how do you think the demon bros would react to being called "angel" as a petname?
Lucifer grips your chin. Tips your head back just so, until it just slightly aches and your neck is laid bare to him. “Perhaps I’ve been too kind, and I’ve given you the wrong impression.”
He smiles at you—eyes shining and shadowed and says, "Should we remedy that?”
You grip his wrist. “Be kind to me, be mean to me—whatever makes you happy. Though I like you as you are, Lucifer.”
That cute little scrunch in his brow appears, his grip relaxing just enough for you to pull his hand away. You hold it with both of your own—press a kiss to his knuckles and smile there. “You know, if you don’t like the petname, that’s all you have to say.”
And he can only stare at you with a charmed, slightly exasperated smile, BECAUSE YOU’RE SO FUCKING KIND AND DENSE AND HE JUST WANTS TO RAIL YOU
Mammon chokes on his juice box. In between sputtering and choking (and you slapping the shit out of his back) he croaks out, “What did you call me?!”
You sheepishly rub circles on his back—trying to soothe the remnant sting—and say, “My angel baby.”
Crimson blooms on his cheeks. He gives a nervous cough. “I’m nothin’ like those guys, y’know. I’m way better! And don’t you forget it!”
You snort and ruffle his hair. Mammon leans into your touch—you’re pretty sure that he doesn’t even realize it. “Okay, okay. Noted. Don’t be such a baby about it.”
Mammon scoffs, “Oh, we’ll see who the baby is,” then swipes your juice box right out of your hand and fucking runs.
Levi stares at you—his heart flinging itself back to cling at the bars of his ribcage. He kind of feels like it might drop out of his ass. Did you just call him an angel?! Like, as a petname?! Do you like him that much!?! But, no—no, there’s no way you’d ever give him such a sweet nickname—
You grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Hello? Earth to Levi? My lil angel water baby??” He doesn’t move. You shake him harder. “What the fuck, dude, BREATHE!”
If his jaw wasn’t hooked to his face with all sorts of complex muscles and ligaments, it would have hit the floor. He splutters like a fish and blushes hard—freezing up like a shark turned on its back—and screams.
“You think so?” A faint smirk lifts Satan’s lips. As he considers what you said, he mindlessly chews down on the pink plastic straw of his bufo-egg tea. An angel? Him? What did he even do to bring on such a comparison?
You gently bonk him on the head. “S’just a petname, Satan. Don’t get lost in that pretty little mind of yours. Come back to me, please.”
Politely, he wrinkles his nose. He grabs your hand—threads your fingers together and squeezes. “I wasn’t getting lost. I was just thinking about how you’re truly the angelic one.”
Asmo cracks a cheeky grin—makes a delighted noise and throws his arms around you, pinching at your cheeks, and nearly knocking over both you and the chair you’re sat on. “An angel?! Oooooo you’re just so cuuute!”
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Go on, tell me more~”
You jolt—swatting at the back of his head as you recognize the familiar tug of magic. He laughs. You pinch his side and say, “Don’t use your persuasion powers on me, you frog!”
Beel blinks at you, equal parts confused and happy, loaded fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “Did you call me an angel?”
You’re sat in the booth opposite him, barely visible behind the mountain of food on the table between you, but he sees you nod enthusiastically. “Yeah.”
He slowly brings the fork to his mouth. There’s a warmth in his belly that has nothing to do with the food—stirred up by the butterflies you always seem to invoke. “Why?”
You shrug. “I just think you’re sweet.”
Funny—he feels the same about you.
“Hey, that’s sweet.” Belphie smiles at you, slow and lazy. He pulls you into a soft hug. Nuzzles his cheek against your own and says, “You kinda remind me of a gremlin.”
For some reason, you can’t find it in yourself to be that upset at him. Only a lot, instead of a lot, a lot.
You—ever the adult—stick your tongue out at him.
Belphie—ever the child—tries to bite it.
You headbutt him. Just a little bit. As a treat. And say, “I’m trying to compliment you, jerk.”
Belphie snickers and softly bumps his head against yours. “So am I.”
He’s such a brat sometimes.
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