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orchidyoonkook · 6 months

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The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word.

Intimate. That would be a better choice.

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering.

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony.

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy.

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts.

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go.

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between.

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company.

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight.

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off.

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges.

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter.

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot.

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are.

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back.

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses.

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up.

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.”

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is.

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck.

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself.

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.”

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night.

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung!

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing.

You just lost all your tips for the night.

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it.

Fuck.

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet.

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know.

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it.

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass.

No one serves him but you.

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you.

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year.

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath.

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,” he responded.

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased.

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you.

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it.

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink.

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself.

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.”

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.”

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.”

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation.

No one calls the Devil by his first name.

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to.

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives.

No one except you.

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is.

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that.

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night.

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker…

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up.

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath.

The King of Hell.

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end.

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon.

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging.

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully.

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity.

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive.

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again.

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well.

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while.

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was.

And maybe he is.

But not to you.

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow.

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him.

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world.

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you.

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find.

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos.

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside.

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor.

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding.

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system.

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth.

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing.

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer.

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.”

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target.

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own.

Yoongi.

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself.

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real.

And he looks like sin incarnate.

Fitting.

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you.

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on.

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved.

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you.

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises.

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night.

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse.

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him.

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body.

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.”

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now.

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening.

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you.

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant.

Beautiful.

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says.

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you.

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers.

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you.

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring.

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear.

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait—

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse.

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’.

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him.

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides.

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it.

You’ve decided.

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power.

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years.

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back.

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club.

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait.

And apparently neither does Yoongi.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate.

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil.

You trust Yoongi.

“That's a good girl.”

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft.

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people?

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on.

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get.

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight.

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent.

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea.

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh.

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off.

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?”

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs.

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you.

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.”

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him.

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge.

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look.

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded.

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter.

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip.

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue.

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.”

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get.

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it.

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt.

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines.

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before.

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip.

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him.

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it.

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it.

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.”

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures.

You’re the most powerful person here.

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible.

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know.

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact.

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets.

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace.

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them.

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you.

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else.

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal.

Perfect in every single way.

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too.

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back.

Not yet.

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling.

Ever.

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more.

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence.

There was only you.

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows.

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming.

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance.

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white.

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need.

It’s yours.

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze.

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented.

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?”

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?”

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before.

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say.

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.”

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.”

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him.

You just know it.

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless.

You never expected anything like that.

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years.

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better.

Because of you.

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that.

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly.

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell.

He was yours now.

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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lu-lus-duckies · 1 month

Text

@huskers-bar x @nunalastor chapter 3

Tags: enemies to lovers, angst?, eventual fluff, yearning?, soft huskers-bar, both mods are separate people, no beta we die like i do in this fic (not yet though), minor character death, ooc, au: hellaverse (hazbin hotel), nunalastor is head of the marketing department of the hazbin hotel (lucifer grabbed them randomly), jealousy?, huskers-bar is an employee at voxtek, lulu as a villain, lulu is a dog, huskers-bar is a liar, secret dating?

chapter: 3/? / chapter Word count: 1,659 / total word count: 4942

nunalastor as a single entity is nunalastor, traumatized mod dickmaster and cursed mod nun. and huskers-bar just husk/huskers. babygirl anon will be babygirl anon. I will be lulu. Angie will be angie but is meant to be read as angel dust.

A/N: peepee poopoo nunalastor lore drop uwu. thinking of removing the enemies to lovers tag on this because the plot has changed so much from what I originally planned. lulu is losing the funny so less funny stuff this chapter

As Huskers stood there, frozen in the doorway, their eyes widened with a mix of surprise and mild anxiety. They couldn't believe their luck-or was it misfortune?-to stumble upon them at a place like this. All the while Dickmaster kept staring at them with that unwavering gaze. One that could only belong to a cat that had too much catnip

"And who are you?" Dickmaster hissed, finger pointed directly at the huskers, their eyes narrowing and emitting an intense glare. "some kind of stalker?"

Huskers cleared their throat, trying to break the awkward tension they had accidentally created. If only this was a normal meeting. "Um, hey there! Fancy meeting you both here... I am not a stalker, actually. I work at voxtek and Angie, who I had to work with, informed me of the hotel and I liked the idea... didn't think I'd see you here" They choked on their words, offering a nervous smile while fidgeting with their fingers and displaying a toothy grin that seemed too wide to be genuine. They grabbed the hem of their shirt and started tugging excessively. Their hands felt way too sweaty.

"You're avoiding my question, who are you?" Dickmaster retorted, taking a step back and finding support on the nearest surface, which happened to be the bathroom door. Their eyes narrowed, radiating skepticism and cautiosness.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for huskers. Nunalastor genuinely didn't seem to know who they were, which why would they? It's funny to even think that. This meant Huskers had a golden ticket, a second chance. Maybe they'll get to know them and change their mind on hating them? It was in the realm of possibility. At least they hope so.

"oh just one of the anons" Huskers lied through their teeth, waving a hand awkwardly and dismissively. The nervous chuckle was the last cherry on the top for their fabrication. "Love your blog by the way" Huskers offered the compliment, attempting to salvage what was left of the already a horrifying first impression.

Dickmaster though, seemed to loosen up a bit after that answer, though still kept their guard up. One could never know about these things and it wouldn't be the first time their instincts were right.

"ah, there's too fuckin many of you... have some mercy on my lil ol askbox sometimes" They added, slipping back into their online persona. Brushing off imaginary dust from their attire and examining their hand closely, it became apparent that this was probably a nervous habit of some sort.

The atmosphere grew increasingly awkward, leaving Huskers unsure of how to continue the conversation. However, they couldn't just... give up. Their desire to get to know Nunalastor better was the reason behind hiding their identity after all.

"uhm yeah... what, are you even doing here?" Huskers asked, after an uncomfortably long minute of just staring at the wall directly behind Dickmaster. The lump in their throat was starting to annoy them and he was starting to sweat.

"None of your buisness, Stalker" Dickmaster retorted, instantly stiffening up in response to the questioning. Was this turning into an interrogation? how dare someone ask something about them! They are a private person damn it! What'll they ask for next? Their favorite color?! Disgusting

Huskers recoiled, taken aback by the response which felt way more aggressive than it needed to be. The fact that they had just been called a stalker didn't even register in their mind.

"oh sorry, uhm... I should just leave then huh?" huskers asked, gesturing back to where they had come from, their nervous smile faltering to a saddened but genuine expression.

The flushing of the toilet was a lot louder than it needed to be and so was the sound of the door slamming open. Finally, Nun had decided to leave the bathroom, with an emotionless stare towards Huskers. "you should" They said.

Dickmasters eyes sparkled with joy as they reached for the bathroom door. Finally, inner peace-except their mood was immediately spoiled as soon as Nun picked them up bridal style.

'We'll be leaving now" Nun said, not even sparing a glance in Huskers' direction. They turned and started heading towards the direction of their shared hotel room without a second glance.

"Right, see you later" Huskers waved a little dejected, definitely startled but what could he do? ... Besides, they'd probably get more opportunities to interact with them if they decided to stay at the hotel. Though it's back to square zero as it seems, or square negative one.

Dickmaster unapologetically sexily started squirming and thrashing in Nuns grip "what?! wait-Nun-HOLD ON I STILL NEED TO USE THE-"

"Pee on me instead" Nun didn't even hesitate

"i need to shit-"

"sorry, shit on me instead" Nun corrected themself before dissapearing behind their room.

Huskers stood there confused and kind of amused. "What the fuck?" They said, pulling out their phone. They just need to know. They had to kno. They opened nunalastors inbox, hit the anonymous switch and wrote out their question. Within moments, a ding went off on their phone

what are the mods relationship with eachother? - anon

lulu we know this is you - nunalastor

"What the fuck was that, Nun?" Dickmaster angrily shouted as soon as the hotel room door was locked behind them. Managing to wriggle free from Nun's grasp, Dickmaster regained their footing, assuming a stance that demanded attention and respect, one that was clearly not showing.

Nun immediately switched their usually nonchalant or sassy tone to a more serious one. Their eyes were understanding but nevertheless a little angry. Who wouldn't be in their shoes? The annoyance of the demand was very much palpable. "You know you can't be seen out in public like this!"

This response only served to further enrage Dickmaster. They deserved their personal space! They weren't a child! This overprotective behavior was getting out of hand and becoming too unbearable.

"But Nun," Dickmaster began to explain, their voice a mix of frustration and determination, "they were here seeking redemption, I'm sure it's—"

"they could be another one of those stalkers! not like it hasn't happened before!" Nun interrupted, their voice filled with a mixture of frustration and caution. They knew all too well that encounters with obnoxious fans were not pleasant ones, especially considering they were in hell. It didn't even stop when they were out for snacks once in a blue moon. They never wanted a repeat of that incident with that crazy one, Lulu or whatever the fuck his name was, something stupid like that.

Dickmaster though was not budging. Despite the awkward tension of the encounter with huskers, they didn't think the anon was any danger to them. Either of them. Their gut feelings were always trustworthy "They didn't seem like it, they said they worked at voxtek and that Angie invited them, they wouldn't be here if not for Angie"

"That doesn't prove anything," Nun countered, equally stubborn, refusing to give an inch and provide Dickmaster with even a sliver of space. They were aware of how annoying and frustrating their protective stance might be, but their conscience simply wouldn't allow them to come to any form of harm.

This disagreement triggered a hissing fit from Dickmaster, who refused to accept Nun's ridiculous behavior. It had been a month since the last extermination and since Nun had started acting overly protective. Dickmaster paced back and forth in the room, desperately trying to channel their frustration into anything other than punching the nearest wall. "IT SHOULD! I can't be monitored like a hawk! this is ridiculous!"

Nun grumbled, fully aware that this confrontation was inevitable. It was time to employ their ultimate weapon. They put on their most sexiest face, placing a hand on Dickmaster's shoulder and attempting to physically ease the tension. "Sorry, babygirl. Let me apologize with my tongue."

"no" oh no. It's worse than Nun thought.

Nun took a deep breath and let it out, now it was time to get serious, as much as they despised doing so. They locked eyes with Dickmaster, offering the most sincere expression they could muster. Their voice adopted a soft, low, and soothing tone, oozing with genuine concern. "listen, dickmaster, you know I'm just looking out for you right?"

"Maybe" Dickmaster avoided looking at Nuns eyes, they were angry and Nuns eyes were the last thing they wanted to see. Instead, their eyes found comfort in the apartment floorings unusual patterns, refusing to look up.

Nun didn't like that, but didn't try to force it. "And that I want what's best for you?"

Dickmaster scrunched up their nose, not even hesitating with their response. "Debatable, considering you—"

"Please!" Nun interjected, their grip on Dickmaster's shoulder tightening as they cut off their sentence. They didn't need a reminder of what they did. "please, let me get your soul back for you first, let me make it up to you and then I can leave you alone, promise"

Dickmaster was in a whirlwind of thoughts, most of them screaming to slam them against the nearest wall and feed them worms but that was besides the point

"not like you're giving me a choice" Dickmaster very reluctantly gave in, clearly not happy about it, not one bit. They crossed their arms and put some physical distance between them. "fine."

Nun decided not to push further. A heavy sigh sounded throughout the room. "Thank you." Nun finished, finally happy they got through. They opened up their ask box and started answering more headcanons as a distraction.

Back at the hotel, a sinner, looking a little too much like an imp sits at the stairs of the entrance of the hotel, humming a tune to himself. A pair of footsteps could be heard behind him, along with that of a cane, commonly mistaken for a dildo.

"Ah. Lulu my dear, what brings you here this lovely evening?"

#I DID IT #I WROTE THIS IN UNDER 4 HOURS #I am going insane in the best ways rn #eat up because this is as much as a serious fic ya'll getting from me #tune in next time for lulu being a piece of shit #nunwhiskers #lulu is delulu #lulu is feral #huskers-bar x nunalastor

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mammonsturtle · 1 year

Text

All We Do Pt. 5

It’s finally here! I realize the last time this was updated was back in June. So this might not be written as well as I’d like. But I’ve finished up the Replaced!AU so I can get onto this again! By now you’re probably wondering if I have a well thought out plot. Maybe? This chapter is a bit shorter, sorry!

@kimpsuwuw @underratedbitch-number13 @shuriiiewrites@jhopesstickercarrier @letsblazewolf @attackonhiseok @peyton-peyton @dazaimiaw @bloop-booop @midoriima @nocontextquote

(Prologue) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

TW/CW: general angst, cursing, manipulation(?)

“Please Belphie, can we go? Please? I want to see the human world again!” Lilith excitedly pleads with the twins as they both share a look of uncertainty.

These trips to the human world had been exhilarating but they knew they would be caught eventually. Here stood the three little angels as Lilith nearly peers down the edge of the clouds where the human realm sat.

“Erm...We shouldn’t Lil.” Beelzebub mumbles as he cautiously looks over his shoulder as his twin scoffs lowly, “It’s alright Beel, no one’s going to find us here.” The Seventh Born confidently holds Lilith’s hand, “Let’s go!”

“An’ whaddaya think yer all goin?”

The trio stiffen slightly before Belphie groans at the second born who makes his presence known. Beelzebub lets out a sigh of relief and Lilith immediately goes to her brother with puppy dog eyes.

“It’s just Mammon.” Belphie mutters as Mammon’s face scrunches up in annoyance at his baby brother’s bratty attitude. “Jus Mammon? It’s The ‘Great Mammon’ ta you!” Mammon retorts as Belphie groans. “At this point we won’t be able to go to the human world with Mammon here blubbering about.”

Lilith giggled as she watched her brothers bicker before quickly going to Mammon’s side and gave him a hug, “Please big brother? Can we please visit the human world? Please?” she begged as she gave him her best puppy dog eyes and a wobbling lip for emphasis.

Mammon groans as another lecture from Lucifer and Michael would be coming if he’d let the triplets go out to the human world on their own again. But with the sets of pleading eyes staring back up at him, Mammon relents and quickly looks behind him before waving them off.

“Alright! Fine! Go ahead and get in trouble! See if I care!” Mammon grumbled as Lilith gave her brother a squeeze. “You’re the best big brother!” she beamed as she gazed up at him as she let go of him before joining the twins.

The triplets’ laughter rang in Mammon’s ears as he watched them descend into the human world. “Best big brother huh? Of course, I’m the great Mammon!” Mammon boasts before leaving.

As the trios descend, the last thing the triplets would hear was his angelic laughter.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“Beelzebub!” The eldest’s pointed voice breaks Beel from his memories of old. Beelzebub shakes his head as he looked down at the instant noodle pack for Mammon, if he ever did come back.

“I heard his laughter. His real one. From the Celestial Realm years ago. But it wasn’t him.” Beel explains as he shifts his weight. Mammon’s real laughter, it was a distant memory now. His fake laughter must have been the only laugh track Mammon had on repeat. A broken record fitting a broken demon. “I know his laugh from the olden days.”

Satan rubs his chin as he looks to the eldest, “It sounds like an advanced masking spell, perhaps some witches or wizards helped him out. Perhaps he must have come across them in the human world?” Asmo fiddles with his scarf as he sighs, “But would Mammon be that desperate to get help from the witches he hates so much?”

“He must have been desperate...If he doesn’t want anything to do with us now.” Leviathan mumbles as he slumps in his seat. Belphegor however, looked hopeful. “Either way, it means Mammon’s still here in the Devildom, right?”

“It is an advanced spell,” Lucifer confirms as he shakes his head, “Whoever used it on Mammon must have a superior amount of magic in their possession. And they’re obviously using Mammon for their own gain.” Lucifer pulls up his D.D.D. as he scrolled down to MC’s number.

Or it could have been an illusion to fool the brothers should they be looking for him. If they would have, but why would have they bothered to check on him? They should have been looking out for him, dare Lucifer say he should have checked up on him after he had punished him. But he’d understand that he’d leave his own family for the one person who cared about him unconditionally.

If anything he’d run back to you. You were the one who always defended him, even if he was in the wrong and you had always done so while calling out himself and the rest of the brothers. You had shown him more love and kindness than his own family, of course, why would he come back to them?

Lucifer proceeds to press the Doom call on the D.D.D., the dial tone was the only noise that filled the room as the brothers awaited your answer. They could only hope Mammon was safe with you, and as futile as the thought was, you could convince him to come back to them.

At this rate, they’d do anything to make it up to their lost brother.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

You had just come home after an interview, and you had felt great about it. All you had to do was to wait for a call back. You slip off your shoes and shrug your coat off while tossing all your things to the side as you plop down on your bed.

It had been a good few months of you adjusting back into your old life. It was almost strange being back in the human world, it was strange having a mundane life again after all the fantastical adventures in the Devildom. But your ordeal with living with demons while trying to stay alive, which failed at one point was truly stressful when you looked back on it.

So much so that the brothers and the royals understood why you wanted the normality in the human world than spending another year with them. And they let you back into the life you had before.

Photos of the demon brothers, the Royals, and the Purgatory Trio sat on your nightstand. As much as you missed them, you still had a life in the human world that you had been plucked right out from. And you were more than eager to move on from your time in the Devildom.

But the Devildom had not moved on from you.

You hear a sudden dial tone on your D.D.D., you kept it to keep in contact with your boys but you mostly wanted the normality of the human world back in your life. You stare down at the Doom app calling you, seeing Lucifer’s name on the screen.

Your eyes narrowed at his name and you couldn’t help but feel a rising anger bubble in you. You knew why they were calling you out of the blue, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to ignore them and let them suffer further, or you’d answer and ease their minds.

You had chosen the latter.

“MC!” The brothers called out in unison as you stared back at the brothers on the screen with a blank expression, “Brothers.” you respond as you didn’t hide your exasperated response. The brothers easily chalked it up to being back in the human world and the mundane hardships you had to deal with after having your life derailed for one year.

“MC,” Lucifer starts as he clears his throat of any distress that still in him, “I should apologize for the lack of communicating with you over these past few months. I trust you’ve been well?” he inquires as you nod silently.

Satan’s voice comes in next, and unlike Lucifer, worry lines his words. “That’s odd, if he’s not there in the human world and he’s not in any of the layers of the Devildom, where could he have gone?”

You could only roll your eyes at them, none the wiser on where Mammon actually was. You could feel relief knowing that Mammon was safe with Diavolo and that he had followed through on your last will.

Which only left one last thing to do with the brothers.

“...Mammon’s gone?” You ask as you see the brothers on the screen nod solemnly. They were not quick to pick up how you grit your teeth as your D.D.D. shook and how quick your mood had shifted.

“We were wondering if he’s there with-”

“You will all be silent!” You shouted suddenly as your pacts with the six brothers activated and as if a thread and needle sewed their lips shut, none of them could respond to you. Eyes widen as they stared back in you in panic as you glared at them, like a dogs trembling at their master being outraged at what they’ve done.

“Mammon’s gone? Good. Maybe it’s how it should have been from the very beginning.” You started and shook your head, “I can’t believe Mammon calls you, this pathetic and unforgivable bunch of idiots.” The same names you’d call them affectionately was now laced with utter disgust. “I can’t believe he calls you his family.” You didn’t hide the venom in your voice as Satan could feel your wrath rolling off your shoulders through the phone.

“I’d fucking leave too if my family treated me like shit. I can’t believe it took him this long.” You stare at the shocked eyes of your demons as you take a breath.

“It’s because of him that you all get to live the life of luxury, and you act like ungrateful spoiled brats. Need I remind you that Mammon the second strongest brother? A reminder than he’s stronger than five of you, and he’d beat the shit out of you for every slight you. And if he wanted to Lucifer, he’d fight his main abuser with all the might he possesses. Brothers or not.”

“I can’t believe Mammon loves all of you.” You gag at that statement before berating them once more. “Only to be treated like shit because of his sin, and his ‘stupidity’ that you all despise so much. How does it feel now that you’ve got your peace and quiet? Is it satisfying not to have someone lesser than you keeping things interesting in the house?”

“You’re all a bunch of fucking hypocrites. I’m glad Mammon’s decided to leave this fucked up family. It’s fucking clear as day you all don’t deserve Mammon.”

And with that, you hang up on the brothers as they were left in silence, and your your words echoed in their ears. Even you didn’t feel Mammon was meant to be in their family? ..But you were not wrong. They had treated Mammon horribly and it wasn’t hard to believe that Mammon had finally had enough. You had enough of them as well.

“...Lucifer?” Leviathan meekly speaks up after a while and the eldest sighs lowly and responds, “What is it Levi?” For once the elder brother sounds almost defeated if their dear human had lashed out against them from how they had treated their brother.

“Do you think wants to come back if we find him?” he questions, his voice small as he and the brothers could have felt much smaller now that their human had turned their backs to them.

Lucifer has no answer, it all comes back to him. Of course Mammon wouldn’t come back, he was the very source of Mammon’s pain. He couldn’t remember the last words he had spoke to him. He knew the last thing he did to him though, which made his heart ache terribly.

“But he’s our family...He has to come back..” Beel mumbles as his hunger had disappeared and Belphie sighs as he leans against his twin, “Yeah...But we haven’t been acting like his family, not to MC anyways.”

“We will find him...And we will let Mammon has his way, anything his heart desires he will have. So long as he comes back home to us.”

Perhaps now they’d ask Lord Diavolo for assistance regarding their missing brother.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Over the past few days, it was apparent that his Young Master had been more productive as the butler completed the meticulous and painstaking task of scanning over the documents that Lord Diavolo had completed.

Even the mighty Lucifer couldn’t get the future king to get through his work.

And yet here, the Lord of Fools could make the prince work than the uptight Lord of Corruption and his loyal butler’s insistence. Perhaps if Barbatos knew that was all it took to get Diavolo going, then he would have gotten Mammon’s aid ages ago. With the promise of extra grimm of course.

Perhaps it the fact that Mammon had lived as free as a bird, albeit tied down by the threads of family obligation. Threads that had slowly coming undone by the brothers’ own hands.

The butler turns his heels towards the royal treasury, assuming that the Avatar of Greed would most likely be there no matter what the Prince had warned him. Hopefully the little Ds were enough to deter the determined demon from getting to the vault, if not, the thought of his torture chamber was always available.

This time though, the Young Master was a step ahead of him.

There was the jingles of grimm dropping to the floor as Barbatos peers in from the open vault door. And the sight before him, of which Diavolo had Mammon pinned against the wall. The latter’s hands pinned above his head, squirming as Diavolo simply listens to Mammon sputtering his excuses.

“O-O-Oi!!! It ain’t what I was plannin ta do Lord D!! I was jus passin by the vault and it was open!! I was gonna close it up afta’ makin sure everythin was in there! Honest!!“ Mammon blurted out as Diavolo merely listens, his golden eyes almost dancing in amusement.

“My lord, shall I punish Mammon for this brazen act? This is the second time we’ve caught him, perhaps more than a scolding should prove itself effective?” Barbatos suggests and makes himself known as Mammon looks away from the butler, as far as he knew he was talking the long walk to the famed torture room.

“Now now Barbatos, Mammon’s only acting on his sin after all. How can I possibly blame for something he cannot control?” Diavolo reminds his butler as he glanced over at Mammon, whose eyes were trained to stare down at the floor. “Like a moth to a flame.”

Barbatos shakes his head as he frowns at his master, “As in his nature, yes. But you cannot keep an eye on him forever. As the expression goes, his greed will come back to bite him. You will have to keep him in line as Lucifer has done tirelessly.”

Mammon visibly stiffens at the mention of Lucifer as Diavolo hums lowly, “While this is your second strike Mammon, I suppose I have been lenient with you since you are my guest after all. For your third strike, I will have to punish you. Do I make myself clear?”

Mammon only nods his head furiously as Diavolo loosens his grip on the Avatar who slumps to the floor. Still unwilling to look at them, Diavolo knelt down and lifts his chin up to him, “Do not worry Mammon, my punishments are not as harsh as Lucifer’s, nor as humiliating as Asmodeus’ little Deviltube and Devilgram videos. I just want the best for you, do I make myself clear?”

Mammon could feel himself pale, did Diavolo know about those? Did you report them to him? He quickly looks up at the Prince, nods, and takes off running. Not caring if he stepped over what would have been some prized grimm.

“Ah, I must have scared him off, I ought to apologize.” Diavolo says as he leaves, Barbatos sighs loudly and rubs his temple, and the Prince looks back at him. “It’s only a matter of time my lord.”

“For what?”

“For the consequences of your actions?”

“Nonsense. Mammon will make sure that my actions are justified. He just needs a little more time to consider that I am the only one he can trust.”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Making a mad dash towards his room, Mammon must have run over some little Ds in the process as he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. Once under the safety of the covers, Mammon screamed loudly into his pillow.

Oh, he done fucked up, didn’t he? Lord Diavolo gave him such a simple task not to get his grubby hands on anything in the castle in return for safety and refuge from his brothers.

And as per usual, he fucked up once more.

It was impossible to do one job, even you had tried to help him with his greedy tendencies. How could the Prince think this would be so easy to manage? He knew his sin was such a problem that wouldn’t be solved easily, your best intentions for him never fully panned out as you had hoped.

As he had curled up under the covers, there was a tapping at the window and Mammon crawls out of the safety of the blankets. To his relief, his crows were at the windows, the only companions besides Diavolo he could turn to.

”Hey kiddos.” Mammon opens the window as the crows came bouncing in with small trinkets in their beaks. A small smile crept across his face as they presented their treasure to him before hopping onto him or crowded around him.

A few bottle caps, lotto tickets, a plastic ring, and a cork from a demonus bottle. Mammon groans as he stared at the cork, had Lucifer and the others been celebrating the peaceful nights without him there, when he was just being himself?

Being himself just made the brothers wish they weren’t related.

Mammon grunts loudly as he throws the cork out of the window, and his crows watch the material fly out. He falls back onto the bed and groans as brought his arm to his eyes.

His brothers didn’t miss him. They were better off without him. They were always so disappointed in him no matter what he did. They were never happy when he spoke his mind about everything and anything.

Maybe they’d be better off if Lilith was here instead of him? Mammon shudders at that nightmare as he scurries back under the covers. For now, he was safe here, away from the brothers. Diavolo himself said he wasn’t like Lucifer, and not like his brothers either, right?

”I’m safe here, I’m safe here.” Mammon tells himself as he rocks himself to sleep, as pitiful as a refuge it was, it was nice to forget to be awake to deal with his depressing reality. ┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“My Lord.” Barbatos calls for the young master from behind the door as the sound of scribbling pauses for a moment. Late night paperwork? And his master was on a streak in finishing his dreaded daily task.

“Come in Barbatos.” he instructs before the scribbling resumes and Barbatos makes his way in, a night snack and tea in hand and the prince looks up at his steward. His face was ever unreadable and Diavolo leans back in his chair, “Is something bothering you Barbatos?”

The butler hums as he pours the tea and taps his chin, “Are you enjoying this?” he asks suddenly as Diavolo calmly places his pen down and gazes up at his butler before he chuckles and leans back in his chair.

“Mammon is essentially your pet crow in a gilded cage, is he not?” Barbatos confirms as Diavolo’s chuckles said it all and his golden eyes smoldered at the thought. It was a wonderful thought, courtesy of MC of course.

“What of Lucifer and his brothers? Sooner or later they will find out, my Lord. Lucifer may be loyal to you, but his brothers do not feel the same.“ his steward continues before Diavolo lets out his signature chuckle.

“If there was anything MC has taught me while they were here, it is the simple lesson of not knowing what you’ve had once it’s gone. It is fitting, isn’t it? They need to know what it feels like to lose another one again.”

Barbatos hums lowly once more as he gazes into his master’s eyes, “I would advise you to be aware of the brothers. They have lost one sibling, they will not hesitate on doing whatever it means necessary to get Mammon back.”

Diavolo rises from his desk and gives the older demon an assuring pat on the shoulder, “Do not worry Barbatos. I know what I am doing.” he says before he leaves his study to see his Little Crow.

Barbatos sighs as he resigns himself to the fact that his Master is doing as he pleases, but he cannot ignore the looming worry of the wrath of the Avatars once the truth had to come out.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

As night had fallen, the Little Ds scurried away for their slumber and the ghosts of the castle and paintings made their nightly hauntings. There was no way Mammon would venture out with the ghosts out and about.

The dark halls carry the echoes of the Prince’s boots as he heads down the corridor to Mammon’s room. For the whole day, the second born had steered cleared of him after his little incident at the treasury earlier that day.

Barbatos had even noted that Mammon didn’t show up to eat his dinner, yet when he had returned to the dining room, the plate had been snatched.

The poor thing, he didn’t mean to scare him and remind him of Lucifer. That was the last thing he wanted his Little Crow to see him as. And of Lucifer? Of course the elder must have been worried sick about the whereabouts of his ‘favorite’ brother.

A sudden bump and thud in the dark made the Prince stop as his golden eyes glowed and stared down at the demon before him. A familiar white haired demon had been skulking around the halls, at this hour?

“Mammon? What are you doing out this late?” Diavolo questions the Avatar as Mammon backs away and merely stammers in response.

“It ain’t whatcha thinkin! I wasn’t snooping around or nothin like that!” Mammon exclaimed rather defensively. And even in the dark, Diavolo could see the sweat and the slightly red tint that graced the second born’s face before Mammon turns away from the Prince, as if he was being stared down by his brothers again.

Diavolo shakes his head, “I haven’t said a word Mammon. I should apologize for reminding you of your life back home.” he says as his gold eyes soften for moment as if Mammon was awaiting punishment for the slightest misdoing. “Do you want to go out for a stroll in the gardens?” he offers as penance.

Mammon was silent for a moment. Maybe this was a bad idea, you probably meant well, but Mammon couldn’t stay here even if he agreed to. His sin was too overwhelming, even for the Prince, he’d probably understand why Lucifer had treated him the way he did.

Sooner or later Diavolo would have to throw him back to his brothers. And he knew he wasn’t going to be welcomed back with open arms should he end up crawling back to them.

“Jus’ leave me alone.” Mammon mutters at the Prince before turning away to sulk in his room, and maybe make his getaway when Diavolo was none the wiser.

Diavolo simply gazes upon Mammon’s retreating figure and sighs lowly, “But haven’t they done that enough to you Mammon?” he calls after him, making the Avatar stop in his tracks.

Mammon couldn’t fight the facts. After you had left, he had found himself more often than not, sleeping alone in his bed or in your room. His brothers acted the same as they had done before you came, more vicious than before.

Demons would be demons, and even your kindness couldn’t stop them from treating your first man like the scum they saw him as.

“Do you think you’re better off alone?”

“Everyone thinks so. So should you.”

“I know what it’s like being lonely. Surrounded by so many, yet you feel so alone.” Diavolo confesses, as he takes a step forward. Yet he kept a good distance, should the Avatar shrink away from his touch.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore Mammon. I promise. I gave my word to MC that you’d never be alone.”

Mammon turns around as Diavolo slowly holds out his hand for Mammon. In the dark, the other demon looks hopeful as the second born sighs in defeat and takes the Prince’s hand in his.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“Come Mammon, you’ve always hated the feeling of being alone, don’t you?” Diavolo beckons the second born to the bed. Mammon shouldn’t have felt embarrassed when sharing the bed with Diavolo. The Prince had no shame in holding him and any physical contact with him might as well made Mammon die of embarrassment.

His heart ached terribly. He had missed the nights of you and him, the two of you spending nights in his bed holding onto each other. He felt so safe, he felt so loved and accepted by you and loved the time he spent when it was just you two cuddling and sleeping together.

Now it was but a fond memory.

Diavolo wasn’t you, but he offered the safety, comfort, and attention that he didn’t get from his brothers. His family, they couldn’t even provide an ounce of love for him that you had given him unconditionally.

He crawled into bed with the Prince as he settles on his side of the bed, only for the Prince to bring him closer to him. A terrible shade of red touched Mammon’s face, quite visible to Diavolo’s amused golden eyes. “I uh...Sorry. I ain’t used to bein treated nice, ya know? MC’s always been the one...The one ta look afta’ me.”

Silence settled between the two for a couple of minutes before Mammon spoke up. “Oi...Diavolo? Do ya think my brothers miss me?” he asks almost quietly as he leaned against the other demon, his chest was quite warm as Mammon couldn’t help but cuddle closer to the source of warmth.

Diavolo hums as he gently runs his fingers through Mammon’s hair, “Hm. If they did miss you Little Crow, they would have come storming here to ask me for assistance, wouldn’t they? But they haven’t. Perhaps what MC has told me about how they treated you is true, they’ve always seen what they’ve considered the horrid traits in you. And they probably are overjoyed without you.”

“Do you remember what Lucifer had said to you before? That I was the only demon in all the universe who actually cares about you. The only one.”

Mammon dips his head down as he couldn’t help but feel the statement to be true. He honestly can’t remember any positive interactions with his brothers without MC being there to dispel their cruelty. And here Diavolo was, giving a life of luxury, why was he thinking about throwing it back in Diavolo’s face and running back to the harsh treatment of his brothers?

“MC’s last will was to have you here with me, do you remember? Where you can feel safe and loved. Clearly they knew that you will be unloved and unappreciated once they left the Devildom. Despite the bonds between them and your brothers, MC still feels you aren’t cared for as the treasure you are.”

Diavolo lifts Mammon’s head up, with his thumb gently caressing Mammon’s chin and gently kisses his forehead. His forehead was warm against Diavolo’s lips as he was sure Mammon was blushing quite badly.

“Yeah...I guess yer right...If this is where MC wants me ta be, I guess it’s fer the best. Right? Everyone wins.” Mammon questions as he felt his heart felt heavy with acceptance and his eyelids drooped from exhaustion. The last thing Mammon felt was Diavolo gently rocking him to sleep as he hummed a lullaby for him.

Into the night, Diavolo was still very much awake as Mammon was asleep, cuddled close to Diavolo no less. Diavolo couldn’t help but let a satisfied smirk creep across his face and stroked Mammon’s hair, “Oh Little Crow, this is where you belong. Why do you continue to fight it?”

You had given Diavolo what he always wanted, a companion who wouldn’t and couldn’t leave him if he tried. And Mammon? He had the love and security of a companion who would not fault him on his sin, and there was no reason to leave Diavolo at this point.

A match made in hell? Perhaps, but there was going to be trouble in paradise soon...

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

To be continued...

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