"I need you to peel 50 potatoes"
It was your first time cooking for the brothers. Though you were intimidated by all the new devildom food that would usually be considered predators in the human realm, you were determined to adapt to the exchange program. You had to eat for the year after all.
You head to the kitchen, where Lucifer holds out an apron for you with the words "best big bro"—no doubt his—but he couldn't be sure how messy the new human was. You await the first instruction, ready to cook a meal for seven people.
"Where do you want me boss!" You say, hands on your hips as the firstborn gives you an unimpressed look, ignoring the small feeling of pride at being referred to as "boss". At least the human knew their place.
"I need you to peel 50 potatoes." He says, getting to work on the meat for the rest of the dish.
"Excuse me? Like for the month or something? Are we meal prepping?" You ask incredulously, looking at the pile of potatoes that nearly reached your waist and the comically small peeler he handed you.
"Meal prepping? With Beelzebub? You jest. Now get to work unless you want to be eaten." Lucifer deadpans, no amount of 'jest' in his own voice. You thought you were making dinner not starting a soup kitchen.
You start to peel the potatoes, your arm getting sore after about 10, which was about 8 more than you've ever done in your life. Lucifer looks back at you with a giant cauldron of stew already halfway ready, while you were still only a fifth of the way through with your one task.
"Diavolo below, I gave you one task." He rolls his eyes before snatching the tiny peeler from you and peeling the potatoes at inhuman speeds. In fact demonic speeds because what took you half an hour to do, he did in seconds. He tosses the potatoes in and hands you the giant ladle and asks you to stir. You briefly consider throwing yourself in the pot and ending your misery but you remember you would just come right back to the devildom after you died and would have to continue seasoning like nothing happened.
You hear a blood-curdling scream as Lucifer drops something into the stew and you look up at the unbothered demon in horror, wondering if you were just imagining the screams of the damned.
"Its Mandrake. For flavour." He explains as if you had never seasoned food in your life.
He leaves the stew to simmer as you stir and you quickly felt like a a prisoner of war, rowing in the galley of a ship as Lucifer aesthetically cooked some rice like a domestic little housewife.
By the time dinner was ready, you crawled out of the kitchen looking like you just completed a marathon, carrying all seven brothers on your back. You collapse into your seat while everyone digs in.
"Could use some salt," Satan muses and you fight the urge to strangle him - not that you would win by any means against the avatar of wrath but you would go down with dignity.
"The human made this? Oi! I'm their damn guardian. I don't wanna see any of you touching the food they made for ME!" Mammon declares though you barely did anything worthwhile in the kitchen and there would be no way he would be able to finish more than a plate anyway. You were already full from one serving.
You couldn't deny it was good though. Whether it was the power of love or the ingredients that would kill you given the chance, the food was filling and comforting and almost worth the manual labour that you considered ending your life over.
You look over at all the boys, either bickering or rambling as no one listened but eating nonetheless. Levi and Mammon taking bites between putting each other in chokeholds, Satan eating quietly while reading, occasionally piping up with a snarky comment aimed at the firstborn, Lucifer who ate between the ignored lecture to his brothers and Asmo who delicately ate bites between taking pictures for his devilgram.
You then look over at Beelzebub
The avatar of gluttony who somehow always has food on him was eating with the same inhuman speed and vigor that the food was cooked with. You watched in fascination and slight horror as he practically unhinged his jaw to inhale plate after plate of stew. You didn't doubt that he would eat you too if you were close enough. You quickly understand why you had helped make enough food fit for an army.
That guy was a fucking tank.
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