting you down in his lap with a content smile. You giggle, reconnecting intertwined fingers and woven arms with the brothers you can reach.

Belphie sits on the floor, placing his pillow over yours and Beel’s legs to lean back against you both and close his eyes once more. Satan, having returned to his perfectly collected self, fits himself beside Asmo and flashes you a gentle smile as your free hand finds his over Asmo’s hip.

Lucifer stands from his chair with a small amused hum as he surveys the tangled mess of body parts you and his brothers form. You momentarily allow your hopes of the prideful demon joining your cuddle pile to take over.

“Don’t stay up too long,” he says, brushing off his suit.

“Good night, Lucifer,” you sigh, disappointed at his brisk tone. “Sorry for the… mishap.”

Lucifer gives you a curt nod before a sly smile alters his businesslike expression. He taps his neck pointedly with one slender finger, then leaves the common room.

Memories of his suggestion of a collar force their way back into your mind, and you’re eternally grateful that your companions have no idea that your throat has suddenly gone dry, even if they notice the blush on your face.

After a moment to compose yourself, you settle back into Beel’s lap. Unimportant conversation soon resumes between you and your six cosy housemates, topics flowing easily from classes to the new restaurant opening in town to upcoming events at RAD. Peace returns to you, cradling you all in gentle familiarity.

Asmo snuggles closer to you, half in Beel’s lap himself. You lean your shoulder against Mammon’s chest. Belphie has already fallen into a deep sleep at your feet. Satan leans his head against his arm, propped up on the armrest, and Levi has managed to curl up in the small space next to Mammon. Beel rests his chin on top of your head.

Surrounded by affection and protected by ferocious warmth, you take out your D.D.D. to send a quick message:  

                                                                You are a rat and I am going to get you.     

       I look forward to it.                                                    

Chapter Text

At first, your relationship with Lord Diavolo was strictly professional.

He welcomed you to the Devildom as a future ruler should; with grace, kindness, and an air of nobility. Through your fear and confusion at being dragged so suddenly into a completely different realm, you still recognised that this man was someone who commanded utmost respect.

It began with your obligatory attendance at RAD council meetings. You would sit silently at the end of the long conference table watching the flames of the candles flickering in front of you until your eyes dried out, hands folded in your lap as the official members of the Student Council discussed issues you felt had you had no place in.

At times, your gaze would stray from their fixation on the light and roam over the demons occupying the other seats, eventually landing on Lord Diavolo’s intimidatingly composed form as he sat at the throne-like chair at head of the table. His eyes would often meet yours during these moments, and he would send you a warm smile that made you feel like you had permission to relax.

Back then, you didn’t trust how much you trusted him.

He had asked you to stay behind after one meeting during the first term of your stay in the Devildom. The request itself had you on edge, absolutely certain that you had committed some kind of unforgivable crime and would be expelled or possibly executed (you hadn’t yet caught up fully on your Devildom Law classwork so you weren’t sure).

You stood awkwardly by your seat as the brothers filed out, giving you looks of concern, confusion, and in Lucifer’s case, disappointment. Your heart picked up its already rapid pace, hammering in your chest at a rate that had you convinced that if Lord Diavolo didn’t kill you, you’d take care of it yourself out of sheer panic.

He stood from his seat and approached you, calling your name in his booming voice that echoed off of the high ceiling of the student council room and reverberated in your ears.

Your breathing stopped.

Until he set a small, multi-coloured cube on the table and looked pointedly from it to you.

“I picked this up in the Human Realm on my last visit. I thought it may make you feel more at home!”

You looked at the demon in front of you. A vision of ultimate power, rippling muscles barely contained by his immaculate crimson uniform, towering over you and watching you intensely with piercing golden eyes.

And here he was, offering you a Rubik’s Cube.

Since that moment, you had enjoyed every moment spent with Lord Diavolo as he made it his goal to help you adapt to life in the Devildom as though it were your home. You stayed behind after meetings occasionally to chat, which led to brief conversations in hallways, which led to invitations to dinner at the Demon Lord’s Castle, which led to jumping at any excuse to meet anywhere with the ever-occupied Prince.

As you got closer to the seven brothers, you found yourself downplaying your relationship with Lord Diavolo in order to protect his image. You couldn’t imagine it would reflect very well on his subjects if they knew he’d spent so much of his rare free time entertaining some measly human exchange student.

You couldn’t imagine it would look very good at all if they knew how close you’d gotten. Especially when you were in his office with the door sealed by a noise-cancelling charm as you clung to his back, wrapping him in a tight koala bear hold.

“Can’t even reach your back, big man?” you taunted, grip tightening around his tieless neck.

The demon laughed, the growled rumbling noise vibrating through your entire body. In one effortless motion, he grabbed your hands and jerked himself forward, throwing you over his shoulders and flipping you onto the ground in front of him.

You landed flat on your back with a yelp, eyes wide as you struggled to overcome the wind being knocked out of you.

“Oh!” he gasped. “That was much harder than I expected, are you all right!?”

He rushed to kneel by your side, helping you sit up while rubbing gentle circles into your back.

“I’m fine!” you laughed. “I guess I was asking for it getting cocky like that, huh?”

You’d convinced Diavolo (as he had insisted you call him when you were together, much to Lucifer’s disapproval) that demon sparring and human wrestling could be very similar after you’d introduced each other to these new concepts over dinner recently. A few select WWE clips later, Diavolo and Barbatos had assured you that there was far less death in the human version, but both sports tended to be flashy and dramatic for the audience’s benefit.

From that point on, you and Diavolo had indulged yourselves in secret moments of play-fighting in his office during free periods and after class if you both felt a need to relieve yourselves of excess energy before heading home. He’d take off his long uniform jacket and tie to reveal a tight-fitting black dress shirt that accentuated his unbelievable physique and drape the shed clothing over the chair in front of his desk, then ensure that you would not be interrupted by locking and cursing the door.

It had worked so far.

“I’ll definitely win someday, though,” you said, rubbing your sore back with a grimace. “Teach you a lesson or two.”

Diavolo laughed as he helped you to your feet, one tree-trunk-thick arm wrapped around your waist and supporting your entire weight.

“Thank you, Diavolo.”

“Don’t thank me, I should be apologising to you!”

You laughed.

“It’s nice, though,” you hummed. “To be treated like I’m not fragile.”

Diavolo tilted his head in mild confusion.

“I know I’m human. I’m mortal, and smaller than you all, and I don’t have horns or a tail or wings or anything,” you explained. “And I think the closer I’ve gotten to the brothers and the angels, the more they’re aware of it. I know they’re worried, but I’m an adult, you know?”

“You are,” Diavolo chuckled. “But you are also precious to them. To us. You are protective of those you treasure, are you not?”

Ah.

You looked up at him, the corners of your mouth twisted downwards and your eyebrows knitting together.

Your relationships had developed so richly and so deeply in the Devildom – with the brothers, with the angels, with the powerful sorcerer, with the Demon Prince, and with the all-knowing butler. You cherished every moment you spent with them. Every conversation, every outing, every fleeting interaction you adored and held close to your heart.

But you didn’t often think of yourself as equally dear. A small, self-preserving doubt in your mind kept you from raising your hopes.

Even though Beel always kept your favourite foods safe from his brothers (and himself) until you made it to the dinner table every night. Even though Mammon would buy you something you’d had your eye on every time you went shopping together, no matter how much you protested and insisted he spend his money on himself. Even though Asmo had dedicated himself to becoming an expert in your hair type so he could be your devoted personal stylist. Even though Lucifer would watch the sun rise with you every Sunday morning on the balcony and ensure you were wrapped up warm in his blanket beside him. Even though you had so many handmade friendship bracelets from Luke that if you wore them all at once, you’d never be able to lift your hands again. 

Even though you were here, held tightly by the future ruler of the Devildom, witnessing him as very few other creatures – human, angel, or demon – had ever been allowed to.

You just wanted to be very, very sure that they felt the same way about you.

“You may not see it, but it’s true,” Diavolo stated simply.

Tearing up, you could only manage to respond with a small croak, eliciting a soft laugh from the demon.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders once again – this time affectionately rather than to spar – and buried your face into the crook of his neck as you sniffled, overwhelmed. He placed a massive hand on the back of your head and pulled you close to him, picking you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist.

Powerful and noble, the strongest demon in the underworld, Lord Diavolo held you in unwavering arms as though you weighed nothing.

“I guess it’s not so bad they think of me like that,” you muttered, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.  “Next time I’ll kick your ass, though.”

Diavolo laughed, a hearty, booming noise that amplified the warmth he enveloped you in.

You didn’t stay too much longer in his office that afternoon, realising the time had passed by much faster than usual and hurrying to tidy up before your ruffled appearance aroused any suspicion at the house.

You made sure Diavolo’s tie was straight before you said your goodbyes, and he saw you off with a wide grin and a promise to not flip you over his head again any time soon.

You’d prepared for this evening much faster than you’d expected and now sit cross-legged by the fire on your D.D.D. as you wait for the brothers to arrive.

You’d been catching up on the messages Diavolo had sent you since you’d arrived home. He let you know that as soon as you had left his office, Barbatos had entered and closed the door behind him with a menacing tinge to his polite smile.

You giggle to yourself as you read lengthy messages detailing how long Barbatos’ lecture had been about ‘appropriate Princely behaviour’ and ‘taking things too far’. You reply with the sinister laughter demoji and a second, solid promise to kick his ass next time before pausing to think for a moment.

You send a panicked message straight after to ask him to confirm that Barbatos can’t see your chat log.

His typing bubble disappears and reappears enough times to make you suffer before he sends a simple ‘No’. You exhale, making your third promise of the day to kick this demon's ass.

You look up when you hear approaching footsteps, gently clicking boots and soft-soled shoes, and stand to pour two cups of tea (one with heaps of sugar) for the twins as they enter the room.

Beel watches the way you wince when you get up and looks at you curiously.

“Are you hurt?”

You hand Beel his tea and one of the heavy boxes of assorted cookies from the table with a smile.

“Slept wrong, I think,” you lie as well as you can manage. “Just an ache.”

He hums, the corner of his mouth quirking downwards as he takes the glass and the box from you. The sixth-born, ever concerned about the wellbeing of his loved ones, is not completely convinced.

“You should get new pillows,” Belphie yawns, pushing his glass over to the side of the table so he can reach it from his soon-to-be-reclined position.

“You need to tell me which ones are best,” you reply, sitting back beside the fire.

The twins give you a puzzled look when you sit down again, far from your usual place in the middle of one of the couches to wait for whoever was lucky enough to sit next to you. You laugh, waving your hand to dispel their concern.

“I’m just cold, nothing’s wrong! I’ll go get a sweater from my room or something.”

You’re about to continue your explanation when you feel Beel drape his thick jacket over your shoulders and Belphie set his pillow down on your lap.

Belphie lays his head on the pillow while Beel sits shoulder-to-shoulder with you, their combined warmth immediately rendering the fire completely unnecessary.

“You’re both so sweet,” you sigh, leaning your head on Beel’s shoulder and running a hand through Belphie’s hair.

Beel makes a small pleased noise, mouth already full. Belphie murmurs a quiet acknowledgement as his eyes close.

You almost fall asleep in the cosy space the twins have created for you until you realise more attendees have arrived and you need to get their drinks ready. Before you can move, you find cerulean blue painted fingers wrapped around your wrist, keeping you from getting up. 

“They can do it themselves.”

“Belphie, I’m the host,” you whine.

“You live here,” he replies.

“Oh, oh, I’ll be the cute maid today!” you hear Asmo excitedly announce. “Let me pour your coffee, sir.”

Asmo winks at you while the remaining brothers groan at his eagerness and you concede, sinking back into your relaxed position with a defeated sigh. He dons his maid café persona, curtseying and giggling flirtatiously, much to the others' dismay (and Levi’s absolute horror).

After taking his tea with a grumble, Mammon sits at the end of the sofa, closest to you. The others find their places easily - Lucifer in his usual armchair, Levi slumping into the space next to Mammon, and Satan and Asmo taking up the couch opposite.

Casual talk picks up as the evening progresses, but Mammon watches you like a hawk throughout. He gives you the same curious look Beel sent you earlier, and you know he’s noticed the way your nose wrinkles whenever your slight movement aggravates the soreness in your back.

After a while, you decide to pipe up.

“Mammon, you keep staring at me,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “Relax. I just slept funny and my back aches.”

Mammon scowls at how easily his concern over you is recognised.

“Why would I stare at you?!” he huffs defensively. “Ya just keep pullin’ some weird face and I thought it was… weird. Lookin’ weird. That’s all.”

“I look weird today, do I?” you respond, smiling coldly as your eyes narrow at the flustered demon.

“If your back aches, perhaps it’s your bed?” Satan asks, stirring his coffee.

You shrug and give a non-committal nod.

“Oh! Come sleep in my room!” Asmo interjects excitedly. “It’s the most comfortable and the most fun.”

You snort as the anticipated ‘no way!’ comes from both Levi and Mammon, both immediately embarrassed by how loud and impassioned their kneejerk responses were.

“My bed is comfortable!” you protest. “I should know; I’ve slept in almost every room in the house.”

“… After my own heart…” Belphie sighs from your lap.

You laugh, returning to your duty of stroking his hair as he falls asleep once more.

“Every room?” Asmo asks, leaning forward out of his seat as a sly smile lights up his face.

“Almost every room,” you correct him.

“Then whose room is best?” 

“As if there’s any question!” Mammon scoffs. “Ya think any a you losers could compare to THE Great Mammon?”

“What’s so great about your room?” Levi snaps.

“You don’t even have a bed, Levi,” Satan sighs.

“You barely have one either! It’s always covered in books!” Levi responds, already furious.

“And it’s a twin bed,” Asmo adds, raising a finger in what he must assume is a very intellectual gesture.

“How can you even sleep in your room, Asmo? The smell is overwhelming!” Satan barks.

“It’s aromatherapy!” Asmo retorts, offended. “You wouldn’t know self-care if it walked up to you and hit you on the nose!”

You can’t help but chuckle as the argument between these all-powerful, millennia-old embodiments of the Seven Deadly Sins makes them look more like pouty pre-schoolers arguing over who brought the coolest toy to Show and Tell.

A dozy smile spreads across your face as you silently consider whose room really is best to sleep in while you tune out the shrill tones of the four quarrelling.

You’ve slipped into Mammon’s bed more times than you can count, often gently opening the door very early in the morning to be greeted with a half-asleep ‘c’mon’ as the second-born holds the sheets up for you to climb in next to him.

After the first instance of awkwardly realising he did, in fact, sleep completely naked, he’d taken to occasionally wearing boxers so you could cuddle up close to him or offering you a separate blanket to act as some kind of strange modesty-preserving barrier (even though you’d crossed that line long ago).

The morning light would never bother you as it streamed in through the windows of his upper floor and bounced off of the shiny hood of the Demonio 666 Lexura he’d somehow parked on the landing, which left the nook underneath – containing Mammon’s bed – cast in peaceful shadow.

You’d curl up in sheets that smelled faintly of his expensive cologne with one of his arms slung lazily over your waist and fall asleep again within seconds.

Levi’s room didn’t have a bed. Sometimes it seemed like he wouldn’t need it, as he’d often stay up even later than you could stand playing games or watching anime.

The body pillow at the bottom of his bathtub was comfy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to invade the space so personal to him (also, you felt a little creeped out cuddling up to a life-size print of Ruri-chan).

After a few nights of falling asleep during marathons and waking up sore and stiff, Levi had surprised you on your next visit by making an adorable fort-nest with the many blankets and pillows he’d collected and moved on from displaying.

Often, as you were curled up together, Levi would shift into his demon form so he could wrap his long tail around your waist. You always felt so safe that way, though you’d learned to control your urge to run your hands along the appendage after the first time when he’d sprung up from his position beside you so fast you swore he could’ve ricocheted off of the walls, breathlessly babbling about sensitivity and the wrong idea and some tails do more than just swat flies, okay?!

After that, you’d stuck to absent-mindedly playing with whichever hand he left unoccupied for you while he played games on his laptop as you fell asleep. He’d dim his display, unplug his headphones, and lower the volume, knowing how comforting the background noise of his gaming was to you as you drifted off.

Like the demon himself, Asmo’s room was extravagant.

You felt like royalty whenever you spent the night with him, even if roaming hands were a common occurrence and you couldn’t recall any fairytales where the protagonist monarch would face exactly the same situation. His hands were always soft and warm, anyway.

The beautiful blush-pink flowers wrapped around Asmo’s four poster bed and climbing the walls added a fresh note that complemented whichever oil he’d choose to burn that night. In your opinion, the smell was never overwhelming. And anyway, you’d already be completely relaxed after joining him to do your nightly skincare routine after indulging in a rose-petal bath, sinking into his bed in the soft (and slightly revealing) silk sleepwear he’d bought for you to match his own set.

As he is the most petite of the seven brothers, you’d initially been hesitant to put much of your weight on Asmo while you slept. As you’d grown so much closer, though, you’d find yourself in a tangle of limbs – leg hooked over his hip, one arm slung over his chest, his arm under your head, one of his hands comfortably resting under your loose pyjama top. You were grateful that you could let your guard down and allow yourself to sleep as a person should; without being worried about how your natural state could be a turn-off.

Asmo would always wish you goodnight by telling you how cute you are and how he couldn’t wait to see you in his bed in the morning (though, of course, he would have to mention something about how he would be happy if something else happened during the night).

You had spent the least amount of time in Satan’s room, as your relationship had only recently developed considerably.

You still didn’t find yourself entering his room as casually as you would barge into Asmo’s or Mammon’s, but occasionally you would find yourself unable to sleep at night and in need of calm company.

Knocking on Satan’s door reminded you vaguely of the worry you’d feel with Lucifer’s, but Satan had assured you that he always loved to hear the gentle, unique noise of your soft rapping against the wood. He would often be sitting comfortably in his armchair with a book open in his lap and a cup of tea resting on one of the stacks next to him. He would perk up at your arrival and close his book, gesturing for you to sink into his plush bed so he could fit himself in beside you and wrap you up in his arms.

At first, he’d suggested that you sleep alone in his bed – it was a twin, after all – and he could sleep in his chair, but you’d immediately insisted that you had come to see him rather than force him out of his own bed.

The resolution was simple: he would climb into his bed and pull you close to him, the soft blush on his cheeks deepening as you’d bury your face into his chest.

Satan’s intimacy came with hesitance; you could feel his caution as he held you with hands capable of doing indescribable damage and close to a heart that could freeze over in the blink of an eye. But your warmth on the nights you’d visit anchored him to a state of calm deeper than the polite smile he wore day-to-day. 

Your breathing would slow as enchanted books flew over your head, and tomes and grimoires and encyclopaedias and endless other members of Satan’s personal library watched over you as they sat in precariously stacked towers, isolating you and the Avatar of Wrath for a night in your personal sanctuary.

You return to the present from your reminiscing to see Lucifer across the room, pinching the bridge of his nose as his younger brothers’ bickering escalates. You decide you can take over his role as mother hen, just for tonight.

“Satan’s bed easily fits two. Mammon’s is good for a lie-in. Asmo’s room is like a personal spa. Levi makes the perfect nests,” you pipe up, drawing the attention of the four squabbling siblings. “And I love being in every one.”

“And ours?” Beel asks gently, setting the now-empty cookie box on the floor beside him.

“Your room?” you pause to think for a moment. “I love sleeping in your bed. It’s like sleeping with a big, warm teddy bear. It makes me feel so safe.”

Beel looks overjoyed, while Belphie looks up at you expectantly, brows raised over half-lidded eyes.

“Do you really need me to say it?” you snort. “Sleep with the Avatar of Sloth is guaranteed to be perfect. Something about you is infectious. And don’t get me started on when I’m lucky enough to share with both of you.”

Belphie is satisfied with your answer, returning to his dream with a smug smile on his face.

“You didn’t pick the best! You just said nice things then said nicer things about Beel and Belphie!” Asmo whines loudly.

The fifth-born’s outburst is met with agreement from the three he had been engaging in a screaming match with just seconds ago.

“I’ll pick the best, then,” you say, smiling serenely.

Anticipation builds as you stay silent for much longer than necessary.

You run your fingers through the fur trim of Beel’s jacket still draped over your shoulders, observing the intense stares of your housemates as they wait for your answer. You hold your hands together in front of your mouth, tapping your lip with your fingertips as you pretend to think.

You inhale deeply, nodding with feigned authority.

“Lucifer’s bed comes with Lucifer’s cute little sleeping face that I have photo evidence of.”

The eldest demon sits bolt upright as his brothers’ racket resumes – a barrage of squeals and whines and disgusted squawks – and he glares at you with an intense fury you’d thought was only reserved for Mammon.

He stands and addresses you in his low, commanding voice.

“You will report to my room immediately for the appropriate punishment.”

He folds his arms behind his back and heads for the door, polished shoes clicking smartly on the marble tile. The others fall silent, watching you wide-eyed.

You grin and kiss Belphie’s cheek before you gently slide him off your lap, getting to your feet. You place Beel’s jacket back over his broad shoulders and kiss his forehead.

You hurry after Lucifer, unable to control your childish giggling as you catch up to him and slip your hand into his. You know his anger is for show; to keep up prideful appearances in front of his brothers. It almost convinces you too. But he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him.

“Goodnight, boys!” you call back behind you, happy to follow Belphie’s advice and leave them to clean up after themselves.

You have to atone for your sins tonight, after all.

Chapter Text

You stood perfectly still, hand clamped over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the noise of your heartbeat hammering its way up your throat.

The echoing click of heavy boots on polished hallway tile grew.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing yourself as close as humanly possible to the wall you were hiding behind in hopes that you’d somehow disappear completely.

The noise came closer. He knew you had to be close by.

Your eyes shot open, ears straining to calculate how much time you had before it was all over.

A few seconds at most.

You dared to take a careful step away from the wall, breath caught in your chest as you prayed the impractical shoes you’d worn to RAD wouldn’t give away your position immediately.

You managed to get a few paces from your hiding spot, concentrating on where you’d last heard the footsteps. You were in the middle of the hallway again, tension keeping all of the muscles in your body taut to a painful degree.

When you could no longer hear your pursuer around the corner, you allowed yourself to exhale.

Your first mistake.

You didn’t notice the figure that had silently crept up from behind until a looming shadow stretched over you.

“Found ya.”

You shrieked at the growl in your ear.

You bolted in the opposite direction, ridiculous smart shoes squeaking on the marble floor as you tried hopelessly to outrun the fastest demon you’d ever met.

You aimed for your bedroom, legs burning with the effort of keeping yourself upright and moving. The occasional flap of leathery wings accompanying the rhythmic pounding of his boots grew louder.

You knew he was almost upon you.

And you almost made it.

The corner before your room should’ve been easy to turn, but your foot caught on the edge of the hallway rug and you skidded into the wall with an undignified grunt, too late and too exhausted to get up and carry on.

He slowed as he approached you, the usually aloof expression he wore long gone and replaced with one of dark triumph. He had you cornered.

“Thought you could hide it from me, did ya?” he snarled, glaring down at you.

His hands were on his hips, stance uncharacteristically domineering.

His demon form had never intimidated you before.

Now, the beautifully curled horns you loved to trace your fingers along held an unfamiliar sharpness. The smooth wings that usually framed his hips so stylishly were no longer harmless accessories, but restlessly twitching spikes of pointed bone.

He looked dangerous.

You gathered yourself, too stubborn to back down. You pulled yourself to your feet once more, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees from where you’d collided, and a cocky grin spread across your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mammon.”

You drew yourself to full height to stand your ground. Though you were eye-level to his chest, you didn’t want to admit that you don’t quite cut an intimidating figure in comparison to a demon lord.

He scoffed, hands on hips. You copied his pose, easily defaulting to mocking him to gain the upper hand.

“Just give it to me. It’ll be a lot easier for us both,” he growled.

“Give what to you, Mammoney?” you asked, grin widening as you saw how your smug attitude agitated him.

He slammed his hands into the wall behind your head.

You yelped at the sudden action and the proximity of his face to yours. Your heart threatened to leap out of your mouth once more.

Any clever retort you had died in your throat as your attention was caught by the sound of something big approaching. Incoming thunderous footfalls turned the air to electrified static. Your eyes widened in genuine terror at the unfamiliar sound.

All traces of Mammon’s imposing demeanour disappeared instantly, the confidence that drove him to command you so forcefully draining from his body as his face paled.

His reaction frightened you even more. He must have known what was coming.

You grabbed his arm, desperate for reassurance. You couldn’t see what the threat was yet, but you knew it was real.

“Mammon…?” you whispered.

Before he could answer you, you heard the footsteps screech to a halt in front of you. Mammon’s wings immediately fanned out around you, blocking you from view.

“Come on, guys,” he groaned, looking over his shoulder to address the newly arrived party of assailants.

You blinked, craning your neck up to peer over Mammon’s now familiarly slouched form.

You were greeted by the spectacle of five of your furious housemates gathered behind Mammon, brandishing horns and tails and wings and narrowed pupils.

Your face wrinkled in confusion.

Asmo was the first to relax at the sight of you peeking up from behind your demon shield, perfectly shaped eyebrows no longer furrowed into deep lines over a hot pink glare. He eased himself back, the intensity in his eyes subsiding.

Levi’s jaw unclenched as he saw Asmo back off, an embarrassed groan leaving his mouth when he recognised the half of your baffled face visible over Mammon’s shoulder. Though he still looked livid, you could tell the stark difference between the recently faded rage of the third most powerful demon brother, and the humiliation of a nerd who’d accidentally revealed he truly cared about you.

Beel soon noticed you too, glassy wings ceasing their agitated buzzing as he calmed himself. He straightened, letting out a small relieved sigh and placing a hand on Belphie’s shoulder.

Your gaze followed the movement to Belphegor. 

His normally unassuming frame radiated unexpected ferocity, head lowered slightly to brandish the curled horns and lip curled to bare sharp teeth.

You hadn’t seen fury like that carved so deeply into his features in a long time.

Buried memories of cold hands around your throat resurfaced and bitter, hollow laughter rang in your ears once more. You froze in place, fingernails imprinting deep crescent indents into the leather of Mammon’s sleeve.

Belphie followed his twin’s line of sight, eyes finally falling on you. His scowl disappeared, replaced with a much less chilling expression of mild surprise.

You swallowed dryly and willed yourself to regain control of your uncooperative body. Mammon’s focus moved from his brothers back to your trembling form, a frown appearing on his face.

“We heard a scream,” Belphie muttered.

“Two,” Satan added, the sharp snarl accompanied by the whipping of his barbed tail against the floor.

Though you were sure he’d seen you, Satan didn’t relax as his brothers had. Tension still electrified every inch of his body as he stood directly behind Mammon, eyes narrowed and poised to attack.

Mammon turned to face the others, wings still spread in front of you and arms folded.

“You’re scarin’ ‘em,” he stated calmly.

As beloved as your first demon was, you had to admit you had been expecting him to whine and gripe about how his brothers were always on his back and had him all wrong. The steady tone he spoke in and the way he stood between you and the others had you surprised.

He was protecting you.

Satan’s tail stopped mid-thrash.

Belphie’s gaze was fixed on the floor. Asmo bit his lip, exchanging a guilty look with Beel. Levi folded his arms, unable to meet Mammon’s eyes.

“Don’t worry,” you said softly, hand on Mammon’s wing to gently encourage him to stand down. “I’m fine, I swear. Nothing’s wrong.”

The brothers looked at you, still silent. Satan’s fists clenched and unclenched as he attempted to regain his composure.

“Just got carried away and tripped,” you laughed, hoping your clumsiness would inspire a good-natured insult or two.

After a moment of more insufferable quiet, Beel piped up.

“Why were you running, anyway?”

You blinked.

It felt like an eternity had passed since you’d been running for your life through the hallways.

“Oh,” you said, shrugging. “I got a winning lottery ticket.”

Mammon’s eyes widened and his wings snapped to his sides.

“I knew it!” he screeched, turning on his heel to face you again.

The sudden movement had his brothers on high alert, though this time you could see it was out of a need to rid themselves of their pent-up agitation rather than true fear of you being in danger.

You ducked under his arm to take off once more, half-shrieked laughter escaping you as you ran to your room, content in the knowledge that he would have to deal with his brothers before coming to find you.

Once you reached the safety of your bedroom, you locked your door and slid down against it to a slumped position on the floor. You tried to control the giggles that bordered on hysterics before the fear you’d felt moments ago could resurface.

You spent a while alone in the calm silence of your room.

This evening, you’d emerged from your room after a soothing bath with renewed energy (and sore knees) and busied yourself with baking and brewing earlier than usual.

As you stand back up after crouching to take your freshly baked cookies out of the oven, you find yourself face to face with a certain ruffled-looking Avatar of Greed.

 “Mammoooon!” you cheer, grinning.

“Don’cha ‘Mammoooon’ me, ya nuisance!” he huffs. “Ya left me for dead out there!”

“You chased me!” you reply.

Mammon’s frown is definitely a pout by this point. He looks you up and down with disdain, clearly weighing the value of your relationship against the promise of a winning lottery ticket.

You give him a wide smile.

“Think you could help me get everything ready for this evening?”

“Hell no!”

“Alright,” you sigh and nod in defeat. “I’ll just do it myself on my poor little bruised legs.”

Mammon scoffs as you lean against the kitchen counter, sighing again – much louder and much more melodramatic this time – and bat your eyelashes at him until he throws his hands in the air.

“Fine! Whatever!” he snaps. “Just stop doin’ that!”

You straighten up and grin, clapping your hands.

You find that Mammon is surprisingly gifted at putting finishing touches on baked goods for someone so terrible at cooking. You start preparing the drinks as you both settle into a comfortable rhythm.

You perch on the kitchen counter and swing your legs idly, waiting for the coffee you’d set over the fire to brew, while Mammon huffs loudly for the umpteenth time in the ten minutes it’s been since he’d entered the room.

You catch grumbles of ‘workin’ me like a damn mule’ and ‘not even gettin’ paid for this!’ as Mammon dusts powdered sugar over freshly baked cookies, his back to you.

“You know, I could ask Asmo if he wants to help instead…” you suggest, glad Mammon can’t see the grin on your face.

You try not to snort when Mammon goes rigid, his hand frozen mid-sieve-tap.

“He doesn’t mind getting a bit… messy, right?” you ask casually, inspecting your fingernails.

Mammon turns to face you, a feeble attempt at a stern look plastered on his blushing face. He sets the sieve down, placing his hands on his hips. They perfectly frame the cute duckling print of the apron you’d convinced him to wear.

“Now listen here, human!” he barks. “Ya don’t need no pervert in here when you’ve got the Great Mammon doin’ a job like a professional pastry chef!”

“You have powdered sugar in your hair, Mr Pastry Chef Sir.”

Mammon blinks at you. You beckon him over, and he shuffles over to you with a scowl on his face.

You gently ruffle Mammon’s hair, releasing a cloud of white dust around the both of you. His nose wrinkles as he tries not to sneeze.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his hips, suddenly pulling him closer to you and drawing out a surprised squawk from the demon. He opens his mouth reflexively to protest, but when he remembers that it’s just the two of you in the kitchen, he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Thanks for the help, Mammon,” you hum into the crook of his neck.

“Yer a real pain, ya know that?” he replies.

“I do.”

You pull away, cupping Mammon’s reddened cheeks. He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help returning your smile with a small one of his own. You lean in close to him, kissing him softly.

It never takes much encouragement for Mammon’s instinctive greed to kick in, one hand immediately finding its way under your shirt and the other gripping your thigh to keep you as close as possible to him. You struggle to keep quiet as you feel the cold metal of his rings on your bare skin.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath when he pulls away, intent on leaving his mark on the skin of your neck while his hands roam every inch of your body he can get to.

“Mammon,” you sigh, eyes opening. “The coffee will spill over…”

“Let it,” he mumbles between kisses. “Try again next week.”

You laugh, placing your hands on Mammon’s shoulders and giving them a small squeeze. He reluctantly pulls away to allow you to slip off the counter and attend to the coffee on the stovetop.

As you prepare the drinks for the evening as per your usual routine, you feel Mammon’s arms wrap around your waist and his chin rest against your shoulder. He watches as you carefully make each tiny beverage differently (you’d long since committed each brother’s tastes to memory, dedicated to making your coffee evenings perfect) and set them on your sturdy little tray.

You and Mammon make your way to the common room – after Mammon insisted on carrying most of the supplies and assured you it was nothing to do with worrying about you – and lay your trays on the centre table as usual.

“It looks perfect!” you clasp your hands together, beaming. “Thanks, Mammon.”

Mammon puts his hands on his hips, a smug smile on his face.

“Of course it does, it’s–“ he pauses mid-gloat, fingers digging into his hips as he realises an adorable sugar-speckled apron is still securely tied around his waist.

You screech with laughter as he frantically pulls on the knotted string around his hips, cursing the apron, the baking, your choices, and the ducklings that refuse to release him. When he finally frees himself, he tosses the apron at your face and slumps into the couch furthest away from you, arms folded.

You immediately take the seat next to Mammon, leaning on his shoulder as you hold the apron up to admire the sweet pastel yellow print against the baby blue background.

“I got it because I knew it’d look cute on you,” you grin, holding the accessory much closer to Mammon’s face than is necessary.  “And I was right.”

He bats it away as you’re once again overcome with uncontrollable laughter. He grabs your wrists to stop you from picking the apron up and continuing your teasing.

“I’m never helpin’ you again,” he snarls.

“Betrayed by my sous chef?!” you gasp, captured hands splayed dramatically.

You watch Mammon set his lips into a thin line as he tries his hardest not to join you in your giggling. He struggles to maintain the grumpy façade when you kneel up in your seat and attempt to dive at him, his grip on your wrists tightening and keeping your wiggling fingers from making contact with his ticklish sides. You almost get a laugh out of him until he notices your face light up when you see his brothers file into the room, putting an end to his alone time with you.

You greet your guests with a restrained double-handed wave and a grin.

The six exclamations of Mammon’s name – ranging in tone from concerned to threatening – prompt him to hastily let go of your hands. He folds his arms once more, slouching in his seat.

You snicker and pat his knee, your light-heartedness helping ease the dirty looks being sent the second-born’s way by the brothers taking their seats.

“So help me if they have bruises, Mammon!” Asmo scolds his older brother, hurrying over to sit next to you.

He grabs your hands and turns them over between his to inspect your skin closely.

“It’s a miracle they didn’t fall off,” you say flatly as you flick his nose, earning an insulted squeak.

Mammon snorts as Asmo covers his nose with one hand, pushing yours out of his lap.

“Of all the things you could do to my beautiful body, this is what you choose?!” he cries.

You silence the whining demon by pulling his hands away from his face and staring at him intensely. You hum in deep thought as you study the faint freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, nodding to yourself.

“We’ll have to amputate,” you declare.

Mammon barks out a laugh, slinging an arm around the back of the couch behind you.

“Don’t even joke about that!” Asmo gasps, shaking his hands free of yours.

You laugh as the wide-eyed narcissist frantically searches for his compact in his pockets to make sure his nose is still exactly how he left it. After managing to look at his reflection from all angles and confirming that his appearance is perfect as usual, Asmo’s eyes flick up to meet yours over the lid of the little mirror.

“You really are okay, right, hon?” he asks.

“I really am okay,” you confirm, noticing how the others fall silent to watch you closely.

Asmo’s mouth quirks downwards at the corners as he considers your response, though your warm little smile is enough to convince him – and Levi, Beel, and Satan, who visibly relax – that you’re telling the truth.

But Belphie sits tucked into the corner of the couch opposite you, chin against the armrest as he stares blankly at the flickering flames of the fireplace. Your reply does little to alleviate the heavy sombre aura enveloping the youngest brother.

“It did scare me a bit,” you admit. “But, honestly, I understand why you felt that way.”

Finally, heavy-lidded violet eyes meet yours.

“I mean…” you continue, speaking directly to Belphie. “You’re protective of those you treasure, right?”

Lucifer gives you a curious look at the vaguely familiar phrase.

In your bedroom, as you sat in the dark on the ground with your back against your door, you’d reminded yourself of what Diavolo had told you. Though your heart still pounded against your ribs, you could feel the tightness in your chest loosening bit by bit as you recalled what you’d learned in your classes on Demon Psychology.

Demons protect their loved ones with everything they can offer. Physical conflict is commonplace. Observing as a creature outside of the demon race can be deeply shocking.

You’d thought of Belphie’s rage. It still terrified you, but if you allowed yourself to remember how he looked in the moment, you knew that anger grew from fear. The fear grew from love. His eyes weren’t blank and cold like they were when they’d wake you up in the middle of the night.

Belphie, soft and sleepy and curled up on the couch with his pillow in his arms, gives you a small smile. You grin back, relieved.

As the night proceeds, you’re happy to see Belphie return to his usual state of murmuring half-asleep (or fully asleep, you’re never really sure) additions to the conversation taking place. Guilt doesn’t seem to weigh so heavily on his shoulders now.

He really does treasure you. The more you think about it, the less the memory of him earlier today chills you.

As the night draws to a close and – at Lucifer’s instruction – the brothers decide to turn in, you stand to tidy away empty glasses and plates.

Before you can reach the first cup, you feel strong hands grip your waist and pull you firmly back down. You yelp as you land in Mammon’s lap, feeling his arms wrap tightly around you to keep you securely held in place.

You crane your neck to look at him for an explanation. His head is tilted down, messy hair falling over his sunglasses and almost meeting the red tinge on his cheeks.

“You’re wearing black,” he murmurs.

You manage to squeak out a noise of confusion, stunned by the sudden action and by how his usually chipper tone now rings low in your ear and reverberates down your spine.

“I had… sugar on my hands,” he continues, clearing his throat.

 “Oh.”

The sudden burst of apparent affection isn’t completely unwelcome, and you much prefer it to flaunting how you’d spent your time in the kitchen with Mammon to his brothers, but you’re still unnerved by the six intense pairs of eyes fixed on you.

You regain your composure, settling yourself between Mammon’s legs rather than on top of them and leaning back against his chest.

“Mammon promised he’d clean up tonight,” you explain. “And I promised I’d supervise.”

Mammon barely contains his outraged protest, instead spitting out a reluctant ‘yeah’ as you grin.

You wish the six unconvinced demons goodnight as they leave the room. As he walks out, Asmo gives you a wink and a smug smile that lets you know he absolutely saw the white handprints on your ass before Mammon scooped you into his lap.

The room is quiet once again. The fire has died down to barely more than glowing embers.

“I’m not cleanin’ up,” Mammon grumbles.

You snort, unwrapping his arms from your waist so you can stand up. You brush the powdered sugar off of your clothes.

“You are,” you reply matter-of-factly.

Mammon scowls, but before he can respond, you lay your arms over his shoulders and straddle his lap, almost nose-to-nose with him.

“But before you do,” you murmur, leaning in close enough that your lips brush his neck. “We should really finish what we started, right?”

You hear him swallow dryly. His hands run up your thighs to return to their rightful place under your shirt.

“Right.” 

Chapter Text

You’ve learned very quickly that a Devildom Farmers’ Market is no place to drop your guard.

Each market stall overflows with vaguely familiar shapes in entirely unfamiliar colours and textures, accompanied by humble chalkboard signs with perplexing words (which you have to assume are the names of the oddities before you) handwritten on them in charming white lettering. You stand under the glow of artificial lights, enveloped in the subtle smell of fresh produce – earthy as it is in the Human Realm with a hint of spice that you aren’t quite used to – and the buzz of the early morning crowd around you, fascinated this busy new environment.

And after the third incident of you being grabbed by what you’d seen advertised as a “vegetable”, you decide to leave the close inspection to Barbatos.

You stay close to your guide as he expertly manoeuvres the path between each offering of inconceivable foods, calm demeanour completely unaffected by the bustle of the other market attendees around him. You can’t help but compare the way the lesser demons part to give way to him to the way a school of fish would for a shark.

You can’t exactly say you have the same effect.

Your shoulders have been bumped and your toes have been stepped on more times than you can count as you’ve squeezed your way through packs of busy demons. As you soldier on, your fingers tighten around the carefully wrapped parcel of oddly fluffy carrots you’d convinced Barbatos to allow you to carry.

Laser-focused as you are on proving how well you can protect your precious cargo, you don’t notice how wide the gap between you and Barbatos has grown.

You stop in your tracks, squinting in search of dark green locks amongst the swarm of customers and vendors.

“Lost your way, human?”

You turn to the origin of the softly asked question and find yourself face to face (or face to chest, since they tower over you) with a slender, elegant-looking demon carrying a paper bag in the crook of their arm and giving you the kindest smile you’d seen from anyone in the Devildom outside of your circle of friends.

 “I suppose I have,” you laugh half-heartedly. “Sorry, am I in your way?”

“Not at all,” the demon coos, gentle voice somehow crystal clear through the commotion that surrounds you. “Though you may find yourself the centre of attention if you stay all alone for too much longer.”

You sigh. You know they’re right; something about your humanity is easy to spot no matter how well you try to blend in to Devildom culture.

“Would you like some help?”

They extend a graceful, perfectly manicured hand to you, smile still warm and wide on their face.

You don’t move. You’re struck by realisation.

They’re beautiful. Locks of midnight black hair cascade over their shoulders, their eyes glittering a warm pink hue as they wait patiently for you to accept their invitation.

The more you look at them, the more you find to admire.

And the more uneasy you feel.

“Thank you,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile. “But I’ll be alright.”

Their smile falters, brows creasing momentarily before they laugh – a melodious tone that rings strangely hollow in your ears.

“It’s not a bother if that’s what you’re worried about, human. I can help you,” they hum, hand still outstretched to you.

“I appreciate it, really. But there’s no need,” you insist. “It’s been nice speaking to you, but I need to head back.”

You smile again, grateful for the practice you’ve had in maintaining a perfect customer service persona, and turn to leave and attempt to find Barbatos by retracing your steps.

Before you can retreat, the hand the demon had offered you snaps around your wrist in an ice-cold, vicelike grip.

“It’s rude to turn your back on a friend, human,” they hiss. “I just wanted to enjoy the rare sight of you without your pack of dogs barking away any possible interactions with any well-meaning demon who isn’t best friends with His Highness.”

The bitterness in the demon’s voice chills you to your core.

You know they mean definite harm and can easily overpower you, but all you can do is stand there, frozen. The smile remains fixed on their face, though all traces of warmth have dissipated and left only a razor sharp threat.

The bony fingers around your wrist tighten, and you feel fire.

It's as if every pulse point in your body radiates white-hot flame. The demon recoils and rips their hand from your skin, face contorting in rage and confusion.

The intense energy fades as quickly as it had set in, leaving you blankly staring at the demon as they clasp their own wrist, bewildered at the scorch marks you figure you’d somehow left on their fingertips.

Furious eyes lift from burnt digits to you once again, and you can swear your heart stops beating.

But their gaze continues up and past you, focusing over your shoulder. The skin you thought glowed with radiant beauty seconds ago now pales completely as their fang-filled mouth opens in wordless horror.

“Meridiana.”

The deep, familiar voice snaps you out of your stupor. You look to your left to find Barbatos standing beside you, carrying a large bag of fresh vegetables in his arms and that signature mysterious smile on his face.

The demon stands up straight, their mouth snapping shut.

“Please excuse my barking,” Barbatos continues pleasantly. “But we must be leaving now.”

Their eyes widen, struck by the horrifying realisation that their snide comments had been overheard by the Demon Prince’s loyal servant.

“I will see you soon, Meridiana.”

A promise and a threat lurk in Barbatos’ polite dismissal of the demon before you. They remain silent, shrinking away from the butler as he turns to you and offers his arm. You slip your hand through without hesitation, eager to leave the situation behind you as soon as possible.

As you leave the market, you release a heavy sigh.

“I apologise for leaving you alone like that,” Barbatos says as he leads you back through the alleyways to the centre of town. “Meridiana has always held a grudge against the Young Master, but they are nothing to worry about.”

“I think I burned them,” you reply, frowning. “But I really have no idea how. I mean… I didn’t do it. I don’t think.”

The enigmatic smile on your companion’s face is beginning to frustrate you. You stop, squeezing his arm to make him face you as you scowl.

“Barbatos, I know you know!”

“I admit I was curious to see for myself, so I lingered out of view a while longer than I should have.”

“You’re killing me.”

“My my,” he chuckles. “You are already an impressively powerful human. But perhaps you should consider that a pactholder shares body and soul with their demons.”

You mull it over, lips pursed.

“So I used the brothers’ magic or something?”

Barbatos – ever infuriating – simply smiles a little wider at you and gives you a gentle pat on the head, before taking the parcel of carrots you’d been carrying and setting it in his paper bag.

You roll your eyes and hook your arm through his once more, dissatisfied with his answer but knowing it’s the best you’ll get.

As you set off on the journey back through the quiet streets, arm in arm with your graceful escort, you settle for interrogating him about everything he’d bought at the market to pass the time until you get home.

When you reach the House of Lamentation, you say your goodbyes and give Barbatos a very careful hug around his bag of newly-purchased produce, wishing him an enjoyable dinner preparation session (to which he chuckles and thanks you). As you stand alone on the stone steps of the old house, watching Barbatos disappear into the inky blackness that floods in through the front gates, it strikes you as odd that you hadn’t received any messages from the brothers since you’d left for the market early this morning.

You take your D.D.D. out of your pocket (where you’d thrown it once you’d decided that nothing else but Barbatos’ carrots mattered in that moment) and tap the screen to check the time.

And you remember you hadn’t charged it last night. And you groan.

You try in vain to turn your D.D.D. on as you reach out to open the front door. Before your fingers can close around the handle, the door swings open and the heavy wood hits you square in the face, sending you reeling backwards with a yelp. You hear a horrified cry of your name as you cover your face and look up, blinking through the blinding pain of your poor sore nose to confront your assailant.

“I’m so sorry! I heard your voice and I had to check if you were out here because I thought you were lost or missing or hurt and you weren’t answering your messages and it was getting late and you were in trouble and-“

You press your hand against a very red-faced Levi’s chest and his mouth snaps shut, lip quivering from the effort of keeping his overflowing anxieties to himself. You feel a warm wetness filling the palm of the hand cupped over your nose.

You pat Levi’s chest.

“Got a tissue?” you ask, voice muffled by your hand.

He slowly shakes his head, eyes widening and already-pale skin draining to a ghostly white as he notices the blood drip between your fingers.

“Sucks,” you mutter.

You search your pockets, hoping to find something you could use to clean up your face before walking inside and causing a scene. You’re stopped mid-pocket-pat by a soft (but very cold) hand under your chin, gently tilting your head forwards.

Levi removes the hand covering your face – briefly cringing at the sight of the blood streaming down to your mouth – and pinches your nose. He presses his sleeve to your face to wipe it off, ignoring your concern for his clean clothes.

For a moment you stand in silence, breathing through your mouth as the third-born has you in the world’s strangest and most ineffective headlock. You watch the demon curiously while he stares intensely at your nose.

“Dealt with your fair share of nosebleeds, huh?” you ask, grinning.

Levi immediately goes bright pink at your insinuation.

“It’s- it’s not-“ he stammers, letting go of your nose. “Y-you have no idea what you’re talking about!”

You snort and immediately regret it, grimacing at the pain of aggravating your recent injury.

“Pinch it for ten more minutes. So it’ll clot,” he mumbles, picking at the dried blood on his sleeve.

“Suppose I’d better just stay out of sight for a while, then,” you hum, doing as he says and taking a seat on the top step. “Better your brothers don’t misunderstand.”

You look up to Levi as he stands awkwardly in front of the open door, watching you. You pat the step next to you.

“Want to join me?”

Levi shakes his head frantically and you raise your eyebrows.

“Oh. Okay, never mind then,” you shrug.

“N-no! I mean… you should just come to my room instead. I can clean you up properly there,” he responds before quickly correcting himself. “B-because- … S-so my brothers don’t see you!”

“But won’t they see me when I come in anyway?” you ask.

“Not this way,” he replies, closing the front door and walking past you to the side of the house.

You get to your feet and follow, a little confused, until you both come to a stop outside the dining room. Between two windows, you see an overgrown trellis attached to the wall and climbing up to the second floor, directly under a familiarly blue-lit bedroom.

You gasp, excitedly patting Levi’s arm.

“We’re gonna sneak in!?”

Levi chuckles – his best Glasses-Wearing Anime Character impression – and nods, folding his arms with a smug grin at his display of genius.

“Mammon used to use this to get out whenever Lucifer put him under house arrest, but one time Lucifer was waiting at the bottom for him with a mace and he never tried again,” he explains as he tests the strength of the frame by tugging it.

A flutter of old leaves fall down around you, but the lattice stands strong. Creaky, but strong.

“Too bad I’m not wearing a skirt or I’d go first,” you tease.

Levi responds with a flustered squeak before clamping his hand over his mouth and giving you a pink-cheeked glare.

“Right behind you!” you chirp encouragingly, patting his shoulder.

He grumbles to himself, avoiding eye contact with you as he begins his steady ascent to his bedroom window. As you watch him, you worry your lip with your teeth (still pinching your nose), on alert for any sign of weakness in the trellis as your dear little dork climbs his way up.

With a strangled grunt, Levi grabs the windowsill and hauls himself into the open window of his room with a loud thunk. You release the breath you’d been holding when you see him poke his arm out of the window to give you a thumbs up and the go-ahead to follow.

You let go of your nose, wincing in discomfort, and grasp the rough wood of the trellis. With a deep breath and a whispered prayer to whoever might be kind enough to protect you from plummeting to your death, you make your way up as Levi had.  

When you reach the top, every muscle in your body aching from the thirty seconds of exertion, you look up and realise there is a gap between the trellis and Levi’s window that you have no idea how he managed to cross. You’re sure you can’t pull yourself over with just one hand on the windowsill (you refuse to use both for fear of losing your balance) and you don’t quite believe you can pull off the horizontal leap required at your skill level (which is 0).

You hiss Levi’s name, fear now creeping up your body and numbing your extremities at the thought of being stuck in that spot until your grip loosens and you fall to your gruesome end. A mop of ruffled indigo hair peeks out from under the window – you realise that Levi has remained slumped over where he’d fallen in – and he gives you a puzzled look.

Once he recognises the panic on your face, he quickly gets to his feet and holds both his arms out to you.

“Levi, I really don’t think I can let go,” you whimper.

His brow furrows and he stretches a little further, almost enough to reach your hands.

“Trust me.”

You look at Levi as he leans out of his bedroom window. Though his face is still slightly flushed from his own climb, the unusual confidence in his voice convinces you to loosen your white-knuckle grip on the rickety old wood.

You do trust him.

You wrap your hands around his wrists and he does the same for you, and he pulls you into his room with surprising ease. You forget, occasionally, that under that skinny frame is the third most powerful Demon Lord in the Devildom.

You tumble in, landing on top of Levi with an undignified grunt. The sound he makes is closer to a large balloon being slowly deflated.

Throwing your arms around Levi’s shoulders, you hug him tighter than you expected your trembling arms could manage, ecstatic to be back on solid ground. You don’t let go until you hear Levi stuttering your name.

Realising you have the demon pinned, you quickly get to your feet and offer him a hand up, which he takes. He avoids eye contact, blush still bright on his face, and points to the large beanbag chair next to the bathtub before busying himself searching through his bookcase.

You take a seat, sinking in to the chair and rubbing the indents in your hands from where the splintered wood of the trellis dug into your skin. Levi returns with a bright orange first aid kit and sets it on the small table beside you. Silently, the Avatar of Envy cleans the dried blood from your face and checks that your nosebleed has stopped. He gently tilts your head to look at your nose from all angles, brow creased in concentration.

“It’s not broken,” he states, seemingly satisfied with his work.

Before Levi can retract his hand, you take it in your own and press a kiss to his knuckles.

“Thank you, Levi.”

Levi looks horrified, snatching his hand from your grip.

“D-don’t thank me, I hurt you!”

“Did you open the door with the intent of hitting me?”

“No, I-“

“That’s that, then. You apologised – I accept, by the way – you pulled me through a window, you fixed me up. So thank you.”

“You can’t treat someone like me like that! If you forgive someone so disgusting and worthless, you’ll only get taken advantage of!”

You stand, taking both of Levi’s hands and holding them tight. You pull him closer to you, looking him square in the reddened face.

“I’ll forgive someone I care about with all my heart. Worth more than I could imagine,” you say softly, holding his anxious orange gaze. “I could tell you for hours all the ways you matter to me, but my opinion doesn’t define you.”

Levi is quiet for a few seconds, brows knitted together as he desperately searches your face for any signs that you might be mocking him.

“… You… Could tell me anyway…” he murmurs.

Levi’s own words fluster him to a point where he can no longer meet your eyes, instead focusing on where your hands connect. You smile and you nod, squeezing his hands.

“Then I’ll tell you how much it means to me that you know how important interests are. That you share yours with me, and you listen to me when I want to share mine. Time flies so fast when we speak that hours could pass and I wouldn’t even notice.”

Levi's cheeks darken for the thousandth time in the half hour or so that had passed since he’d opened the door in your face.

“How you understand needing space and needing quiet, but needing company too. That I can come to your room when I feel overwhelmed and we don’t even need to talk, but you’re there and you know how it feels. Finding myself at peace in reassuring silence with you.”

Levi dares to peek up at you through his bangs, a tiny smile on his face. You grin right back at him.

“How when you told me to trust you, I already knew I did.”

Levi looks at you with a strange pained expression. You can almost hear his rebuttal; how he’s nothing, how he’s useless, how you must have said it all by accident.

Before he can voice his protests at your kind words, you pull your linked hands to your sides, bringing him a stumbling step closer to you. You lean in and kiss him softly.

His eyes widen briefly before fluttering closed.

When you pull away, he looks at you in dazed bewilderment.

“And there’s my argument,” you say with a bright smile. “So, how about we spend the rest of the day working on our watchlist?”

Levi still seems to be processing everything that just happened in the past few seconds, mouth hanging open and eyes blank. You press your finger against his nose and he blinks, eyes crossing to focus on the intrusion before batting your hand off of his face.

“F-fine!” he huffs, folding his arms in a show of feigned annoyance. “But only if you promise no one will interrupt!”

You nod, crossing your finger over your heart in an ‘x’ motion. The sweet little display draws out another small, shy smile from Levi, before he abruptly turns on his heel and heads over to his drawers to fish out the mountain of blankets needed for a Traditional Levi Movie Night.

Familiar with the procedure, you follow him to grab an armful of the fluffy decorative pillows stashed away beside one of the bookcases.

The two of you are skilled in this art after many nights of practice: Levi drags his beanbag chairs over in front of the bathtub and you fill in the gaps with pillows to make a makeshift bed, and you both cover every cold floor tile with soft blankets until you’re left with the perfect nest. You immediately nestle in, burying yourself under several layers of fabric.

Levi goes over to his desk, leaning over the chair to tap a few buttons on one of the many keyboards littering the surface.

You always love this part, no matter how many times you experience it.

The bright blue light of the aquarium spanning the length of the wall in front of you dims until it fades completely, leaving only an eerily solid-looking black glass with the occasional fin or tail disturbing the dark depths of the water behind it. It gives you chills.

A rectangle right in the middle of the glass slowly darkens until it turns opaque and matte, before it’s illuminated by a beam of projected white light (you’ve never been able to find the projector itself and it drives you mad, but you’ve sworn to Levi that you’ll find it someday with no hints) and the stereo speakers fitted throughout the room buzz to life.

Levi returns to you, sinking in to the plush DIY bed you’d crafted together and taking his D.D.D. out of his pocket to begin your media marathon. You clap your hands excitedly, snuggling down into the blankets and looking between Levi and the screen expectantly.

Levi’s nose briefly wrinkles and his brow furrows when he looks at his D.D.D., and he glances over to you. You meet his confusion with your own, tilting your head in silent question. He shakes his head, tapping out what you assume must be an annoyed reply to one or more of his brothers, before resuming his search for the right app to use.

You sit up straight, suddenly remembering your own D.D.D.

“Mine died!” you gasp. “But I’m too cosy to get up and plug it in!”

Levi ignores your pointed look and waggling eyebrows.

“Fine, I guess I’ll do it. At some point. Maybe. Would you let the others know I’m back home and busy, pretty please?” you ask, shuffling closer to him.

“Already did. Barbatos said you were fine,” he replies, setting his D.D.D. down beside him.

His response confuses you, but you’re soon distracted by soft piano music and animated cherry blossoms playing on the screen in front of you. You sigh, deciding you’ve had enough excitement for the day anyway, and lean your head against his shoulder as you settle in to the beanbags behind you.

Levi freezes for a moment (though these moments have been getting shorter and shorter the more he’s been exposed to your absent-minded intimacy), then wriggles his arm free. He wraps it around your shoulders, letting your head rest against his chest. You pull more blankets over his lap to ensure he couldn’t possibly be at risk of getting cold.

The story is nothing special, the animation is mediocre, and the voice actors are just about alright.

But you’re cuddled up in the security of your blanket nest, fingers intertwined with Levi’s long, no-longer-cold ones and resting on his lap, held close to him as though there could be nothing more effortless than being comfortable with you. You can hear the soft thud of his heartbeat accompanying the cliché soundtrack of the anime you’d long since stopped following.

The next time Levi steals a glance at you, you’re sound asleep.

And his brothers would be so jealous.

Chapter Text

Daybreak was always difficult to distinguish in the Devildom. 

No warm rays of sunshine filter in through the windows to gently rouse you from your sleep. No songbirds to welcome a new dawn with their morning praises.

Slowly opening your eyes, you found yourself wrapped in layers and layers of brightly pattered blankets and much closer to the ground than you’d expected. As your bleary vision cleared and your mind dragged itself out of its sleeping state to return to your body, you remembered why.

In front of you, still sound asleep, was the indigo-haired demon with whom you’d spent the entire day before. Levi slept on his side facing you, one hand tucked under his pillow and the fingers of the other loosely laced through yours in the space between your bodies.

A memory of the night before returned to you. You’d woken from a strange dream that left you overheating and uneasy, sitting up with your heart pounding and your breath coming to you sharp and panicked. Levi stirred and you stayed frozen in place, making every effort not to disturb your partner over something as trivial as a dream you’d already forgotten.

But he’d turned over and opened one groggy eye, brows creased in confusion and annoyance. Remembering it was you he was sharing a bed-nest with, his expression softened to one of concern. You’d returned it with an apologetic smile and hoped he could make it out under the dimmed light of his jellyfish lamps.

He’d held his hand out to you and you took it as you settled back down. The way he’d squeezed your fingers gently between his own grounded you, reminded you that he was there with you, promised you he always would be. You’d fallen asleep again almost instantly.

The recollection warmed you more than any blanket ever could. You gazed in silent admiration at the sweet, snoozing demon before you and you sighed, content.

Careful not to disturb Levi, you rolled onto your back to reach your D.D.D. You’d left the device to charge overnight after it had died the morning before, and you distinctly remember turning it on to check your messages and promptly falling asleep before the wake-up screen had even loaded.

You tapped the screen to check the time and found a wall of notifications listing several missed calls and unanswered texts. Your heart dropped, your mind immediately creating a plethora of the worst possible scenarios that could have transpired since you’d last checked your messages.

Your brow furrowed as you scrolled through, panic replaced by sheer confusion.

Why would the brothers be asking if you were okay?

As you read through the latest messages in the House of Lamentation group chat, you realised they’d started asking around the time you’d been at the farmers’ market.

You felt the hair on your arm stand on end, the ghost of a sharp-clawed hand tightening around your wrist with the returning memory of the demon you’d met there.

Barbatos’ sage words echoed in your mind:

“… Perhaps you should consider that a pactholder shares body and soul with their demons.”

You mouthed a curse and cringed at the realisation that the brothers must have felt the same threat you had, most likely with no context or explanation.

The messages continued. Lucifer had called Barbatos, who’d confirmed you had arrived home safely after a “chance encounter”. Levi had chimed in with a second confirmation (you realised this must have been sent once you had built your blanket nest and settled in) and a blunt message that the two of you would be watching movies all night and the others were absolutely not invited.

The conversation had naturally died down after your wellbeing had been assured, and you only received a few more messages from Asmo and Mammon complaining that Levi was hogging you all to himself, even though they were both attending a party and weren’t home until late anyway.

Relieved, but still a little guilty, you sent a good morning message to the House chat (accompanied by a kiss-blowing demoji) and set your D.D.D. face down, deciding to face the several rounds of relentless scolding you were due at the breakfast table rather than through text.

You sighed and curled back up on your side to face Levi, taking comfort in his tranquil expression. As much as you wanted to stay in bed with your personal radiator, you figured helping prepare breakfast would give at least a few brothers reason to go easy on you for worrying them.

Gently, you unravelled long fingers from between your own and sat up. As soon as you were upright, you felt Levi’s arm snake over your lap, hand coming to rest at your hip.

“I’ll come back soon, Levi,” you began softly, looking down at the supine demon.

Instead of finding him pouting and offended that you were leaving already, Levi was still fast asleep. His fingers gripped the edge of your shirt and he muttered your name, the corners of his mouth quirking downwards.

You shuffled back down, pulling the blankets back over yourself and burying your face in his chest. It was all too easy to close your eyes again and drift off.

You could help with dinner instead.

You stand in the common room, hands on your hips, appreciating your hard work in the few minutes you have before you can expect guests.

Every available surface is covered with the tackiest Halloween decorations you could possibly find. Glow-in-the-dark ghost garlands hang from the walls, mini toy skeletons stand propped up against the candelabras, grinning plastic jack-o-lanterns light up every corner of the room, and all of your gaudily-decorated snacks are placed lovingly on black cat silhouette platters.

You’ve done an excellent job. Any over-eager mother of embarrassed teenagers would be proud.

You flop down in Lucifer’s armchair, exhaling loudly. Your arms ache from lugging bags and bags of Halloween merchandise from your room, but it was worth it.

You try to control your excitement when you hear footsteps approach, sitting up in the chair and crossing your legs as gracefully as you can manage, ready to receive your guests.

Almost all at once, the brothers flood in. Their usual casual chatter comes to a sudden halt as they notice their surroundings, and you find seven pairs of confused eyes on you in your prime position.

“Velcome,” you announce, grinning wide to bare the fake teeth stuck over your canines.

You rise from your seated position and hop up to stand on the chair (much to Lucifer’s dismay), holding your arms out wide, fingers spread dramatically.

“… To human-!” you begin, before tapping your lower lip when you realise you really should’ve thought about what to name your event. “To… Human Halloween.”

“Humanween?” Beel suggests.

“Not that,” you point at him. “Never that. Human Halloween is our placeholder until we find something that doesn’t draw attention to the ‘ween’ part of Halloween.”

Asmo opens his mouth.  Your accusatory pointing finger moves to aim squarely at his nose.

“You will not draw attention to it either,” you declare.

“You in a good mood or somethin’?” Mammon asks, picking up a sunglasses-wearing plastic skeleton between his thumb and forefinger.

“How could I not be?” you reply. “I get to share this tacky wonderland with you.”

Mammon’s cheeks flush when he looks up at your beaming face. You beckon him over and he immediately drops the skeleton to approach, eyes fixed on you as you place your hands on his shoulders. He takes hold of your waist to help you down from the chair, his unfamiliar but strangely natural gentlemanly manner leaving his brothers dumbfounded.

“It’s honestly not too different from any other Thursday,” you chuckle, patting Mammon’s shoulder as he releases you. “I just thought it’d be fun.”

“It is fun!” Asmo chirps, practically shoving the still-mesmerised Mammon out of the way to grab your cheeks. “And those teeth are so cute! Next you should try horns and wings!”

Asmo nuzzles his nose against yours as he cups your face, cooing his delight and babbling nonstop about his best ideas for your next costume. You grab his wrists, attempting to shush him through your uncontrollable giggles.

“Do we have to stay here for this?!” Levi asks, arms folded and a furious pink blush dusting his cheeks.

Mammon grunts his agreement, nose wrinkled in disapproval at Asmo’s unashamed forwardness. You finally manage to break free of his relentless affection, holding him at arm’s length to prevent your next sentence from being interrupted:

“Of course you do! What point would there be in having it without you?”

Levi covers his face with a hand, stuttering a weak protest as expected. Easily overwhelmed, he sinks into the nearby corner seat of one of the plush couches to hide his embarrassment.

You shoo Asmo away to take his seat so you can prepare the drinks. You kneel at the end of the large coffee table and set out your seven newly purchased pumpkin-shaped teacups with a huge grin, filling them with matching pumpkin teapots (they didn’t have a pumpkin-shaped coffeepot, so you’d done your best to remember which of the identical pots you’d put coffee in tonight).

Asmo is already deeply invested on documenting the evening on Devilgram for the benefit of his thousands of admirers. You place a coffee cup on his side of the table and flick his knee as you stand, making him yelp (and hopefully rendering the video he was taking of you useless). You return his pout with a sweet smile.

Beel has claimed his usual spot on the floor by the fireplace nearby. He leans against the sofa, legs crossed to support one of the massive platters of ghost-shaped cookies he’s already halfway through devouring. Belphie climbs into the empty space on the couch behind his twin and settles in like an elderly housecat, arms folded under his chin and bathed in the warmth of the fire.

You bring two cups of tea over to them and stand in front of Beel. You cup his face gently and he looks up at you with one of his agonisingly adorable smiles. You brush the crumbs off of his cheek with a thumb and kiss his forehead, pleased that your hard work is appreciated.

“Right in front of me?” Belphie sighs.

“Be more convincing, your eyes are still closed,” you reply, snickering.

The youngest brother returns your laugh with a sleepy little smile. You lean over (carefully enough to protect the remaining cookies in Beel’s lap from becoming casualties) and slide one of the couch cushions under Belphie’s head, brushing the hair out of his eyes to give him his own forehead kiss. He sinks in to the soft cushion, sighing contentedly.

As with most nights, his tea will definitely get cold. He’ll drink it anyway.

Continuing your rounds, you collect two more cups of coffee and make your way behind one of the sofas. Leaning over the backrest, you hold out a cup to Levi, who reflexively hides his D.D.D. in his lap. You know he’s been working on unlocking the Halloween outfit set in Mononoke Land, but you can’t help yourself from teasing him.

“In polite company, Levi?” you ask quietly, close enough to tut in his ear.

You snort when he grabs the cup from you with a red-faced scowl.

You make your way to the end of the couch, in front of Lucifer in his armchair. He sits as regally as ever, intense crimson gaze fixed on you as you hand him his coffee.

“Do you like the decorations?” you ask.

“I do not,” he replies simply.

Mammon, sitting nearby, immediately prickles at Lucifer’s bluntness towards you. Before he can open his mouth to start a fight over his precious human, you laugh loud enough to make him jump.

“Good!” you say.

Lucifer gives you a small smile, shaking his head and taking a sip of his coffee.

Returning to the table, even more giddy than when the brothers first arrived, you pick up the teapot once again to prepare another drink. Instead of another pumpkin teacup, you fill up a black mug with pointy ears on the rim and a handle shaped like a tail.

Satan is already watching you closely across the table. You hold up the cat-shaped mug to the blonde with a proud smile.

“There must be thousands like it here, but I got this for you last time I was in the Human Realm!” you say, placing the mug on the table as far towards him as you can reach. “It’s bigger than the set I brought for tea tonight, but did you want me to pour you some anyway?”

Satan stiffens, mouth set into a thin line. His cheeks flush an irresistible shade of pink.

The rare sight of seeing the Avatar of Wrath flustered is wonderful payment for the effort you put in to tonight. He clears his throat, composing himself once again.

“Thank you,” he says, one hand on his chest and the other wrapped around the handle of the mug.

Your response is cut off by Mammon’s whine from beside you.

“Didja forget me?!” he asks, offended.

“Did I?” you hum, pretending to be deep in thought.

The second-born folds his arms, turning his face away from you. You shuffle your way past him, into the space you know he and Asmo left for you (though Mammon tries his hardest to make it seem as though he couldn’t care less where you sit). Picking up the two remaining teacups, you sit down and tuck your legs under you.

“I suppose I didn’t,” you say as you hand him his tea. “Cute pout, though.”

Mammon snatches the cup from you, blushing furiously. You’re delighted by how many similar reactions you’ve harvested so far tonight.

Asmo holds his arms out to you, clearly just as pleased as you are. You settle in, leaning over to wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. You hear another disgruntled noise from Mammon.

“So this is what you’d do to celebrate Halloween?” Asmo asks as he strokes your hair.

“Kind of,” you reply, sitting up to face him. “More like what I’d do when I find the most garish things on sale.”

Asmo snickers, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you rest your head against his chest.

“Halloween here celebrates Di- Lord Diavolo’s birthday, right?” you ask, addressing the others.

You’re met with nods and hums of confirmation (and a bitter ‘yeah’ from Mammon, whose irritation at being the couch’s third wheel is becoming more and more evident).

“What about in the Human Realm?” asks Beel, mouth full.

You take a moment to think, tucking your feet under Mammon’s lap.

“It’s still got a proper meaning for some,” you begin, ignoring Mammon’s grumbles and tapping your chin thoughtfully. “But personally, I’ve found that it’s usually an excuse to dress up and drink and see what happens when you’re alone with Dracula.”

Though Asmo shrieks with laughter, your joke doesn’t seem to have exactly the same effect throughout the room full of several possessive demons. Levi looks up from his D.D.D. with a scowl. Satan frowns, emerald nails tapping against his ceramic mug restlessly. Lucifer watches you over the rim of his coffee cup, unimpressed.

“I was kidding!” you snort, holding your hands up in surrender. “Never happened. He sucks.”

Mammon groans, shoving your legs out from under his to distance himself from your horrible pun. You immediately wiggle your way back into his personal space, digging your feet even further under him this time.

Speaking about human traditions you haven’t been part of for quite a while makes your chest a little tight.

But when you stay quiet, listening to Mammon and Satan bicker over how accurate human depictions of witches are, or Levi prattling on about the revolutionary Halloween DLC for his new VR game, or the constant munching noises of Beel as he single-handedly works his way through every single brightly-coloured cookie you’d spent the previous night preparing, you don’t notice it as much.

Your silence catches Asmo’s attention. He squeezes your shoulder, tilting his head when you look up to him, wordlessly conveying his concern.

“I’m alright,” you say quietly, smiling. “Just a little tired.”

 “Tired?!” Asmo gasps. “But you need to be excited for The Fall!”

“I told you I don’t have a costume!” you protest.

An untrustworthy Cheshire cat grin spreads on his face. You’ve already lost this argument, even if you have no idea what Asmo has planned. You groan, and he knows you’ve accepted defeat.

Though you can feel the night winding to a close from the other brothers, Mammon and Asmo are practically vibrating with excitement.

Beel, having eaten every possible edible item (and taking bites out of some considerably not edible items), gets to his feet. He wraps an arm around Belphie – who still grips the couch cushion you gave him tightly – and picks up his twin in a fireman’s lift.

You blow a kiss to both the giant demon and the one hanging limply over his shoulder, who gives you a low-effort wave before closing his eyes once more.

Levi yawns, finally tucking his D.D.D. in his pocket and standing, accompanied by a cacophony of clicking joints that makes you cringe.

“You said you’d help me farm XP tomorrow,” he reminds you sternly.

You nod, holding up your pinkie finger to confirm your commitment to your promise. Before he can stop himself, a bashful smile emerges on his face. He quickly turns and follows his younger brothers out of the room.

Following suit, Satan gets up, brushing off his cardigan.

“Good night,” he says to you, before eyeing Asmo and Mammon beside you. “Don’t let them get you into trouble.”

“Good night, Satan,” you laugh, one hand clamping tightly onto Mammon’s thigh to prevent him from standing up to confront his brother.

Satan nods, picking up his new cat mug and holding it close to his chest before he leaves.

You stand, stretching.

“Asmo, Mammon,” Lucifer’s deep voice interrupts your yawn.

The two either side of you look at their eldest brother, whose fingers drum on the armrest of his chair.

“If anything happens tonight, I will make sure there are just enough shreds left of you so you can regret it for the rest of your days.”

Mammon shudders. Asmo lets out a small ‘eek!’. You snort as you pull the two of them to their feet by their wrists.

“Sleep tight, Luci,” you hum as you drag the brothers out of the common room towards Asmo’s bedroom.

Maybe horns and wings won’t look so bad, after all.

Chapter Text

This evening, you find yourself in what has become a familiar spot in the kitchen: kneeling on the cold stone countertop, trying to keep your balance, while you stick your arm as far as possible into the depths of the highest cupboard you can reach.

Your fumbling fingers tap blindly in dusty corners as you mutter every curse you know under your breath. You definitely hid your cookie tins here.

You remember how overwhelming the smell of dust was when you’d first managed to reach this shelf, and you remember realising how it’d be the perfect mask for your treasured boxes, keeping them hidden from a certain curious and insatiable glutton.

You grip the corner of the cupboard and slowly get to your feet, focusing intently on keeping your balance on the smooth surface and pushing the image of you slipping so suddenly you rip the cupboard off its wall anchor and bring the entire thing crashing down on yourself to the back of your mind.

There.

Your skill at hiding goods is unmatched, even by yourself. Had you any urge to not risk perishing from a completely avoidable fall in the kitchen, you might not have found your cookie tins ever again. Standing on your tiptoes, you reach to the furthest corner of the cupboard and drag your precious boxes towards you with your fingertips.

Before you can properly retrieve your prize, an arm wraps around your waist and makes you jump so violently you see your life flash before your eyes.

“You will be the death of me,” a deep, exasperated voice drawls.

“The death of you?!” you squawk, one hand clutching his forearm tightly and the other maintaining a bone-crushing grip on the edge of the shelf you’d been digging through. “No hello, no warning, no nothing, Lucifer?!”

His answer is a sigh.

You convince yourself to let go of the ledge – though your heart still pounds viciously in your throat – finally fishing out three pastel-toned metal tins and holding them against your chest.

With Lucifer’s strong grip keeping you steady, you lower yourself back to your knees and set the boxes down beside you. He lets go of you so you can turn to sit on the countertop, legs dangling off the edge and a childish scowl on your face.

He rests one gloved hand on the counter’s edge over your lap, stopping you before you can place your feet back on solid ground. You shrink back as he leans over you, demanding your full attention.

“Tell me what would have happened if I’d said a single word to you without being near enough to catch you,” he commands, eyes narrowed.

You open your mouth.

The unexpected sound would have absolutely made you slip off the counter so suddenly you would’ve ripped the cupboard off its wall anchor and brought the entire thing crashing down on yourself.

You close your mouth.

“As I assumed,” he concludes after your moment of silence, smugness radiating off of him in insufferable waves.

“One of these days I’m really going to bite you,” you huff, folding your arms.

“I bite harder,” he replies matter-of-factly, the hand on the countertop moving to rest lightly on your thigh.

He does. You remember. Your cheeks flush.

“You should really be careful,” Lucifer murmurs in your ear.

While every inch of your skin erupts into tingling goosebumps, he pulls himself back to full height, hands retracting to fold behind his back. He smirks, clearly satisfied with your reaction.

Before he can turn on his heel to exit with his usual dramatic flair, you place a hand on his waist and gently squeeze.

“Don’t just tease me and leave me,” you mumble as you run your fingertips along the seam of his waistcoat.

His eyebrows raise and he tilts his head ever so slightly. You bring your hand to his cheek, leaning up to close the gap between you once again, your lips almost brushing his, your voice low and inviting.

“Help me carry this stuff down to the common room,” you whisper.

The pink tinge on Lucifer’s cheeks leaves you delighted. You’re treated to another of his weary sighs and you cackle at your rare victory. You kiss his nose, slipping off of the counter and landing on your feet with a soft thud.

You place the pots of coffee and tea and set of small glasses on one of your sturdy serving trays, then hold out the three metal tins you’d retrieved earlier to a thoroughly unimpressed Lucifer. He unfolds his arms and takes them from you, tucking them into the crook of his arm as though they weighed nothing.

Though the tray is heavy, you put all your effort into making carrying it look completely effortless under Lucifer’s watchful eye, so he has no reason to tell you to be careful again. You set off down the hallway to the common room, somehow managing to keep up with Lucifer’s long, graceful strides.

As soon as you enter the common room, the flames in the fireplace and on each candle in the room ignite all at once with a flourish of Lucifer’s hand, bathing you both in a warm, flickering glow.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.

Your dreamy smile is one that Lucifer can’t help but return.

Once the cookies and drinks are placed on the table and suitably displayed to your high standards, Lucifer assumes his usual position in the armchair opposite the fireplace, taking his D.D.D. out of his pocket to check his messages.

You have no idea how it’s possible for someone to have such perfect posture in such a comfortable chair.

You dust your hands off on your jacket and perch yourself on the armrest. Lucifer’s eyes briefly flick upwards to acknowledge your presence before he returns to replying to what you assume to be a message from Diavolo.

“Be careful.”

“Of slipping off?”

He hums his confirmation.

You scoff and fold your arms. You have no idea where this sudden onslaught of warnings came from, but Lucifer’s overbearing-but-distant mother hen figure is getting on your nerves.

“If I die on impact from this devastating fall, you can have all my unused notebooks.”

“How generous of you.”

“You really think I’m that clumsy?”

Lucifer looks at you.

His bored expression does nothing to help your mounting irritation.

Feathers ruffled, you attempt to stand up and sulk your way to one of the couches, but you’re stopped by a familiar strong arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you seated.

“For reasons beyond my control,” Lucifer exhales, setting his D.D.D. down in his lap. “I find myself more and more worried about your wellbeing.”

You shuffle back into a comfortable position on the armrest. You wrap an arm around Lucifer’s shoulder, a wave of courage spurring you on to pull his head closer to your chest.

Initially, he stiffly resists, unused to being controlled even in such a harmless way. After a quick check of the still-closed door, he allows himself to lean against you. It’s awkward and unnatural, but you can’t fault the Avatar of Pride for being unaccustomed to something so far outside of his nature. Instead, you gently run your fingers through his soft, neatly parted hair.

“If you’re still thinking about what happened at the Farmers’ Market, you shouldn’t,” you begin, soothing strokes slowly warming the demon to being held rather than holding. “I’m sorry I worried you. I’m a lot more aware of my surroundings now.”

Lucifer grabs your wrist tightly, sharply pulling your hand away from his head as he straightens to look at you. You clamp your mouth shut, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Demons are demons, regardless of how aware you are of us,” he snaps. “Your promises are worthless to a creature who feels nothing for your emotions.”

Oh.

Your chest hurts.

“Let them be worthless, then,” you reply quietly, shaking off his grip and withdrawing your arm. “I don’t know if it was my strength or yours, but I protected myself. And I will if it ever happens again. I’m not as weak as you think I am.”

You remove Lucifer’s arm from around your waist and stand, trying to keep your frustration and hurt restricted to the lump in your throat so it doesn’t bubble up and blur your vision.

You kneel by the table and silently busy yourself with pouring drinks, too stubborn to acknowledge Lucifer as he gets up from his armchair to stand beside you. The corners of your mouth stay pinned downwards as you attempt to focus on the rich scent of the coffee and not the figure that towers above you.

“I don’t think of you as weak,” his says softly, as close to an apologetic tone you could ever hope to hear. “You have proven your strength time and time again. I suppose I simply find myself restless when you’re out of my sight.”

You set the coffee pot down on the table and you sigh again, heavy enough to drop your shoulders and hollow out your chest. You lean your elbows on the table and rest your head in your hands.

“Treat me better, Luci,” you mutter, using one elbow to slide the freshly-poured cup of black coffee towards him.

Lucifer tenses, obviously mortified by the nickname you’ve borrowed from Simeon. But he holds his tongue, seeing as you have now slumped over on the table so far that your forehead is pressed against the polished wood.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You had been excited for your weekly event, as usual, but now you’d prefer hiding alone in your bed to nurse your wounded heart. You know what Lucifer means, and you know that he only wants to keep you safe, but there’s only so many times you can think of how easily your life can be ended in the Devildom before it starts to weigh you down.

That lump in your throat has come back, and it irritates you.

You feel a hand on your head and the warmth of a large body beside you. You look up, quickly rearranging your features to present your most I’m Fine expression.

“Sorry, Beel,” you chuckle, rubbing your eyes and hoping you seem tired rather than upset. “I didn’t hear you come in. I should’ve opened the cookie tins already.”

Beel, kneeling in front of you, furrows his eyebrows. Moving from the top of your head to the back of your neck, he pulls you close to his chest with one hand and wraps the other around your waist. You yelp as he hoists you into his arms while he stands, and you have no choice but to wrap your legs around his hips to keep yourself upright.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Just a weird day,” you reply, not quite able to meet those serious violet eyes. “Don’t worry.”

You hear a small groan, just out of your line of sight.

“You always say that,” Belphie sighs, peeking over Beel’s shoulder to look at you. “It’s getting old.”

The youngest demon’s gaze strays past your guilty face to his oldest brother, still standing behind you. His eyes narrow.

You’d expected Lucifer to leave after you’d used his nickname, but you assume he’s staying to return Belphie’s glare with his  own disinterested gaze so as to not seem even slightly challenged by his weakest brother. You hear him take his seat in the armchair once again, and Belphie’s expression sours.

You cup Beel’s cheeks and press your forehead against his for a moment, then lift your head to address Belphie.

“I’m not going to stop saying it,” you laugh, genuinely but quietly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“That’s not fair…” Belphie whines, leaning against Beel’s shoulder.

A very familiar, ridiculously dramatic gasp comes from the doorway.

“It’s not fair! What have I missed?!” Asmo shrieks, hurrying over. “You all started without me!”

“I’m Beel’s new backpack but I’m on backwards,” you mumble, nuzzling into the crook of Beel’s neck.

The redhead looks ecstatic, smiling widely at Asmo, who makes a high-pitched noise that those who know him very well (you) will recognise as one of manic jealousy. As the room fills out with more of your expected guests, you’re surrounded by expected complaints.

“Ugh, Beel, what’re ya doin’ clingin’ on to ‘em like that? It’s gross!”

“I would’ve just stayed in my room if I knew it was just gonna be a Beel-only run.”

“Me too. We do have an exam coming up, you know.”

Your giggle makes Beel jump.

“You can put me down,” you say, pulling away to finally look at him directly. “I know I’m heavy, and this can’t be comfortable.”

He tilts his head, confused.

“It’s not that. It just tickled,” he replies, before looking a little hurt. “You think I’m gonna drop you?”

“No!” you reply immediately. “I trust you and I think you’re unbearably cute!”

Beel blushes, giving you that sweet goofy grin again, and you receive an encore of grumbles from the others. You squeeze his arm, unwrapping your legs from around his middle, and he sets you gently on the ground.

As the brothers settle in, you kneel by the end of the table and try to paint yourself in your usual chipper tones. You’d give anything for them to start speaking about something pointless so the strange aura surrounding you isn’t the focus of the night.

The eyes on you make you uncomfortable. Your smile is unnatural. You pour drinks as you always do, and you try not to succumb to the temptation of overthinking while you’re on autopilot.

But it really is difficult.

Do the residents of Purgatory Hall feel the same baseline dread you do? Does being an angel or a centuries-old Biblical legend exclude you from being the top of the demon chew toy wishlist? Do they ever wonder if one day, their most trusted friends could give into their natural instincts and rip them limb from limb?

You hear your name being called softly. It always sounds so sweet coming from their mouths. You want to believe it’s genuine affection and not just skill in seductive speechcraft.

You look up, irritated that you’d ignored your own warning of disregarding those thoughts tonight. You can’t supress your reflexive mutter of ‘ah, fuck’.

“As much as I love hearing that from you,” Asmo sighs as he reaches over the table to cup your cheek. “It’s not the scenario I’d imagined. You’re a bad actor, hon.”

“Not always,” you reply.

Asmo raises those pristine eyebrows, free hand flying to his chest in genuine shock at your half-hearted response. Rather than teasing him as expected, you rest your hand over his and lean into his palm.

“Sorry. Sometimes I just get caught up by the thought of all the worst possible endings,” you explain, slightly embarrassed by your vague admission.

Mammon, who had been watching you in his usual knees-spread, excessively-masculine seated pose beside Asmo, grunts in annoyance.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he barks, leaning forward to frown at you. “You writin’ poetry now?”

You snort, pulling away from Asmo and placing a cup of coffee into his hands instead.

“I just keep thinking,” you shrug, offering a strange apologetic smile. “One way or another, I’m not going to be here forever.”

You regret saying it immediately. The tense silence is insufferable. You try to avoid looking at your companions, ashamed that you’d unearthed the one subject you know you all mutually despise.

Your eyes drift to Lucifer briefly. From a distance, he seems neutral as ever. But on closer inspection, you notice his lips are pressed together a little tighter than usual.

Though your gaze only lingered on Lucifer for a second, Satan immediately connects the dots and joins Belphie in sending a furious scowl Lucifer’s way. Beside you, Beel stops chewing his tenth cookie and pales, searching your face for any reason why you would ruin his after-after-dinner snack with the horrid revelation. Levi and Asmo share a disturbingly mature look of concern that doesn’t match their features, and they look towards Lucifer as well, silently begging him for clarification.

“That’s so stupid,” Mammon grumbles. “As if yer goin’ anywhere.”

You blink, caught off guard by his bluntness.

The next thing to catch you off guard is a cookie being tossed at your head (and missing you by a fairly impressive amount). You look over your shoulder to see a scowling Levi, knuckles of one hand turned white by how tightly he grips his D.D.D.

“What’s with you normies, deciding everything on your own?!” he snaps.

After a stunned moment passes, you laugh. The sound is jarring in the uneasy stillness, but you can’t stop.

You laugh at how red Levi’s cheeks are. You laugh at how Mammon’s pout makes him look like a schoolboy. You laugh at the crumbs Beel has on his nose, somehow. You laugh at the thought of another family fight breaking out and having to pass the salt seven times during dinner.

You laugh at the idea of bringing up your mortality to a room full of angels-turned-demons.

You laugh so hard tears roll down your cheeks.

Mammon sits upright, eyes wide and hands outstretched to you as though he were trying to stop a baby from having a tantrum before their mother gets back. Levi clutches his D.D.D. to his chest with both hands, terrified by your reaction.

Skinny arms wrap around your shoulders from behind and cross in front of your chest, and a head of sleep-ruffled hair tickles the side of your face.

“You’re really, really weird,” Belphie mutters.

“Don’t worry about it,” you hiccup, grinning as you rub your eyes.

He sighs, but you can feel him smile against your neck. You place a hand on top of his head and crane your neck around to look at him as best you can.

Belphie sits, legs crossed, in the seat on the couch behind you, and is folded like a pretzel to reach down to embrace you. He must have some kind of ferret ancestry to be able to stay in such an uncomfortable position with no repercussions. But you hear his breathing slow, and his arms relax as he drifts off almost immediately.

He’s warm. He smells like lilac fabric softener.

He never fails to make you want to join him when he falls asleep.

How strange that one of the most haunting reminders that your life is meaningless to a demon hell-bent on revenge now reassures you that you are safe with little more than a gentle insult and a hug.

You feel a pressure on the top of your head. A pat. Two pats.

Two very awkward pats.

You look up to see Satan, sitting stiffly between Belphie and Levi, looking between you and his hand as if he’s just as confused as you are as to what he just did. He clears his throat and folds his hands neatly in his lap, straightening up again.

“You might have been told something stupid,” he begins, giving Lucifer a pointed glare. “But if you’re concerned about meeting another demon who poses a threat to you, might I remind you that you hold pacts with every one of us. Your own natural instinct to protect yourself is multiplied sevenfold.”

You smile, taking Satan’s hand from his lap and threading your fingers through his.

“I understand,” you reply. “But I also know that I shouldn’t let my guard down. I’m strong but I’m soft. I’m still human.”

You look at Lucifer again (Satan bristles, displeased by the fact that you’re holding his hand but looking at his terrible brother) and you notice him exhale, propping an elbow on the armrest and leaning his head against his hand. He finally relaxes – as much as he usually does in front of his brothers – and gives you a small nod.

He’s not off the hook for being a jerk about it, though. You add a mouthed ‘Luci’ to the end of your sentence and he narrows his eyes at you, silently promising that if you utter the name aloud once more, there will be severe repercussions.

“Besides,” you continue, squeezing Satan’s hand. “It’s not just that. Sometimes I remember that this exchange program will need to come to an end again, and I start missing you all even when you’re right in front of me.”

Your companions fall uncomfortably silent again. A pack of kicked puppies (and one proud hellhound who refuses to whine) look at you, uncertain how to continue the conversation and reluctant to accept the truth to your words. You feel a twinge of guilt.

But the thought has been keeping you awake at night.

Your heart would sink so low you’d feel like it would disappear altogether as you squeezed your pillow tight enough for the ache in your arms to confirm that you were still there in your bedroom and not just deeply absorbed in the memory of it.

“You grieve for things that haven’t happened yet,” Lucifer states, snapping you out of your recollection. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Those unfamiliar with the firstborn may mistake his tone for condescending pity, but you’ve spent so much time held close enough to his chest to know his heart does beat. Scathing remarks and cold looks may still bite at you, but will never leave a mark. He worries about you because you are family. He wants to see you happy. And it makes you want to cry.

“We can still visit you. You could visit us, too,” Beel pipes up, looking at you earnestly. “Right?”

You have to lean forward to see him past Belphie’s head, still resting on your shoulder. You give him a teary-eyed grin and nod.

“I’d like that. I like seeing you all in your human outfits,” you muse. “I hope you can all squeeze into a one bed one bath.”

Asmo grips onto the edge of the table hard enough to dent the wood with his beautifully painted fingernails. He looks at you, face pale and mouth open in horror, desperate for you to say you’re joking.

“It’s not too bad. But sometimes the shower broke and I had to take bucket baths,” you hum, absent-mindedly playing with Satan’s fingers as you pretend that you don’t love making the fifth-born squirm. “Moths only ate two of my sweaters. And it was fun trying to figure out what kind of animal kept finding a way in to leave hair on the rest of my clothes.”

Asmo looks like he’s about to faint.

Satan’s free hand closes around yours, stilling your fingers and pausing your teasing rampage. You’re taken aback by how beautifully delicate his sharp features turn when he looks at you with heartfelt concern.

“Don’t wor-“

You don’t get to finish your catchphrase. A hand covers your mouth, and you hear the hundredth sigh of the evening in your left ear. You roll your eyes, pulling Belphie’s hand off of your face.

“I’ll find somewhere better. Bigger,” you say. “So you know I’ll be fine.”

You assume your answer is sufficient when you feel Belphie’s quiet snores tickle your neck again.

“Low light pollution so we can look at the stars, too. But close enough to get into town, so we can look for good places to eat,” you continue, leaning your head against Belphie’s. “I’ll have bookcases, but it should be close to a library, too.”

The worry on Satan’s face dissolves, replaced with his trademark charming smile.

“Being close enough to town but far enough to appreciate the quiet. A lot of flowers. Clothes shopping. Good wifi.”

Levi, Asmo, and Mammon perk up, immediately invested in your future home now they have their share of it.

You and the brothers spend the rest of the night planning the perfect Human Realm house in meticulous detail. Though you can’t really figure out how to run a casino in the countryside and you’re not sure if you’d be able to maintain an in-house department store, you happily indulge each fantasy until you can’t remember why you were talking about it in the first place.

Midnight brings yawns and heavy eyelids. Though you’d easily spend an eternity in your blissful shared daydream, you dutifully get to your feet and collect empty glasses and plates to call it a night.

You stand by the door as the brothers leave, wishing each one a good night as though you were seeing them off on a long journey rather than just returning to separate rooms. Beel gives you a tight bear hug while he balances Belphie on his back. Asmo kisses your forehead. Satan kisses your hand. Levi solemnly makes you swear to work on the Mononoke Land special event together tomorrow night. Mammon clears his throat and avoids looking at you when he grunts out a gruff ‘night’.

Six brothers drag tired bodies to their bedrooms, footsteps fading into the dark hallway.

You turn back to the quiet room to face the final challenge.

Lucifer finally stands from his armchair, regarding you with a sombre expression. He approaches you silently, the heels of his pristine shoes clicking smartly on the stone tiles.

You hold the firstborn’s gaze until he’s close enough to loom over you once again. The look on his face makes you uncomfortable. His voice is quiet, but it still rumbles through every bone in your body.

“Let me treat you better.”

You laugh, exhausted and overwhelmed from the evening you’d put yourself through. You rest your head against his chest and bury your hands under his coat, locking your fingers together at the small of his back.

Your world shrinks as you close your eyes. All you know is the warmth of loving arms that hold you close and the subtle smell of white sage cologne. All you hear is a steady heartbeat.

You don’t worry tonight.

Chapter Text

You loved Wednesdays almost as much as you loved Thursdays.

Though classes tended to be duller than usual (but perfect for rearranging all the stationery in your pencil case based on size, colour, and easiest to throw at Mammon), you stayed in high spirits throughout the day.

Like most Wednesdays, you rushed home to dump your bag in your room and tear off your stuffy RAD uniform, replacing it with the cosy-but-presentable outfit you’d laid out on your bed and checking yourself briefly in the mirror to ensure your hair didn’t give away the fact that you’d managed to squeeze in a short nap during fifth period.

You hurried through the empty hallways of the House of Lamentation, relieved that most brothers were usually too busy to fuss over where you were going, and ventured out into the dark afternoon. After a short journey across the cold cobblestone path to the building opposite, you sent your usual kiss-blowing demoji to the House group chat (since Lucifer had only allowed you to make the thirty second trip alone on the strict condition that you kept him updated on your whereabouts) to confirm you’d arrived at your destination.

Though you’d acclimated to the subtle changes in the Devildom’s perpetual night, you never quite understood how the darkness never felt quite as dark when you passed through the gates of Purgatory Hall. The dormitory seemed like a humble, more approachable version of the House of Lamentation; a Queen Anne-style gathering of odd roofs and balconies, painted in what could possibly be a dark blue in the light of day, with many of its walls completely obscured by climbing vines and wildflowers.

Simeon greeted you at the front door with his beautifully tranquil smile, giving you a small wave before you were – as always – overcome by your excitement. Regardless of the fact that you’d see him at RAD every school day and almost every Wednesday, you could never keep yourself from throwing your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug as soon as you’d launched yourself up the wooden staircase two steps at a time.

“You know, in times like these, I’m thankful for my immortality,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing comforting circles into your back.

“I really don’t squeeze you that hard,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck.

His sweet, chirping laugh always made you feel blessed.

After finally peeling yourself off of him, Simeon held the front door open for you to welcome you into the warm embrace of Purgatory Hall. It always felt like returning to the Celestial Realm when you slipped your coat off and breathed in the ever-present scent of freshly cut jasmines. Coat hung neatly by the door, you turned to look down the silent hallway just beyond the foyer and wait.

A door down the hall closed slightly less respectfully than usual. The sound of thunderous little footsteps amplified, heading your way. You held your arms out, ready and braced for impact.

In seconds, Luke had launched himself into your embrace.

“Stayed on my feet this time!” you cheered, scooping the little angel up and whirling him around, much to his giggling delight.

You set Luke down with a grin, already out of breath from your greeting alone.

“You better not be tired already!” he squawked, grabbing your hand with a pout. “We’ve got a lot to do!”

“Right, right,” you nodded. “Yes, chef!”

Simeon chuckled softly, giving you both a gentle reminder to be careful as Luke stomped into the kitchen, dragging you along behind him to begin your work.

While he worked (standing on a step stool you were forbidden from mentioning or acknowledging), Luke endlessly chattered. Pink cheeked and bright-eyed, he talked enthusiastically about the origins of the recipe, how well he’d been doing in class (way better than any demon could hope to do), how excited he was to bring his knowledge back to Michael, and every last detail of his day up to the moment you'd arrived. You listened to the news he’d accumulated over the week until he tangled himself up in his eagerness, finding himself telling half a dozen stories at once.

Afternoon turned to evening unnoticed while you spent countless hours following Luke’s carefully researched instructions on how to make the perfect butter cookies.

Your latest batch had been taken out of the oven and left on the countertop to cool, and there was no evidence that you and Luke had spent the past three hours baking; every inch of the kitchen was spotless once again thanks to your combined hard work. You were proud. You were exhausted.

You dragged your heavy feet across the room, untying your apron with numb fingers, flopping yourself into the humble loveseat positioned under the bay window that looked out onto the street in front of the dormitory. With your knees tucked up to your chest, you leaned your elbow on the headrest and propped your head up in your hand in a feeble attempt to stay awake.

Luke, finally having run out of steam, followed you like a lost puppy. He climbed up beside you with a yawn, curling up in the cosy gap between your legs and the back of the sofa.

You didn’t realise you’d fallen asleep or for how long, but you woke to gentle laughter. You kept your eyes closed, hoping to delay the assault of the shockingly bright light of the kitchen just a little longer.

“I’m sorry, but that is a very bizarre expression, Lucifer,” Simeon hummed, quiet voice coming from directly in front of you.

You heard a sigh. A deep, exasperated sigh you’d become incredibly familiar with.

“They’re like a frustrating jigsaw puzzle,” Lucifer replied.

Ah. You realised why you couldn’t feel your arm; it had gone numb wrapped around Luke as he still slept, clinging to your sweater like a koala cub.

“Is that all?” Simeon asked with a sweetly mocking laugh, clearly unconvinced by Lucifer’s excuse. “You haven’t even made a move to wake them, you know.”

The silence that passed made your eyes itch, but you were desperate to find out where this conversation would lead. You focused on being as convincingly asleep as possible and assured yourself this wasn’t technically eavesdropping.

Lucifer sighed again. A long, drawn out breath you knew must be paired with a pinch to the bridge of his nose.

“Like an angel,” he muttered, voice carrying a gentle affection that bordered on incredible un-Lucifer vulnerability.

By some miracle, you managed to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest and falling straight onto the floor.

You felt gentle hands – hands with a softness that could only belong to Simeon – free your clothes from Luke’s fingers, and a much larger, gloved pair slip behind your back and under your legs to pick you up in the bridal carry you’d gotten shamefully accustomed to.

The former brothers, in a synchronicity that seemed to come naturally, untangled you and the still-sleeping younger angel.

Without saying a word, Lucifer turned on his heel and left the kitchen, through the hallway, carrying you out of Purgatory Hall and back towards the House of Lamentation.

You finally opened your eyes and looked up at the eldest brother, captivated by how the pale light streamed down upon his sharp features, dancing on the tip of his nose and the very ends of his long eyelashes. You're sure the moon must have been set in the sky solely to alert the world to his beauty.  

You reached your hand up to cup his cheek. Deep red eyes flicked down towards you.

“Finished pretending to be asleep?”

“Will you still carry me if I say yes?”

He chuckled, quiet and reserved, but warm. Turning his head ever so slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand.

The evening is cold, but it’s beautiful.

A gentle breeze carries through the bare limbs of the trees outside. Resident crows sing their respects to the empty night. The moon’s calm glow filters through the windows, streaming pale light into the House of Lamentation.

You have Mammon pinned on the floor of the common room.

“Mammon.”

The fury in your growl could rival Lucifer’s. You hold the second-born’s wrists flat on the floor above his head in your ruthless grip as you straddle his waist, glaring into bright, panicked blue eyes.

“I-I don’t have it! I didn’t do anything!”

“I hope Cerberus likes skinny rat meat.”

Mammon squawks.

“Is there a… problem?” 

You turn to the source of the hesitant question and find Satan standing at the door to the common room, lip curled in disgust at the sight of you on top of his older brother.

“Satan, sweetheart,” you beam, every word dangerously saccharine. “I’ll pour some tea for you in a moment, but first let me borrow your shoe. I want to see if it’ll fit in Mammon’s mouth.”

The blonde demon’s eyebrows raise as he approaches you, the corners of his mouth now quirking upwards in amusement.

“What did he do?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, I didn’t do a damn thing!”

“I just came back from my room and my drawers were open. Something is missing.”

“Mammon.”

You nod wisely at Satan's conclusion.

“If you don’t have it, Mammon,” you hiss, leaning closer to the red-faced demon, who shrinks away as if hoping to melt into the floorboards. “You can wait with me until we find it. Keep me company while I practice my spells on you. See if I can shrink your precious car down and make you eat it.”

Satan perches himself on the couch next to where you have Mammon pinned, elegantly crossing his legs and folding his arms. He watches you with a smirk that betrays the utter joy he feels at seeing you indulge in his sin, even if you provide little more than empty threats.

Mammon turns his head away from you sharply, scrunching his eyes closed. The movement causes his jacket to open further, baring one of the many pockets sewn into the inner material and exactly what you’d been looking for.

You release Mammon’s wrists to snatch a small, green velvet box from the exposed pocket, holding it close to your chest as you’re engulfed by equally intense feelings of triumph and rage.

“How… weird!” He stutters, looking anywhere but your face. “Musta fallen in there, huh!”

“I am going to twist your nipples clean off.”

Mammon’s hands fly to protect his chest and he yelps, earning a sudden predatory bark of laughter from Satan. Mammon’s wide eyes dart between your stone-cold glare and his younger brother perched on the couch behind you, the malicious grin on his face exposing needle-sharp teeth.

“W-w-well, ya got me! Now it’s your turn to hide it an’ I’ll seek!” Mammon laughs feebly, propping himself up on his elbows in an attempt to sit up.

“Wrong,” you reply simply as you tuck the box safely into your own pocket.

You grab Mammon’s jacket sleeves and pull them over his hands, the sudden force enough to sweep his elbows out from under him. His face scrunches up in anticipation of falling flat on his back again, but your rock-solid grip and surprising strength keeps him half-sitting.

His eyes open slowly when the fall doesn’t come. He watches you, completely baffled, while you tie his sleeves together.

“Wait!” he shrieks, wiggling his hands frantically. “This jacket is expensive, dammit! Ya wrinkled the leather!”

You hold the knotted fabric in both hands, jerking it forwards to bring Mammon closer to you. The blush on his face deepens as he looks into your eyes, searching desperately for a hint on if he should be more terrified or turned on.

The feral grin you give him answers his question, igniting a primal fear in the pit of his stomach. You hold him in place until he starts to tremble, forced into a sit-up position you won’t let him escape from.

“Work that core, noodle boy,” you sneer, earning another delighted cackle from Satan.

Though Satan doesn’t speak a word to you, you feel a bizarre sense of encouragement from behind you that engulfs your thoughts in bright green flames. It’s satisfying to watch Mammon squirm under you. You could do even better.

The wicked smile that splits your face in half disappears in an instant when you feel a large hand on your head. You are immediately returned from the seventh layer of Hell to the cosy common room you remember before you’d been overcome by rage.

Beel stands behind you, hand like a weighted blanket, diffusing reason back into your body through the top of your head.

“Did Mammon do something?”

“Did I do somethin’?!” Mammon squawks, outraged. “Beel, ya moron, who’s been tied up like a damn hellhog here?!”

Beel looks at his brother for a moment, studying his knotted sleeves and quaking upper body, then returns that deep, violet gaze to you.

“He upset you?” he asks.

“Ya gotta be kiddin’ me,” the second-born groans.

“He stole my gift,” you reply, holding Mammon’s knotted sleeves in one hold and fishing the box out of your pocket with the other.

You offer the box to Beel, who opens it curiously. His nose wrinkles when he sees the simple silver ring inside.

“Is this from Solomon again?”

You quickly shake your head.

“I bought it. It’s my gift to give.”

You let go of Mammon’s sleeves and get to your feet in one fluid motion, leaving him to fall backwards with a rug-muffled fwump. You step over the exhausted demon to join Beel, leaning on his shoulder to look at the ring.

“For Mammon,” you mumble into the thick fabric of Beel’s jacket.

Mammon, with his worn-out muscles and tormented bones, leaps to his feet as though struck by lightning.

“Me?!” he gasps, hands outstretched but frozen – torn between reaching for the box and keeping himself upright.

“You, you big honking clown,” you reply, taking the box from Beel’s hands to tuck into your pocket.

“You got pretty mad over losing something you were gonna give him anyway,” a monotone voice adds.

You lean past Beel to address Belphie, already curled up on the couch with his chin resting on the arm.

“I wanted to give it to him as a present! The meaning is gone!” you huff. “Besides, it was in my underwear drawer. And some of that’s missing too.”

Mammon makes a strangled yowling noise, face flushing a deep red that threatens to blow his whole head off. Belphie and Beel’s eyebrows raise in sync, though the latter looks appropriately embarrassed while the former’s expression conveys a mischievous curiosity. Satan’s masochistic euphoria instantly dissolves in a flash of possessive outrage.

“Someone… took…” Beel begins quietly, glancing at Mammon with furrowed brows.

“I-I-I didn’t take those!” Mammon all but shrieks, waving his hands wildly. “I took the ring, sure, but I wouldn’t- I would never take-“

“Panties,” Belphie states simply.

“Belphie, ya little creep!” Mammon wails, covering his face with his hands. “Don’t say somethin’ like that in your weird voice!”

“At least I didn’t go rifling through them,” Belphie snickers. “Who’s the creep again?”

Mammon slams an unsteady hand onto the coffee table, thankfully avoiding knocking over your fine china teapot as he clings on desperately to prevent himself from collapsing in a mortified heap.

Satan rises from his seat, planting both hands on the table to lean in towards Mammon. His lip curls to bare those pointed teeth, narrowed eyes ice cold.

“Even for a scumbag like you, this is low,” he growls.

You assume those green flames you were consumed by have returned to their rightful owner, ready to fuel a full-blown display of Satan’s wrath.

“I don’t think he took them, Satan!” you interrupt before Mammon can snarl back at his brother. “And I can just buy new ones, it really doesn’t matter that much!”

Satan looks at you, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Vertical-slit pupils dilate ever so slightly. He straightens his sweater as he exhales, still very obviously bothered by the situation but managing to refrain from snapping into his devil form.

While you focus on keeping Satan from bringing the house down over a little bit of missing fabric, you feel slender arms wrap around your waist and a honey-sweet voice chirp into the crook of your neck:

“You started having fun without us!”

“Asmo, have you ever been able to read a room in your life?” you ask.

“I’ve found it’s more fun to rewrite the reading when I come in!”

You sigh and swat Asmo’s arm, though he simply rests his chin on your shoulder and ignores your attempts to rid yourself of him. Though you’re bothered by the large paper shopping bag hanging off of Asmo’s wrist constantly bumping against your hip, you quickly resign yourself to your new Asmo-coat lifestyle, weakly waving a greeting to a very confused Levi as he slinks in to take a seat beside Belphie.

“Something fun has happened,” Asmo hums, giving you a squeeze while he studies the flustered expressions on his brothers’ faces. “Should I take a guess?”

“You should not,” you reply flatly.

“Someone stole their panties,” Belphie pipes up.

Belphie looks impishly delighted to receive a round of red-faced requests to shut up.

“Oh, those old granny panties? I threw them away,” Asmo says, indifferent to the way you stiffen in his arms. “You shouldn’t have to wear something so ugly when I got you much better ones!”

He digs a hand into his bag to fish something out and unfurls it in front of you. When you look down, his hands are at your hips, holding a lace-trimmed, baby pink pair of crotchless panties against you as though you were looking in a changing room mirror.

No one speaks.

Four pairs of eyes burn holes into your frozen form. Levi, you assume from his completely limp body, is now deceased.

Each second stretches into endless, agonising oblivion. History books will forever tell the tale of That Time You’re Pretty Sure Your Soul Went To Hell. When you finally regain control of your fried brain and force your horrified gaze upwards, you immediately take a nuclear blast’s worth of psychic damage.

At the door to the common room stands Lucifer, eyebrows raised and mouth open, interrupted mid-sentence. Though he raises his arm in an attempt to block the doorway, he is a second too late. The soft bump of a broad chest against Lucifer’s outstretched hand is not enough to stop Lord Diavolo from taking in every detail of the disastrous tableau before him.

You’d done such an incredible job convincing the brothers to allow Diavolo to attend just one of your Thursday evening events. You just wish you’d remembered it was this Thursday evening event.

Before anyone can say a word, your voice – strained and much louder than you’d intended – breaks the silence.

“Well, I’ll be heading to bed now, thanks for coming good night no need to mention this ever at all thank you!”

Ripping yourself from Asmo’s arms, you hurry over to one of the large windows and wrench it open with all your frantic might. The brothers and the future Demon King watch you, dumbstruck, as you squeeze yourself through the gap (you are incredibly grateful that the common room is on the ground floor) and out into the freezing, pitch-black night.

You know you will soon be facing Lucifer’s wrath for leaving the house alone without permission, but, as you stumble over the uneven pathway in your fluffy house slippers, you decide that almost any outcome is preferable to staying in that room to live out the rest of that humiliating scenario.

Your flight response brings you to the side of Purgatory Hall that faces the House of Lamentation and, thankfully, directly in front of Solomon’s open bedroom window. You rap your knuckles against the glass once as a courtesy I’m-not-here-to-rob-you notice and haul yourself inside with all the grace and decorum of a half-tranquilized horse.

Solomon, sat at his impressive desk, barely reacts to the heavy thump of your body landing on the hardwood floor.

“Evening going well?” he asks, turning in his chair to give you one of his enigmatic smiles.

“Sure is! Night!” you reply, kicking off your slippers and sliding into his bed to pull the plush duvet over your head.

Ignoring the never-ending buzzes of notification tones making your D.D.D. dance in your hands, you send Simeon a sweet little message letting him know you’re sleeping over. Simeon – ever-understanding, supportive and kind Simeon, who will never know the reason you’re here  – will surely let Lucifer know you're safe and you’ll be home tomorrow morning.

The darkness is comforting. The warmth, the sound of rustling pages from Solomon’s desk, and the subtle scent of cinnamon embedded in the bedsheets help you seal the memory of tonight’s event in the deepest dungeons at the back of your mind. You close your eyes, heart finally settling to a pace at which a normal human could survive.

“I personally think baby pink suits you, you know.”

You emerge from your cocoon to launch a pillow at Solomon’s head so hard you’re sure it’ll blow him to pieces, then – remorselessly taking up every inch of his bed – turn over to spend your night in peaceful, comfortable, wilfully ignorant sleep.

Chapter Text

Maybe it was all a dream.

You hadn’t really made your sadism debut practicing torture methods on Mammon. Asmo hadn’t horrendously embarrassed you in front of the great and powerful Avatars of Sin and the future King of the Devildom. You absolutely had not decided that the most viable means of egress was dragging yourself through the common room window to disappear into the darkness of the night like some kind of feral animal.

None of it had happened. You’re sure.

The stress of approaching exams combined with the spicy sparkroot candy Beel convinced you to try had riled up your poor, defenceless brain as you slept, leaving you with this ridiculous nightmare. You will wake up in your cosy bed and laugh about how strange your dreams can be, and that’ll be that.

When you open your bleary eyes and see Solomon’s floor-to-ceiling bookcases along the wall rather than the climbing vines of your own bedroom, it hits you that that might not actually be that.

Reality, unfortunately, returns to you.

There’s no mistaking the rich-old-man’s-personal-library feel of Solomon’s bedroom. Even if you could look past the luxurious, deep-red seating and ornate wooden furniture, there could be no other place in the entire underworld with the same obscene amount of lamps and clocks dotted all over the walls and suspended from the ceiling.

You groan, long and loud, into your pillow.

“Good morning to you too.”

You groan again at Solomon’s distressingly calm voice, earning a chuckle from the warm body beside you.

“It’s a day off today,” Solomon hums, draping an arm around your waist as he yawns. “No rush.”

“Speak for yourself,” you reply, briefly allowing yourself to think about the several messages you no doubt face once you gather the courage to actually look at your D.D.D.

Now fully awake, you realise (after noticing you can feel far more of Solomon’s cotton pyjamas against your legs than you should be able to) that you must have wiggled your way out of your pants during the night, leaving you under the thick quilt in just your shirt. Not quite ready to bare all to your fellow exchange student, you reach your arm over the side of the bed and pat blindly on the floor until you find your discarded clothes.

You pull them on, bravely keeping your grunts of effort to a minimum, while Solomon watches you fumble under the covers with infuriating amusement.

“Fairly modest for the Devildom, don’t you think?”

“I’ll stuff your pillow in your mouth.”

“Your concept of breakfast is so different to mine.”

You roll your eyes and slide out of the bed (tossing Solomon’s arm off of you as you do so) and do your best to smooth the wrinkles out of the dishevelled outfit you’d been wearing yesterday in hopes of looking at least half-presentable.

After spending so much time at Purgatory Hall, you can almost feel comfortable following Simeon’s advice to make yourself at home. You don’t bother waiting for the sorcerer, instead helping yourself to a pair of his slippers so you can pad your way down through the quiet hallway to the kitchen. 

In the peaceful security of the rustic kitchen, you commence your plan of making breakfast to repay Solomon’s kindness in letting you stay the night at such short notice. Though you admittedly get a little carried away making pancakes and French toast and severely deplete the supply of eggs (you scribble a note on your arm to remind you to buy more as soon as possible), you find yourself happily distracted by the task at hand.

It’s so easy to lose track of time in Purgatory Hall.

The dormitory is always warm, inviting, and respectfully quiet. No slamming doors, no raised voices (apart from when Luke gets particularly excited and can’t help himself, which is allowed), no distant mystery crashes followed by the inevitable ‘you tell Lucifer!’ screaming argument. It’s even too early for Solomon to be experimenting with explosive materials right now.

Heavenly.

As you carefully slide the last pancake onto the already structurally questionable tower you’ve been building, a gentle chuckle snaps you out of your focus.

Simeon stands in the kitchen doorway, impeccably dressed in a simple black turtleneck, grey slim-fit pants, and a white shawl draped over his elegant shoulders. You’re more aware of the tears in your shirt where you caught yourself on the window frame last night.

“Good morning, my dear,” Simeon says. “What a wonderful treat to wake up to.”

His footfalls as he enters the kitchen are so gentle they’re almost silent. With him, he brings a wave of serenity that washes warm over your stiff shoulders.

“Morning, Simeon,” you chirp. “I thought it’d be a good way to thank you all for letting me stay over so much.”

Simeon opens his mouth – no doubt to gently chide you for thinking you need to repay your friends for being friends – but is cut off by a loud squawk from behind him.

The source of the noise is Luke, pink-cheeked and sleep-ruffled, still in adorable baby blue pyjamas with his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“You’re here!” he cries, sounding equally excited and betrayed.

“Good morning!” you reply, offering a smile despite your confusion.

Simeon chuckles, placing a hand on your arm.

“Luke is embarrassed that you’re seeing him in his sleepwear.”

The little angel’s face contorts in horror at his guardian’s bluntness. You are not entitled to that information.

“I’ve seen it before, though,” you reason. “And, technically, I’m still in mine.”

Luke’s jaw drops, mortified by the idea of you sleeping in your proper clothes. You snort and give him a shrug, before picking up the plate of pancakes and setting it on the dining table to join the mountain of sugar-dusted French toast slices. Luke hesitates by the door, torn between making himself look presentable like his elder or stuffing his chubby cheeks with the feast laid before him.

Before Luke can spend another moment agonising, Solomon greets him with a hand on his shoulder – neatly dressed in his casual wear, sans mystical cape – and offers his opinion with a polite smile:

“You can go get changed if you want to. If you like eating cold food alone.”

You may not always agree with Solomon’s methods, but you have to admit they’re effective.

Luke all but throws himself into a chair, face scrunched up in a pout. Solomon, pleased with his manipulative skill, takes the seat beside Luke and folds his hands in his lap as he waits for you and Simeon to join.

You wave your hand to tell them to start without you so you can grab the whistling teapot from the stove. Before you can, however, you feel a hand on the small of your back.

“Allow me, dove,” says Simeon, gently encouraging you to sit.

“Simeon…” you frown.

He responds with a smile. Slender fingers skim across your back to your shoulder as his other hand cups your cheek.

“I’d like to help with preparing the meal itself next time,” he hums. “It feels like family, doesn’t it?”

He kisses your forehead and you can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across your face. You have no choice but to stand down, plopping into your seat as Simeon pours tea for each of you.

It is like family.

You’re proud of how many new members you’ve found.

Breakfast is much more peaceful than you’re used to, even with Solomon constantly pretending you have food stuck to your face and giving you the same big, irritating smile every time you fall for his trick. Simeon chuckles, reassuring you with a pat on the hand each time a scowl crosses your (definitely clean, thank you) face.

Conversation is comfortable. Luke regales you with the story of his latest baking lesson with Barbatos, promising you he’ll bring you a dozen ghoulberry tartlets as soon as he perfects his technique. Solomon recounts the origin of today’s holiday, speaking with such meticulous detail you’re pretty sure he was there the day history was made. Simeon prefers to stay mostly quiet, giving his full attention to whoever speaks and asking leading questions, ensuring no one feels left out or unheard.

As soon as Luke finishes his last mouthful of French toast, he looks at you starry-eyed and excited.

“We don’t have any classes today. You should stay longer!”

“I’d love to!” you grin. “I just need to grab some clothes from the House and I’ll come right back, okay?”

Luke’s pout tells you it is definitely not okay.

“I won’t take long!” you protest.

“You’ll start talking to those demons and you won’t come back for ages,” he huffs.

You snort. That might be true.

“Why don’t you borrow our clothes?” Solomon suggests.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you or Simeon wear any shirts that aren’t so form-fitting they’re basically vacuum-sealed onto you. Best stick with something that’d fit me.”

“Then we’ll put you in something more traditional,” he replies with a smile you absolutely do not trust.

Luke gasps and looks to Simeon. You do the same, baffled.

“What a wonderful idea!” Simeon nods, clasping his hands together.

The eagerness rolling off of Luke in waves convinces you to go along with it. The deviance you can always sense in Solomon keeps you on your toes.

“Luke and I will clean up. It’ll pass the time while we wait, right?” Solomon asks the little angel.

Luke nods fervently, both hands balled into fists and held against his chest. He looks about ready to burst.

Simeon smiles and thanks the two, and offers his hand to you. You take it, still very confused, and he leads you out of his kitchen and into his bedroom.

You almost don’t recognise the room in the light. The majority of your time spent in Simeon’s bedroom has been in the dead of night after you’d wake from a nightmare that refused to release you and desperately needed someone you could cling to. Simeon would help you sneak out of the House of Lamentation to Purgatory Hall, leading you past dim hallway lights to the tranquil darkness of his bedroom. You didn’t take note of the furnishings those times. All that mattered was the feeling of his arms and beautiful downy wings wrapped around you, making you finally feel safe enough to drift off again.

Simeon stands you in the middle of the room where you wait patiently while he digs through his dresser to retrieve what looks like a set of three neatly folded bedclothes. He tucks the largest piece of fabric under his arm and hands the other two to you.

“Do you mind changing into these underclothes?” he asks. “I’ll put up a screen for you, of course.”

“I don’t understand, but I don’t mind,” you reply.

Simeon chuckles as he unfurls the extremely long fabric under his arm, holding one corner up just above your head. As he moves to your other side, the brilliant white cloth stays in place, suspended in the air to form a makeshift changing room around you. You stare at the material, half bewildered by Simeon’s magic, half entranced by the beautifully intricate pattern of gold embroidered constellations and stars along the bottom of the fabric.

After a good moment appreciating the work of art before you, you remember you’d agreed to change. You pull off your clothes and fold them, setting them on the floor beside you (though you know you’ll be throwing them away after the troubles they’ve seen), and figure out that the two loops of fabric Simeon described as ‘underclothes’ are most likely to be worn as a skirt and bandeau top.

You duck your head under the fabric curtain and clear your throat.

“These definitely aren’t the whole outfit, right?” you ask hesitantly.

Simeon looks over to you from where he’d been rummaging in his drawer and gives you a reassuring smile.

“They definitely aren’t. Are you ready?”

You nod. The curtain around you drops like flowing water, returning to Simeon’s outstretched hand to fold itself back up perfectly.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable at any point, my dear,” Simeon says, gently raising your arms.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t already uncomfortable in the underclothes, not too used to being in so little outside of your bedroom, but your wholehearted trust in Simeon makes you eager to see it through.

Simeon holds the length of cloth under his arm, unravelling it like a length of rope as he begins by wrapping it around your waist. His hands are soft but firm, tucking precise pleats into the waistband of your skirt before crossing the fabric in an X shape between your shoulder blades to tie across your chest.

You watch Simeon work in near silence, in awe of his practiced movements. The quiet, unfortunately, allows you time to think.

Your mind wanders to the inevitable: returning to the House of Lamentation after your spectacular exit last night.

How should you act when you see them again? Could you pretend it never happened?

You might find comrades in Satan and Beel if you approach from that angle, knowing the former is inclined to being rather business-like and the latter would never push you to talk about something you’re uncomfortable with. But you’re sure you’d inevitably end up spilling your guts to Beel after he sends you one of his classic Worried Glances.

Belphie might play along for a while, but you can already see the infuriating little grin plastered on his face that tells you he remembers every single detail, even if you never mention it again.

You doubt you could ever look Levi in the eyes again. Maybe he won’t be too much of a problem, actually, since you assume he’ll also be avoiding you out of shared embarrassment for around a century or so. You will miss him, though.

Mammon is a lost cause. You can hear his obnoxious voice now, insisting nothing happened or that it wasn’t even a big deal even as his voice breaks and you know the image is forever engraved in his mind. Maybe you can ask Solomon for a memory-erasing spell once Simeon’s done.

And you feel cold when you think of Lucifer.

You embarrassed him in front of the prince he pledged his servitude to. Maybe he’ll just turn you to dust as soon as you step through the door. Maybe you’ll be the new Mammon to him, stepping in as his favourite victim. Maybe he’s really disappointed in you.

You jump when you feel a deliberate tap on your waist, interrupting your wallowing. You look up from the hole your eyes were burning in the Persian rug to Simeon standing in front of you, removing the spare golden pins he hadn’t used to secure your clothing from his mouth where he’d been holding them.

“I know you’re worried, dove,” he says, tilting your chin up gently. “But there really is no need to be.”

You furrow your brows as you look into Simeon’s deep blue eyes, desperately hoping he’s just giving you general advice and doesn’t know what actually happened. You’re not sure how to answer without giving yourself away, so you offer an unconvincing ‘everything’s fine!’ smile.

“You know, I keep thinking to myself how lucky we are to share these moments with you,” Simeon muses, running his thumb across your cheek. “How wonderful it is to see you be so comfortably and remarkably you, especially from a place you thought you had no hope. How clear it is that you are loved to have a home that spans all three realms.”

He knows, alright. But he’s doing an excellent job distracting you by reminding you how genuinely happy you are here. You slump, resting your forehead against his chest.

It is ever so slightly possible that you’re overreacting.

“Stay here as long as you like,” Simeon adds, wrapping his arms around you. “But know that you could be away for a week or ten minutes and those brothers would be just as excited to see you home.”

“I guess,” you mumble.

Simeon chuckles, putting his hands on your shoulders to help you stand up straight again. You give him a childish pout that you can’t maintain for long when he cups both your cheeks and kisses your nose.

He leads you to the full-length mirror and stands beside you, arms folded to wait for your reaction. When you look at yourself, you’re truly stunned.

The gorgeous cloth is so soft against your skin, woven into a wrap skirt that is open at the front and cascades in gentle waves down to your ankles at the sides and back. It crosses behind you and under your arms to create a layered top that leaves your midriff bare, the long ends of the fabric tucked over the crooks of your elbows like a shawl that flows almost weightlessly by your sides, secured with a delicate gold chain that meets at your chest and hangs down to your navel. Similar chains decorate one wrist and the opposite ankle, as well as daintily adorning your neck like a choker.

You would usually feel self-conscious in such a bizarrely revealing outfit, but for some reason you can’t quite comprehend, all you feel is warm.

You look at your reflection for a long time. When you meet Simeon’s eyes in the mirror, you give him a bright smile that he returns with pride.

He holds his hand out to you once again and you take it without hesitation. The archangel leads you back into the kitchen where Solomon and Luke have just finished putting away the last plate.

Solomon notices you first, looking you up and down for a moment before giving you a genuine smile you rarely see from him.

“It may be your ancestry, but you really do suit being an angel,” he remarks.

Luke snaps his head towards you when he hears Solomon speak, and for a moment you’re genuinely worried that the little creature is going to have a heart attack. He claps his hands together as though in prayer, the tips of his fingers pressed to his mouth.

“Can you come live in the Celestial Realm with us?” he asks very quietly and very sincerely.

You laugh, scooping Luke up in your arms and squeezing him tight, causing him to erupt in a fit of half-muffled giggles. When you set him down again without a reply, you can see how desperately he tries to keep the pout on his face despite his hiccups from laughing so hard.

You and your companions sit in the living room chatting, barely noticing the hours that pass, lounging comfortably on the soft white couch with a few glasses of Simeon’s fancy mocktails. Luke, cuddled up as close as possible to you, ends up drifting off with his head in your lap, soothed by the white noise of your conversation with Simeon and Solomon.

You talk about your classmates, about the brothers, about which animal you’d keep as a pet if you could have anything from any realm. Simeon asks your advice about his new D.D.D., already having accidentally blocked half his contact list. Solomon requests your help with his next experiment, though he’s vague about whether you’d be his assistant or his guinea pig. Nothing mentioned is that important.

It doesn’t have to be. You feel precious just being there.

When Luke’s D.D.D. wakes him up with a message from Barbatos inviting him to an impromptu baking session, you reluctantly take it as a sign to head back. You stand, absent-mindedly running your hand through Luke’s tousled hair to smooth it down after his nap.

“Is it okay if I wash these at home to bring back?” you ask Simeon, holding up one of the ends of the fabric draped over your arm.

Simeon briefly stops fluffing the flattened couch cushions to send a smile your way.

“Will you accept them as a gift from us? They suit you so perfectly it’d be a shame to take them back.”

You immediately shake your head, holding your hands out defensively.

“I appreciate it, but they’re so…” you begin, waving your hands to emphasise how very so they are. “I really couldn’t!”

Luke frowns at your response. Simeon chuckles, standing up straight and tilting his head.

“Perhaps we could consider it a trade. In exchange, will you agree to visit us in the Celestial Realm?”

You sigh. There is no reasoning with Simeon, especially if he proposes offering you another good thing to balance out the good thing he’s already giving you. You decide not to fight it. You can be good to yourself too.

“Tough but fair. I accept,” you nod, hanging your head in mock defeat.

Simeon chuckles, pleased with your reply, which also immediately opens the floodgates to Luke’s eager rambling about all the things he has planned for when you return to the Celestial Realm.

You say your goodbyes in the entryway of Purgatory Hall. Luke hugs you tight, mumbling his lament at having to cut your time together short, but clearly excited to see Barbatos too. Simeon wraps you up in an embrace that keeps you warm long after he releases you to kiss your forehead, then reminds Solomon to ensure your safe return home. Though Luke will never admit it, you can see visible relief when he realises Simeon will be escorting him to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

Before you can follow the two angels outside, Solomon sets a long, heavy coat over your shoulders. You look at him, puzzled.

“It’s cold out there,” he explains. “Besides, it would be no fun if you froze solid before I could see how the Brothers and the Thong chapter of your life concludes.”

“I’ll walk alone and I’ll put your coat in the dumpster. Thanks.”

Solomon laughs, opening the door for you.

You walk out into the biting chill of the late afternoon, annoyed that the sorcerer is completely right and you definitely would have been incredibly cold without his coat, even in the very short time it takes to reach the House.

Solomon’s huge coat feels like being wrapped up in a king-size duvet. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, noticing how thin his clothes seem. Without a word, you take his hand, lacing your fingers through his and pulling your sleeve over both your hands.

The sorcerer chuckles as you walk hand-in-hand across the cobblestone path to the House of Lamentation.

Chapter Text

Facing the cold, foreboding double doors of the House of Lamentation, your grip on Solomon’s hand gets tighter.

“How about an invisibility spell?” you ask.

“That would mean my accompanying you was for nothing,” he responds with a polite smile.

You give his fingers a warning squeeze, thoroughly unimpressed.

Not to worry. You’ll get in quietly, hurry to your room, get changed, and return to your normal routine.

You reach for the handle, bolstered by your solid strategy. Just before your fingers can close around the handle, the door opens with a loud, low creak, and a pair of curious emerald eyes peer at you from behind the aged wood.

“I thought I heard you,” Satan states flatly.

He casts a frosty glance to your linked hands, then down to your ankles, where the edges of the brilliant white fabric of your skirt poke out of the bottom of your long coat. The sorcerer chuckles light-heartedly at Satan’s narrowed eyes, letting go of your hand to give you a warm farewell hug (much to Satan’s further displeasure) and murmur softly in your ear:

“If you ever need me, my window’s always open.”

You press your lips together tightly to keep from snorting into Solomon’s neck.

“Shut up. Go home.”

With a smile and a friendly wave to you and the silent demon in the doorway, Solomon sets off through the massive iron gates and into the everlasting darkness of the Devildom, back to Purgatory Hall. You squeeze your way past Satan with a hurried greeting, unrealistically hoping you can still enact your plan.

“You should hang your coat up before you go in, hm?”

You freeze, back to the fourth-born.

You knew he’d be suspicious. Damn his detective novels.

After a moment too long to be considered natural, you reply with a strained ‘yup’ and pull the heavy fabric over your sleeves. You wriggle your way out of the deep blue coat and hang it up on the ornate coat rack beside the door.

You fold your arms over your chest awkwardly, eyes glued to a spot by Satan’s feet. You wait for a response.

There is silence.

When you finally raise your head, you see him staring at you, mouth slightly open, taking in every single gold-accented detail of your outfit. The wholesome warmth you’d been feeling surges uncomfortably until it rises to a burning hot wash of shame.

You cover your face with your hands.

“I’m sorry. This is weird,” you groan.

Another moment of silence confirms it for you.

You turn sharply on your heel, determined to escape to your room as soon as possible to change and pretend this never happened. Before you can disappear, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Hold on,” Satan says, turning you back around to face him. “I don’t think it’s weird. I just needed to gather my thoughts.”

You look up at the demon, lips pursed.

“Well… It is a little weird.”

“Okay. Excellent. Goodbye forever.”

Satan laughs, taking one of your hands in his. With the other, he tilts your chin up.

“I was never an angel,” he begins, half-shrugging. “I’ve never had any particular affinity for them, but my thoughts are quite… complicated.”

You grimace. You feel more than embarrassed to be in full angel cosplay right now.

“But you look so beautiful,” he continues softly. “So radiant. I feel like I could stare at you forever. If this is how humans see angels, the stories they’ve been writing for centuries finally make sense to me.”

Satan runs his thumb over your lower lip, the fingers of his free hand spreading against the bare skin of your lower back to pull you closer. He closes the gap between you, pressing soft lips to yours.

The rest of the world fades around you. Your eyes close.

Nothing else matters but the reassurance you feel in Satan’s calmly dominant embrace. Your hands come to rest against the surprisingly firm chest hidden under his pale green sweater, your fingers finding purchase in the material to pull him as close as possible.

A loud gasp reverberates through the empty hallway and shocks you out of your peaceful little void. You retract your hands immediately to assume your reflexive, caught-in-the-act, splayed-finger pose, while Satan casts his irritated glare over your shoulder to the source of the interruption.

You follow Satan’s gaze to see Levi standing halfway down one of the staircases. When his eyes meet yours, his indignation quickly turns to shock, his jaw dropping and a fierce blush flooding his face. As he rushes down the stairs to you, he slaps one of his hands over his mouth and nose.

“It’s you?!” he shrieks, voice muffled by trembling fingers.

“It’s me,” you confirm hesitantly, lowering your hands. “Are you okay?”

Levi removes his hand from his face to inspect his palm, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sure I felt my nose bleeding…” he mutters.

Satan scoffs, clearly annoyed by the disruption of your rare time alone. When Levi finally looks up from his bizarre contemplation, his eyes narrow at the sight of Satan’s arm still wrapped around your waist.

“What are you doing!? This is offensive PDA!” he squawks.

“Would you like me to define ‘public’ for you, Levi?” Satan drawls. “A privately owned private house on private land seems the complete opposite of PDA, but if you’re that upset about it, I’d be happy to take them to my room and out of your sight.”

You pat Satan’s chest, chuckling at Levi’s absolutely scandalised expression.

“I’m going to go change. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

Satan hesitates, loosening his grip on you until his fingertips barely brush against your skin. A tight-lipped grimace briefly flashes across his face, replaced quickly by his signature polite smile. He gives you a small nod.

“Then let me escort you to your room,” Satan offers. “My brothers have a tendency to spoil moments, so I wouldn’t count on getting there without further disturbance. Maybe you should wear my jacket?”

Levi huffs when you give Satan a bright smile, easily swayed by his charm and the idea of being wrapped in his comfy blazer. You give the sulking third-born an apologetic look before nodding.

Before Satan can even slip his arm out of his jacket sleeve, the heavy front door slams open unceremoniously. You hear the click of expensive leather boots on the stone tile and a very loud call of your name.

“Yo, human, where the hell a-“

Mammon’s question is answered before he can even finish it.

There are no prizes for guessing where the demon has been: his arms are laden with high-end brand shopping bags, forcing him to carefully maneuver his way through the entryway to avoid damaging his precious cargo on the doorframe.

When he sees you, every single bag tumbles gracelessly to the floor.

The staircases are too far away for you to make a swift getaway. So much for not causing a fuss.

“Oh… fuck,” Mammon breathes, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head so he can see you clearly.

Satan’s nose wrinkles in disdain at his older brother’s vulgarity.

The second-born, paying no mind to the heap of merchandise crumpled at his feet, approaches you as though in a trance. His mouth hangs slightly open, bright blue eyes scanning every inch of you. He reaches his hand out, but wavers and retracts it.

“Feels kinda like I shouldn’t touch ya…” Mammon mutters, barely audible to anyone but you and himself. “Like, uh… A sin, right?”

You grab his hesitant hand to pull him into a tight hug.  

“I thought you were good with sins, demon lord,” you snort, enveloped in the rich grapefruit and lavender notes of his expensive cologne. “It’s just an outfit.”

You feel Mammon relax. He wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. The moment doesn’t last long when he notices his two younger brothers behind you, eyeing him with clear contempt. He recoils like a whip, pulling away from you and holding his hands up.

“Well, I mean- Yeah! It’s just a dumb outfit,” he grunts, eyes skimming from you to Satan to Levi. “Those Purgatory Hall nerds don’t know fashion, huh!”

“You don’t like it?” you ask, frowning.

“I-I-… I didn’t say that! Y’look… y’know…” he replies, nervously running his hand through his hair. “Ya make it look… good.”

You snicker, flicking Mammon’s chest. You don’t feel the need to tease him any further; his legs must be tired from all that backpedalling, anyway.

“I’ll be back after I change. It’s my turn to make dinner, anyway,” you say. “Gives Mammon some time to check the damage to the stuff he dropped.”

The Avatar of Greed gasps, suddenly remembering his beloved material objects. He rushes to the doorway, scooping the mess of rumpled shopping bags into his loving arms. You giggle, relieved that you can finally get back to your room and get this over with.

“Dammit, Beel, ya almost crushed my stuff!”

Again. You didn’t move fast enough.

Clad in his dirt-stained Fangol uniform (and challenging  you to ignore how his shirt is just tight enough to accentuate his sculpted chest and how his shorts are the perfect length to highlight his thick, toned thighs), Beel’s imposing form blocks the pale moonlight streaming in through the still-open doorway. Belphie trails behind him, barely managing to hold on to the little team flag in his hand, just about able to drag his exhausted feet over the threshold of the House.

Beel stops in his tracks when he notices you. You hear a soft bonk and a muffled ‘oof’ from the shorter twin as he collides with the solid brick wall of Beel’s back.

You study Beel’s intensely furrowed-brow stare, desperate for a glimpse into the inner workings of his mind. You have lost hope that you will get back to your room. You decide to lean into it.

“Welcome home!” you chirp, holding your hands out to the latest arrivals.

The demon wordlessly reaches his massive hand out to take yours. His face softens and that sweet, gentle smile you adore spreads across his face.

“You’re really pretty.”

Beel rarely finds reason to lie, and you can’t recall a time he has found reason to do so to you. He states his opinion as though it is fact. His tone is so genuine and so sincere.

It’s simple. There’s no room for doubt. You are really pretty.

You lay your other hand over his to bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to offer your thanks. Though you hear Levi’s disgruntled grumbles, Beel’s deep chuckle makes you grin.

Belphie, having regained his balance after his run-in with the back of his twin brother, stays silent. His half-lidded eyes bore holes into your body, his face the perfect mask of neutrality that makes you itch.

Your mind returns to its previously panicked state.

Though your relationship with Belphie has strengthened considerably, and though you know it hurts him when he notices, you can’t help but remain a little cautious around the youngest demon brother.

Thoughts of Lilith run through your head. Beloved memories you feel you have no place in. You fill in the blanks of Belphie’s emotions with your ever-ready worst case scenarios, your fingers releasing Beel’s warm hand and your arms dropping limply to your sides as you feel yourself shrink in the deafening silence.

Satan steps forward, by your side once again, and he watches Belphie warily. You feel the beginnings of his Sin radiate off of his body when the youngest approaches you, eyes narrowing to catlike slits and hackles rising.

Belphie kisses you. Warm and lazy, unhurried and unapologetic, ignoring the warning signs of his volatile older brother.

Your mind is no longer buzzing fitfully. Because it is empty.

“You’d make a really bad angel,” Belphie mumbles, yawning.

The others, having been just as shocked as you were, finally return to their right minds.

Mammon drops his recently-gathered shopping bags once again with an outraged squawk. Levi screeches his protest with another round of complaints about how unfair it is that Belphie (normie!) can just go and kiss you like it’s no big deal. Satan visibly relaxes now that Belphie no longer poses a physical threat to you, though he still scowls and folds his arms.

“What the hell’re ya doin’, ya creep!” Mammon barks, stepping up to challenge Belphie. “Standin’ here in front of all of us thinkin’ you can just do-… do whatever ya like, it’s a damn embarrassment!”

Mammon’s feeble attempt at disguising his jealousy with responsible brotherly scolding goes unheard as Belphie slumps further and further until his forehead rests against Mammon’s brand name t-shirt.

“You’re a-“ Mammon starts, before looking down at the demon using his chest as a pillow. “Damnit, ya lazy ass, get offa me!”

There’s no conviction in Mammon’s now much quieter voice and he stands still, frowning at Belphie, who looks completely at peace as he sleeps on his feet. You laugh, squeezing Mammon’s arm.

“We should lay him down so he could rest,” you suggest.

Mammon’s gaze lingers on you, eyebrows knitted together. When you reach out for Belphie’s shoulder, the other brothers jolt towards you, seemingly intent on preventing you from doing so.

“You shouldn’t!” Levi exclaims, hands outstretched.

“Right,” Satan nods. “Beel?”

Beel scoops his twin up with practiced ease to set him down on the leather couch behind you all. Your face scrunches up in confusion at their odd behaviour. You place your hands on your hips and you wait for clarification, giving your best disapproving parent frown.

“You shouldn’t do anything!” Levi, already flustered, tries to explain. “I don’t know! Even more than usual I wanna do stuff for you so you don’t have to! Let me be your demon butler!”

“It ain’t right to make ya haul Belphie around,” Mammon mutters. “Not like I care or anythin’, but ya feel kinda… sacred.”

“You look so pure,” Satan confesses, briefly losing his perfect composure and nibbling his thumbnail. “I can’t bear to think of you burdened.”

“You’re small,” Beel adds, clasping his wrist as he thinks. “I want to protect you.”

You’re not sure if the beautiful clothes wrapped around you in have imbued you with intense angelic humbleness, or you’re just overwhelmed by the wave of adoration washing over you. You make a bashful groaning noise, pressing your hands to your cheeks.

“Darling!”

Attention is drawn to the shrill, excited call from behind you. Turning sharply, you manage to duck in time to dodge the arms swinging in a wide arc as they try to capture you in a tight hug.

“You,” you growl, hands on your hips once again, eyes narrowed.

Asmo rebalances himself, surprised by your fast reflexes. He looks at you wide-eyed, feigning shock and hurt, one hand laid delicately on his chest.

“I simply had to find out why the house was filled with so much of my very own source of power!” he explains, pouting. “I followed my keen senses and found you here, ruffling my dear brothers’ feathers with your… stimulating clothing. Is that so wrong?”

Satan clears his throat, folding his arms and frowning at Asmo. Mammon grumbles his protests, unable to look at you directly. Levi buries his hands in his pockets, head down. Beel remains seemingly unaffected, though a light pink blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You’re on time out,” you huff, arms folded. “You royally embarrassed me in front of everyone and also you’re a stinky rat and I’ll never forgive you.”

“That’s not fair! I’d die without you!” Asmo cries, hands over his heart.

“Take it up with the manager, pal.”

 “But you’re beautiful! Heavenly! Stunning! You remind me of me!” Asmo whines, frantically fanning his face to stop the tears welling in his eyes from ruining his makeup.

 “Okay. Stop,” you snort, grabbing the babbling demon’s wrists to interrupt his frenzied movement. “Promise you won’t do it again.”

Asmo looks at you, still teary-eyed, and pouts.

“Not publicly.”

You and Asmo giggle at the immediate indignant reprimands you receive from your audience.

“I’d use you as an energy farm if I could ever stand sharing you,” Asmo sighs.

You snicker, letting go of his wrists.

“I’m gonna go change,” you declare, casting your glance back over to the others. “See you at dinner. Also this never happened if you mention it I will never speak to you again.”

The brothers half-heartedly mutter their agreement to your terms and conditions, by now used to your completely baseless threats.

You finally set off up the staircase, your skirt flowing behind you in gentle waves. You’re very aware that you’re the centre of attention, hearing soft sighs (you think from Levi and Satan) and a much louder, much more dramatic sigh (definitely Asmo)  as you ascend. You smile to yourself, glad you don’t have to face your admiring fans as you don’t think you’d know how to react, but your heart feels a lot lighter. It’s warm again.

Your soft footsteps echo in the dark hallway as you make your way to your room, fingers trailing the rough surface of the purple-grey wall absent-mindedly. You don’t see any need to turn on the light.

When you’d first arrived, every shadowy corner put you on edge. You’d cautiously creep your way to your bedroom, breath held as you made sure every tiptoed step was cushioned by the plush hallway runner, terrified of the idea of running into one of the vicious, rightful residents of the House and meeting your untimely end. Now, you walk the hallways as though you’d been raised within these walls, your biggest threat becoming catching your foot on the end of a rug or bumping your hip against one of the unnecessary nightstands spotted along the walls.

You’re almost to your room, humming to yourself and admiring the eerie little echo that returns to you, when you walk face-first into something solid. You emit a small, typically human shriek, before covering your mouth with both hands.

Light floods the hallway, revealing the obstruction before you. Prim and proper in his unbearably formal casualwear, Lucifer’s arms are folded, head slightly tilted, one eyebrow raised.

“Are you really just standing here in the dark waiting to scare me to death!?” you scold, hand over your rapidly thumping heart.

He chuckles, the deep sound resonating through the passageway more melodiously than your hum could ever hope to.

“If that is how it seemed, forgive me, my love,” he hums, holding his hand out to you. “It seems as though you would do so even more readily than usual today.”

You take his hand automatically, confused.

You finally remember your current getup when he raises your connected hands above your head. With a timid giggle, you twirl, the intricate gold embroidery of the billowing fabric glinting in the warm candlelight.

“What do you think?” you ask, arms raised to present the outfit in what you hope is your best angle.

Lucifer’s smile is difficult to read, polite bordering on predatory. His elegant fingers trace the delicate gold chain resting over your collarbone, running up your neck to cup your face and tilt your head up to encourage you to meet his deep red gaze.

“I don’t know whether to worship you or corrupt you.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, a hot bloom spreading across your face as you worry your lower lip with your teeth.

 “You could do both,” you suggest quietly, shyly, tracing the rich silken fabric of his waistcoat.

Lucifer hooks one hand under your thigh and the other at the small of your back, lifting you into his arms as he marches towards your bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, stifling your embarrassed laughter in the soft fur lining of his coat.

“Hold on, hold on!” you yelp. “I’m on dinner duty tonight!”

“They’ll order out,” he replies simply, nudging your door open with his foot.

You’re easily convinced. Easily tempted.

Perhaps you would make a bad angel. But you make a pretty content human.

Chapter Text

You spent your Wednesday afternoon in slothful comfort.

Vaguely familiar clusters of stars drifted lazily above you, gently pulsing and flickering.

It took you a moment to remember the projector sitting just out of sight at the foot of the bed. Unlike planetarium projectors you’d seen before, these stars didn’t distort along the walls as they floated by; instead, the machine completely obscured the ceiling with a blanket of darkness that stretched into an unfathomable expanse, speckled with floating lights that travelled through the air untethered as though they’d been plucked straight from the night sky.

You understood why Belphie had been so excited to share this with you. You knew he would never thank Lucifer directly for repairing the projector for his birthday, and you didn’t feel it was your place or your business to push him to do so, but you knew it meant the world to him.

Your mind wandered as you watched the patterns overhead. You remembered stargazing in the Human Realm, feeling yourself shrink before the imposing infinity of the heavens, finding momentary peace in the sprawling void. It was as kind as it was terrifying to you.

For a moment, you swore you felt the chill of night air.

The gentle breathing of the demon next to you returned you to the reality of the attic room.

You sank into the fluffy throw beneath you, exhaling slowly and deeply. You’d never spent much time here and didn’t see the appeal in it before, but as you dragged your heavy eyes around you to keep yourself awake, you realised how perfect a stargazing spot it made.

Though it was clearly still used for storage – Levi’s forgotten bolts of fabric tossed into one corner, a dust-blanketed gramophone, a wall-rack of lethal weapons you hoped were just for show – there were aspects of the décor that were so clearly Belphie.

Unavoidably, you supposed, as this room had served as his prison for who knows how long. But the pretty metal pendants reflecting the starlight, the assortment of pillows (specially selected for different sleep purposes, you’d been assured) piled on the bed, and the dorky wizard-print telescope were all proof that he was happy here.

You and Belphie could spend hours talking when you were alone together, usually curled up on the floor of the planetarium or in his room when Beel was out training. Or you could spend hours in comfortable silence, lost in separate thoughts but appreciating the fact that neither of you were alone in that moment.

Time had passed in the attic. You weren’t sure how much, but it was enough that your voice had become hoarse from disuse. In the silence, your comforting Human Realm memories had been taken over by ones that you weren’t particularly keen on.

“Belphie,” you called softly through the silence, reaching for his hand that lay beside you.

Your fingers had barely brushed his, but he recoiled like he’d touched a hot stove. He sat bolt upright, eyes wide, no trace of his usual heavy-lidded expression.

His reaction kind of scared you.

You sat up as well, on high alert, staring at Belphie in the low light as he blinked a few times until the tension in his body visibly dissipated. From shock, to pain, to familiar neutrality, he sank back down into the bed with a deep exhale.

“You sounded just like her,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised by default, voice barely more than a whisper.

A reflex you couldn’t quite understand. Neither could he.

Belphie looked at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why?” he asked.

You shook your head. Your chest tightened, the feeling creeping up to your throat.

You didn’t know. It just felt like you should. Like you’d overstepped your boundaries by being uncontrollably similar to her. You had no place to comment on Lilith, regardless of your relation to her.

Belphie didn’t push you for an answer. He looked back up to the simulated starry sky.

“I’m mad,” he said, his voice quiet. Hurt. “I don’t think I’ll ever not be mad. Demons are good at that.”

You stayed hyper-aware of his body language, stayed tucked into yourself to allow him more space. But he reached for you, timidly, just as aware of you as you were of him. He gently threaded his fingers through yours.

“Your hands are cold.”

“We’re in the attic,” you replied with a half-hearted smile.

He breathed a small, toneless laugh. He laid his free hand over yours to share his warmth, staying silent for a moment longer.

 “Everything’s just like she was never there,” he muttered. “But I don’t think I’d want her to be here, now. She was good. A good angel. She’d be a bad demon. Too good to be a good demon. I just wish sometimes she could see how well we get along now. Even after everything that happened, we do. She’d love it.”

His voice was as monotonous as it always was, but with a bitterness that betrayed how often he’d thought about this. How much it hurt and for how long.

“I miss how it was and I’m mad at how it turned out.”

Then he was quiet. You were quiet.

“If I was gone too, would everyone forget?”

His question was so soft. So scared. It made your heart ache. You could only take cautious, shallow breaths as you squeezed his hand.

“No. I know I wouldn’t,” you said. “And you didn’t, did you?”

Belphie didn’t answer.

“There’s no way to police grief, I guess,” you continued. “That’s what it is. It’s sometimes how it stays. Pulls a piece of your heart away with it, even when you figure out how to go on again. But I don’t think anyone forgets someone so important. She changed you when she was with you, and you stayed changed.”

The stars drifted by unsympathetically. The room was silent once again, save for the faint whirr of the projector.

Belphie sighed, drawn out and shaky. He didn’t face you when he spoke.

“Will you stay with me for longer?”

“Of course I will.”

“Can I lay my head in your lap?”

“Of course you can.”

“Do you promise you won’t forget me?”

And he looked at you, centuries-old and war-scarred. A demon lord. An Avatar of Sin with power beyond comprehension.

But all you saw was the anxiety of a little brother. There was something so human in his heartache.

You’d seen the fear in vulnerability before. You’d felt it. You’d do anything to ease it the way your loved ones in this realm had done for you.

You settled yourself down next to him once again, fingers still laced through his, and pulled him towards you so his head lay on your chest.

You kissed the top of his head.

“Of course I do.”

The kitchen smells wonderful, if you do say so yourself.

You hum as you clean the countertops, proud of the sheer volume of cupcakes you’d managed to stuff in the oven. You’d settled on something a lot simpler this evening as a lone creator, since Luke had (very tearfully) informed you he’d have to miss this week’s baking session as he desperately needed to revise for the upcoming exams. He’d perked up, though, when you promised you’d make him something extra special and wished him all the best.

It had been difficult to persuade Lucifer to allow this Thursday’s coffee evening to go ahead with exams so close – in fact, he’d said no without even looking up from his newspaper – but with enough pestering and whining, you’d managed to convince him. You’d promised you would make this evening either as brief or as educational as possible, and since you refuse to cut short your precious time with the brothers (unless it’s on your terms, since there’s always the definite possibility that something horribly embarrassing will happen that requires your immediate escape), you’d settled for the latter.

You don’t really have a plan, per se. You’d just given the brothers a choice of bringing their books and their a-game or volunteering to be Solomon’s taste-tester for a week and luckily, everyone had agreed to study hard tonight. You snicker to yourself as you think back on it.

Three sharp raps of the front door knocker interrupt your wicked musings.

Strange, since you know Levi’s daily Akuzon delivery has already come. And they never usually have time to knock, either, since the big dork always meets them at the door with his obsessively refreshed package tracking page open on his D.D.D.

You wipe your hands on the pastel yellow, duckling-print apron tied around your waist (you still hold out hope that Mammon will wear it again – his “hell no, and if anyone ever finds out, I’ll make ya regret it!” is really up to interpretation), and make your way to the entrance hall.

When you open the door, you’re faced with the imposing forms of a certain Prince of the Devildom and his ever-mysterious butler.

Barbatos bows his head with a pleasant smile and Diavolo beams at you. He extends a massive hand, presenting you with a stunning bouquet of what looks to be a bunch of stained-glass chrysanthemums. Your mouth drops open.

You haven’t heard a peep from either demon since last week. This had, unfortunately, given you enough time to dwell on the events of the last coffee evening when Diavolo had walked in to see Asmo presenting you with those crotchless pink panties in agonising detail.

You feel like a bucket of ice has been poured down the back of your shirt.

“Be careful, they may still bite,” Barbatos hums.

When you remain in deeply stunned silence, Diavolo’s bright expression turns to one of concern.

“You don’t like them?”

“No, no!” you exclaim. “They’re beautiful!”

He folds his arms, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He looks down at you, considering you for a moment.

“Ah!”

His eyes dart downwards, a wicked grin stretching across his face. Princely airs dismissed, this is the Diavolo you know in the privacy of his office/Hell in a Cell death match arena.

 “Are you still upset with Asmo?”

You press your lips together tightly, eyes narrowed at the demon, who continues with impish joy.

“Because I’d like to thank him!” he holds his hands out in a grand gesture. “You really do suit pink.”

“My Lord,” Barbatos warns.

The Prince laughs – a hearty, unruly laugh – and you scowl at him. You expend all your might to keep from launching yourself at him lest you be reduced to little more than a stain on the marble tiles for posing a threat to Barbatos’ master.

Barbatos shouldn’t even know. He wasn’t there. But he does. Of course he does.

You’d love to close the door right now.

“They’re crystal phoenix flowers,” Barbatos explains calmly, thankfully interrupting the tense silence. “The plant spends a century maturing in monochrome, then bursts into flame in the winter of its hundredth year. When the embers die, they reveal glasslike petals that will last for the rest of its life.”

“They’re gorgeous,” you murmur.

You’re always floored by gifts from the Demon Lord’s Castle. You have no idea how each one manages to be even more extravagant than the last.

Diavolo and Barbatos watch with satisfaction as you stare at the bouquet, transfixed by the shimmering moonlight dancing along the edges of each petal in delicate rainbow patterns.

A century of growth. They must be rare. And precious. And expensive. The corners of your mouth quirk downwards.

“Barbatos and I wanted to thank you for the tea the other day,” Diavolo explains, waving his hand to dismiss your anxious thoughts before you can even voice them. “I had to leave on short notice and couldn’t return any messages while I was away, which Barbatos rightly pointed out may give you the wrong idea. So they’re also an apology!”

That makes sense. You huff, but it makes sense.

You can allow it. They are beautiful.

To hell with formalities – you throw your arms around Barbatos, squeezing his lithe frame tightly. His little ‘oh’ is the most you’ve ever managed to shake his perfect composure and you revel in it. He recovers quickly, chuckling gently, gracefully, as he returns your embrace.

Diavolo has to lean down to reach you properly, engulfing you in a bear hug. You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders, hissing into his ear:

“You scared me, you big bastard.”

He laughs his big, booming laugh, locking his arms around you to hoist you up and whirl you around like a championship trophy. You cling on to him tighter, barely able to suppress your uncontrollable giggles.

“Stop, stop!” you squeal, thumping your free hand against his huge back to absolutely no effect. “The flowers- the flowers, dummy!”

Barbatos sighs, shaking his head with the weariness of a boisterous toddler’s long-suffering nanny, though he can’t help but smile at the sweet, chaotic scene before him.

Diavolo sets you back down, keeping hold of your hand to steady you when your aftershock hiccups make you stumble backwards.

“Your meeting, my lord,” Barbatos says. “We should return.”

Diavolo whines, broad shoulders slumping. You laugh, cupping his cheek and tilting his chiselled jaw down to face you again.

“It’s for the best. My baking isn’t royal tier today, it wouldn’t be right to subject either of you to it.”

“But it smells incredible!” he replies. “The brothers only ever have good things to say about your food!”

“Well, yeah,” you shrug, pointing your thumb back into the House. “I’ll feed those goofballs anything.”

“Hey,” a huffy voice calls from behind you.

You look over your shoulder to see Mammon standing in the entryway with his arms folded and a pout on his face. Behind him are Satan and Asmo – all three clearly having been drawn by the commotion of you having fun with someone who isn’t them, though only Satan manages to appear convincingly uninterested in your visitors.

You’re not sure how long they’ve been there or how much they’d witnessed. You steal a worried glance at Diavolo, thinking of your less-than-professional interaction, but the Prince simply gives the trio a big grin and a wave that none of them return.

No problem, you suppose.

“You’ll have to join us for tea again soon,” Diavolo says, squeezing your hand.

Silky-smooth, perfectly-lotioned arms slip around your waist, and the familiar scent of rose and vanilla perfume descends upon you.

“They’ll have to check their schedule,” Asmo chirps, resting his chin on your shoulder and giving Diavolo a petty, wrinkle-nosed smile. “Thanks for coming! Bye!”

Barbatos hums, lips pursed disapprovingly, and you roll your eyes. Diavolo laughs good-naturedly, amused by the possessive demon.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you smile. “I’ll see you both soon, promise.”

The two bid you farewell, Barbatos bowing his head and Diavolo kissing your hand (earning a quickly-stifled huff from Mammon), then disappearing into the inky blackness of the late Devildom afternoon.

You close the door with a little difficulty since Asmo refuses to let go of you. Turning around, hands on your hips, you address the brothers still gathered before you.

“So you’re all free and want to help me move things to the common room, right?”

Asmo stifles a horrified gasp in your neck, making you squawk.

You whack his arm to make him finally relinquish his grasp on your middle, immediately grabbing one of his dainty hands and pulling him along as you march to the kitchen.

“Come along, my dear little helpers!” you call sweetly, dragging the whining Asmo behind you in your iron grip.

Satan hesitates momentarily before following you with a level of nonchalance that makes him feel less like an obedient dog. Mammon, obviously, grumbles and protests before making sure he’s right behind you.

You return to the kitchen with your entourage, waving off any complaints as you arrange the obscene amount of cupcakes onto five trays and point out the items needing to be transported.

Satan balances the drinks trays on his hands like an upscale waiter, Mammon carries three overflowing cupcake plates (he’d insisted he could carry your share too and became visibly sulky when you graciously refused), and you have the other two in your hands.

Asmo carries one small sugar bowl.

He’d been extremely clear that due to his very recent manicure, he was doing you a favour in not overexerting himself since you were liable to pay for any damage incurred as a result of the events of tonight (physical and emotional), which you didn’t have the energy to debate.

You’re still in high spirits – fussy demon behaviour notwithstanding – but when you reach the common room, the atmosphere is grim.

It’s difficult for you to find a place to set your various goods since every possible surface is littered with textbooks, notebooks, flashcards, and Ruri-chan cheer-squad figurines (Levi’s one condition for joining the study group). The other brothers barely react when you enter, already beaten down by the sheer volume of work surrounding them.

Levi sits on one of the couches, a few precious figurines lined up on the arm beside him, legs drawn up to his chest with his chin resting on top of his knees, occasionally groaning at something or other in the textbook resting on top of his feet. On the opposite sofa, Belphie is asleep as expected, curled up in typical elderly-cat fashion in the corner, clutching his cow-print pillow to his chest. Beel sits cross-legged on the floor under his twin, an open notebook in his lap. His brows are furrowed as he taps what’s left of his brutally chewed pencil against his thigh.

You bring a cupcake with you as you approach the sixth-born, placing a hand on his head to get his attention. He looks up at you, snapped out of his frustration-based trance, and brightens considerably when he sees two of his favourite things: food and you. You still have to watch your fingers when you offer it to him, though.

You settle in beside Belphie, opening one of the notebooks you’ve never had the nerve to start writing in. Mammon flops lazily into the space next to you, holding a thin yellow notebook that seems to be in the same untouched condition as your own. Asmo sits on the couch opposite you and opens up something indescribably pink and fluffy and almost definitely some kind of 90s secret-keeping diary to a double-page spread of what looks like hundreds of different phone numbers. He catches your eye and waggles his eyebrows at you, which you pointedly ignore.

It was never formally agreed that Satan would head this study session, but you feel a shared sense of relief when he clears his throat as soon as he sets his books on the table and addresses you all.

“I want each of you to write down your weakest subjects. We can focus on the most common ones and review your progress by the end of the night.”

“Well, I’m very proficient in seductive speechcraft and I’ll gladly offer my services to anyone struggling!” Asmo proudly announces, leaning closer to Levi (who tries not to topple his figurines as he recoils) and fluttering his eyelashes at you.

The room is quiet.

“No takers, Professor Pervert,” you snort.

Asmo sighs melodramatically over the snickers of his ungrateful brothers, shaking his head at the utter lack of appreciation for his generosity. Satan sighs too, looking very Lucifer-esque in his already clear disappointment.

Satan is an excellent tutor. You don’t think there’s any way you could fail with him as your messiah.

He is, however, absolutely ruthless, pacing the floor of the common room like an apex predator and wielding a wooden ruler that he taps menacingly against his palm whenever he asks a question.

You have gotten a few wrong. Satan corrects you each time, pausing his patrol momentarily to lean over your shoulder and point to your textbook with his ruler. His tone is more curt than usual, but he accepts your mistake and praises you the next time you answer correctly.

“This ain’t fair, dammit!” Mammon cries after around an hour, cradling one of his welted hands. “You’re goin’ easy on ‘em ‘cause they’re cute!”

“You think I’m cute, nerd!” you cackle, tossing a crumpled up piece of paper at his head.

He growls at you, poised to counterattack, but immediately shrinks back down when he sees Satan looming behind you with murderous intent, ruler at the ready.

“… Next question,” Mammon mutters.

Mammon can never stay pouty around you, no matter how hard he tries. Over the course of the night, you worm your feet under his leg and use his arm as a textbook rest, occasionally holding your cupcake to his mouth to offer him a bite he can never say no to.

He’s surprisingly knowledgeable when it comes to math (you assume from when Satan opened his eyes to the connection between success with math and financial success), patiently explaining the formulae you’d gotten stuck on with simple, clear examples that make them so much more comprehensible than they’d been taught to you. He looks so proud of you when you get the hang of it.

Asmo eventually wears you down and you agree to listen to his lesson on technical manipulation, though you make it very clear that you will not hesitate to throw your drink over him should the need arise.

Perched on the edge of his seat, projecting his voice over the heads of a few of his disgusted brothers, he delivers his incredibly detailed sermon about confidence and enticement and speaking with your body. It’s not long until his crash course begins to veer into suggestions on how you can practice your own technical manipulation using “alternative” eating techniques and how much tongue to use for maximum effect, but he snaps his mouth shut with a squeal when you reach for the handle of your teacup.

Belphie – once he’s convinced to stay up longer than a few minutes – helps you with your Devildom history. His tired drawl suits the subject’s cliché, but the information he gives you is far more enthralling than you remember it being in any class. After half an hour, your pages are covered with little doodles illustrating his stories, and, though you two end up giggling so loudly that Satan smacks his ruler down on the table as a warning, you find that you remember a lot more than you thought you would. He rewards his own excellent teaching by treating himself to using your lap as his pillow.

By the late hours of the night, your notebook is packed with information you’re sure can carry you through your exams. You hope your scribbles will still make sense come morning and that your drowsiness isn’t just giving you a false sense of confidence.

One by one, completely exhausted by the amount of energy they’d expended studying harder than they ever have before, the brothers drift off in their seats.

You’re the last one still awake, even managing to hold on longer than your iron-fisted tutor, who sits on the couch opposite you, head propped up on his hand. In the depths of his slumber, he still grips his weapon tightly.

Very gently, you tilt Mammon’s head off of your shoulder. He frowns in his sleep, muttering your name as his head lolls to the other side, but seems to settle back almost immediately. You prop Belphie up into a sitting position to free your legs (your caution is not as necessary since a sleeping Belphie can pretty much be dunked like a basketball), getting to your feet and laying him back down in the empty space you leave.

It’s peaceful. The dying fire spits and crackles and there’s the occasional mumble or snort or shuffle, but it’s peaceful.

You pad around the room, collecting empty cups and plates as quietly as possible, a dreamy little smile sneaking its way onto your face. You’ve never had this much fun studying. You didn’t think it was possible.

There were no fights tonight, either. Even with Satan enforcing corporal punishment, which he seemed disappointed to have under-utilised (though Mammon and his barely-functioning hands may disagree), it was good.

Mid-clean up, you feel a presence you’ve come to recognise so easily.

“We missed you tonight, Lucifer,” you hum as you pick Levi’s plate off of the arm of the couch and add it to the stack on the table.

You turn, dusting off your hands. The eldest brother stands in the doorway, arms folded, head tilted ever so slightly.

“I think it was a success,” you say.

“As it should be,” he replies.

You snort.

“You’re like the dad to six rowdy kids.”

“You say that as though you aren’t cleaning up after them.”

“They worked really hard!” you huff, one hand on your hip, the other carrying three half-empty coffee cups by the handles.

His smile is soft. Genuine. Proud.

He looks at his brothers – scruffy and crashed, angled awkwardly, with guaranteed aches come tomorrow morning – and chuckles. You can never get enough of that sound, deep and rich and royal. You feel it in every bone in your body.

“You all did. You should get some rest.”

“You should too,” you reply, returning to your tidying.

Lucifer looks at you with a frown, which you answer with raised eyebrows. You stop, approaching the firstborn with a frown of your own.

“You think I don’t see those dark circles?” you ask. “I know you’ve been working for Diavolo all night. And you have to sit the same test tomorrow! You’re gonna end up working yourself until you’re just a skeleton in a big, fancy coat.”

He looks down at you, lip curled.

“You think I would be brought down by mere chores?”

You close the distance between you, happy to test his tiredness. You grab him by the lapels, leaning up on your tiptoes until you’re nose-to-nose. His eyes widen slightly, taken aback by your sudden brashness.

“I think you deserve some rest every now and then, Mr Councilman.”

He sighs. He closes his eyes for a moment, exasperated.

“You really are an audacious little human, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

A very small smile plays on Lucifer’s lips when he looks at you again.

You pull him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before releasing him. He moves to follow you when you go to the coffee table to collect the trays of empty plates and cups, but you stop him. You flap your hands at him, silently shooing him away as you mouth your emphatic orders for him to go straight to bed.

His eyes narrow. You’re pushing it.

You don’t budge. With a quick glance over his still-sleeping brothers, he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He folds his hands behind his back and straightens up, and turns on his heel. His smartly clicking footsteps recede, down the hallway, up the stairs, until you can no longer hear them.

You win.

You return to the coffee table once again to finally complete your cleanup mission, stifling a yawn just in case Lucifer can somehow hear you from the floor above. You pause, mouth open, when you notice Satan staring at you with a smirk on his face.

You close your mouth, pursing your lips.

“Saw that, did you?” you ask.

“You mean Lucifer being sent to bed like a petulant child? I did,” he nods, brushing off his lap as he stands. “I think Mephisto could make a pretty good footie-pyjama Lucifer sticker in commemoration.”

“Satan,” you whine. “Can’t you ignore this one?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price.”

He folds his arms, drumming his fingers as he considers his options.

“It’s been a while. Sleep with me tonight.”

“Oh!” you gasp, hand over your mouth in mock-scandal. “You cad!”

Satan frowns, blushing.

“I’m kidding!” you snicker, grabbing his hand before he can rescind his offer. “But I don’t want to see another book for as long as I live. Come to my room this time.”

He perks up, looking at you with raised eyebrows. He rarely ever gets to spend time alone with you in your bedroom, since it’s usually occupied by one of the more boisterous brothers or completely empty. The pink of his cheeks is adorable.

Satan gives you a curt, professional nod before picking up one of the trays on the table. You grin, picking up the other and waving your free hand to extinguish all but one candle (you know they’re all extremely powerful demon lords, but just in case) to leave the room in cosy low light.

You’re grateful for Satan’s help, but you’re more grateful that such a formal-looking demon can be so comfortable to curl up with.

In your plush bed, under several layers of blankets and comforters, you rest your head against Satan’s chest. He absent-mindedly twirls a lock of your hair around his elegant fingers as he reads the book you’d asked him to leave in his room just this once (he’d responded with “don’t look and you won’t see it” and you’d given up almost immediately). The soothing action and his gentle breathing have you almost drifting off, but you can do without the bump of his arm against your head whenever he turns a page.

You slip your hands under his shirt, pressing ice-cold fingers against his warm skin.

He hisses, dropping his book as he recoils.

“Oh good, you’re done,” you say, quickly batting it out of his reach and taking hold of his book-holding hand to lace your fingers through his. “Night, Satan.”

The fourth-born huffs. He could easily retrieve his book and make you pay for interfering. But the fact that you want his undivided attention makes him feel rather important.

He rolls his eyes at your smug little smile, then kisses your forehead. He settles in to your soft mattress, caged in by your soft body.

“I do private tutoring too, you know.”

You squint up at him in the dim light.

It’s past midnight. You spent all night studying and you have a test tomorrow and you know this.

You do know this.

But you think you’d really benefit from some hands-on learning.

“Teach me.”

Chapter Text

Thursday at RAD passed by in a sluggish haze. Lectures, classwork, sleeping in the janitor’s closet with Belphie at lunch… hours blurred together under your honour student disguise.

You’d walked home with Asmo, agreeing to participate in his daily after-class beauty routine mostly to put a stop to his increasingly-agitated monologue about the importance of maintaining softness and suppleness and succulence (you knew the conversation would’ve declined from the moment this word was spoken and would’ve agreed to anything at this point), allowing him to drag you to his room as soon as you reached home.

You lounged on Asmo’s plush four-poster bed, head resting against the small of his back as he lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows and scrolling through Devilgram on his D.D.D. You wore matching mud masks, wrapped in luxurious matching bathrobes, and you focused very hard on not scratching your nose.

You lost yourself in a daydream as you stared up at the curtained ceiling of the bed, tapping your feet against the silk bedsheets along to the soft music playing. Several minutes deep into your circus ringleader fantasy (partway through the Lucifer Lion-Tamer act), you were oblivious to the repeated calls of your name until you felt your organic pillow wiggle under your head.

“Are you ignoring me?” Asmo asked, frown evident in his voice.

 “Always,” you yawned, stretching your arms up above your head. “It’s fun and easy.”

In one swift movement, Asmo jerked himself out from under you, letting your head fall with a fwoomp onto the soft mattress below. You gasped, sitting up and facing your attacker, raising your fists in a faux-martial-arts pose.

“Don’t you dare!” Asmo squealed, scrambling to the corner of his bed. “If the mud gets on my sheets, I’ll never forgive you!”

“I never asked your forgiveness,” you replied, wild grin cracking your mask.

“Stop!” he whined, flapping his arms at you. “Wash it off first!”

“Then get you?”

“Don’t get me!”

You snickered, slipping off the bed and lacing your fingers through his to pull him to his feet. With another warning to absolutely do not get me, Asmo abandoned his wariness to lead you through the rose-lined door opposite his bed to his private bathroom.

You paused, like you always did, to soak in the stunning extravagance that could surely only be attained by a Demon Lord. Soft light cast by the crystal pendant chandelier highlighted the sparkling veins of the speckled white marble features, glancing off of the sheer spider-silk curtains adorning each pillar of the beautiful central bath. Peaceful. Outrageous.

You both rinsed off your mud masks in the ornately carved sink, admiring your glowing skin in the mirror. You watched, amused, as Asmo practiced a litany of his favourite poses for his adoring audience (himself).

While your wonderful, self-obsessed demon dearest was preoccupied, you took it upon yourself to run the bath. You even had enough time to scent-test each of the dozens of bubble bath concoctions before deciding on a strawberry and hibiscus mix that flowed like thick syrup from its glass vial and foamed and shimmered as soon as it touched the water.

Asmo finally tore his eyes away from himself when he noticed you were already in the bath.

“You already got undressed!?” he gasped, perfectly manicured hand to his mouth. “That is so unfair!”

“Guess you weren’t quick enough to get the uncensored version, huh,” you hummed. “Better luck next time.”

He huffed, dropping his robe in one well-practiced, dramatic swoop, letting the luxurious fabric pool by his feet. He joined you, pointed toes first, causing a graceful ripple in the baby pink water.

“You don’t want to say anything after that grand entrance?” he asked, folding his arms. “Thank me for giving you such a wonderful show? Cover me in kisses uncontrollably?”

“I don’t remember how to kiss,” you replied, absent-mindedly playing with a hibiscus petal bobbing on the water. “Is that where you put your mouth over someone’s whole nose and blow really hard?”

Asmo shrieked, covering his nose and shooing you away with a splash while you cackled wickedly.

Peace settled back over you, and you both exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh. You leaned your head on Asmo’s shoulder, closing your eyes.

 “You know, Asmo, I’ve been thinking.”

“Ugh, yuck.”

“Shut up and listen,” you snorted, lazily bonking him on the arm. “I’ve been thinking about joining a club at RAD.”

Asmo gasped so violently you slipped off his shoulder and almost dunked your head under the water.

“Some bath pillow you are!” you howled, shaking the droplets off your nose.

“How can I just sit here when you’re about to throw your life away!?” he shrieked, hands either side of his face, utterly horrified.

“Can I just confirm with you that you did, in fact, spend two hours editing one photo for Devilgram today?”

“The one photo with fifty thousand likes?” Asmo replied, smiling smugly. “Yes, I did. Thank you for noticing my devotion to my craft.”

You splashed him.

“Anyway,” you continued over his squawking about his ruined hair. “I was thinking maybe I could learn something at the newspaper club?”

“’Learn’ something?” Asmo scoffed, pinning a loose lock back behind his ear.

“Or maybe I could try like… some kind of sport. Low-effort. Demon-style stuff.”

“Are you going to get ripped like Beel?”

“Are you saying I’m not ripped like Beel?”

“I would never say that, hon!” he replied with his most unconvincing smile.

You snickered as you lay your head back on the cool marble behind you. Silence descended upon the strawberry-scented bathroom.

“Are you bored?” Asmo asked, resting his elbow on the tile beside you and propping his head up in his hand.

“Hm?” you sat up again, looking at him. “No, that’s not it. It just came up in conversation the other day and I felt like I should just be doing something.”

“Mm,” Asmo hummed, nodding sagely. “Like some kind of weekly event. Like – I don’t know – planning, organising, and maintaining an evening event that you also cater.”

“Okay, wise guy.”

“What do you need a stinky club for when you have all of us to keep you occupied!?”

“I told you I’m not bored!”

“Or maybe you’d like to make your frequent secret visits to Mr Almighty Prince’s office more official?”

You raised your eyebrows and Asmo raised his, challenging you to speak up.

You could consider yourself and Diavolo founding members of Secret Wrestling Club. It was fun. And you couldn’t say getting to be hands-on with the demon prince built like a Greek god wasn’t a perk.  

You stayed quiet.

“There is something going on with you two!” he squealed. “Just tell me!”

You hummed as you reached over the edge of the bath to retrieve one of the fluffy pink towels nearby.

Asmo watched you like a hawk as you rose from the water, still humming fake-thoughtfully, wrapping yourself in the towel and pulling your robe back on.

“He has great boobs.”

Asmo almost slipped following you out of the bath, his screech-laugh taking him by surprise. You grabbed him, wrapping him in a towel as you both tried your best not to get too light-headed giggling so hard straight out of the hot water.

Dried off and recharged by chaotic Asmo energy, you kissed him on the nose and returned to your room, excited to see him again for coffee in a few hours.

Don’t freak out.

You close your eyes. You count to ten. You exhale a deep breath that escapes you in a strangled squeak.

Don’t freak out.

Your eyes snap open but you can’t see. This world is dark. Too dark, and too close. Too big. Your whiskers twitch.

Please don’t freak out.

All that time spent bookmarking cute social media self-care infographics for nothing. Your tiny heart slams against your fragile ribs, threatening to tear a hole through your chest. Your head moves rapidly in a vain attempt to locate any kind of light.

You’re freaking out.

You bolt. Padded feet hit jagged cobblestones and you hope for the best. You don’t know where you’re going, desperately trying to coordinate your panicking body through each lightning-fast step, fumbling and slipping and scrabbling up again in milliseconds.

It smells terrible. Or maybe it smells incredible. It smells too much of everything and the faster you run, the more your poor nose is assaulted by inconceivable messages.

You burst out onto a road you think you know, skidding to a claw-scraping halt.

Light.

Too much light.

Your protests come out in a hiss. You recoil so violently you tumble backwards in a helpless tangle of limbs and tail before jerking yourself back upright and setting off again.

You’re getting the hang of it, one foot after another after another and another, eyes squinting until you can finally distinguish the shapes before you under blinding moonlight and blurry streetlamps. You dodge shoes and hooves and close-beating wings with agility that surprises you, chased by shrieks of surprise and horror and confusion and the occasional holler.

The ground beneath you softens, unforgiving stone giving way to damp earth and unruly grass, and your overworked little legs find renewed energy as the immense – much, much more immense than you remember – shadow of the House of Lamentation envelopes you.

You skitter up the uneven stone steps – so many more than you thought – and throw yourself full-force at the door.

It hurts.

You don’t know what you expected, but you bounce off of the solid wood like a rubber ball. Scrambling back to your feet, you recalibrate for a moment, aiming yourself instead at the massive arched window beside the door you remember is, thankfully, always stuck partway open.

You launch yourself again, squeezing yourself through the tiny opening as though you were completely fluid.

Success.

You don’t stop running. Your tiny footsteps are accompanied by the sharp, frantic scratching sounds of your claws echoing faintly through the stone-tiled hallways. Through the entrance hall, the empty living room, down the pitch-black hallways – you can barely see where you’re going, but you can smell it – until you reach the common room.

You skid to a halt, almost colliding with the wall, and you’re overcome with relief. Your entire body shakes as you try to calm your wild breathing. 

The picture of serenity, the brothers are simply passing the time on another Thursday evening.

Levi and Belphie sit cross-legged by the fire, playing a card game neither of them are particularly interested in, as Beel watches over the top of his huge (nearly empty) bag of chips from his seat close by. Mammon and Asmo lounge on the couch facing the door, the former scrolling through his D.D.D. and the latter filing his precious nails, chatting idly about the latest issue of Whatever Magazine This Time. Satan – wonderful, reliable Satan – sits beside Beel, nose in a book as he always is.

You’re so happy. You did it. You’re home!

You’re not sure who to call to first. Your mouth opens and you think you might accidentally yell a combination of every name you’ve ever heard, but you don’t.

What escapes you is a shrill, grating screech that makes your own ears hurt.

Asmo’s eyes widen as he immediately pulls his knees to his chest.

“RAT!”

His scream is almost as horrible as yours. Mammon jumps to his feet, scanning the room before finally finding you, staring at him from the doorway.

You’re offended. Rat? You’re not a rat, Asmo’s the rat! Screaming at you like that. Rude!

Mammon doesn’t react to what you’re sure you said out loud. Instead, he starts running. At you.

He’s big. He’s big, and he’s fast, and he’s huge. And he’s really big. The Avatar of Greed is almost on top of you in a heartbeat, hands outstretched, way too close to grasping your trembling body.

Your body is taken over by feral instinct when he lunges. You dodge his stylish silver rings by a hair, sprinting through the gap between his legs and further into the room. You hear him yelp. You hear a muffled, leather-jacket-cushioned thump.

“Dammit, Beel, whatcha been doin’ all those sports for!? Catch it!” Mammon growls, feigning authority to make up for his bruised ego.

You come to an abrupt stop again, craning your neck up impossibly far. Beel, already on his feet, looks between his older brother and you.

Beel, don’t!

He grabs you. One of his hands is enough to wrap around your entire midsection, and he holds you against the floor, looking back at Mammon for further instruction.

His grip isn’t tight. It’s firm, but it’s not painful.

It makes you panic. You flail, thrashing wildly side to side like a possessed noodle, your reasonable protests emerging as distressed squeaks. Beel looks worried, opening his mouth to voice his anxiety to his brothers, but you’re faster.

You bite him. You don’t know why, but you bite him.

Sharp teeth sink into the flesh of his hand, puncturing skin and drawing blood, and the massive demon grunts, immediately releasing you. Your panic and guilt send you as far away from poor Beel as you can get, almost bumping into Satan’s feet (he recoils, lip curling in disgust, which definitely hurts), before turning on your tail and shooting off in the opposite direction.

Levi, now kneeling in his place by the fire with a tight grip on his playing cards, watches you with eyes narrowed.

“That’s right, Evil Being… come this way,” he murmurs, anime hero smirk stretching ominously across his face.

You don’t even have time to guess what stupid fantasy he’s attempting to live out before the purple-haired demon lets out a triumphant yell.

“Have a taste of my special move: Thousand Diamond Throw!”

That damn nerd flings his cards at you like ninja stars. You lose your footing as one glides under you, the King of Hearts mocking your easily-tangled limbs, and you topple chin-first onto the solid stone tile with a pained hiss.

Before you manage to bounce back once more, you feel cold fingers grasp the back of your neck, and you deactivate. You’re scooped off the floor, one hand under your feet, the other keeping a firm hold of your scruff.

This is fine.

“Did you get the rat!?” Asmo asks from the safety of the couch.

“It’s not a rat. It’s a ferret.”

Calm. Collected. Bored. Tired. Belphie.

Sorry – hold on – it’s a ferret? It’s a you! You look up at your captor, blunt snout wrinkled.

“Beel, are you okay?” Belphie asks, holding you at arm’s length like vermin.

Beel nods, rubbing his poor hand.

“I scared it.”

“It scared us. It’s only fair.”

You bare your teeth. You scared them!? You in your miniscule form, terrified and begging for help!?

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” Belphie asks you, raising his eyebrow.

Why!? You know why! ‘Scared’ you! Bunch of Avatars of Sin scared by a little human? A little human… ferret?

“It’s real noisy, huh?” Mammon muses, arms folded as he steps closer to squint at you.

Oh now he’s really gonna get it. Noisy. Noisy! You’ll show him noisy.

“I’ve never seen an all-black ferret before. It’s kinda cute,” Levi chimes in, stepping over his mess of cards to join the You-Viewing circle.

“It’s aggressive,” Satan hums disapprovingly, setting his book on the table as he approaches. “But it does have a certain charm to it. I mean, it’s no cat. But I can see why some people might like it.”

“Who likes rats!?” Asmo screeches, flapping his hands at you. “Get rid of it before it gets in my hair!”

You don’t know whether to scream or cry. You don’t think you can do either. But you are furious.

“Damn, Asmo, ya heard it’s not a rat, right?”

Right! You’re not a rat! You’re not a ferret! You’re you, and you’re mad! And you’re tired, and you’re hungry, too!

“Hey, Beel, you wanna hold it?” Belphie offers you to the hesitant giant. “Just make sure you’re supporting its back and its legs.”

 “Will it be okay? I think it’s mad at me,” Beel asks, ignoring the increasingly agitated Asmo.

You’re okay! You want Beel to hold you. You’re really sorry. You could never even dream of biting him. You’ve always considered him the least-biteable brother!

You lean as far as you can towards Beel, claw-tipped arms (legs?) outstretched.

“Doesn’t look mad at you to me. I’m pretty mad at it for biting you, though, so you should take it,” Belphie shrugs.

You’re gently placed in Beel’s large, warm hands. You don’t want to scare him again. You’re careful.

You wriggle yourself free, climbing up his wrist and squeezing yourself under the cuff of his jacket sleeve. You squirm your way up his arm, emerging by his fluffy fur collar. You bury your face into his neck, offering a few apology licks (that you really didn’t intend to offer, but you are currently a ferret and maybe this action is fine) as you cling to his shirt.

“Hey, Beel… Did that rat fall in love with you?” Mammon asks.

“You just scolded Asmo for calling it a rat, you idiot,” Satan sighs.

You don’t really hear the ensuing bickering. Beel’s familiar scent and his gentle chuckle are comforting, but as your mind clears of its survival instinct haze, you realise you are in pretty big trouble. You’re stuck like this.

In the depths of your despair, you hear your name. Your head snaps up, ears pricked.

“They’d love seein’ this fluffy little thing!” Mammon laughs, before his smile immediately drops. “Hey. They’ve been gone way too long, right?”

The brothers’ expressions harden, some humming their agreement.

“They went to get some cakes from the castle…” Beel mumbles, clearly assuming his insatiable appetite has led you to your doom.

“Let’s check there, then,” Belphie suggests.

“Barbatos says he hasn’t seen them,” Satan says, brows furrowed as he gazes down at his D.D.D. “I’ve asked him to look outside while we make our way.”

No, ask if he can do some transformative magic instead! Ask Lucifer! Simeon! You’d even let them call Solomon!

Your chattering goes unnoticed at first. But you’re nothing if not stubborn.

“Damn, that thing’s loud!” Mammon winces, covering his ears.

Damn right you are! You pat Beel’s cheek frantically, careful not to catch your claws on him and cause any further damage.

“Do… you want to come too?” he asks uncertainly.

You shake your head.

“Whoa! It can understand you! Beel’s a ferret whisperer!” Levi gasps.

“Wait, did it just sigh at you, Levi!?” Mammon cries, eyes wide. “Hey, hey, say somethin’ to me! You seen my human!?”

You roll your eyes. It might not translate to ferret, but you definitely did. You pat yourself, little paws rubbing your face. You have seen you. You are you.

“It’s just washing itself. Lame,” Levi sighs.

You hiss, offended. Levi raises his hands defensively.

“Not lame!” he whimpers.

Your beady eyes dart to every corner of the room, desperately searching for some way to speak to these wonderful, stupid boys. Your gaze falls on champagne locks.

You race down Beel’s arm, oblivious to the tiny tears your claws leave in his jacket sleeve, and slip down his leg, landing less-than-elegantly on the floor. You’re fine. Rubbery, maybe. You keep running, across the hardwood, over the blue Persian rug, and hop onto the couch seat facing Asmodeus.

He blinks, stunned by your hyper-speed sprint. He composes himself, flicking his hair back and shrugging.

“I know! It can be overwhelming seeing me in all my glory.”

Your human groan is a ferret huff. You scamper onto his lap and stand on your hind legs, placing your front paws on his chest.

He raises his eyebrows. You stare at him.

Think, Asmo... Asmo. You know who this is, Asmo.

“You’re pretty forward, huh?”

Idiot.

“I don’t blame you!” he titters. “You’re cute. But I think you need a little training before you can be my personal assistant. A lot of brushing, too.”

You’ve never felt like peeing on Asmo’s bed before. But every day brings new surprises.

You wish he could understand how serious your adorable rumbling chirps are. Are you going to be stuck like this forever? Tiny, panicking, unable to tell them to shut up ever again!? You feel your little heart start hammering again. You can’t be. You won’t let yourself be.

You launch yourself up onto Asmo’s shoulder, close enough to reach his face. You open your little snout as far as it’ll go.

You put your mouth over his nose.

You blow as hard as you can.

Asmo shrieks, hand raised to smack you as far away as possible, before his eyes widen.

He screeches your name.

You release his nose, tumbling from his shoulder back down to his lap. His brothers stand alert, immediately crowding around Asmo and bombarding him with demands to know where you are and where he’d seen you.

He picks you up, holding you under the arms, and gawks at you, open-mouthed.

“Is it seriously you!?”

You chitter, nodding frantically.

The other demons react with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“That’s… them?” Levi asks, timidly reaching a finger out to you.

You tap his fingertip with your nose and he gasps, face immediately flushing his classic beetroot red. He folds his arms and looks away, trying to hide his blush with muttered confirmation that he definitely knew.

Mammon pokes your tail and you squirm.

“Mammon!” Asmo scolds, setting you back in his lap. “I could’ve dropped them!”

“W-well! I don’t know, I just don’t get it!” the second-born stutters, hands snapping back to his sides. “Weren’t they meant to be pickin’ up cake?”

You notice Beel look down at his hands, eyebrows furrowed. Belphie glances at his twin before scooping you out of Asmo’s lap. He holds you a little closer now that he knows you’re you.

“Got anything to say?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

You look from Belphie to Beel, and nod. You offer your sincerest apology, whimpering and whining appropriately pathetically. The redhead blinks, then laughs, petting your fluffy head with a single (huge) finger. Maybe Beel and Belphie could take care of you…

 “Shouldn’t we change them back?” Levi asks.

“Let’s.”

Satan’s calm, reasonable voice brings you back to your senses. You look up, nodding desperately, and reach towards him. He blinks, cheeks turning faintly pink.

“I suppose it’d be best to…” he clears his throat. “Yes. Best that I hold you.”

He takes you from Belphie and cradles you like a baby. It takes a few awkward adjustments before you’re comfortable (he’s used to holding cats, not ferrets) before he begins murmuring his incantation. You feel a sparking current make its way from his body to yours.

The current surges, and a bright-white shock makes you squeal.

Mammon grabs you.

 “The hell was that!?” he hisses at his younger brother as he tucks you into his jacket and zips it up. “You hurt ‘em!”

Satan stares wide-eyed at you poking your head out from Mammon’s collar.

“Standard transfiguration!” he barks, bewildered and defensive. “It should have worked!”

“Maybe they’re cursed?” Belphie suggests.

You would’ve said if you could. You nod again, thumping your tail against Mammon’s stomach to draw his attention.

“Someone cursed ya!?” Mammon gasps, wrapping his arms around himself (and you). “Who!?”

“We need to call Lucifer…” Levi mutters.

“And interrupt his dinner with His Highness?” Satan scowls. “Go ahead.”

Levi avoids eye contact, barely-audible excuses tumbling out of his mouth.

“They can be turned back, can’t they?” Asmo asks, anxiously curling a lock of hair around his finger.

“I just need to find the right spell.”

“Like hell you’re gonna zap ‘em again!”

“That was an outlier.”

Your ears prick up, tuned to frequencies outside of the hissing squabble escalating around you. You turn your head to the door, staring at the empty entryway, laser-focused.

“Again, I strongly suggest you wait here until I can confirm my brothers are behaving themselves.”

Lucifer’s weary voice comes from the hallway. You hear the boisterous laugh he receives in response. You hear three sets of confident, regal footsteps.

Terrified silence falls upon the bickering brothers when they see him.

“You’re too harsh on them, Lucifer,” Diavolo chuckles, right behind the eldest brother and followed closely by Barbatos, carrying Diavolo’s coat over his arm.

Lucifer casts his judgemental gaze across the room, unconvinced. You do the same on a much smaller scale, waiting for someone to mention your absolutely horrible situation and ask for Lucifer’s assistance.

Nothing happens.

… Nothing happens? You’re cursed and stuck in a ferret’s body and nothing happens!? You open your mouth to take matters into your own paws (possibly at a louder volume than necessary) and Mammon zips his jacket up all the way. You snap your mouth shut, surprised and affronted.

Fine.

You scramble under Mammon’s jacket, wiggling until you turn yourself around and skitter down his shirt, then his leg, until you land on his dumb leather boots. You shoot off across the room, more practiced this time, your springy body in perfect loping form towards Lucifer.

But he moves his foot.

You fall over yourself in your effort to stop, landing in a heap of stubby limbs against a spotless, perfectly-polished black boot. The silence is broken by a chorus of shrieks and cries of your name.

Large, tan hands wrap around you, bringing you up to a dizzying height. Hawk-like eyes examine you curiously. The smell of bergamot and cedar wood is familiar. But stronger.

Your name is echoed again, Diavolo and Lucifer’s deep, sonorous voices in harmonious disbelief.

“They’re… uh… the ferret… currently,” Mammon finally mumbles, shrinking under Lucifer’s furious eye.

“We couldn’t turn them back!” Levi blurts out.

“They’re cursed,” Satan admits through gritted teeth.

You offer a small confirmation chirp.

“Then it makes sense!” Diavolo laughs, much to everyone’s confusion. “I wondered why Barbatos insisted on keeping my coat rather than hanging it up.”

Barbatos hums, unfurling the massive red fabric with a flourish and draping it over you, covering you completely. You poke your nose around in the darkness, baffled by the bizarre under-reaction.

“Lucifer?” Diavolo prompts.

You hear an exhausted sigh followed by a snapping of fingers.

You feel that current build in your body once again, but this time it electrifies your bones, making you feel like you’re being pulled in every direction. The energy builds to a crescendo and engulfs you in a puff of red smoke.

When it dissipates, you’re nose-to-nose with a grinning, goofy, gold-eyed giant.

You exhale, completely drained, and rest your forehead against Diavolo’s rock-solid chest. And you, too, realise why Barbatos came carrying Diavolo’s coat.

You are completely naked. The coat hangs over the back of your head and falls down to the backs of your knees, but your bare skin is pressed against his sleek black button-up shirt. Your head snaps back up as you’re overcome by a scalding hot wash of embarrassment.

Diavolo, utterly unfazed, keeps one strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your feet off the cold floor. The other pulls his coat over one of your shoulders as Barbatos stands in front of you, tucking the rest of the fabric around you wordlessly. Once your makeshift robe is secured, Diavolo effortlessly hooks his free arm under your legs to carry you princess-style.

The brothers watch the whole process in silence, some red-faced, some furious, several unbearably jealous. Lucifer’s menacing aura has filled the entire room, a silent dare for any of them to voice their displeasure.

You clear your throat, cheeks still burning.

“You really don’t h-“

“Don’t have to?” Diavolo looks down at you, smile soft and affectionate. “I want to. Allow me to welcome back to the realm of the two-legged.”

You laugh, tearing your eyes away from his, face hotter still.

“Lucifer, I take it you and your brothers have some things to discuss,” Diavolo chuckles. “We’ll speak tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I will take them to their room.”

Lucifer’s attention snaps to his superior, eyebrows furrowing for a split-second before he composes himself.

“There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

“No trouble,” Diavolo smiles, polite but clearly not open to negotiation. “Goodnight.”

Blood red eyes meet yours. Lucifer’s face betrays no emotion, but the intensity of his gaze makes you squirm. He nods curtly, turning back to his brothers with his hands folded behind his back. You don’t envy them.

Diavolo turns on his heel and leaves, following Barbatos through the dim hallway and up the spiral staircase to your bedroom door. You don’t know how he knows, but at this point you’re not surprised.

Barbatos stays by the door, bowing his head slightly in courteous deference as Diavolo carries you over the threshold. You blow him a kiss, which he receives with a small chuckle.

You’re so tired. Every muscle in your body has been overworked and strained, stretched to impossible proportions and so burnt out you can barely hold your head up.

Diavolo lays you on your bed gently, smoothing your hair out of your face. He pulls your comforter over you. It’s so warm. So soft.

So empty.

“Can’t stay, Prince?” you murmur, still holding on to his shirt.

“As much as I would love to,” he replies, carefully untangling your fingers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “The brothers can only handle so much scandal in one night.”

You sigh, humming your disappointed acknowledgement. Diavolo laughs softly, pausing a moment to look at you with a strange air of admiration that you just about make out through your mostly-closed eyes. He kisses your forehead.

Blessed by the Prince of the Devildom, safe in your bed once more, sleep closes in on you faster than it has ever before.

It really is nice to be human sometimes.

Chapter Text

Your Friday has gone well. Unusually well.

You’d walked home with Mammon – who had insisted on carrying your bag – and made a beeline to the common room as soon as you’d walked through the front door. He’d followed you (foolishly) and had been immediately suckered into becoming your pillow where you now rest, satisfied.

You lay on the plush sofa facing the door, your head on Mammon’s lap and your eyes closed. He scrolls mindlessly on his D.D.D., the soft sound of his breathing and the warmth of the fire beside you casting a spell of peace over you.

Your legs are still a little sore from yesterday’s ‘event’ and you’ve been feeling phantom whisker twitches throughout the day, but you’re just glad to be back in your non-ferret form with almost no lingering craving for raw chicken. Since last night, you have been tired. Less so than when Diavolo had set you down in your bed after the unpleasantness had concluded, but still very tired. In your half-asleep state, your mind wanders.

At breakfast, Lucifer extended a gloved hand to cup your chin, gently tilting your head up. For several moments, he examined every inch of your face with medical-grade scrutiny.

 “You look brighter,” he finally concluded.

“Bushy-tailed?”

“No. Your tail was ratlike.”

“Call me a rat again!”

Lucifer exhaled a noiseless laugh, clearly finding you well enough to tease again. You batted his hand away and turned back to your waffles with a performative huff. He’d left early as he often did, but not before kissing your forehead as an unusually unreserved and affectionate goodbye.

The remaining brothers escorted you to RAD as a pack, graciously keeping their fighting to subdued waves of hushed bickering. You didn’t really notice, since on all levels except physical, you were still in bed.

You walked beside Satan, who watched you like a hawk to prevent you from toppling over your own stumbling feet.  His lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows knitted together tighter than the sweater you’d shrunk in the wash and given to Little D No. 2 as a definitely-on-purpose, no-reason-except-I-love-you gift.

“Satan.”

“Hm.”

“Did something happen?”

He looked at you as though you’d grown a second head. He squinted at you, unsure if you were playing a petty joke on him. Your blank stare seemed to convince him otherwise.

“… Last night?”

He nodded stiffly.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. I should’ve known better.”

You looped your arm through his (finally having an excuse to lean on him for the remainder of your exhausting short walk) and snorted.

“It’s alright. Thanks for trying,” you replied. “Sorry you got big-brothered.”

He bristled, face turning an outraged pink. You patted his arm, chuckling to yourself, refusing to let him escape his new duty as your guide.

You barely stayed awake through the morning. Thankfully, you shared first and second period with Simeon, who lent you his shoulder to rest against with the promise to share his notes with you when you’d recovered fully. Truly an angel.

Lunch was an endurance test. Between Asmo gushing about all his ideas for different animal costumes he’d like you to try and Levi explaining in agonising detail about the new ferret princess anime he’d found (assuring you it was purely coincidence, so don’t get a big head!), you had a hard time not burying your face in your plate just for a moment of peace.

On the walk home, you’d kept to your personal vow to Completely Ignore Mammon, The Traitor. The second-born followed you like a whimpering puppy, babbling his half-baked excuses and squawking his indignation until you told him you’d forgive his terrible crime if he promised to cover your dinner duties for the entire month.

Which leads you to your current contentment.

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head and over Mammon’s lap. He grumbles under his breath, holding his D.D.D. up a little higher before you can knock it out of his hands with your carefree tranquillity.

“Nice nap, Fluffy?”

You begrudgingly open your eyes. You sit up, squinting at the common room doorway to see Belphie giving you a small, self-satisfied smirk. Beel follows close behind, emptying the last few crumbs of a huge pack of shadow bat chips into his mouth.

“Shut up.”

“No. Bad,” Belphie scolds.

You scowl as he flops onto the couch opposite you, taking up his usual place curled up in the corner for his after-RAD nap. Before Beel can join his twin, you beckon him over to you.

You take his hand in yours (the one not covered in deep purple shadow bat dust), inspecting the web between his thumb and forefinger for traces of your tiny, vicious attack the night before.

“It really doesn’t hurt,” Beel says softly.

“I’m sorry,” you reply nonetheless, kissing the faint bite mark left on Beel’s hand. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“You were scared. And you were so small. So cute,” he smiles, cheeks turning ever so slightly red. “You are cute.”

You can feel the bubbling revulsion building in Mammon, a thousand furious remarks readied to protest your sweet moment. You put one of the decorative cushions over his face with your free hand.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I was worried I hurt you,” Beel continues, brows furrowing.

“You didn’t!” you squeeze his hand. “I liked curling up on your shoulder. Made me want to be there forever. I’d never be cold or go hungry with you. ”

Beel brightens at your odd confession. He nods enthusiastically, pleased as punch to be thought of as a good hypothetical pet owner.

“I would’ve put you in the closet,” Belphie comments. “I wanted a rabbit.”

“Come here so I can smother you.”

Belphie dismisses you with a lazy wave and snuggles into his spot. Mammon bats the cushion out of his face, cursing you and the human race in its entirety, but seems to forgive your rudeness almost immediately once you cuddle up to him with another yawn. You bury your face into his chest, regrettably oblivious to his delighted expression.

The common room is so peaceful.

You hear the occasional rustle of Belphie adjusting his position for the optimal nap experience,  the constant munching from Beel’s pre-dinner snack supply (soon to be followed by the post-pre-dinner snack, which is completely separate), Mammon’s D.D.D. buzzing infrequently. The four of you simply exist beside each other, finding no reason to fill the quiet with unnecessary conversation; content in the comfort of being in the same room.

You sink back into Mammon’s lap, head resting on his skinny legs once more. He may not be the most comfortable, but he’s definitely the easiest to trick into being your pillow.

Your D.D.D. vibrates, forcing you to open your heavy eyes yet again and bring it into your line of vision. You barely have the strength to hold it tight enough to keep it from falling onto your face.

              I hope I’m not interrupting anything.   

              Are you in your room?

You purse your lips, trying to figure out what could possibly come from this conversation.

                                                          Should I be?   

              It would be best!

Bizarre.

Act normal.

You tuck your D.D.D. back into your pocket, dragging yourself upright. You give your best, most convincing, full-body yawn.

“I think I need to go to bed.”

Beel and Mammon give you equally concerned looks, the former more crumb-covered than the latter.

“You’ll miss dinner…” Beel says, miserable on your behalf.

“You seriously that tired?” Mammon asks, sitting up a little straighter.

“Mm,” you nod. “Still feel like I have a tail, too.”

Belphie snickers. At least you can trust that the Avatar of Sloth won’t think your early bedtime isn’t a cause for concern.

You pull yourself to your feet, genuinely feeling the heaviness in your limbs and the bone-deep fatigue from a night of running and a day of pretending to listen to drawling professors. You can’t help but grunt when you stand, but you count it as adding to your convincing performance.

“Human,” Mammon says. “Sure you’re okay?”

“How come you guys don’t act like you’re giving your final goodbyes when I want to go to bed?” Belphie pipes up from his pretzel-knot sleeping position.

“Shaddup!” Mammon snaps. “That’s not what’s happenin’!”

You snort, grateful for the drowsy youngest brother’s presence to keep the others from overthinking your excuses. You lean over and kiss Mammon’s forehead, who deflates mid-fury, immediately pacified.

 “I can give you a piggyback to your room,” Beel suggests.

“You’re a sweetheart,” you reply. “But I’ll be fine, Beel. Thank you.”

“Should I bring you up some food later?” he asks.

You divert your exit to go over to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. In his seated position, it feels like hugging someone the same height as you.

“Eat my share, okay? I’ll fill up tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

His small grunt into your neck betrays his worry, but he doesn’t argue.

You make your lead-footed way back to your bedroom, wishing you’d accepted Beel’s offer and berating yourself for your usual reaction of declining before thinking. So sleepy. So much effort.

Once you reach your room and close the door, you pull your D.D.D. out of your pocket again and open your chat with Diavolo.

                                                       In my room now!   

The little tick appears by your bubble to confirm it’s been seen, but you receive no response.

Confused, you begin typing out another message. Before you can press send, a very purposeful knock at your window makes you jump.

You hurry over, hackles raised. Squinting into the darkness for a few seconds, you see nothing.

Then you see a large hand appear from just below the windowsill.

Two large hands. Two large, waving hands.

You haul the window open as fast as the heavy, water-damaged wood frame will allow. You plant your hands on the ledge, ignoring how it crumbles under your fingers, and lean out, batting one of the hands in front of you.

The hands are replaced by a shock of dark red hair (connected to the rest of a very familiar, very large body). You step backwards, slapping your hands over your mouth to stifle giddy, delighted giggles, and watch in bewildered glee as Lord Diavolo, Prince and Future King of the Devildom, squeezes his massive frame through your window.

“What are you doing here?!” you manage to squeak through your fingers.

Diavolo gives you a wide grin as he dusts flakes of old paint from his impeccable black suit.

“I came to visit!”

“Goofball!” you squawk.

Thankfully, you reach Diavolo in time to hold a hand over his mouth to muffle his booming laughter. He wraps a hand around yours, peeling it away from his face.

“I wanted to check on you, truly,” he reiterates, much quieter this time. “But I couldn’t leave my office with all the work that had piled up, so I wasn’t able to catch you between classes. By the time I’d finished, it was well past the end of the day.”

“That absolutely doesn’t answer my question. My door still works.”

 “I was inspired by your mode of egress. It’s fun to try new things.”

You want to throw him back out of the window for even referring to the Asmo’s Gift/Escape to Purgatory Hall Incident.

“Forgive my intrusion,” he continues, unfazed by your icy glare. “Honestly, I find myself acting rather impulsively when I think of you. And I haven’t been able to think of anything but you since last night.”

You feel your face heat to boiling point. Diavolo’s brows furrow. He takes a step closer to you, clearly concerned.

You’re nervous. You can’t help it.

You’ve never truly been alone together. You still aren’t, treading on the thinnest ice imaginable with all seven brothers under the same roof as the two of you. Exhilarating.

The empty-headed grin returns to your face.

“Didn’t Barbatos catch you leaving?”

“He didn’t!” he replies. “But, come to think of it, he did bid me goodnight suspiciously early today…”

You can only assume Barbatos knows perfectly well every detail of Diavolo’s plan. He must’ve simply allowed this small act of rebellion in light of the fact that he’d finished all of his work on time and just wished the Young Master would do so more often.

“Will you stay this time?”

It’s Diavolo’s turn to blush. He folds his arms, considering your question. Before you can backpedal and make your excuses, he gives you a charming smile that stops you from even opening your mouth.

“If that would make me useful to you.”

You nod enthusiastically, grabbing his forearms to try and express how exciting the prospect is to you.

“I don’t have the strength to crush your bones to dust like I usually do,” you chirp, earning a snort from the Prince. “But I could definitely use a teddy bear.”

Diavolo blinks, tilting his head. He glances at your bed, observing the diverse collection of plush animals littering the soft lilac bedsheets and tucked between the many plump cushions. He meets your eyes once again, completely baffled.

“I worry about not having them all on the bed at once and one of the brothers comes in and finds that his is on the floor or something,” you explain half-heartedly. “I feel bad when they’re not all together, too…”

He squints, absolutely not following. You wave your hand to dismiss the train of thought.

“I meant you.”

“Ah!” Diavolo gasps. “Yes, of course! I can do that!”

You snicker.

“Did you, by any chance, bring some fancy sleepwear with you, Mr Prince?”

“I did not.”

“You were just going to pop in for a quick visit through the window?”

“I was!” he replies, grinning.

You know Diavolo’s personal principle to never tell a lie.

You can confirm, in this moment, that you are standing before a complete and total goober.

“I think I have something in your size,” you hum, pulling open your chest of drawers to find the most appropriate set of Beel’s old pyjamas.

You find yourself getting very in your own head as you search. Even with the wealth of clothes bestowed upon you by Beel (who happily feeds your insatiable appetite for comfy, oversized casual wear), you struggle to stop thinking about accidentally offering something to the future king that may break some kind of law you aren’t aware of.

After far too long, you grab a thankfully inoffensive white t-shirt and pair of grey sweatpants (you’d intended on cutting a hole into them and wearing them over your head as part of an elaborate prank with Belphie, but you don’t mention it) and thrust them into Diavolo's hands.

He smiles, draping them neatly over his arm.

“I can step out if you’d like,” Diavolo replies.

“If you mean step outside through the window I’m really going to piledrive you.”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.  

You offer to change in the bathroom to give Diavolo some privacy – ignoring his insistence that he doesn’t want to inconvenience you – and fish your own pyjamas out from under your pillow. You rush out of your bedroom and to the bathroom, fervently thanking every deity you’ve ever heard of that your journey is not intercepted.

In front of the massive bathroom mirror, you make sure you’ve put your sleep shirt on the right way and practice looking Completely Normal.

Your reflection is not convincing. It squints back at you, eyeing your flushed cheeks and your excited grin. Good enough.

Stealth personified, you pad through the hallway (bumping your hip into one of the console tables hidden around a corner, pretty much exactly the same way a trained assassin would) and head back to your bedroom. You barely open the door, slipping in and closing it as softly as you can behind you.

Diavolo, having changed and set his suit over the back of one of your chairs, stands with his arms folded beside your bookcase, admiring the trinkets and keepsakes dotted along your shelves.

You turn the key in the lock, taking solace in the heavy clunk. No interruptions. Maybe. You turn, resting your back against the door.

You can’t really parse the scene before you.

Lord Diavolo, the most powerful demon in the Devildom, the towering prince, always prim and proper in elegant suits or respectably intimidating in his gold-adorned demon form, constantly working his hardest to maintain peace in the land he rules, stands before you in old pyjamas in the middle of your cosy little bedroom.

“Are you alright?”

You reply with a small, confused grunt. You didn’t realise just how long you’d just been staring silently at him.

“Oh! No!” you reply, flustered. “No – yes, I am! Just tired.”

He opens his arms to you. Without hesitation, you approach him and bury your face in his chest.

He is large. He is warm. He wraps his arms around you and picks you up, letting you hook your legs around his hips as he makes his way to your bed. He sits, setting you in his lap.

“You must have had a long day,” he says, cupping your face.

You lean into his touch, nodding. You have had a long day. An exhausting day. You’ve been awake since you got up.

“At least I’m not a ferret.”

“That is a good point,” the demon chuckles. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Don’t,” you huff, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles into your back. You can barely keep your eyes open.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t help it. As soon as I left the House yesterday, I started searching for whoever was responsible.”

You perk up, sitting up again.

“I found them,” he continues. “Two demons. RAD students, actually.”

“Really?” you ask, concerned.

“It seems there is a new product circulating less-than-reputable sellers. A mild form of curse powder used for pranks, I believe, but it isn’t particularly well-regulated. Apparently, its effects can vary massively.”

You frown.

“Not to worry,” he says. “It is more of a nuisance than anything. The two guaranteed that they weren’t targeting you, specifically. You were simply unlucky enough to wander over.”

“Think that’ll reassure the brothers enough to stop babysitting me?”

“No,” he says with an insufferable grin.

You groan.

“I can’t say that it reassured me, either,” he admits. “Though they were telling the truth, I was rather upset.”

You purse your lips, studying Diavolo’s face. His expression betrays his frustration. When his golden eyes meet yours once again, the tension in his jaw dissolves.

“You mean so much to so many, it’s hard not to feel protective of you.”

“Disgusting. Revolting. You make me sick,” you grumble, flopping over to rest your forehead against his chest.

His boisterous laugh must’ve been loud enough to be heard from outside your room, but you’re too busy trying to keep your heart from falling out of your mouth to realise.

“I truly adore you.”

Oh, that’ll do it.

You look up at Diavolo again, your fingers fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt. His smile is so calm, so genuine. The Prince doesn’t lie.

You lean up and kiss him. One of his warm hands supports the back of your neck, the other settling on your hip. When you pull away, you curl up against his chest again, determined to find a way to melt into him completely.

“You should sleep.”

“Never.”

Diavolo envelopes you in his arms once again. He pulls you to the side in one swift movement, laying you down on your bed.

Your accusations of cheating and poor sportsmanship go unheard as the demon pulls your blanket over you and he settles in beside you. He lies on his back, his arm tucked under your head. You wriggle yourself as close as possible to him, clinging on to him just in case his promise to stay the night might have been some kind of misunderstanding.

“I won’t leave,” he says softly, sensing your anxiety. “I’m so happy to be with you.”

In his infinite wisdom, he successfully interprets your strangled groan as invitation to elaborate. He runs his hand through your hair absent-mindedly.

“In a perfect world, you would never leave my side,” he explains, wistfulness tinting his tone. “I have to confess, I find myself getting carried away with those fantasies, especially when I’m faced with a particularly large stack of paperwork.”

You laugh, thinking of how often Diavolo must’ve landed himself in hot water zoning out in front of Barbatos.

“Will you tell me about them?” you ask, loosening your grip on his shirt ever so slightly.

Diavolo hums, gazing up at the ceiling. He tucks his free arm under his head.

“I think of a coronation,” he muses. “A celebration. Our castle, our union. You look so beautiful in red. I can finally flaunt you to every citizen of the Devildom, and they adore you almost as much as I do, screaming and cheering so loudly for you that we can barely hear the words of the ceremony.”

You can see yourself on the balcony of the Demon King’s castle, crowned in brilliant gold to match Diavolo – your partner and equal – who stands beside you, looking at you with heart-shattering pride that even Lucifer couldn’t match.

You don’t know how well you’d do with a job in management, but you could bumble your way through a career in Devildom monarchy. In a fantasy, definitely.

“Often, I find myself carried away in dreams of being selfish,” he says. “I find wicked delight in the envy in the eyes of others when they see us together and know that you’re all mine. No locked doors, no hidden meetings. You would call me embarrassing, I believe.”

You huff a tired little laugh. You imagine having no fear of being interrupted, no hesitation, no politics to be wary of. The goofy prince would take every opportunity he could to boast about you to anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. You absolutely would call him embarrassing.

“Other times, something simple,” he carries on. “A life we share in peace, undisturbed. Free to wander where our hearts take us. We lose track of time trekking through the Centaur Forest, we take in the view from the top of Banshee Peak. Every day, we find something new to experience together. I get to show you every corner of the world.”

You remember taking a trip with the brothers, Barbatos, and Diavolo, struggling to keep up with those more experienced with the mind-blowing flora and fauna surrounding you. When you’d reached a clearing to take a break, Diavolo had beckoned you over to one of the massive trees on its borders. Without a word, he’d taken your hand in his and extended your arm, palm facing out. After a few confusing seconds, you felt something warm and velvety touch your hand. Before your bewildered eyes, a massive, solid shadow manifested from huffing muzzle to elegant tail.

Diavolo told you about the Abysshorse in hushed tones, but you can’t recall anything other than the creature’s name and the dazzling smile the Prince gave you when you’d thanked him.

You want him to show you every corner of the world.

 “There is no way I could decide your future,” Diavolo concludes, sounding noticeably drowsier than when he’d started. “But I like to daydream about a future we share.”

Your eyes are closed. You sigh, deep and dreamy, soothed by the gentle motion of Diavolo’s breathing, and captivated by the lives you lead together in a thousand possible alternate worlds.

True to his word, Diavolo doesn’t leave.

Tonight, there is no Prince of the Devildom. There is only you and your teddy bear.

Chapter Text

You woke in the early hours of the morning to the sound of very gentle footsteps across your bedroom floor.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, brows furrowed with prematurely-awakened confusion, and you realised the space beside you was empty.

You sat up to find your body pillow substitute (or – more formally – Lord Diavolo) standing in front of your massive arched window, halfway through changing back into his RAD uniform with his back to you.

He pulled Beel’s old white shirt off over his head, the simple movement highlighting the rippling muscles in his outrageously broad shoulders and tree-trunk thick arms. He should’ve looked out of place – a vision of pure power crowned in radiant moonlight, now surrounded by your woodland-gothic furniture and cute memorabilia and goofy stuffed animals – but all you saw was the source of warmth and comfort that had you dreaming so sweetly for the few hours he’d been next to you.

Imposing and undefeatable, warm and adoring, you could still feel his strong hand lay feather-soft on your stomach. Sleeping beside him, you were his.

You felt incredibly well-rested regardless of how long you’d been asleep. You wished you could have slept and been awake at the same time so you didn’t have to miss a moment with him.

So where did he think he was going when you hadn’t had your fill?

You folded your arms and huffed melodramatically.

Diavolo stopped buttoning up his smart black shirt and looked over to you, blinking, clearly remorseful that he’d disturbed your sleep.

“You were going to leave without waking me up,” you accused, childish venom in your words.

He gave you an apologetic smile, finished buttoning his shirt, and smoothed it over his impressive form.

“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Garbage.”

He chuckled good-naturedly, watching you as you climbed out of the bed and padded across the ice-cold floorboards to square up to him. As soon as you reached him, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

A poor offering to appease your fury.

Diavolo, intuitive and sensitive to his citizens as he was, picked up on your lingering resentment (and your very big scowl) and tilted your chin up to face him.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“Never.”

“Can I ever return?”

“Immediately.”

He laughed again, pleased by your response. Placing one massive hand on your hip, he leaned closer to reward your compliance with a proper kiss.

His kisses weren’t greedy, they weren’t desperate, they weren’t eager in the way you’d been devoured so many times, but they were still scalding hot.

He was calm. He had no reason to show anxiety. He knew you wanted to be in his arms and love him the way he does you. Assertive but not oppressive, he simply took the lead, as is his nature and as is his title.

The Prince was, and always had been, powerfully soft.

You sighed, burying your face into his chest.

“You are always welcome in the castle,” he murmured, gently stroking your sleep-tousled hair. “Stay with me next time. Let me treat you like royalty. Like you deserve.”

“Treat me like this, and I’m happy,” you mumbled.

For a moment, his shoulders slumped. You looked up to see His Royal Highness, the Big Puppy, blessing you with an early-morning, recently-kicked appearance.

“Soon,” you promised, backtracking. “I’ll stay with you soon.”

He brightened again, your vow bringing a dazzling smile to his face.

You picked up his huge red jacket, holding it out for him to slip his arms through, and you straightened his tie before leading him back to the window where he’d made his initial impressive entrance last night. You bowed deeply.

“Your carriage, your highness.”

He covered his mouth to stifle a snort, already filled with little-kid energy despite the early hour and despite definitely having had less sleep than you. He pulled himself back to full height and gave you a regal nod before climbing out through the open window.

You worried for a moment that he’d catch his expensive suit on the dusty frame, but he managed to make such an awkward manoeuvre look so noble and so purposeful, like nothing could be more effortless. You remembered your own clumsy attempt in the common room and the clothes you’d had to throw away after they’d been snagged and torn beyond repair. Royal you were not.

Diavolo stood on the porch outside your window and brushed his suit off. Turning back, he placed his hands on the windowsill, leaned through the open frame, and kissed you once more.

“Soon,” he reminded you.

You nodded, a dazed and dreamy smile plastered on your face as you watched the Prince of the Devildom sneak out of the grounds of the House of Lamentation and disappear into the blackness of the perpetual night.

Once you could no longer see him, you returned to your bed and fell backwards, landing with a fwump.

Your room was cold.

You were lucky and you knew it; you could send one text and have a gaggle of all-powerful demon lords bashing down your door and fighting tooth and nail and wing and horn to be the one to keep you company.

But you were happy to feel the loss of Diavolo’s presence. You didn’t want to replace it so suddenly. You gave it grace. The sheets smelled like him. His spot was still warm.

You couldn’t wait to stay in the castle next time.

Once classes ended on Thursday afternoon, you’d left the brothers to get to their student council meeting. It was sure to be long and boring and you didn’t hide your wicked smugness as you waved goodbye.

You’d happened to bump into Solomon on your way out of the building, catching him by the sleeve and convincing him to accompany you home through the nearby shopping district.

You are determined to have a normal evening. One normal Thursday evening. One normal bonding moment with your beloved demon companions. One humiliation-free night.

This time, for sure.

“I heard about your four-legged escapades,” the sorcerer mentions, smile even more self-satisfied than usual.

“Great," you reply flatly. "News travels fast.” 

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he laments. “But I’ll do my very best to find you the perfect transfigurative potion to get you back to your destined ferret form.”

“You’re my hero, Solomon,” you respond through gritted teeth. “Let me crush your bones as thanks.”

He laughs cheerfully at your venom, motioning you to walk in front of him through the school gates and onto the street ahead.

“Simeon had his work cut out for him this morning when Luke found out. He ranted and raved about vanquishing evil demons and administering divine justice for so long he was almost late for school.”

You feel a little guilty thinking about Luke worrying for you – and irked that all of the inhabitants of Purgatory Hall are aware of your ferret period – but you can’t help but giggle at the thought of Luke yipping and yelping in your honour until he’s red in the face.

“Oh no. Is he alright?”

“Mm,” Solomon nods. “Simeon suggested he make you some cupcakes to make you feel better and he all but ran home as soon as class ended.”

You snort. What an angel.

The two of you walk along the cobblestone path and into town, window shopping and talking about nothing in particular. You grab yourself a few snacks to hide in your room and say a silent prayer for the other residents of Purgatory Hall while Solomon happily picks up some groceries to use for tonight’s dinner.

You stop mid-stride in front of Madame Scream’s bakery with a gasp, grabbing the sleeve of the sorcerer walking beside you and almost making him drop the overladen paper bag he’s carrying.

“Black puddle tarts!” you squeal, tugging Solomon’s arm excitedly.

Solomon readjusts his shopping, tucking it into the crook of his arm so he can pat your head condescendingly.

“Wonderful observation.”

“Shut up,” you snap, letting go of him. “I have to get some! Beel and I made black puddle jelly a few weeks ago and accidentally made it rain in the kitchen, but it tasted so good! I need to get some.”

Solomon chuckles, following calmly as you rush into the bakery.

You wait in line with as many boxes as you can carry, panicking only very slightly when you reach the counter as you find it extremely difficult to fish the required Grimm from your pocket while Solomon snickers unhelpfully beside you.

You leave Madame Scream’s with multiple pastel-toned paper bags and your wicked friend in tow, undeterred and barely containing your glee at having found such a perfect dessert for tonight.

As soon as you take a step out from under the bakery’s mint-striped awning, the heavens (or hells?) open above you, falling like a lead curtain on your heads. 

You will not be defeated. You will have a normal night.

Solomon passes his bag to you and slips his heavy coat off, holding it above the both of you.

“Ready?”

You nod, grinning. The bags are so heavy. But you are so determined.

The Devildom rain is sharper than you thought possible, biting and whipping your face despite the cover Solomon’s coat provides. You trot along beside your long-legged friend, occasionally yipping in shock when a raindrop finds its way down your back.

Purgatory Hall is your first stop, and you assure Solomon he doesn’t need to walk you home. He pulls his soaked coat back on and takes his bag back from you. He accepts your decision readily, looking far too pleased to be trusted.

You take brief respite on the dormitory’s porch, bidding a suspicious goodbye to Solomon as he closes the door to the warmth and dryness of Purgatory Hall and leaves you to make your five minute journey home.

It’s nothing. It’s easy.

You’ve done it a thousand times and you’ll do it again. And you’ll protect your goods with your life.

You definitely experience a huge-brain genius moment. You slide your jacket off of your shoulders and wrap it around the delicate, rain-spattered bakery bags.

Five minutes is nothing.

You are so proud of your bravery as you step out from under the safety of the wooden roof. Your pride falters, however, when a clap of thunder rings out from behind the spindly trees of the horizon and the flirty shower turns to a torrential downpour.

You keep going, gritting your teeth and commending yourself for being so committed to your mission of normality that you’ll stroll down the barely-lit alleyway in the drenched remains of what used to be your RAD uniform, keeping a white-knuckled stranglehold on the jacket-wrapped lump in your arms.

Your D.D.D. rings, barely audible through the heavy static of the rainfall. You manage to accept the call after grappling with the slippery screen for a few frustrating seconds.

“Solomon?” you answer, trying to keep your voice as even as possible through the bitter chill. “Did you forget something?”

“Hm?” Solomon replies. “Oh, no, not at all. Simeon was worried about you, so I told him I’d call and make sure you don’t need an umbrella or a coat or anything.”

You clench your jaw, remaining silent.

“Don’t worry!” he continues impishly. “I let him know you’re absolutely fine.”

“Thank you so much, garbage boy.”

Solomon laughs before he hangs up, and you seethe.

You will have your revenge. If you don’t catch pneumonia and die, you will have your revenge.

You finally reach your blessed destination, soaked to the bone and unable to control your chattering teeth. You set your package down by your feet and fumble for your keys with shaking hands.

You’re sure you can feel your blood freezing solid under your skin, your breathing restricted by the violent chills running through your body, and you try your very best to will your numb hands to cooperate. The door swings open and you almost topple over into the glorious warmth of your home, exhaling a painful but grateful breath and slamming the door behind you. Your stumbling footsteps are accompanied by an unreasonably loud squelch.

Now that you’re out of the cold, you can really focus on how cold you are.

You trudge to the kitchen, the act more difficult than ever with your clothes so heavily saturated with rain, and secure your precious purchase in your Beel-Safe Hiding Spot (using a spell Lucifer recently taught you that makes an area completely disappear from sight), then pause a moment to bask in the warmth of the ever-roaring fire.

Strong, brave little human. You got your shopping home and didn’t even die. Excellent job.

“Dammit, Levi, did ya summon Lotan again!?”

You open your eyes and turn, your recovery interrupted by the sudden exclamation. Mammon stands in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, checking the bottom of his slipper after stepping in one of the many, massive puddles of purple-tinted rainwater you’d left on your journey from the front door. When he looks back up and sees you instead of his dorky little brother, his scowl quickly fades.

You offer an uncertain smile.

“Damn, babe. The hell happened?” Mammon asks softly, approaching you and taking in your drowned-rat appearance. “You’re gonna get sick if ya stay like that.”

You shrug, conceding. He has a point. You start peeling off your uniform pants.

It takes a moment for Mammon to figure out what you’re doing.

“Not here, ya moron!” he squawks. “Anyone could walk in!”

“They’re all at the meeting you skipped,” you reply, grunting with the effort of prying the sodden fabric off of your legs. “And I don’t have a fire in my bedroom.”

Mammon squints at you. You don’t take note, instead heading over the clothesline where the brothers usually hang dish towels and rags (after being scolded enough times for leaving a mess) and attempting to chuck your pants high enough to catch.

“You’re useless, ya know that?” he sighs, grabbing your pants from your hands and hanging them up.

“Everything’s demon height!” you protest.

He looks you up and down, noticeably staring at your bare thighs. Before you can mention his behaviour, he pulls off his sweatshirt and holds it out to you.

“Your shirt’s wet too.”

You beam at the demon, though he can’t hold your gaze for more than a few seconds, and peel off your shirt in exchange for his. He grabs your discarded jacket and your shirt and slings them up next to your pants.

“Thanks, Mammoney.”

He turns around and looks at you once more, leaning against the counter and folding his arms.

You spread your arms to demonstrate how his expensive sweatshirt is just a little too long in the sleeves, waving your hands. Your hair is still wet and stuck to your face and your socks leave footprint-shaped puddles of rainwater, but Mammon looks at you like you’ve just descended from the Celestial Realm.

“Wear my clothes more.”

You raise your eyebrows, caught off guard by the softly-spoken demand. He replies to your silence with a simple explanation:

“Makes me feel like you’re mine.”

You pad over to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

 “Give me your clothes more, then.”

He kisses you in response. When you lean in to him, he takes it as his signal to explore every inch of your body.

The Avatar of Greed worships you in his own obsessive, sinful way, devoted to making you feel like nothing in his world could ever be more important or more beautiful. His hands are so warm. He can’t get enough of you.

Then you hear the front door close.

You squawk, jerking back from Mammon to grab your D.D.D. and check the time.

“The coffee!” you gasp.

“Y’still got time, babe,” he murmurs, too busy peppering your neck in kisses.

You put your hands on his shoulders to pull him away and put on your best ‘I’m-Mammon-and-I’m-Really-Dumb’ voice:

“Anyone could walk in!”

He looks at you with a pout and releases his grip on your ass.

“Not cute,” he huffs, folding his arms.

“It’s pretty cute,” you retort, kissing him on the nose.

He pretends he’s still mad at you, but you can see the smile creeping back onto his face.

“Whatever. Go put some pants on.”

You salute. He rolls his eyes.

You skitter out of the kitchen – thankfully, you can hear the brothers still in the entrance hall, unsurprisingly in the midst of an argument – and slip into your bedroom across the hallway.

You pull on a pair of pale yellow shorts and take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. Mammon’s acid-wash black sweatshirt is simple - oversized and a little rumpled. It’s cute.

You do look like his. Your reflection flashes you a dreamy little smile.

Mammon is still in the kitchen when you get back, still leaning on the counter and scrolling through his D.D.D. You smile when you notice that he’d set your pots and cups out on the counter for you.

You wordlessly prepare for another Thursday evening, comforted by the presence of the second-born. As usual, he insists on carrying the heaviest trays to the common room.

The brothers have already settled in by the time you get there, several looking visibly relieved to have finally gotten home after their extended student council meeting. You see a few envious scowls thrown at Mammon and you can only assume he gave some bogus excuse to skip.

Lucifer sits in his armchair with a small stack of papers in his lap, apparently not having had his fill of work yet. Satan sits in the corner of one of the couches, engrossed in one of the more recent books from his ‘Curses to Use on Lucifer’ reading list. Beside him, Levi lays boneless, clearly exhausted from having to be out of the house for such an extended period of time. Belphie is already conked out on the floor by the fireplace, cuddled up with his cow-print pillow. Beel sits on the couch behind his twin, devouring a pack of spicy newt chips with one hand while Asmo paints the nails on the other.

The scene is so wonderfully normal.

You serve each brother his drink as your weekly ritual dictates. Beel is over the moon when you present the black puddle tarts, touched that you thought of him and your recent kitchen adventure, and immediately stuffs two in his mouth.

“Good meeting today?” you ask, addressing the room.

You receive several irritable grunts in response (quickly silenced when Lucifer looks up from his papers with narrowed eyes) and you chuckle.

“Better than getting stuck in the rain,” you reason. “I think it stopped just after I got home.”

Asmo gasps. He sets his nail polish down, grabs the back of your (Mammon’s) sweatshirt and pulls you into his lap, cradling your head to his chest.

“You poor thing, you must’ve gotten soaked!” he wails.

You nod, basking in the fuss Asmo makes over you and allowing yourself a little self-pity. He strokes your head, fretting about how tragic the knots in your hair are.

“I just can’t believe I wasn’t there!” he laments. “I mean, the rain drenching your uniform and making it stick so closely to your body, I’m heartbroken I didn’t get to see it myself!”

You wrench yourself away from him and reel back, preparing your killing blow.

Before you can launch your attack, Beel wraps an arm around you (a little like a child would pick up a cat, which makes your arms stick out uselessly) and pulls you over to his side calmly, ever the mediator.

“Beel,” you whine. “Just one.”

“Mm-mm.”

He keeps his arm around your middle just in case your murderous urge returns. You don’t complain, sinking in to his side instead. You can hear Mammon grumbling about PDA as if he wasn’t happy to make a production of your make-out session earlier.

“Some people can’t take a compliment,” Asmo pouts.

“I’ll wedgie you until you die.”

Asmo gasps, scandalised. Beel squeezes you very gently to remind you that you will not be assaulting anyone.

“You know, purple-tinge rain can have a detrimental effect on humans,” Satan comments, having been previously preoccupied with ignoring your childish argument with Asmo. “You had your umbrella with you, right?”

You stay quiet for a moment.

“I feel fine,” you reply.

“You had your coat at least,” Satan gives you a side-eye. “Right?”

You purse your lips. You technically did have your coat. You had your coat wrapped around a paper bag, tucked under your arm.

Lucifer looks up from his paperwork to give his second ice-cold glare of the night. You look anywhere but his direction.

“I feel fine,” you repeat.

Satan and Lucifer both sigh. The former is disgusted by how similar he sounds to the latter, immediately standing up and leaving the room.

“You’re totally gonna get sick,” Levi adds with a snort. “It’s gonna turn out exactly like My Adventures in the Nurse’s Office.”

You suppress a sneeze, unwilling to let the demons win. Instead, you untangle yourself from Beel’s (wonderful, calming, comforting) embrace and dust off your lap.

“Well, it’s been a long day and – even though I feel fine – I’m going to turn in. Goodnight, everyone,” you say as pleasantly as you can muster.

No one believes you, but you refuse to give in. You can feel goosebumps raise on the back of your neck. You give the remaining brothers a big smile and exit the common room to retreat to your bedroom.

Your feet are heavy and your head feels a little foggy. You wait until you’re safely behind your door to release the torrent of sneezes you’d been holding in. You climb into your bed and wrap yourself in every blanket and quilt you have available, though it does nothing to steady the intense chills surging through your body once again.

You grin to yourself. Though your standards are skewed, you’re so happy.

You had one normal Thursday evening.

Chapter Text

You wake up in darkness.

When you sit up, you feel like you’ve been hit by three to four trucks.

You stare blankly at your lap, hunched over like a cat working up a hairball, feeling every single one of your aching muscles screaming at you to please go back to sleep. When your brain finally joins you in your awakened state, you realise that you are in the centre of a huge bed. The sheets you’re tucked into are a luxurious burgundy silk, not the cosy lilac cotton you expect.

You pat the empty space beside you and furrow your brows. Still warm.

“Mammon?” you croak.

The sound of frantic fabric-flapping comes from behind the partition wall next to the bed, closely followed by the emergence of your beloved first demon as he scrambles to get to you, one arm stuffed into his unbuttoned sea-green RAD shirt.

“What happened!?” he yelps, hurrying to your side. “You okay!?”

You nod, holding your hands up to pacify the adorably concerned second-born.

“I’m fine. Just confused,” you reply. “When did I get here?”

Mammon tuts, pulling his other arm through his sleeve and buttoning up his shirt while a smug smile creeps onto his face.

“Found ya brainless at my door in the middle of the night. Pretty much sleepin’ standin’ up. Guess ya missed me!”

You vaguely recall standing in the hallway with your hand raised to knock on Mammon’s door. When you really think about it, you’re sure the door opened up before you’d even touched your knuckles to the wood.

You remember now; you’d found it odd how he’d been fully clothed and his bed was untouched despite the late hour and his proclivity for sleeping naked.

He’d seen how ill you looked in the common room earlier in the night. He’d waited up all night just in case you needed him. You decide not to bring up your recent recollection to keep his fragile ego intact.

 “Were you getting dressed in the dark?”

He shrugs, running his hand through his hair and avoiding eye contact in his typical, shamefully soft-hearted fashion.

“Didn’t wanna wake you up. Was gonna bring ya some breakfast later.”

You put a hand to your chest, touched. He groans, waving you off.

“It don’t mean anythin’! You’d just end up fallin’ asleep in your pancakes!”

“You’re right,” you nod solemnly. “But I really like pancakes, so…”

You drag yourself out of his bed and to your feet. Your whole body aches and your head feels like it’s full of cotton wool. You don’t want to acknowledge that Satan may have had a point when he said Devildom rain can have a detrimental effect on humans.

Mammon watches you, clearly displeased by the obvious discomfort you’re experiencing doing such a simple task. He grabs his uniform jacket from the back of his couch and pulls it on, then turns and half-crouches, hands behind his back, beckoning you over with his fingers.

You hesitate.

“This is a limited time offer, dammit,” he huffs. “C’mon.”

You obey, slipping your arms over his shoulders and hopping onto his back. He hooks his arms over your thighs and bumps you up to prime piggyback position, carrying you out of his bedroom and towards the bustle of the dining room.

You must’ve drifted off to the soothing motion of Mammon’s loping gait and the subtle spice of his cologne, because the next thing you notice is a large hand wrapped around your bicep to keep you upright while Mammon essentially pours you into a seat at the dining table.

“Are you okay?” Beel asks through a mouthful of toast, brows furrowed as he hesitantly lets go of your arm.

“You’re sick,” Satan scolds as he peers at you across the table. “You should have brought an umbrella.”

“You look awful!” Asmo screeches, dropping his cutlery with a loud clatter.

“Shaddup! Stop botherin’ ‘em, dammit!” Mammon snaps, setting a plate overladen with pancakes in front of you.

You snort and place a hand on his forearm to disable guard dog mode. He sinks in to the chair beside you, pouting and still glaring daggers at his younger brothers.

 “I’m fine,” you assure them.

You lean your elbow on the table to prop your heavy head up on your hand, eyes half-open.

Levi squints at you over his D.D.D.

“It’s like having two Belphies…” he mutters.

“No it’s not.”

The mumbled protest comes from the Avatar of Sloth himself, his face resting on his plate and his eyes closed.

“I’m just tired,” you reason.

Belphie, head still on the table, raises his glass to you.  Conversation resumes and you focus on getting as much syrup-soaked pancake into your mouth in your half-asleep, barely-functional state, oblivious to the frequent worried glances thrown your way from all angles.

You run out of steam fairly quickly, eyes inevitably closing while your arm moves on auto-pilot. A swift gloved hand over your shoulder intercepts your last swipe before you fall victim to a fork-punctured cheek. You squint upwards, blinded by the gentle light of the candelabra above.

“Has it come to a point where you can’t be trusted to feed yourself?” Lucifer reprimands you, setting your fork down on the table.

“What’s a few more holes in the face?” you reply, yawning.

Lucifer cups your chin, pointedly ignoring your remark, and tilts your head to inspect every inch of your face. He looks into your bloodshot eyes, lips pursed in a display of disapproval.

 “They should stay home,” Mammon proposes.

“Yes,” Lucifer nods, releasing you. “I agree.”

You and the remaining brothers feel a shared chill down your spines. Lucifer agreed with Mammon. Boldly. Unapologetically. No mention of Mammon’s idiocy.

“I guess I could sacrifice my precious time to keep ‘em from walkin’ off the roof today,” Mammon suggests, very proud of himself for (what he’s convinced is) a convincing argument.

“Take a day off,” Lucifer replies.

Mammon finally joins the rest of you in your bewilderment at the eldest brother’s abnormal agreeability.

“That may give you enough time to search for an even bigger dunce than you to employ you once you drop out due to your appalling grades.”

That’s more like it. Mammon squawks an unintelligible protest, too offended to manage a coherent response. You rub his arm, soothing him through the snickers of his brothers.

Before you can offer your half-hearted words of condolence, a small, gravelly voice pipes up:

“There, there, Papa!”

Mammon shrieks, jumping to his feet and causing a yelping, baseball-sized shadow to tumble from his lap onto the floor.

“Dammit! I told ya to stop sneakin’ up on me, ya creep!”

You scowl (though it takes a moment for your lagging brain to comprehend the scene before you) and scoop the mini-demon into your arms, hissing Mammon's name sharply. The flustered second-born looks between you and his tiny enemy, Little D No. 2, who happily buries his face into your chest.

“W-w-… What’re ya doin’ here, ya little rat!?”

“Barbatos has graciously offered the services of the Little Ds to stay at the House while we are at RAD,” Lucifer explains, already tired of the theatrics so early in the morning.

You hold Little D No. 2 up at arm’s length and squint at him. He offers you a wide, sharp-toothed grin.

“You mean to babysit me,” you frown, directing your accusation at the eldest brother.

Belphie snorts, the noise muffled against his porcelain plate.

“Can I really not sleep without supervision?”

You cast your icy glare around the room, hoping for just a sliver of reassurance from at least one of your dearest friends with whom you have shared so many meaningful moments and such a massive part of your life.

The several pairs of eyes that have been glued to you throughout breakfast are suddenly very interested in the incredible décor of the dining room.

“I hate you all.”

You stand with a huff, picking up your plate and fork with the clear intention of storming off to the kitchen to wash up, but you seem to have forgotten that you have lost all authority over your limbs. Before disaster can strike, Mammon swipes the tableware from your hands and Lucifer wraps an arm around your waist, supporting your entire bodyweight before your newborn-fawn legs can collapse under you.

You refuse to look at him. You have no reason to feed Lucifer’s already over-inflated ego.

“Ready for your nap?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

He hums an insufferably smug ‘mhm’, supporting you to return to your seat. No. 2 sits on the table’s edge in front of you, leaning forward to offer you a consolatory pat on the arm.

The brothers clean up around you as you sit, pouting, with your arms folded. If this were a voluntary unhelpfulness, you’d be more than happy to rub it in their faces, but you’re infuriated by your severe lack of energy and pushed to toddler-missing-important-nap levels of grumpiness.

A line forms before you, the brothers needing to bid you farewell as if they won’t see you again in only a few hours. When Asmo reaches you, he laces his fingers through yours and takes a moment to fan his face, seemingly on the verge of tears.

“Look better soon, okay?” he breathes.

You squint at him as he sucks in a dramatic breath, his lip quivering.

“You mean ‘feel better soon’?”

He stares at you, deadpan.

“I know what I said.”

You rip your hand out of his grasp, scowling. Asmo giggles, blowing you a kiss and bounding out of the dining room after his brothers.

“I will be home by lunch. Sleep until then,” Lucifer says.

“Oh, good!” you clap your hands, pressing them to your cheek with a wide grin. “Will you be spoon feeding me too?”

“You haven’t earned it.”

You stick your tongue out at him, which doesn’t elicit any reaction whatsoever. Stupid jerk.

“The Little Ds will ensure you rest. If not, myself or Barbatos will be here immediately.”

The little demon shrinks down, avoiding eye contact with Lucifer at all costs. Lucifer and Beel linger after the rest leave, one standing either side of you. 

“What am I, under arrest?”

“Some days I think it might be easier,” Lucifer hums. “But I can solve that issue in more creative ways.”

Beel’s eyebrows raise. He stares at his oldest brother for a few moments, waiting for an answer he will never receive.

“Beel will take you to your room.”

Beel nods, holding his hand out to you. You can’t bring yourself to spit your well-stocked reserve of venom at the sweet giant, even in the foul mood your fatigue and aching has put you in. You take his hand with one of yours and grab No. 2 with the other.

Practiced in the art of handling victims of exhaustion, Beel easily scoops you up into his arms and holds you close to his chest. You barely comprehend the following moments, your brain immediately ordering every part of your body to stand down under the intoxicating spell of Being In Beel’s Arms.

You don’t remember reaching your room or being set down in your bed or changing into your pyjamas or grabbing No. 2 off of his perch on your bedpost and tucking him under your chin, but you must have fallen asleep as soon as you’d hit your mattress.

The morning disappears in a haze of bizarre and incomprehensible dreams and you find yourself in the dark, completely alone. You’re freezing. You’re burning. All you have are the clothes on your back and a rubber duck that you squeeze repeatedly until it screeches. You can’t breathe. You’re screaming with your whole creaking chest but you can’t make a sound.

Something steadies your hands. Releases the suffocating pressure around your throat. The lights turn on.

You sit bolt upright with a gasp, your eyes snapping open and your chest heaving. Little D No. 2 tumbles out of your lap with a wheeze and a small bonk. Barbatos slides a gentle gloved hand up your arm to support you, the other still holding on to yours.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice even and soothing.

You blink at him vacantly for a few moments. The demon butler is kneeling by your bedside, prim and proper and not a hair out of place. You, recently awakened from your nightmare and still feeling a little bit like roadkill, have many hairs out of place. 

You pull your blanket over your head with your free hand, absolutely mortified. You don’t let go of Barbatos’s hand, though. You hear a soft chuckle.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you grumble.

“I could never.”

He squeezes your hand. You hear him quietly dismiss the Little Ds and a chorus of skittering claws (far more than you expected to hear) across the wooden floorboards. You peek out from under your covers.

“The Little Ds were worried about you,” Barbatos explains. “Shall I make sure they have nothing to fear?”

You resent how easily you fall for his sly tactic, especially after seeing Diavolo fall for it so many times and assuring yourself that you’re built different, but you let your blanket fall and reveal yourself in all your rumpled glory. Barbatos tilts his head when he smiles, reminding you very much of a kindergarten teacher who has just persuaded a child out of a tantrum.

“Thank you,” he hums, satisfied by your compliance.

He stands, brushing off his suit and collecting a covered tray from your table. He returns and sets the tray on your bed beside you, removing the lid to present a bountiful spread of sandwiches, fruit, and pastries, which you can only assume was intended to feed at least ten.

The food is beautiful. Impressive. Beel would inhale it all in a heartbeat. But you don’t feel hungry. You’re too tired.

“Purple-tinge rain exposure saps strength from the human body,” Barbatos clarifies. “You need plenty of food and rest to recover properly.”

“So… A cold?”

“Similar,” he nods. “But this cold can eject your soul and send it to another plane.”

You stare at him wide-eyed.

“I’ll eat,” you concede. “But only if you don’t serve me.”

You sit cross-legged and pat the space next to you. After a moment to truly absorb your stubbornness, Barbatos sighs and shakes his head.

“What am I to do with you?”

“Feel bad for me,” you reply, patting the bed once again. “Indulge me.”

He chuckles again and sits beside you with disciplined grace. You nibble on a fruit sandwich, spurred on by the desire to keep your soul, and you admittedly feel a bit better. Barbatos watches you with his usual cryptic, measured expression.

 “You have a spiral indent in your cheek,” he comments. “That explains why No. 2 looked so out of breath when he left.”

So that’s why the rubber duck in your dream was so unhappy. You hope you didn’t squeeze him too hard.

Barbatos tuts, wiping a crumb off of your lip with his thumb.

“Barbatos?”

He hums in response, tilting his head.

“Do demons usually protect humans?”

Barbatos considers your unexpected question, resting an elegant finger against his chin. 

“Protect is not the word I would use,” he replies. “Demons will often ensure a human’s safety, but it is usually due to the demon needing or wanting something from them. There is an ulterior motive.”

“Huh.”

You chew very thoughtfully for a moment.

“I don’t have anything to give,” you finally reply. “Oh – no, that’s not true. I got Lucifer those socks.”

 The demon butler blinks – almost, almost surprised – before a foxlike smile spreads across his face.

“You are quite odd.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“There is no other like you,” he continues. “And you do not see what you provide.”

“Snot?”

He laughs. The sound is gentle, classy. Sunset waves breaking on a white sand beach. Such a stark contrast to his master with his booming bark of a laugh, but both make your silly human heart flutter like a hummingbird.

“Understandably, you are too close to see it yourself,” Barbatos muses.  “But there is something about you that encourages bloom. That heals wounds centuries old. Something that can bring comfort to those who had given up hope to ever feel it again. A light.”

You stay quiet. Barbatos’s tone doesn’t change. He speaks as plainly as he would reciting a menu, as though the supposed inherent power you wield but can’t even sense yourself is common knowledge. You don’t know if you should take his perspective as complimentary or as bleak, but you feel your cheeks flush nonetheless.

“A light to be guarded,” he summarises as he stands. “Or to be claimed. A temptation.”

Barbatos cups your cheek. You lean into his palm, eyes closing on instinct to sink into his touch. You feel him kiss your forehead and linger. You want him to stay.

“Your temperature is too high.”

“I’m fine,” you groan, voice cracking in the middle of your protest.

“You will stay in bed,” he instructs you firmly. “Finish as much as you can and rest.”

He sets the tray – still half-full – on your bedside table and brushes away the crumbs on your sheets. Your shoulders slump when you sink back down and he chuckles, patting your head.

“This will be enforced.”

Your brows furrow at his mysterious response just as Lucifer emerges from your doorway. The enforcer has arrived.

You fold your arms.

“I’m okay!” you protest.

Lucifer and Barbatos both give you stern looks that shut your mouth.

“Thank you, Barbatos,” Lucifer says.

 “Of course,” he replies before turning back to you. “Be gentle with yourself.”

You purse your lips childishly in return, to which he chuckles gently once again. Barbatos bids you farewell with a polite nod before taking his leave, closing the door after himself. 

“Do you feel better?” Lucifer asks as he returns to your bedside.

“Mm.”

“And is that the truth?”

“Mm-hm.”

He raises his eyebrows at your petulance, allowing the silence to settle around you.

“You said you would be here at midday,” you mumble.

“Are you scolding me?”

“Yes.”

He pauses for a moment, folding his arms.

 “I intended to be here at midday,” he explains. “But Mammon had just set into effect his newest money-making scheme, which involved a lot of broken windows and must be repaid with many broken bones.”

“Lucifer!”

He waves away your feeble interruption, continuing:

“Barbatos responded to the Little Ds’ alert about you before I did. He assured me that he would check on you and bring your lunch to you as well.”

“Snitches.”

He sighs, already exasperated with you. You pause to consider the cause of his spikier-than-usual mood.

 “You were worried about me?”

He gives you a look that wordlessly asks if you have ever possessed any more than one single brain cell.

“You were worried about me!” you repeat, smiling.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” he sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But I’m okay, Lucifer,” you reply.

He removes his hand from his face and narrows his eyes at you. Though you’ve admittedly cowered before the Avatar of Pride’s glare many times before, you refuse to back down this time.

“I’m pretty sure my soul is still here,” you persist. “So that’s good.”

“Good,” Lucifer replies curtly.

You are okay. By the standards you refuse to admit you’ve put in place yourself, you’re fine. Still here, at least.

But your body still aches. And you still feel a dull throbbing in your head. It’s not the worst pain you’ve ever felt, but it doesn’t mean it’s not pain.

“But... I could feel better,” you admit. “Especially if you stayed. And maybe didn’t leave if I fall asleep.”

You feel guilty demanding the time of someone so constantly busy, but you’re allowed to be a little greedy sometimes.

Lucifer’s expression softens at your request. He unbuttons his pristine uniform jacket and slips it off his broad shoulders, setting it on the back of one of your chairs, and takes off his shoes. Gently, he slides his arms around your shoulders and under your knees, scooping you up to make room for himself in your bed.

You nuzzle into his chest, burying yourself as close as possible as you can get to him. It is so warm.

“You’re tired too,” you say quietly. “You work too hard.”

“Berating me again?”

“Someone’s got to.”

He chuckles. A deep, calming chuckle. It feels like the sound was made for your ears only.

He feels like home. Like there has always been a place in his arms created in your shape. You know that so many pairs of arms would keep you safe. Do they need to, or do they choose to? And why?

“Lucifer,” you mumble into his chest, barely awake. “Do you want anything from me?”

“I want you to be quiet and sleep.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

A gloved hand gently strokes your hair. You think his eyes are closed. 

Demons do protect humans. You’re living proof. No ulterior motive.

You are simply loved.