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25+ y/o | F | She/Her
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Tags:/marsfics
Shower Thoughts: Their bathing habits, with and without you.
Featuring: The Dateables x gn!Reader
NSFW // Content: Domestic fluff and non-explicit smut. Sharing a bath/shower together; sexual and non-sexual touching. 3k words
Read Part 1 (with the Demon Brothers) here.
DIAVOLO
It goes without saying that the Devildom's Crown Prince has a luxurious bathroom that would put some of the most popular spas to shame. It's been upgraded over time with modern amenities and incorporates trendy human world elements in its design. The large space, designed meticulously for Diavolo's comfort, is equipped with a large, ornate claw-foot tub and a spacious walk-in shower room, encased with frosted glass and furnished with rain shower heads and a large marble bench. Stepping into the space triggers magically-heated tiles; plush rugs throughout the space soak up excess water that may drip onto the floor. There's an entire cabinet full of clean, soft towels and the prince's favourite body care products. Along the far wall, impressive bay windows that offer a breath-taking view of the city and allow moonlight to illuminate the space in a bright, otherworldly glow. Only on the darkest and cloudiest days do the wall sconces need to be lit.
Diavolo enjoys the novelty of collecting body care from the human world. His collection of body wash, shampoo, and scented oils are an eclectic selection of items from all three realms. He even has a basket full of items taken from the Hotel Corvo: travel-sized bottles of the same items provided to guests, that he tested personally before selecting them for guests that visit the hotels.
Most of the time, he prefers to shower. The walk-in space is large enough to accommodate his impressive wingspan. It's more convenient. At the end of a long day, usually when he's weary from hosting yet another social function at his castle, he prefers to stretch his limbs and soak in a hot bath instead. It's also one of his tried-and-tested cures for late-night insomnia when endless responsibilities weigh heavy on his mind.
He's not a stranger to sharing his bed with a casual partner from time to time, but bathing with them is something he doesn't do. It's far too intimate. He simply allows them privacy and most know not to overstay their welcome.
Inviting you into his bathing chamber is a wholly unique experience and quickly becomes part of the routine when you spend nights with him at the castle. He makes the space more inviting for you too: stocking the cabinet with body care in your favourite scents as well as his own, and a shelf of monogrammed towels and linens specifically for your use.
When he's feeling nostalgic or whimsical, he likes sitting with you in the bath, enjoying your fluttery pulse beneath his fingertips when he wraps himself around you and holds you against his bare chest, or when he smooths fluffy suds across your skin and massages gently at the stiff muscles underneath until you melt into his embrace, boneless and content.
On nights when flirty touches and lingering glances make his heart race and his cock twitch just thinking of you in his bed, your sinful deeds ultimately lead you both into a hot shower. He drags his lips over the suckled marks and indentations of teeth littering your skin. The room fills with steam but you still shiver against the cool wall tiles when he smothers his body against your own. His hand trails down between your legs and seeks out the remnants of his spend smeared across the inside of your thighs. With sticky fingers, he pushes it back inside you before the water can wash it away completely.
(The marble bench is sturdy enough for both of you, should you whine and push your hips back against him and ask for more of him instead.)
BARBATOS
Perhaps it's his unique perspective on the passage of time that makes the thought of indulging in long baths or showers somewhat unappealing to a demon like Barbatos.
It's fitting that the Prince's butler may have better things to do with his time than indulge in longer showers or baths than necessary. He is extremely busy, the faithful shadow at Diavolo's side. When he's not with Diavolo, he's usually taking of other important tasks himself, seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once.
Barbatos' private washroom is located within the complex path of levels and staircases scattered throughout his living quarters, not too far from his bed but strangers to his room would easily climb past it without realizing it.
Like most bathrooms in the rest of the castle, this one has been modernized for comfort and efficiency too. However, it lacks the ornamental decadence found within the royal quarters or in some of the nicer guest suites.
More often than not, Barbatos prefers to shower at the beginning of his day. It's enough to rid him of the last traces of sleep that slow his limbs and helps him clear the fog of sleep that lingers behind his eyes, the confusing tangle of memories and possibilities of the past and the future that no one else can see.
Sometimes he finishes his day with another shower, quicker than the ones he usually takes in the mornings. It's enough to clean off the sweat and grime from a long day spent busting around the castle or RAD and the rest of the Devildom. (These showers can take longer than usual if there were any kitchen-related mishaps while baking with Luke or preparing dinner with the Little D's nearby. It wouldn't be the first time he had to carefully detangle bits of food or sticky-sweet syrup or sauce from the fringe of his hair.)
If someone (other than you) touches his tail by accident, he spends extra time and care scrubbing vigorously at the smooth, glossy skin until all traces of the unwanted scent is gone. He won't be able to sleep otherwise.
He rarely takes the time to draw himself a bath, except for the most frustrating days when even the hot water and lightly scented steam filling the air isn't always enough of a distraction from whatever is bothering him.
More often than he would like, some minor disagreement between the Little Ds leads to an all-out brawl that causes havoc in the kitchen. Barbatos rarely raises his voice with them, but that might be less terrifying than the sight of his tail whipping behind him erratically as his eyes glow ominous, like crackling thunder trapped in glittering emerald stones. But he can't stay mad at them for long, no matter how much he might want to.
Not long after he storms to his room and settles into the bath, he can sense their familiar brand of magic as a trickle of cool air settles somewhere near the foot of the tub. Seven pairs of shadowy claws hook over the edge of the tub as the Little Ds rise up slowly through the floor and materialize in his private bathroom. Entering his chambers without permission is something they wouldn't think to do except under the most dire of circumstances. They chatter amongst themselves quietly and rehearse their apology speech, but even that threatens to dissolve into chaos as No. 1 and No. 4 curse at each other and No. 7 has to try and stop No. 6 from eating a bar of soap. Barbatos, who pretends to be dozing in his bath, has to school his expression even though the corner of his mouth twitches with the urge not to smile at their increasingly ridiculous antics. By the time he pretends to "wake up" and assure them that all will be well between them tomorrow, he feels calm enough to try getting a decent night's sleep and leaves the bath not long after they disappear with seven little pops.
In the privacy of his private quarters, Barbatos prefers to spoil you with personal attention and all the indulgence you'll tolerate. His sparsely-decorated bathroom fills with bottles of your favourite body care products and scented candles to give the space a soft, romantic glow that the wall sconces alone can't offer.
Sometimes he prefers to start right there in the tub, where his intimate touches and quiet, affectionate words prepare you for what's to come later once he carries you to bed. He sits on a stool behind you, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and plucking off his gloves one finger at a time so he can feel the gooseflesh erupt across your skin when bare hands trail gently down the curve of your neck. He rubs away the tension in your muscles and follows the path of his fingers with his mouth: water-slicked lips that kiss the dewy beads, inhaling the subtle scent of your skin between nips of needle-sharp fangs that draw delightful gasps from your throat. He ignores the small stack of washcloths in the cupboard and gathers fragrant suds between his palms as he smooths his hands over your shoulders and down your chest, and when he leans forward he listens to the moans and gasps you try to smother with your teeth dragging uselessly across your bottom lip. He hears it all, when he's close enough to turn his head and kiss the skin below your ear, and he feels it against his chest when your body shivers against him. Water sloshes and a bubbly cascade spills over the edge of the tub when his hands pry your legs apart, a tantalizing sight that chips away at his resolve, and when you trap his hands between your legs to keep him there, he thinks that perhaps you're clean enough for now. He has a feeling you'll both need another bath by the time he's finished with you, and he looks forward to doing this all over again.
SIMEON
Considering he shares the spacious bathroom with his dorm mates, Simeon doesn't have many complaints. Luke goes to bed much earlier than he does, and Solomon is up all hours of the night and often sneaks away when he wants to work on something without prying eyes. That leaves the bath and shower facilities free for Simeon to use most of the evening without worrying about interruptions or needing to rush.
There are novelties in the Devildom he appreciates - magic warming floor tiles, spells to keep the water clean and fragrant no matter how long he soaks in the tub.
In the Celestial Realm, hot showers are soothing after a long day in the gardens or an exhausting training session with the other warrior ranks. Sometimes he opts for cool baths when the realm's sun bears down mercilessly during the hottest season.
Unlike the Celestial Realm, the Devildom air is crisp with the slightest chill. It was difficult to adjust to at first, and he found himself retreating into hot baths every night when the lack of sunshine left his bones feeling brittle like icy glass.
Indulgent baths or overly-long showers are something he enjoys infrequently, a selfish treat when he knows he won't be interrupted by the other residents of Purgatory Hall. Sometimes he keeps a cup of tea on a stool near the edge of the tub while he flips lazily through a book on his reading list. Other times, he leans back and lets the ends of his hair float like wispy tendrils across the bath water's surface while he thinks about his next writing project.
He enjoys those rare moments of peace and quiet. Nothing is more frustrating than skimming the edges of sleep only to be startled to full consciousness by the unexpected bang of an explosion coming from Solomon's room, or Luke calling for him after an upsetting nightmare woke him up. Sometimes he wants to be selfish and ignore them; sometimes it would be easier if he could, but that would make him a poor angel and an even poorer friend, would it not?
He grows infinitely more selfish when the idea of sharing his bath time with you tempts him to do the unthinkable: find reasons to send Luke to the castle or the House of Lamentation for an overnight visit when Solomon also happens to be gone for the evening.
Simeon loves the idea of bathing with you. Pressing his bare chest against your back while he holds you close, feeling your fingers smooth through his hair while you scrub shampoo onto his scalp, watching candlelight flicker in your eyes when he leans forward to inhale the alluring combination of bath oils and your natural scent before brushing his lips against yours.
Simeon might not be a perfect angel, but the temptation of seeing you naked and having you in arm's reach is often too much for him to bear. Would he trade sunny skies for endless night for all eternity? Perhaps he would; the fire flickering in your gaze is more than enough to keep him warm.
SOLOMON
For someone that spends so much time elbows-deep in whatever magical experiment tickles his fancy, access to adequate bathing chambers is essential. Potions have a habit of getting messy - and sometimes there’s an unexpected explosion or two - and it’s important to clean any lingering stains or fumes as quickly as possible.
Purgatory Hall isn’t the best place for Solomon to conduct some of the experiments he considers risky or dangerous, so he goes to his home in the human world where he can tinker without distractions or collateral damage nearby.
His home, like many houses in the Devildom, has been upgraded over time. Whatever feature can’t be easily acquired with the wonders of modern-day plumbing or carpentry, he can replicate with a bit of magical engineering instead.
The shared bathroom of Purgatory Hall is satisfactory when efficiency trumps luxury. Although he wondered about having to share the space with the others that live in that dorm, his late-night schedule usually means he can shower or soak at his leisure long after the others have gone to sleep - so long as he’s not too noisy. He tries to be a considerate roommate, most of the time.
When he wants to indulge, or if he simply wants the privacy and space he rarely has at Purgatory Hall, he makes a short trip back to his estate in the human world.
Tucked away in a corner of the world, the ancient stone ruins he’s rebuilt and calls home is one of the last existing tributes to his reign over a long-forgotten kingdom, a reminder of who he was before woven with the man that exists today.
His private bathroom is a unique blend of ancient practicality and modern comfort. The stone walls and windows are fortified with magic to prevent cold drafts, and the floor heats up with a simple enchantment. His collection of body care - some of his own creation, some gifts from Asmodeus and other friends in the Devildom - litter the shelves nearby.
Always a charmer, Solomon can’t help but show off the casual majesty of his beloved home when he invites you to see it. He goes out of his way to ensure you have your own rooms near his own, so that he's always close should his adorable apprentice need him. Making room for you in his life, when he's grown accustomed to being alone, is something he does willingly for you and for no one else.
You could use your own private bath when you visit him there, but his is so much more enticing — probably by design. He amazes you with charms that cause the stone walls to shimmer and fade away so you can see the starlit night sky through them instead, and he shows off his magical whimsy by filling the room with bubbles that float in the air but never burst as they carry the fragrant scent of bath oil and disperse it all around you. He calls them simple tricks; you call it showing off. (You get the feeling that both of you are correct.)
The glorified bathtub that looks more like a large stone pool than a tub, built into the floor and could easily fit a dozen others, holds crystal clear water that warms to the perfect temperature and never cools or grows cloudy no matter how much shampoo or soap suds drip from your skin. Another effortless trick, a wave of his hand and a spell so simple he merely needs to think of the words. He could teach it to you, but why do that when this gives him an excuse to stay close? Your eyes light up with wonder and amazement when he charms you with the simplest things, and even the smallest bit of praise fulfills him.
Perhaps that's why he finds more and more excuses — ahem, reasons — to whisk you away from the Devildom to the private paradise in the human world where he can have you all to himself. The demons and angels and occasional reaper complain, but they can't argue when he declares that there's some ritual you need to practice, a spell you need concentration to master, some obscure elixir he wants you to brew. You'll always be his darling apprentice and the life of a sorcerer is like that of a student. "You're always learning, always striving to improve," he tells you one day in his library, surrounded by books older than you by several lifetimes. "The good ones do, anyway, and my dear, you're already one of the best."
His joyful mood and playful banter make it hard to resist him, even if your back aches from leaning over the desk in his lab. Your nose twitches from the slightly acrid fumes rising from the small cauldron simmering over the fire, the thin veil of smoke curling in the air around you. Solomon makes sure you're always wearing protective gear when handling anything even the least bit dangerous, but there's still a singe mark in your protective apron where a splash of something burned through the thick fibers. Your clothes remain intact, but the heavy scent of tonight's experiment clings to your skin. Wiping his sweaty brow with his bare arm, white shirt sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up haphazardly to his elbow, Solomon manages to smudge ash across his cheek as he breaks out into one of his Cheshire grins. His offer to shower together sounds far too good to resist, and as you follow him out of the workshop and down the hall to his bathing chamber, pretending it's merely a conscious effort to conserve water.
(A blatant lie, and not one you'll risk voicing out loud; not when showering alone takes fifteen minutes at most, but with Solomon, the better part of an hour has usually passed before his greedy touches finally relent and he wraps you in a fluffy towel - only to begin with renewed vigor once he nods shamelessly towards his bed where you'll be much more comfortable for what he has in store for you next.)
Lucifer: *Wears a slightly lighter shade of black*
Asmodeus: I see you're bursting out the spring colors.
———
Mammon, rolling down the car window: what seems to be the problem, officer?
Cop: get the FUCK out of my car
———
Luke: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it
Luke: And I started thinking
Luke: Like it was just trying to get food
Luke: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck
Luke: How would I feel
Simeon: Are you okay???
———
Mammon: You should always say "please" and "thank you".
Baby! Satan, deadpanned: Please shut the fuck up, thank you.
Mammon: Not what I meant, but still progress!
———
Mammon: *flirts with MC*
MC: *flirts back*
Mammon, internally: i did not plan up to this point. what the fuck do i do now…?
———
Belphegor: *washing the dishes* Who the fuck used this pan??
Belphegor: Wait. I the fuck used this pan...
MC: It was you the fuck
Satan: Who cooks rice in a pan?
Beelzebub: He the fuck
———
MC: If I blended Red Bull, five hour energy, monster, coffee, and hot Cheetos into an Energy Smoothie would it kill me?
Solomon: *shrugs* Only if you die young
MC, getting out the blender: You're so smart
Mammon, running into the room: MC STOP-
———
Satan: I'm gonna open a cat cafe, but I need investors. Here's the plan. The first floor will have normal cats, but as you go up, each floor will have more and more dangerous cats, and at the top floor is me with a gun.
———
Beelzebub: *is carrying all the groceries*
M: *holds out hand to help*
Beelzebub: *aggressively moves all the groceries to one hand to hold MC’s hand*
———
Asmo: And once again, Asmo and Solomon save the day.
Barbatos: You didn't do anything. It was all Solomon.
Asmodeus: We're a package deal. Everyone knows that.
———
Diavolo: Would you kiss me for 1k grimm?
Lucifer: Why?
Diavolo: Just curious
Lucifer, playing along: ..I suppose
Diavolo: [Slams 1k onto the table] would you look at that-
this tiktok screenshot ruined my life i need to see the serbian pigeon movie so so badly but it doesn't exist it's so foul to make this bad of a point with something so cool and then take it away from me.
Tiktok marvel fans really will be out here like "movie fan SHOCKED because i'd rather watch superhero movie #54 in blue and not a sensual 1987 french horror film about a man discovering his wife may not exist set in what is gradually revealed to be a space station" as if you're supposed to agree that superhero movie #54 is the clear winner in this comparison
Love the idea of a story about a complex issue that's told from the perspective of something that cannot comprehend or care about the issue. The way the story would be sliced up and moments that a human would consider pointless would be focused on because the pigeon happened to be there would be hype as fuck
Mališa, otherwise known as Little One, is a pet pigeon owned by a conservative butler of the Austro-Hungarian aristocracy. She is loved, and she is pampered— until her owner is murdered in cold blood, and she is left to fend for herself in Sarajevo.
In the wilds of the city, she feeds from the poor, working nationalist radicals, and the vieux riches alike.
To Mališa, there are no ethical concerns. No politics. No burgeoning nationalism.
There are only hands that feed her, and hands that do not.
just thinking about how Reth is obsessed with soup, which is such a wholesome hearty comfort food, that you often give to people when they're sick, because the only real way he could guarantee that his sister was okay growing up was to give her comfort food that he learnt to make from his dad from a young age. how that wasn't quite enough, and now he's permanently marked with a reminder that he was simply not good enough at anything he'd ever really tried before.
how his dad would have probably supported his dreams of being a chef, if he'd actually been honest with them from the beginning and not just done what was expected of him, especially when Tish got sick and she couldn't take their family's path herself, because he was always going to set himself on fire to keep his village warm
and how he gifts you so. much. food. when he fucks up, when he's happy, when he wants to flirt back at you. how his pet name for you is "sweet tooth" and how he compliments how sweet and tasty you are, because the highest form of love in his life was in the meals he shared with his family, the scraps he threw together to keep Tish fed, the times with his dad making impossibly tall berry-laden cakes for birthdays and holidays and Wednesdays.
how the fiteenth time he gave you a new soup you ate it all like it was the first, even if it was an experimental stew, and even if he knows you hated every mouthful, he has to hide his face, because he doesn't want to show you how much it means to him that you indulge his passion, and how this feeling carries him through every gentle complaint from Ashura and every mocking jab from Tish because you let him share this with you and you never once judged him for his love of stewed veggies and spices. he tries to goad you into mockery but you refuse to laugh at someone who cares enough about something to consider every possible angle involved in it's creation.
and how the further you push yourself into his life, no matter how many times he tells you he will disappoint you and let you down, he's broken when he does. the words he blurts out when you have to go betraying the image of the cool guy who invited you into his storeroom crumbling when he admits that he hopes you don't realise you made a mistake. you stay with him to show him that you meant what you said when you gave him your pin.
how he tells you that he sucks with words, and he always says the wrong thing, or how he would write you a poem but he likes you too much, but then he hands you a gorgeous blueberry pie, hand rolled and woven and sweet and perfect, and every bite tastes like gentle hands chilled to keep the butter cool, the gentle simmer of the berries in sugar, the sharp sting of chopped spice sprouts, and the patient eyes of the chef who never stops running around, sat for once in front of the oven, watching the pastry puff to perfection because he loves you and knows that despite his best efforts he can sometimes burn the edges.
yes healthy + normal enjoyment of a video game here
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