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[satanghulu]

✮ ADULT (SHE/HER) | minors DNI ✮

recent ── stuck by the glue (thirteen x reader) about ── multifandom but current fixation is on obey me! others ── read my rules here! ; inbox is open <3

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[satanghulu]

STUCK BY THE GLUE

✦ PAIRING: thirteen x f! reader ✦ SUMMARY: Growing up with Thirteen and all the turns that come with it. ✦ WARNING: high school au, reader will have a personality, author doesn't know when she will finish this............... ✦ WC: 7.2K

PART ONE | PART TWO | MASTERLIST

“Are you sad?” 

Thirteen stares at the outstretched hand with tears running down her cheeks. Her vision is blurry as she glances around the playground before locating you before her.

A bright light from your sneakers catches her attention, and she can’t tell if the ugly feeling within her is envy. The mysterious girl stomps her foot, and her snot-filled sobs subside for a second.

“Sad?” The girl asks again, continues to stare curiously at her, hands now dropped to her side. For some reason, she stomps her feet again.

“Are you sad?” She repeats.

Bewildered by the constant barrage of questions, Thirteen stops crying. She nods once, and then twice. Then she shakes her head.

She’s not sad, particularly. She just doesn’t know how to stop crying.

There is a silence that lasts a minute as the two of them engage in a stare-off. Finally, the girl sits beside her and holds out her hand again with a determined look.

“Don’t be sad anymore.” 

This time, Thirteen gets a better look at the outstretched hands, now that her eyes weren’t filled with tears. They were small and splattered with gooey paint from the earlier activities. 

“I know.” Thirteen manages to choke out, hands flying up to rub at her eyes. They’re now itchy and irritated, and she could feel the tell-tale leaking of saline water starting up again.

“Nooo.” The girl pushes her hands away and rubs at Thirteen’s cheek gently. She continues to fidget at her eyes, trying hard to hold back her tears when you let out a huge gasp. 

“Paint.” You mutter, trying to pull back your hands, but Thirteen’s face follows with it.

“Huh?” Thirteen says, grabbing at you even while sniffling in your grasp. You desperately try to wiggle your fingers off, but it stays solid.

In retrospect, it certainly is a fascinating way to meet someone for the first time, being stuck together in the most physical of senses.

.

Thirteen scrunches her eyes as she tries to blink away the swollenness. Now that her stream of tears has stopped, her nose feels raw from the constant sniffling.

The nurse calls out your name in a disapproving voice, and she clings to the sound of it. Thirteen’s parents are in the room, dishevelled as they talk with the nurse while yours are nowhere to be found.

She knows she’s going to get an earful when she gets home, and her face drops into a pout. She might not even get dessert on the way home today.

Lost in thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed you sidling your way up to her. It seems like the nurse had cleared you, seeing as your hands are now clean and without blemishes.

“Hi.” You say, holding out your hand to grab hers again with bright, innocent eyes. “My mother always tells me I have to introduce myself.”

In a quick ramble, you say your name and a list of things you like. Thirteen barely catches the whole slew of it before you end off, “And I like your hair, pink and blue like a butterfly.”

Thirteen subconsciously touches her hair, peering closely at the strand of it.

“Butterfly?”

You nod, letting go in favour of raising both arms to mimic what you thought was a butterfly. You toddle slightly, losing your balance, and she tampers down the urge to steady you.

“They’re very pretty like you!”

She doesn’t know what to do with your enthusiasm. Lost for words, she just stares at you, albeit for a second too long.

Seemingly deflated, you push your lower lip out while slouching before perking up again and sticking your hand in front of her, waiting for a handshake. “What’s your name?”

“Thirteen.” She replies, trailing off but making a move to grab your finger before you put it down. “Where are your parents?”

You shrug.

Instead, you hopped up on the table she was residing on, and Thirteen mutters your name softly under her breath. You smile at her and say your name again.

Both of your legs swing, and Thirteen’s eyes follow the motions before she musters up her bravery to start tracing stars into your thighs. She’s starting to get bored of waiting, but she likes being in your company.

“My sister’s there.” You point out in the silence, and her eyes flit over to a disgruntled girl crossing her arms. She studies the navy blue and white uniform, recognising it from the school her sister attends.

“I wanna be friends.” You abruptly say, pinning her with a determined look. Thirteen glances sideways, hesitantly, before shyly nodding.

No one has ever wanted to be her friend before.

A shout of her name catches her attention, and it’s her parents. She hesitates to go over, hands still clasped tightly in yours. Thirteen doesn’t want to leave you just yet. 

Her mother comes over with a hushed voice, pulling her gently by the arm. She wrenches free and runs to hug you, rubbing her cheek against you.

She doesn’t know why she likes you so much — the girl with the light-up shoes but she knows that she never wants to go a day without you, her first friend.

.

With a girl like Thirteen, trouble was bound to follow her wherever she went. 

“Shh..” You hold a finger up to her lips, tugging her down as both of you squat in the closet. Thundering footsteps boom outside of your hiding place, and Thirteen grabs onto your shirt in terror.

It had been an accident, but she knows your mother would never accept the reasoning.

“Come out!” The voice snaps, and your fingers wrap around her, shaking without a preamble. Thirteen scoots towards the back of the closet, dragging you with her.

That was the wrong move to make.

The closet let out a loud creak, and Thirteen couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp in shock, even as you shushed her frantically. It was too late for any regrets as the door to the closet swung wide open.

“Auntie–” Thirteen starts, scrambling to get up on her feet, but she couldn’t get another word in before your mother starts going on a rampage. With spit flying everywhere, she drags you out of the closet as she glares at Thirtee,n who tries to follow behind.

In all honesty, it was Thirteen’s fault for spilling the hot chocolate (that you wanted but didn’t dare to get in fear of getting scolded) and then tripping over the stupid carpet in the living room (she got distracted by the blinding smile you flashed her).

And, how would she have known that the piece of clothing she had picked up on the sofa to wipe the mess was worth thousands? It looked like a dog’s chew toy with how tattered it was but apparently, it was fashion.

(“It’s still ugly.” You had whispered to her after the scolding, forearms filled with red welts after getting your punishment.

Thirteen was holding back tears again, as she hurriedly grabbed a cloth, soaking it under the running tap, to cover your arms. It had been her fault, as usual. Yet, you had stepped forward to take responsibility for it.

You had managed to sneak out of the house, making your way over to hers. Your mother had shoved Thirteen out the front door before slamming it shut in her face. Behind the closed door, she could hear the crack of a belt and your silent whines.

She wishes she could have done something, but all she managed to do was wait outside the door for an hour and flinch whenever she heard shouting.

In the end, your mother came out to chase her away.

“I’ve always wanted to throw it away.” You go to ruffle her hair, brushing away her tears even as you wince at the movement. “You just managed to do it before me.”)

.

She’s ten when she comes to terms with the fact that you might just be her favourite person.

You had brandished her with a set of rocks after a weekend trip out of the country. Thirteen had missed you terribly, moping around the house to the point that her parents had brought her out to get ice cream.

It still didn’t lift her mood.

“They reminded me of you.” She thinks that’s what you had declared. With two of your front teeth missing, she couldn’t be too sure if that was what you meant.

She stares at your cupped hands, counting the rocks mentally before looking up at you in disbelief. “How many did you bring back?”

You shrug, smile still bright as you gently place them on the ground. On one hand, your fingers close, leaving only your index and middle fingers up. “About twenty?”

Excitedly pointing at the one in the middle, you kneel and present the stone to her. Your nose was still running from the allergies you had earlier, but it didn’t dampen your mood. “I got this from the gift shop!”

Her heart swells, and the words tumble out of her mouth before she can think twice.  “I love you.”

Your nose scrunches up, and you press the rock into her palm. Arms wrapping around the back of her neck, you tiptoed to hug her. “I love you too.”

Or, at least that’s what she thinks you said. She still can’t be too sure with your lisp.

(That night, she lies in bed thinking of your words. She doesn’t understand the funny feeling in her chest.)

.

You had finally managed to convince your parents to let you go over to Thirteen’s house for a sleepover.

Thirteen had ended up banned from your house after the last fiasco, where she had accidentally trekked mud into the house, and that ended up being the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Though that had been months ago. She wondered just how long they were going to hold a grudge against her.

Thirteen’s legs are tangled with yours as both of you giggle at whatever is playing on the screen. It doesn’t matter what they were doing as long as she gets to spend time with you.

The popcorn she had warmed up was nestled in the space between both of you. Before your arrival, she had pleaded with her parents to get the caramel flavour, and they had begrudgingly done so, even if no one in the house ate caramels.

Her hands were sticky with butter and residue as she tried to wrestle the remote from you.

“No, no!” You screeched, a high-pitched screech broken by the onset of puberty, but it was ever so endearing to Thirteen. 

The house was empty since Thirteen had begged to stay home with you instead of heading out for dinner. She didn’t want to postpone the sleepover any longer, afraid that your mother might change her mind. 

(Her parents were starting to worry about her relationship with you. Was it normal for a little girl to be so attached to another?)

Thirteen eventually lost the battle when you pulled out your winning move, The Pout. After finding out that she was weak to this, you had been using this against her on every occasion. 

Thirteen could never resist you, so she settles into the couch, ready for a bore of a movie. She prefers something more… thrilling, but all you like is romance.

The movie finally starts playing, and she’s already bored, but a promise is a promise. So, she tries her hardest to keep her eyes glued to the screen.

The only comfort she had was you snuggling up beside her as you gave commentary on the scenes playing on the television. When the movie gets to the climax, you quiet down while tightening your grip on Thirteen’s sleeve. 

She lets you do so, curious as to why you were so captivated. It was just a confession scene. She couldn’t find anything special about it except maybe the kissing part.

Your breath was hot on her neck as you stayed buried to her side. She turns and looks at you, eyes falling onto your lips. 

She wonders what it would be like to kiss you.

.

A new boy joined the class today. 

He had introduced himself as Mephistopheles. Thirteen doesn’t like him; he’s prudish and irritating, and she could tell that she wasn’t going to get along with him.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he tried to steal Thirteen’s seat next to you while she was in the toilet. She had shoved him out of her rightful place, and he had tumbled to the ground.

It wasn’t even a bad fall, but he had ended up sobbing with tears running down his cheeks and complaining to the teacher. She didn’t understand him; it wasn’t even her fault that he fell when she only gave a little push.

Yet, the teacher had sent her into timeout to repent for her behaviour. Being the dutiful friend you are, you got up to follow her to the side of the classroom before getting called back.

With her being gone, the idiot (she had learnt this word from her sister but got in trouble for it) had ended up sitting next to you. Thirteen could barely resist the flicker of jealousy within her, but you had ignored Mephistopheles, and it made her feel much better.

Her timeout lasted till lunch, and you had sneaked away from the rest of the class to come and find her, bringing your lunchboxes along.

“That idiot.” 

“Yeah?” You responded while munching on the sandwich Thirteen’s mother had prepared, before frowning at the choice of words. “Isn’t that a bad word?”

(Sometimes, your parents forget to pack your lunch, so Thirteen always ends up sharing her food with you. But it’s never enough for two little girls.

Afraid that you wouldn’t have enough so she pleaded with her parents to get another portion.

It worked, but now she’s saddled with extra chores. She doesn’t mind, though, seeing your smile is enough for her.)

“Is it?” Thirteen feigns ignorance, bringing out a piece of tissue to wipe at the side of your mouth. “I don’t like him.”

Chewing on the mouthful of food slowly, you wait for her to elaborate. Instead, Thirteen just goes back to munching on her sandwich. You’re usually the voice of reason between the duo, but even this time, you had nothing good to say.

“He keeps pulling on my hair.” You pouted, crumbs littered around the corner of your mouth. Thirteen’s face immediately turned into an ugly expression. She knocks your knees against hers and grasps gently at your hair.

Seeing your crestfallen expression is Thirteen’s least favourite thing in the world.

.

Mephistopheles became Thirteen’s first enemy.

In retaliation for her behaviour, the teacher swapped their seats around so Thirteen was no longer sitting next to you. With some luck (or string), Mephistopheles ends up sitting next to you. He is the founder’s son, and thus, he gets away with many things, even if the teacher sees it.

Thirteen dislikes him, second to your parents.

You’re not someone who cries easily, but that idiot has achieved that feat when he smashed your artwork to the ground. He called it an accident, but Thirteen doubts so. There must be something evil residing in him.

With that, he had solidified himself as Thirteen’s mortal enemy, and so, she decided to take things into her own hands.

.

During the recess period, she sneaks away from the rest of the class (and you) to the boys’ lockers. Quietly, she opens the locker named Mephistopheles and grabs his shoes.

She fills them with glue. 

She lines the side of both shoes with the glue she stole from the art room and then places them back where she found them. Her hands are sticky, so she stops by the washroom before heading back to the cafeteria.

“Thirteen?” A familiar voice calls out, and she freezes.

Instinctively, she hides her hands behind her back even if she knows they are clean.

“Where have you been?” You questioned with a small voice, stopping a couple of steps away. Your eyes fall on her hidden hands, and your eyebrows furrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She puts on a wide smile, one that stretches too much and hurts her face as she pushes you ahead. 

This was the first time Thirteen ever lied to you.

.

The teacher yells at the class the moment Mephistopheles comes crying to her. The whole class had gotten punished because no one had owned up. 

Thirteen doesn’t care about it. Doesn’t care that innocent students got dragged into this, or that she had to write a two-page reflection on the effects of bullying. 

She doesn’t care about anything else because seeing your smile when Mephistopheles came running in made everything worth it.

(After school, you walked back home together, hand-in-hand as usual. But this time, it feels different. You seem more giggly than usual, and there’s a bounce in your step.

Thirteen isn’t good at observing people, but she seems to be better when it comes to you.

You grab her hand and interlace both of your pinkies together before suddenly stopping in your step to twirl Thirteen around. She lets you do it.

She thinks she would let you do anything if you asked her to.

When Thirteen sends you to your house’s doorstop, you thank her with a toothy smile, one she hasn’t seen in a while, ever since your mother made a comment about it. You let out a soft huff of laughter before tugging her down to place a kiss on her cheek. 

“Thank you.” You say, eyes bright and glinting. She wants to keep this in her memories forever, and can see it imprinted on the back of her eyelids when she closes her eyes. 

Thirteen feels like she’s been punched in the guts, her stomach churning with that funny feeling again.

(She stays up that night, replaying the memory in her head.)

.

(“Have you ever wanted to kiss someone?” You ask her randomly one day.

She grins down at the sight of you, legs kicking up in the air. You lie face down, resting on the thick of your arm as you doodle something. You never had a flair for the arts, and your work always turned out clumsy, with all the artistic prowess of a five-year-old.

She pauses at the question, shifting to stretch out on you. She hears a muffled whine, but you make no move to get her off. 

“A little.” She admits, mind flitting back to the movie she had watched with you. If she were braver, she would have propositioned trying the action.

You make a cute noise of affirmation, and the room sinks into silence again. It almost lulls her to sleep, drool starting to collect on the side of her mouth. A moment later, you poke her in the side with the back of your colour pencil (It’s pink, your favourite).

“Mephistopheles tried to kiss me today.”

She scrambles to get off you at your revelation. Sour at the thought, she squishes your face in between the palms of her hands. Your eyes are still glued to your doodle, and your eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

“Did he?” She demands. Thirteen is furious, swallowing past the fury stuck in the back of her throat.

The clock in the back chimes, and that breaks the haze that she was in. She coughs, clasping her hands with yours instead. You drop your pencil, peeking at her inquisitively.  

You shake your head, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“I kicked him, don’t worry about it.”

Thirteen’s jaw tightens again, and a flash of blinding anger makes her chest ache. She grumbles under her breath while you pick up your pencil to go back to doodling.

She can’t tell if she’s exaggerating the severity of the situation or if you’re just that unbothered by it.

“He tried to kiss you.” She repeats again, the words tasting acidic on her tongue. She hates it. “That asshole tried to steal your first kiss.”

This time, you shrug casually before stifling a yawn. She finds this perplexing, for someone who cares so much about romance yet doesn’t care about it at the same time. 

She curls her fingers into fists, frustration bubbling up inside her. She doesn’t know how to get it in your head, doesn’t know how to get you to understand the seriousness of the situation. 

“Your first kiss is special! You have to share it with someone you like and not some idiot like Mephisto–”

You shoot her a warning glare at her use of language before sitting up to face her. You use the back of your pencil to poke her forehead before you loom over her, reaching out to brush back Thirteen’s messy hair.

You run your fingers through the mess, gently closing the gap until there are only millimetres between both of your faces.

This close, she can almost trace the barely visible freckles splattered across your cheeks, and she can feel her words die in her throat. Thirteen glances down at your lips and feels her heart stutter (she can hardly believe it, this vision is something she has only seen in the midst of her dreams). 

You raise an eyebrow curiously before leaning in to close the gap.

Her world stops spinning on its axis.

This hardly lasts a second: hot breath clashing against each other, and it should feel like nothing.

 But Thirteen tastes the strawberry milk you had drunk earlier, and the hint of sweetness. She presumes it's the leftovers from the berries her mother had packed for you earlier.

”There.” You said happily as you pulled back. You tap her nose with the pencil before shifting back to your original position to continue doodling.

Thirteen takes a while longer to stare blankly at the wall, gulping loudly in the silence. A call from her mother breaks the stupor she’s in, and she takes this chance to escape, her heart thudding loudly in the cage of her chest.

You don’t mention this again, but Thirteen doesn’t forget about it.)

.

It’s the summer before they turn fourteen.

You have grown taller, and so has she. Puberty had done you good; your fuller cheeks are now shaven down, and your eyes are sharper than they used to be. She still thinks you’re pretty, even if your hair is now shorter than it used to be. 

(The sound of your sobs over the phone had terrified her.

Somehow, you had managed to make your way to her house. She had swung open the door, one foot in her shoe, ready to run to where you were when she came face-to-face with you. She barely had a chance to catch you when you threw yourself at her, crying into her shoulder.

Only managing to make out pieces of information from your sobs, she found out that your mother had made you chop your hair off because “proper ladies do not have unkempt hair”.

Thirteen thinks otherwise. Your long, messy hair was her favourite, but she couldn’t bear to tell you that when you spent hours crying into her shoulders and the damage was already done.)

She spots you from afar. 

You’re early today, bouncing on the tip of your feet impatiently as you glance at the time on your phone. She grinned at the sight of your fluorescent pink backpack (your mother had opposed it, but it had been a gift from Thirteen’s parent,s so she had begrudgingly accepted it), and she tugged on the strap upwards as you flinched in surprise.

“Thirteen!” You scowl, but nothing can spoil your excitement, and you’re swinging your hands, pounding on her arm. “It’s the first day of school!”

You grab her arms, pulling her along, and Thirteen just sighs, redirecting you in the correct direction. She watches as your skirt swishes behind you, and the sound of your chattering dims as she swallows.

Recently, her heart has been thumping more than usual. She has yet to find out the reason why.

Gripping your hand tightly, she swerves you out of the way of a pole as you continue to titter on. She doesn’t understand the appeal of the first day of school, but you’re excited, and so she is too.

Oh.

Thirteen comes to a realisation. She’s perfectly fine having just you in her entire universe. She doesn’t need anyone else.

.

In the first year of high school, they meet Raphael, a new addition to their duo.

He’s a boy their age, and he sits next to you in Mathematics. You think he’s the coolest person you have ever met, and you tell Thirteen so.

 She sees nothing special in him. He’s just a lanky boy with a perpetual unhappy face, and he carries around a makeshift spear (she thinks it’s simultaneously the lamest thing yet also the coolest thing ever).

Raphael had fixed her with an unreadable gaze the first time you introduced him to her. It could merely be a flicker from her imagination, but she thinks he stares a second too long at her hands around your waist.

(Her hands tighten at his glance, and she pulls you in closer. It’s only natural to establish dominance at the first meeting. She doesn’t want Raphael to get any funny ideas about you.)

She doesn’t care. He’s harmless enough to be around you, and she sees the way he stares at that upperclassman sometimes. She would even go as far as to say he’s kind of cool because he lets her do anything she wants. 

It’s rare for anyone to let her in their vicinity nowadays.

Raphael acts older than them even though they’re the same age. He scolds them at times, but he backs down when you pout at him. You’re especially persistent in getting to know the mellow boy better. He had broken out in a sweat at your constant questioning. 

(Thirteen shifts his ranking up from ‘someone you like’ to ‘an okay person’. That’s a pretty high position for him to have, but he will never beat yours.)

.

They never leave Raphael out, not on purpose – they drag him everywhere, to the park, to Thirteen’s house, to the mall, anywhere they can think of. One day, Raphael brandishes a skateboard, and that just establishes Raphael as one of the coolest people she has ever known.

You had constantly pestered the silver-haired boy to teach you, but he refused, citing your clumsiness as a reason.

So, Raphael always skates beside them as they skip along. Sometimes, Thirteen carries you on her back (she knows you get sore when you walk for too long and she doesn’t like to see you in pain), even when you complain that you can walk.

Raphael offers to carry you sometimes, saying it’s his responsibility as a man (Thirteen looks at him and only sees a stick insect), but Thirteen refuses. Taking care of you is her responsibility, and even if Thirteen considers him a friend now, this is something she cannot give up.

(Adults have called her possessive, and Thirteen hasn’t fully grasped what the word means, but she doesn’t care. Why would someone else take care of you when she is right here?)

After a long argument, they settle on having you on the skateboard as Thirteen or Raphael pulls you along by the arm. 

One day, Raphael accidentally let go of your arm, and you fell off the skateboard. Thirteen had run to help you, while Raphael left to find aid.

“Don’t cry.” You crowed at her, beckoning for her to come over. Thirteen had swiped a hand past her running nose, crouching down in front of you. She chews on her bottom lip, frantic hands looking for something to do.

Her vision was blurry, and she dabbed her shirt to the edge of your wound.

She winces at your scraped knee as if your pain were hers to bear. She can tell it was hurting you, but you put on a brave face, trembling in her grasp. 

Thirteen sniffles, brain going into overload, thinking of ways to soften your pain. She takes a quick look at the surroundings before leaning in to peck at your cheek. It may be childish, but it’s the only way she could think to smooth your pain.

There’s a sudden twinkle in your eye, and you stifle a laugh.

“Again.” You requested, lifting a finger to poke at your cheek. Thirteen is nothing but a servant to your whims, so she leans in to press a light kiss on the skin again. 

She continues to pepper kisses on your face until a shout in the background breaks them apart. Thirteen jumps back as if she was scalded, face burning hot in something akin to shame (she doesn’t understand how she can ever be ashamed of you).

She sees her parents in the distance, and they run over to support you, dismissing Thirteen from her temporary caretaker role. 

“I’m sorry.” The silver-haired boy says stoically, skateboard clasped under his left arm. He sticks out a hand gingerly, leaving the ball in Thirteen’s court.

Her eyes follow the sight of your hobbling back view as you make your way down the road.

She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad when she thinks back to the kiss with you (a peck, really, but Thirteen is nothing but positive). So, she calms down and grabs Raphael’s hand, swinging it back and forth.

“You’re forgiven.” She says haughtily instead. 

.

Thirteen furrows her eyebrow at the question. 

She’s seated around a round table as part of a bonding session, with you on her right and a random girl (she presumes to be her classmate, but she doesn’t care enough to remember her name), who has started talking about boys.

“Do you have someone you are interested in?” The girl asks, lips cherry red from the lollipop she was licking. This makes Thirteen’s mind wonder about you; she thinks the colour would look good on you. 

The image of your lips springs to mind, and she shakes her head to clear the thought.

“Yeah.” She says distractedly. With her hands resting on the table, she stares at the edge of the table. Wondering how your strawberry lip gloss would taste (it’s a birthday present that Raphael and she had gotten for you), she almost misses the gasps from the rest. 

The girl taps on her arm playfully, lashes fluttering to try and get Thirteen to spill her secret.

It irritates Thirteen badly, and she so wants to rip off her glasses and stomp them on the ground. But the disappointment from the imaginary you barely holds her back. 

She feels disgusted, shifting in her seat to lean against you so that Glasses would get the hint and stop.

When she turns her head, you have a confused expression on your face. To her surprise, you mouth at her, “Who?”

Thirteen frowns.

Wasn’t it already obvious? 

There was always only one person in her mind.

“Tell us!” Glasses asked, persistent, hands still pawing at her. In the midst of the chaos, Thirteen points a finger at you.

Silence falls on the table before a sharp burst of laughter breaks out, spiraling the whole table into a mess.

“Thirteen, if you didn’t want to tell us, you could have said so.” Glasses had laughed so hard that tears were leaking out. Bent over laughing, she clapped a hand on Thirteen’s back. 

“You’re a girl, right? You’re supposed to like a boy.”

It somehow felt like she was being mocked. 

“Why not?”

Glasses blundered for a second before straightening up. She could hear whispers in the back, but she stayed focused. 

“Girls are supposed to marry boys. That’s what people say.” Even Glasses doesn’t look convinced by what she said.

Her face knits into another frown. Opening her mouth, she planned to argue more, but a squeeze on her thigh caught her attention.

Once. Twice. Thrice. 

She flinches, and she barely resisted the urge to turn and look at you.

That was their secret code that you had come up with in situations where they were unable to talk. Thirteen doesn’t understand why you are using it now, but she stops obediently.

The awkwardness in the air fades, and the topic soon shifts naturally.

But Glasses continues to avoid her eyes for the rest of the year.

.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Thirteen doesn’t see the appeal in the celebration, but you, a hopeless romantic, had been talking about it since the start of the month. With her minuscule allowance, she had only gotten discounted chocolate-covered strawberries for the past few years. 

(You dislike chocolate but still insist on getting it every year. Apparently, it’s the principle of things.)

In lieu of her first year in high school, her parents had finally increased her allowance. She wants to make the day more special for you, so she has made up her mind.

The gaudy, bright pink and blue card she holds in her hand feels heavy. 

After walking you home yesterday, and chasing Raphael away when he insisted on sending her home, she had run to the nearest craft store to get art supplies.

She had made the whole card from scratch, buying glitter and various knick-knacks and even enlisting the help of her sister to make the card look nicer. She douses the whole card in blue glitter because that’s her favourite colour, and pink is yours.

You spot her in the distance, hands shooting up immediately to wave her over. Her seat is next to yours for the first period, and so she makes her way over, keeping the card and box of handmade chocolate behind her back.

Her heart is in her throat. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous either, but she is. Her eyes stay glued to your smile until you pull out the chair, and she sees the stack of letters on your desk. A pit grows in her stomach, and it must show on her face because you stare at her.

“Why are you sad?” You questioned, only looking at her. You bring up both hands to squash Thirteen’s cheeks together, making silly faces in an attempt to cheer her up.

Her grip on her presents tightened, and she stared at the pile on your desk as if they had done something to personally wrong her. 

“Did many people give you gifts?” Her voice comes out all wrong, warbled, and shaky.

You nod, still keeping your eyes on her. 

“But I don’t care about those. I’m waiting for your chocolates!” You mentioned, swiping the letters and gifts onto the floor before moving your chair to face you. You make grabby hands at her, clearly expectant.

The bundle of nerves inside her loosened just a bit.

“Mine?” Thirteen says. Her arms are getting tired from hiding the items behind her back, so she presented them to you. Your smile lights up your face, and you grab the card to hug it against your chest.

“I love you!” You proudly declare, cheekily pinching Thirteen’s side. You gently set the box of chocolates and her letter on your desk before reaching into your bag to pull out a similar-looking card.

“Tada!” You hold out the card to her – it was slightly crumpled around the edges, but Thirteen notices that you had scribbled blue hearts all around the title.

“Blue hearts?” Thirteen asked, a similar lip-splitting smile on her face.

“You’re blue and I’m pink.” You explain it so simply, before brandishing a box of chocolates to her. Thirteen feels her throat get stuck at the admission. “I may have burnt some of them, so just eat one and throw away the rest.” You say sheepishly, eyes widening as Thirteen immediately unwraps the ribbon to open it.

Thirteen pops one into her mouth, chewing it, and even though she could taste the burnt tinge on the roof of her mouth, it was the best chocolate she had ever eaten in her life. She eats a few more and tells you so.

“You’re so silly.” You rolled your eyes and nudged her shoulder, but she could tell that you were pleased with her compliment, back straight and swinging your legs.

(She secretly hopes this tradition will continue to happen every year.)

.

They’re out at a party today. Candy, Thirteen’s sister, had extended an invitation to them. (You think it’s because Candy had accidentally broken one of Thirteen’s props for a prank and had felt apologetic, but Thirteen thinks otherwise.)

Giggling and all dressed up, you knock on Raphael’s door, waiting for the boy to come and open the door.

“What do you want?” His voice, curt as usual, holds a hint of curiosity this time as he peers at them in the small gap in the door that he had created.

Thirteen blows a raspberry at him, and you nod beside her, clinging onto her arm. “We’re going to a party!” 

Raphael looks at you, and then he looks at Thirteen before shutting the door — but Thirteen sticks her leg into the gap before wincing at the impact as Raphael tries to push her leg out.

“You’re coming with us.” Thirteen declared, finally managing to manhandle the door and forcing it open.

Raphael only sighs as the door inches open.

.

Thirteen had gotten separated from you the moment she joined the fray. Candy had begrudgingly pulled her aside the moment she made her presence known in the room.

(“Hello bitches!” The door slams open, but it does nothing to mute the loud bass of the party booming above.

Raphael had slammed a hand over her mouth, and she had almost stumbled from the impact of it. You, on the other hand, let out such a huge laugh that it had you bent over, smacking your knee.

Candy spots the three of you from across the room and marches over to grab Thirteen by the ear. Next thing she knows, she’s being introduced to her sister’s friends, but she couldn’t be bothered.

She wants to find you.)

Thirteen is in the middle of the room, swaying her hips to the beat. It’s not something she would normally do alone, but the shots of alcohol had furthered her courage. She had lost you in the crowd, and Raphael had probably skulked away to the kitchen to keep up with his mysterious air.

The steady bass of the music pulses through her, and for once, she’s enjoying her time.

Thirteen finds it intriguing, too. Through all the blurs of faces, your face stands out as the only clear one in the sea.

You’re looking at her again with amusement, but Thirteen feels like her head is underwater; she can’t hear you, but all she can see are your soft pink lips. The smell of strawberry wraps around her, and she can’t help but think of your lip gloss, the one she gave you for your birthday.

Your eyes flutter down too. She saw it. 

You get inside her head, worm your way in with your sticky glue hands, and it makes Thirteen so insane. She presses her forehead against yours, noses brushing past each other, and she’s about to close the gap–

“Thirteen!” You admonish her gently, pulling back to pinch your nose. “Your breath stinks of alcohol.”

Thirteen’s grasp tightens on your shirt, and when she looks up, she finds your eyes wandering, looking for someone else. Her throat closes up, and she takes a step back, the haze around her mind lifting up.

Right. She needs to bury this feeling.

A steady hand lands on her back, and she turns to see the disgruntled curl of Raphael’s mouth.

“Home.”

.

You squint slightly when you read, too focused on maintaining your image. The rooftop has become your usual hangout, though you had initially complained about it being too hot.

(“Thirteen.” You whined, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt as you backed away into the staircase. “Why here?”

Thirteen adamantly does not move, fingers curling around yours to tug you forward into the sunlight. School had been hell, with too many people and so much to do. She could tell you were overwhelmed too, your smile slipping out of place.

It might be selfish of her, but she would rather steal you away from your classmates in this short moment of break.

“Everywhere else is crowded, and this is the only place that we can have alone time.”

She silences your complaints with a glare. Adjusting the blanket on the ground, she pats it down and gestures for you to come over.

“Where did you get that?” Amused, you take your place on it before closing your eyes at the strong sunlight beating down on them. You scrunch up your nose adorably, folding your arms across your chest.

Thirteen brings up a hand to shield your eyes. “Home.”

“Come on, don’t be a big baby and stay here with me.” She goaded, but she quickly scanned the area to find another place for you.

“But I’ll tan!” She hears you mutter under her breath, but you quietly follow her around, still sighing even as you sit beside her.)

It becomes a routine, you slump down under the shelter and pull out a book to read. Thirteen, on the other hand, sprawls over your lap to take a nap. Sometimes, Raphael comes along with them when he ditches his other friends.

(Simeon, she had heard through the grapevines. It seemed like Raphael had found himself attached to an upperclassman.) 

Thirteen’s heart thuds loudly, and she finds herself unable to sleep this time. Folding her jacket into a makeshift pillow, she lays it over your lap as she settles into her usual position. 

She studies your expression, captured by the way your lips purse when you’re focused. “No contacts today?”

You startle, fingers taut on the page as you consider her question. “Forgot.”

Thirteen hums, turning on her side to get a better look at your face. You’re still squinting, but she couldn’t tell if it’s from the sun this time.

“Glasses?”

Biting your lips, you consider your words carefully before answering nonchalantly. Your posture straightens as you clear your throat. “Mum threw them away.”

She bristles, a scowl pulling at the sides of her lips. “Damn bitch.”

“Language.” She hears you sigh under your breath. A tap on the spine of the book. “She’s right, though.” 

You flick open another page, even as you’re distractedly answering her. “I look better without glasses.”

Thirteen watches you for a second and then blurts out. “You’re still pretty with or without.”

You still before letting out an exhale, you didn’t know you were holding. “I see.”

Thirteen frowns. “I mean it.”

Turning over another page, you laugh, a gentle sound that burrows deep into Thirteen’s chest. It’s that funny feeling again.

“Thank you, Thirteen.”

(She stuffs this feeling down and locks it away, throwing the key away. She doesn’t need this emotion. She’s forgetting something important.)

a/n > yes this is an edited version that has been locked in my drafts for MONTHS.... i will actually try to finish this, this time.... ehhehehe sorry

[satanghulu]

a little drabble found in my notes <3

my first and last, satan x reader

“Am I the first person you loved?”

Turquoise irises flick up to you in mild confusion before dimming to a mellow understanding. He hums a short tune, flicking a page over.

“What do you think?” He questions you back instead, eyes trained on the lines of the page. You know his full attention is on you. You can feel it prickle the hair on your arm, shuddering at the sensation.

“No.” You state clearly, unfurling your legs to bring them up to your chin to hug them closer. “I’m probably not.”

He smiles, a boyish charm to it. It has always been your favourite expression, the way it curls at the edge.

“You’re right.” He pauses, turning to study your expression with a tilt in his head. “Does that disappoint you?”

The first thing you should do is to reject his question but you stopped to think about it. Your heart burns with something you can’t quite place, swollen.

“No.” You say but the words feel wrong on your tongue, warping your sentence.

“Maybe.” You settle for this instead. It’s a half-truth. You can’t actually tell how you feel — emotions muddy and wispy.

He hums again, tapping a finger on the book instead.

“Okay.” He simply says, returning his attention to his previous object of affection. There’s the heavy thump of a book hitting the table and you presume that he had opened up another.

You swallow hard, head lost in thoughts.

“Will I be the last?” You blurt out, words thrown carelessly into the air. It was a flitting thought but had encapsulated your entire being, unwilling to leave you.

There’s tension in the air, thick with something indecipherable.

“I don’t know.” He finally says, fingers glossing over the words on the page, as if the book holds the key to the answer.

Somehow that response settled your heart with ease. Maybe the answer was always simpler than you had thought.

“I see.”

He puts his book down and reaches for your fingers.

“Are you disappointed?”

You shake your head firmly this time.

“Thank you for being honest.”

You swallow, looking down at your fingers. His fingers snakes between yours, finding a home between them.

MASTERLIST

[satanghulu]

BLIND LETTER

✦ PAIRING: thirteen x g!n reader  ✦ SUMMARY: Thirteen gives you a necklace. ✦ WC: 1.0K

| MASTERLIST

Your eyes scan the surroundings, feeling a tad out of place in the restaurant Thirteen had chosen for your date today.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have any experience in these fancy settings. After all, you had shadowed Lucifer to his meetings with Diavolo a couple of times but it’s still a far cry from your usual hangouts at cafes.

A cough catches your attention and she slides something across the table, looking painfully shy.

"Here." Her voice is gruff, hands rubbing at her neck. You find it awfully cute how she's avoiding eye contact with you.

"For me?" You questioned with a small smile. It was a small thing, fitting perfectly in your palms as you gingerly traced the shape of the skull on the cover. How darling of her to fashion it into the shape of a coffin.

"Who else?" She retorts back, leaning back in her seat. Thirteen seemed to have regained back some of her confidence, staring straight at you. 

You tilt your head at her, taking a sip from your drink. She watches as you push your drink away to make space for her gift.

"Of course, what a silly question to ask."

“What happened to your hands?” You peer closer at the singular bandage wrapped around her index finger. Thirteen just waits patiently, allowing you to move her hand however you please.

It seemed like the little angel had beat you in offering his assistance to the reaper with the bandage having the familiar animated characters you recognise from your hangouts with him. 

“Experiment, don’t worry about it.” She lets out a little laugh, shifting your hands back to envelop the object.

“Focus on this first.”

You shake your head, bringing the gift up to your ears to shake. Something rattles inside, and you turn curious. Eyes flitting back up to look at her, Thirteen’s ears colours with a tint of red.

She coughs once, gesturing for you to open it. There’s the tiniest bit of scrunch and her expression turns impatient. "Go ahead." 

You wait a minute, held back by your own indecisiveness. The coffin-shaped box shines under the light, and it makes you wonder if it was imbued with magic.

You tilt the box, admiring it from all sides. “Jewellery?” 

“You said you wanted some a while back.” She explains, wrenching her hands together before reaching over to grab your drink, allowing you more space.

“You remembered that?”

Your shock must have been apparent on your face because her face brightens into a curled smile. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Open it.”

You sniff haughtily, looking up at her again for confirmation. Thirteen dips her head, looking far more restless. You turn to carefully open the box, flipping the lid open.

Awe hits you first before the shock settles into your bone.

“This is too nice.” You say almost breathlessly, brows shot upwards.

It was a fine piece of metal, refined and elegant. Too much for someone like you. Though, the scythe charm dangling captured your heart.

“Just take it.” Thirteen wraps your fingers around the box, pushing it closer to your chest. “I made it for you.”

She looks nervous, bottom lips caught between her lips as she stares up at you with too wide eyes. Uncertainty etched on her face, it was a cute look on her.

You almost want to kiss her.

But you’re sitting here, fingers shaking as you trace the outline of the necklace. “You made this?”

Thirteen nods, taking a sip from her drink: a fruity concoction with the same vibrancy as her hair. You’re too afraid to know the price of the necklace, the shine of the precious gem designed to catch attention.

“I had help from Raphael.” She mentions simply. You reach over with a tissue to wipe the liquid off the side of her lips. It smells like strawberries.

“I…” You trail off, looking back down at the jewellery. Simple, enthralling, and gorgeous. You could tell it was designed with love in mind. The beads are artfully interlaced — glittery and they reflect your nervous face back.

You swallow instead. “Thank you.”

“Do you not like it?” Her eyebrows are knitted together, lips pursed as she tries to read your expression. “I can remake it again but the scythe charm stays on.”

A snort rips out of you and you shake your head at her silliness, easing the tension on your shoulder.

“No, I love it.” With hesitant fingers, you take it out of the box while examining the sparkle under the light. Admiration courses through you, and your grip tightens minisculely.

“Wear it for me?”

With cold fingers, she brushes your hair aside to place it around your neck. With a click, the necklace was clasped behind your back and she rested her finger on your shoulder.

You shudder.

“How did you make this?”

Thirteen’s face falls, devoid of emotions for the briefest of moments. Her eyes narrowed before she mutters, “Trial and error.”

You giggle. She must have put in a lot of effort for this.

Patting her pocket, she pulls out her D.D.D. and motions for you to strike a pose. You twist in your seat, fanning out your hands as you draw attention to the necklace. A flash goes off and you blink your eyes rapidly to clear your vision.

“Nice.” She mentions, keeping the device face-down on the table and you hold back on your kneejerk reaction to wanting to see the photo.

Fiddling with the beads, it feels cool to the touch. It almost feels dreamlike. “Are there any special properties in this?”

“You caught on fast.”

Showing a silver of teeth, she lets out a hysterical bark while slapping a hand on her knee. “It’s supposed to ward off demons.”

Your eyes dart to her lips, and everything feels hot before the words register and you purse your own lips in disappointment.

Noticing your disapproving look and your hands rising, she quickly retracts her earlier statement, “Supposedly!”

“Thirteen.”

a/n▸ collab with @cursed-sheep for @obeymevents!!! hehe, hope u guys love thirteen as much as we did <3 also, iris did a little drawing for my mc too which u can find here

[satanghulu]

his car isn’t yours

satan x g!n reader, cw: angst

“Tan.”

You watch him with that soft smile.

The blond went in for a hug, and your smile widened, pulling hard at the side of your lips. You step past him, glancing around the room. “How was the meeting?”

“It went okay.”

He paws at your arm, looking for attention. You let out a huff of laughter, letting him drape over you while you comb through his hair affectionately. He lifts you up and carries you over his shoulder in a practiced move.

You let out a loud squeal.

“Hey–” You hold on tightly as your throat goes dry, arm wrapping around the back of his neck.

“Missed you.” 

Sickeningly sweet, you think.

“Me too.” 

The words taste like lead in your mouth. 

Reaching his destination, he sets you down on the bed gently. Your arms drop, and you pull him in closer, a habit ingrained in you as you pepper kisses on his face. (Like a well-trained dog, really. It’s a bitter feeling.)

The room goes quiet, only the beating of your heart echoing. There’s a familiar knot in your stomach that comes and goes. 

“Tan?”

You refuse to call him anything but that damned nickname. (There’s nothing weird about using a nickname with your lover but you stare past him whenever you use it, almost like you’re searching for a shadow of someone behind him–)

He pauses and nudges his nose into the palm of your hand. It's almost sweet if he can ignore that your mouth forms the first syllabus of another name.

“I love you.”

Every emotion inside you bubbles, carbonated with thoughts. You still before forcing your fingers to curl in the tangles of his hair. “Me too.”

He smiles, hands creeping up to grasp your face.

“I know.” He lies. There’s no space for him to judge you. He rubs a finger up and down the web between your thumb and index finger.

“Thank you.” He lets himself be tangled in this web of pretense, it doesn’t matter to him. Silence hangs about both of you, and he lets himself close his eyes. (He wants to stay in this moment. He’s always been good at pretending to be someone else. Lucifer told him so too.)

You suck in a breath, a silver of teeth poking through. It feels stuffy, the taste of something metallic forms on your tongue.

“I’m sorry.”

He has always been good to you, and you love him. Just not the way he loves you. (Maybe in another lifetime, you could have built one together.)

You gently brush a finger over his brow bone, sweeping a strand of hair to the side. You echo an apology again, leaning down to place a kiss right between his eyes. 

He pretends to sleep, fingers tightening on the grasp of your clothes.

[satangcrush]

Something has changed after the incident. 

You don’t smile the same way at him anymore, weary lines etched in your expression. When he lifts his hands up to cup your face, you turn away with a soft smile and gentle coos; as if it dampens the sting of your rejection.

“Tan.” You call out, frail voice giving away your demeanor. You look tired to the bone.

It’s the same name you had always used on him. Yet, for the first time, it seems like you’re looking right at him. 

(He knows what’s coming next. He had known for a long time, but he had buried his heart into the ground, like an ostrich who refuses to look up in the eyes of a predator. It’s useless.)

The breath you let out is shaky, pulling your hands away. He chases after it, but you resolutely keep it in your lap. “Let’s stop this.”

The silence that comes after that is resounding loud, and all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. It almost feels comical, how he feels no anger. Just a resolute sense of calm. The Avatar of Wrath not feeling any wrath, it almost sounds like a sick joke. 

“Is there nothing I can do?” His voice sounds choked, even to his own ears. He can’t seem to see your reaction, heart caving in from the pressure in his chest.

It seems like all he was good for was being a replacement (even to his own family, he thinks scornfully).

“You don’t deserve this.”

His brow twitches, and he wants to laugh. A fire burns on his tongue and it scalds the words coming out. “You’re saying this now?”

The unblinking expression you fix him is icy cold. It’s always been like that, in comparison to his burning rage. He takes in the details of your face, the deep set of your eyes, the way your eyelids flutter slightly as you blink.

He thinks he would miss this.

“Yeah.” You look sad now as your voice warbles. A small smile settles and your lips tremble. “Thank you.”

His words get stuck in the back of his throat. This was the first time he had seen you genuinely smile. What’s done is done. He knows this but something in him doesn’t want to give up.

He wants to shake you by the shoulder, scream at you, and show you exactly how you had hurt him.

He does none of this.

Instead, you stand up and bow at him. You grab your keys, the one with the cat keychain he had gifted you with. 

The jangle of bells resounds in the silence of the cafe.

[satanghulu]

his car isn’t yours

satan x g!n reader, cw: angst

| MASTERLIST

“Tan.”

You watch him with that soft smile.

The blond went in for a hug, and your smile widened, pulling hard at the side of your lips. You step past him, glancing around the room. “How was the meeting?”

“It went okay.”

He paws at your arm, looking for attention. You let out a huff of laughter, letting him drape over you while you comb through his hair affectionately. He lifts you up and carries you over his shoulder in a practiced move.

You let out a loud squeal.

“Hey–” You hold on tightly as your throat goes dry, arm wrapping around the back of his neck.

“Missed you.” 

Sickeningly sweet, you think.

“Me too.” 

The words taste like lead in your mouth. 

Reaching his destination, he sets you down on the bed gently. Your arms drop, and you pull him in closer, a habit ingrained in you as you pepper kisses on his face. (Like a well-trained dog, really. It’s a bitter feeling.)

The room goes quiet, only the beating of your heart echoing. There’s a familiar knot in your stomach that comes and goes. 

“Tan?”

You refuse to call him anything but that damned nickname. (There’s nothing weird about using a nickname with your lover but you stare past him whenever you use it, almost like you’re searching for a shadow of someone behind him–)

He pauses and nudges his nose into the palm of your hand. It's almost sweet if he can ignore that your mouth forms the first syllabus of another name.

“I love you.”

Every emotion inside you bubbles, carbonated with thoughts. You still before forcing your fingers to curl in the tangles of his hair. “Me too.”

He smiles, hands creeping up to grasp your face.

“I know.” He lies. There’s no space for him to judge you. He rubs a finger up and down the web between your thumb and index finger.

“Thank you.” He lets himself be tangled in this web of pretense, it doesn’t matter to him. Silence hangs about both of you, and he lets himself close his eyes. (He wants to stay in this moment. He’s always been good at pretending to be someone else. Lucifer told him so too.)

You suck in a breath, a silver of teeth poking through. It feels stuffy, the taste of something metallic forms on your tongue.

“I’m sorry.”

He has always been good to you, and you love him. Just not the way he loves you. (Maybe in another lifetime, you could have built one together.)

You gently brush a finger over his brow bone, sweeping a strand of hair to the side. You echo an apology again, leaning down to place a kiss right between his eyes. 

He pretends to sleep, fingers tightening on the grasp of your clothes.

[satangcrush]

AU where solomon is much more shadier 

“What do ya’ want?”

It was a growl, raspy around the edge. He bares his teeth, posture hunched as if he was ready to pounce. Solomon blinks at him, taking a step forward. 

“What do you mean?” His mouth pursed, calm voice light and airy.

The air in the Avatar of Greed’s lungs seemed to be screaming for release, chest heaving up and down.

“What are you doing here?” Mammon barked back, fingers clenching around nothing. His nails pierce into the palms of his hands, crescent-shaped marks left on them.

The sorcerer smiles, folding his hands gently in front of him.

“Visiting my apprentice, what else?”

“Stop it.” Mammon takes in a deep breath, irises flashing gold as his jaw clenches. Sweaty palms rub up and down his thighs, sweat trickling into the indent of his palm.

It hurts. 

He grits his jaw harder.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Quick movement as he tries to sidestep the demon, aiming to reach the door’s front to ring the doorbell. “Doing your job as a guard dog, aren’t you?”

“Did your owner praise you today?”

The demon refuses to move, stationing himself starkly in front of the door. The sorcerer’s breath ghosts against his neck and the cool inhale of his breath strengthens his resolve.

He can’t let this wicked man pass him.

“You—“

“Solomon?” 

He recognises that voice. 

At once, all tension leaves his body yet he still stands there warily, hackles up. You open the door, peering confusedly at the scene in front of you.

“Mams?” He jolts back like his leash has been pulled. He can’t let you see him in this state. Forcing a smile, he hides his hands behind his back. “What are you doing?”

“My apprentice!” In a blink, the sorcerer sidesteps him with his arms up high. Momentarily, he half-turns, leaning down in a pretense to pat Mammon on the back.

“Good boy.” He whispers, a smug smirk on his face that the demon was itching to smack off.

Mammon unclenches his fist.

an: found this in my draft & finished it up. believe this was when I was trying to deepen tension in my scenes

[satangcrush]

went insane with @lonely-north-star earlier so here's a short drabble, not beta-read

Jaw set in place, you stare at the demon stretching their arms out on the expanse of Mammon's shoulder.

There's a twitch on your eyebrow, and you try your best to not let it show.

"Are you okay?" The brother beside you asked, glancing over at where you were looking. "Huh, didn't think he would let them do that."

You chanced a look at Asmo, breath suddenly coming out hot and heavy. He mouths at you, and you nod.

Your heels clicked loudly on the dance floor as you sauntered your hips, amping up the flair that you had learned in Seductive Speechcraft.

Taking a seat beside Mammon, you purposely kept your face straight away as you called for the bartender.

"A gin tonic please."

"Baby!"

You hear the slurred voice of your demon call out, and soon enough a tug on your hand calls for your attention. Briefly, you wondered if you should ignore him, a petty flower blossoming in the middle of your chest.

"Hi, baby." You respond instead, sliding your hands up his arms when you notice that the demon is still clinging to him. You almost want to spit on them but you hold back.

Angling your head in the way Mammon likes, you curl your lips into a slight smile.

"I missed you."

He gurgles some words, head starting to slide onto your shoulder, completely ignoring the demon behind him who was pawing to get his notice.

"Who's that, my love?" You asked, brushing a strand of hair that was falling in front of his face. "No one important, I suppose?"

"Huh?" He can barely keep his head up, eyes half-lidded into the crook of your shoulder. You shift to the edge of your seat, balancing his full-body weight.

"Nothing." You smile when you notice that the demon has sprung back with a hiss. It seems like the spell you had used was effective. "Go to sleep, baby."

"Mm-kay."

[satangcrush]

i think its funny that asmo ends up with someone that is the complete opposite of his ideal type.

[satangcrush]

like he has this whole idea of someone sweeping him off his feet or someone that he can get along well with (well-kept etc etc) but he ends up with a complete brute who only knows how to fight, doesn't shave, doesn't take care of themselves, etc.

case in point below:

“Life is so unfair to a demon as pretty as me.”

Asmo slides into the seat opposite his brother, slumping over to lean his forehead on the table. “Ugh, why did this have to happen to me?”

Beel looks amusedly at his older brother, going back to chomp on his burger. “Wah huppaned?”

Sparing a glance of disgust, he quickly shakes his head to get back to his initial complaint. “A complete brute.”

He sighs again, now supporting his head on one of his hands. “Doesn’t know how to take care of themselves, can’t dress properly, can barely wake up in time to brush their teeth, and most importantly, doesn’t know how to appreciate a beauty like me!”

The Avatar of Gluttony blinks at him before resuming his meal, picking out a burrito filled with fiery pepper and cheese. “Aren’t you in a relationship with them?”

Asmo stares at him like he has grown a second head.

“And?”

He shrugs, reaching forward to grab a bottle of Hellfire sauce before dousing the entire burrito with it. Asmo looks nauseated by the look of it, turning slightly green in the face.

“I can’t do a little bitching?” He starts up again, grabbing at his hair lightly. “I’ve tried everything! From waking them up with a fun surprise to changing up their whole wardrobe but it’s still not working.”

He sighs, slamming his head on the table this time.

Beel winces at the sound of it.

“That must be hell.” 

The Avatar of Gluttony’s heart goes out for the diva's partner.

“It is.” Asmo bemoaned, kicking his feet this time.

[satanghulu]

WHEN WE WERE KIDS

✦ PAIRING: thirteen x f! reader ✦ SUMMARY: Growing up in the perspective of Thirteen’s POV. (Alternatively, Thirteen has never learned how to love anyone else but you.) ✦ WARNING: high school au, angst, hurt no comfort, reader will have a personality ✦ WC: 3.8K

PART ONE | PART TWO | FIC MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Thirteen is an ugly crier. Her parents had always encouraged her to cry but they never once told her how to make the dam stop.

She sits in the playground, tears running down her cheeks, her snot-filled voice hiccuping as she desperately scratches at her eyes.

The staff in the kindergarten must have given up on her as she sat there alone as they busied themselves with taking care of the other kids, pretending not to see her crying her heart out in the middle of the slide.

A small figure jerks at the side of her eyes and she sees a hand reach out to her. Thirteen doesn’t recognise the hand or the face when her vision clears up enough to look at it.

The light-up pink sneakers catch her attention and for a second, her sobs subside.

The girl in the strawberry shortcake shirt looks at her curiously. She holds out her hand, outstretched as if she wanted to wipe away Thirteen’s tears.

Thirteen starts crying again, a loud wail that sounds throughout the area – this prompts the staff to quickly pick up the other kids to leave the area.

The girl continues to stare curiously at her, hands now dropped to her side.

“Are you sad?” She asks.

Bewildered by the question, Thirteen stops crying. She nods once, and then twice. Then she shakes her head.

She’s not sad, particularly. She just doesn’t know how to stop crying.

There is a silence that lasts a minute as the two of them engage in a stare-off. Finally, the girl sits beside her and holds out her hand again with a determined look.

“Don’t cry anymore.” 

This time, Thirteen gets a better look at the outstretched hands, now that her eyes weren’t filled with tears. They were small and splattered with paint from the earlier activities.

“I know.” Thirteen manages to choke out, hands flying up to rub at her eyes. They’re now itchy and irritating and she could feel the tell-tale tears starting up again.

“Nooo.” The girl pushes her hands away and rubs at Thirteen’s cheek gently before gasping.

“Paint.” She says.

“Paint.” Thirteen repeats, sniffling.

It turns out the paint was sticky with glue because moments later, the two girls were stuck together. Literally.

Thirteen doesn’t even realise she has stopped crying as the staff finally finally takes notice of them and rushes them to the nurse’s office.

“I’m MC.” The girl says after the nurse extracts them from each other, tutting at them gently. Thirteen’s parents are in the room, talking with the nurse while yours are nowhere to be found. Thirteen continues to trace stars into your skin, as you swing your leg on top of the table.

“I’m Thirteen.” She responds in kind. Thirteen’s parents call for her, and she hesitates to go over. She sees her sister standing in the hallway, hands crossed over her chest. But Thirteen doesn’t want to leave you just yet. 

Her sister comes over to drag her by the arm but she wrenches free and runs to hug you, rubbing her cheek against you. You accept her request to be her first friend.

.

With a girl like Thirteen, trouble was bound to follow her wherever she went. This holds true as both of you are currently getting the scolding of your lives — Thirteen has unintentionally spilled the hot chocolate she was holding onto the carpet in the living room and then used one of your mother’s high-end shirts to wipe up the stain.

Yet, she pays it no mind. She fidgets with her shirt, stubbornly avoiding eye contact with you because she just knows she would burst out in laughter the moment your eyes met and this would send your parents into another fit of anger which is not something she wants to see again.

After being expelled from the house, both of you let out the laughter you have been holding back. Thirteen thinks that your smile is the prettiest thing in the world and your laughter the best thing she’s ever heard.

This wouldn’t be the first and last time she was scolded by your parents but this leads to her being banned from your house for the rest of her life.

.

She’s eight when she comes to terms with the fact that you might just be her favourite person.

She tells you so one day, as you sit on the swingset in the same playground that both of you have met. You only hum and send her a big toothy grin, with two of your front teeth missing.

“I love you too!” Is what she thinks you say but she couldn’t be sure with the lisp you had developed from the missing teeth. (That night, she lies in bed awake thinking about your words.)

You immediately proceed to try and steal her ice cream and Thirteen lets you do so. She likes seeing you happy. 

.

Thirteen’s legs are tangled with yours as both of you giggle at whatever is playing on the screen. The popcorn that she had warmed up was nestled in the space between both of you and her hands were sticky with butter and residue as she tried to wrestle the remote from you.

“No, no!” You screeched, a high-pitched tone broken by the onset of puberty but it was ever so endearing to Thirteen.

Thirteen eventually lost the battle with you. You pouted at her, begging her to watch some rom-com movie with you. Thirteen could never resist you so she settles into the couch, ready for a bore of a movie.

She loves you really, but all you like are rom-com movies and she’s just not into that.

The movie finally starts playing and she’s already bored but she had promised you to watch it so she tries her hardest to keep her eyes glued to the screen.

The only comfort she had was you snuggling up beside her as you gave commentary on whatever scene was on the television.

When the movie gets to the climax, you have eventually quieted down and are holding your breath while clutching onto Thirteen’s sleeve.

She lets you do so, curious as to why you were so captivated. It was just a confession scene. She couldn’t find anything special about it except maybe the kissing part.

Your breath was hot on her neck as you stayed buried to her side. She turns and looks at you, eyes falling onto your lips. 

She wonders what it would be like to kiss you.

.

A new boy had joined the class today. He had introduced himself as Mephistopheles. Thirteen doesn’t like him. He was prudish and irritating in her books.

The teacher told him to choose a seat and with his audacity, he tried to sit next to you while she was in the toilet. The moment she was back, Thirteen had pushed him away because that was her rightful seat next to you. How dare he try to take her seat?

Mephistopheles had tumbled to the ground and started complaining about her with tears running down his cheek. The teacher had sent her into timeout as a punishment and being the dutiful friend you are, you had followed her to the side of the classroom before getting called back.

The boy had ended up sitting next to you. Thirteen could barely resist the flicker of jealousy within her but you had ignored Mephistopheles and it made her feel much better.

Her timeout lasted till lunch and you had sneaked away from the rest of the class to come and her, bringing your lunchbox to share with her.

“That guy.” 

“Yeah?” You responded, munching on the sandwich that Thirteen’s mum had prepared for both of you. Your face pinched into a frown at the thought of him.

“I don’t like him.” Thirteen says.

You’re usually the voice of reason between the duo but even you kept quiet for a second, swallowing around the mouthful of food.

“He keeps pulling on my hair.” You pouted, crumbs littered around the corner of your mouth. Thirteen’s face immediately turned into an ugly expression. 

Seeing your crestfallen expression is Thirteen’s least favourite thing in the world.

.

Mephistopheles became Thirteen’s first enemy.

In retaliation for her behaviour, the teacher swapped their seats around so Thirteen was no longer sitting next to you.

With some luck (or string), Mephistopheles ends up sitting next to you. He is the founder’s son and thus he gets away with many things, even if the teacher sees it.

Thirteen dislikes him.

He even made you cry once when he tugged on your hair so hard that some of the strands had fallen off. With that, he had solidified himself as Thirteen’s mortal enemy and so, she decided to take things into her own hands.

.

During recess period, she sneaks away from the rest of the class (and you) to the boys’ lockers. Quietly, she opens the locker named Mephistopheles and grabs his shoes.

She fills them with glue. She lines the side of both shoes with the glue she stole from the art room and then places them back where she found them. Her hands are sticky and she stops by the washroom before meeting you in the hallway.

“Thirteen?” You questioned, voice small. Your eyes fall on her hands that she had instinctively hidden behind her back.

She puts on a wide smile, one that stretches too much and hurts her face as she pushes you ahead. 

.

The teacher yells at the class the moment Mephistopheles comes crying to her. She punishes the whole class because she says a crime of this magnitude has to be orchestrated by a couple of the students.

Thirteen couldn’t keep the smile off her face even as she had to write a two-page reflection on the effects of bullying. She doesn’t care that the whole class was dragged into this fiasco because seeing your smile made everything worth it.

.

After school, you walked back home together, hand-in-hand as usual. But this time, you grabbed her hands and interlocked both of your pinkies together. Thirteen lets you do it without hesitation. She thinks she would let you do anything if you asked her to.

When Thirteen sends you to your house’s doorstop, you thank her with a sweet smile. She remembers stopping in her tracks at the sight of your smile, your front two teeth finally grown in. You had only giggled and leaned in to hug her, and then suddenly tip-toeing to kiss her on the cheeks.

Thirteen feels like she’s been punched in the guts, her stomach churning as if she had eaten playdough again.

“Thank you.” You say, eyes bright with that glean that Thirteen wants to cherish forever. Thirteen tilts her head, pretending not to understand.

It’s the first time Thirteen hides something from you.

(Thirteen never told you what she did and you never asked her about it. But she knows that there’s an implicit understanding that you already knew what she had done.)

.

They’re fourteen now.

You have grown taller and so has she. Thirteen misses your chubby cheeks but she thinks you’re pretty as always, even if your hair is now shorter than it used to be. 

(Your mother had made you go to a salon to cut your hair because apparently in her eyes, your hair is too unkempt when long. Thirteen thinks otherwise. You had cried into her shoulders for hours when you came back.)

You stand in front of her, hands outstretched, waiting for her to hold your hands as usual. 

“It’s the first day of school!” You titter on, swinging both of your hands excitedly. Thirteen watches as you stumble on, skirt swishing behind you. (Recently, her heart has been thumping more than usual. She wonders why?)

Thirteen grins as always, gripping your hand tightly and swerving you when you almost walked into a pole in your excitement. She doesn’t understand the appeal of the first day of school but you’re excited and so, she is as well.

She’s perfectly fine having just you in her entire universe. She doesn’t need anyone else.

.

In the first year of high school, they meet Raphael, a new addition to their duo.

He’s a boy their age and he sits next to you in Mathematics. You think he’s the coolest person you have ever met and you tell Thirteen so. She sees nothing special in him. He’s just a lanky boy with a perpetual unhappy face and he carries around a makeshift spear. (She thinks it’s simultaneously the lamest thing yet also the coolest thing ever.)

She doesn’t know what you see in him but she doesn’t see any harm in being friends with him. Sometimes, he’s even kind of cool because he lets her do anything she wants. It’s rare for anyone to let her in their vicinity nowadays.

Raphael acts older than them even though he’s only probably older than them by days – he scolds them sometimes, but mostly he lets both of you do your things. (He is. You had questioned everything about the mellow boy, and he had answered all of your questions if only to get you off his back.)

Thirteen thinks maybe she might start considering him a friend but you will always be her favourite person in the world, no, the universe. 

.

They never leave Raphael out, not on purpose – they drag him everywhere, to the park, to Thirteen’s house, to the mall, anywhere really. One day, Raphael brandishes a skateboard and that just establishes Raphael as one of the coolest people she has ever known.

Raphael always skates beside them as they skip along, sometimes, Thirteen carries you on her back because you always end up sore if you walk too long and she doesn't like to see you in pain.

He offers to carry you sometimes, saying it’s what boys should be doing but Thirteen refuses. Taking care of you is her responsibility and even if Thirteen considers him a friend now, this is something she cannot give up. 

(Adults have called her possessive and Thirteen hasn’t fully grasped what the word means but she doesn’t care. Why would someone else take care of you when she is right here?)

.

Thirteen furrows her eyebrow at the question. 

She’s seated around a round table as part of a bonding session, with you on her right and a random girl (she presumes to be her classmate but she doesn’t care enough to remember her name), has started talking about boys.

“Do you have someone you are interested in?” The girl asks, lips cherry red from the lollipop she was licking at. This makes Thirteen’s mind wonder about you. (You have recently started wearing makeup and Thirteen has been staring at your lips more often.)

“Yeah.” She says cooly, staring at the girl straight in the eyes. She doesn’t understand the gasps from the rest of the table. Shouldn’t it already be obvious? There was always only one person in her mind.

The girl taps on her arm playfully, lashes fluttering to try and get Thirteen to spill her secret. Thirteen so badly wants to rip off her glasses and stomp them on the ground but she knows that you would be disappointed in her. She feels disgusted, shifting in her seat to lean against you so that Glasses would get the hint and stop.

When she turns her head, you have an unreadable expression on your face.

“Who?” Glasses asked, persistent and hands still pawing at her. Thirteen points a finger at you, the table suddenly falling silent before a laugh breaks out, spiraling the whole table into a mess.

“Thirteen, not her. I mean a boy.” Glasses had laughed so hard that tears were leaking out. “You’re a girl, right? You’re supposed to like a boy.”

Thirteen frowns at her statement, it somehow felt like she was being mocked. 

“Why not?”

Glasses blundered for a second before straightening up. “Girls are supposed to marry boys. That’s what people say.” Even Glasses doesn’t look convinced by what she said.

She was about to open her mouth to argue more but a squeeze on her thigh caught her attention.

Once. Twice. Thrice. 

That was their secret code that you had come up with in situations where they were unable to talk. Thirteen doesn’t understand why you are using it now but she stops obediently.

The awkwardness in the air fades and the topic soon shifts naturally.

.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Thirteen doesn’t see the appeal in the celebration but you, a hopeless romantic, had been talking about it since the start of the month. For the past few years, she had only gotten you discounted chocolates with her minuscule allowance. Thirteen had made up her mind this year to make the day more unique for you – her parents had finally increased her allowance and she had been saving it up.

The gaudy bright pink and blue card she holds in her hand feels heavy today. After sending you home yesterday, and chasing Raphael away when he wanted to follow her, she had run to the nearest craft store to get art supplies.

She had made the whole card from scratch – buying glitter and various knick-knacks and even enlisting the help of her sister to make the card look nicer. She douses the whole card in blue glitter because that’s her favourite colour and pink is yours. (She thinks it's the best combination in the world.)

You spot her in the distance, hands shooting up immediately to wave her over. Her seat is next to yours for the first period, and so she makes her way over, keeping the card and box of handmade chocolate behind her back.

Her heart is in her throat. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous either, but she is. Her eyes stay glued to your smile until you pull out the chair, and she sees the stack of letters on your desk. A pit grows in her stomach and it must show on her face because you stare at her.

“Why are you sad?” You questioned, only looking at her. You bring up both hands to squash Thirteen’s cheeks together, making silly faces in an attempt to cheer her up.

Her grip on her presents tightened and she stared at the pile on your desk as if they had done something to personally wronged her. 

“Did many people give you gifts?” Her voice comes out all wrong, warbled, and shaky.

You nod, still keeping your eyes on her. 

“But I don’t care about those. I’m waiting for your chocolates!” You mentioned, swiping the letters and gifts onto the floor before moving your chair to face you. You make grabby hands at her, clearly expectant.

The bundle of nerves inside her loosened just a bit.

“Mine?” Thirteen says. Her arms are getting tired from hiding the items behind her back so she presented it to you. Your smile lights up your face and you grab the card to hug it against your chest.

“I love you!” You proudly declare, cheekily pinching Thirteen’s side. You gently set the box of chocolates and her letter on your desk before reaching into your bag to pull out a similar-looking card.

“Tada!” You hold out the card to her – it was slightly crumpled around the edges but Thirteen notices that you had scribbled blue hearts all around the title.

“Blue hearts?” Thirteen asked, a similar lip-splitting smile on her face.

“You’re blue and I’m pink.” You explain simply, before brandishing a box of chocolate to her. “I may have burnt some of them so just eat one and throw away the rest.” You say sheepishly, eyes widening as Thirteen immediately unwraps the ribbon to open it.

Thirteen pops one into her mouth, chewing it and even though she could taste the burnt tinge in the roof of her mouth, it is the best chocolate she had ever eaten in her life. She eats a few more and tells you so.

“You’re so silly.” You rolled your eyes and nudged her shoulder but she could tell that you were pleased with her compliment, back straight and swinging your legs.

(She secretly hopes this tradition will continue to happen every year.)

.

They’re out at a party today. Candy, Thirteen’s sister, had extended an invitation to them. (You think it’s because Candy had accidentally broken one of Thirteen’s props for a prank and had felt apologetic but Thirteen thinks otherwise.)

Giggling and all dressed up, you knock on Raphael’s door, waiting for the boy to come and open the door.

“What do you want?” His voice, curt as usual, holds a hint of curiosity this time as he peers at them in the small gap in the door that he had created.

Thirteen blows a raspberry at him. “We’re going to a party!” You pull on her arm, a silent plea for her to behave herself.

Raphael looks at you and then he looks at Thirteen before shutting the door — but Thirteen sticks her leg into the gap before wincing at the impact as Raphael tries to push her leg out.

“You’re coming with us.” Thirteen declared, finally managing to manhandle the door and forcing it open.

Raphael only sighs as the door inches wide.

.

Thirteen is in the middle of the room, dancing her heart out with her hips swaying to the beat. She had lost you in the crowd, and Raphael had probably skulked away to the kitchen to keep up with his mysterious air.

She’s in the midst of a crowd, the steady bass of the music thumping through her, and people are crowding her.

She doesn’t mind the attention for once, playing up all her charms and winking to the people who dared come up to her. She thinks that maybe she’s been craving for attention and for someone to want her more than she had thought.

But a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach starts developing and soon enough, she stumbles off to the side of the room, holding onto the wall for support. 

She wonders what it would take for someone to love a person like her.

Raphael had once said that Thirteen and you must have once been lovers in another life (Thirteen thinks so too) because she could feel your stare on her and sure enough, a hand that she knows is yours, was placed on her back.

Thirteen finds it intriguing too. Through all the blurs of faces, your face stands out as the only clear one in the sea.

You’re looking at her again with amusement, but Thirteen feels like her head is underwater, she can’t hear you but all she can see is your soft pink lips. The smell of something sweet wraps around her, and she can’t help but think of your strawberry lipgloss, the one she gave you for your birthday.

If she kisses you now, would you push her away?

Her mouth opens and what comes out is the dinner that her mother had whipped out instead of words.

“Thirteen!”

She had puked on you.

a/n▸ vaguely inspired by a fic I read like 8 years ago, which unfortunately has been deleted. but it is a testament to how much it changed my brain chemistry LOL also I was supposed to finish the entire fic for obey me month, @obeymetournaments but life got me in a chokehold so im making it multi-chaptered and a PSA to finish this in the future 😭

[satanghulu]

STUCK BY THE GLUE

PAIRING: thirteen x f! reader

STATUS: multi-chaptered - incomplete!

TAG: high school au, angst, hurt no comfort, reader will have a personality

SUMMARY: Growing up in the perspective of Thirteen’s POV. (Alternatively, Thirteen has never learned how to love anyone else but you.)

══════════════════

✮ PART ONE ✮

WC: 3.8K SUMMARY: Thirteen feels things as she grows up. TAG: emotional tension, angst isn't that strong here, use of MC instead of Y/N, mentions of alcohol, kids being kids

✮ PART TWO ✮

WC: ?? SUMMARY: Thirteen learns the meaning of heartbreak. TAG: hurt no comfort, angst, use of MC instead of Y/N, ???

══════════════════

✮ SIDE STORIES ✮

── tears - raphael & thirteen ── TBC

══════════════════

NOTE:  ahaha... basically wanted to write a childhood friend trope with thirteen. i have things planned out for this story, I just hadn't had the time to actually sit down and write it so im going to be posting it in chapters instead. if not, i may just sit down and rework the entire thing into a one-shot in the future! credits to @savemebeel for the thirteen icon!

[satanghulu]

author's note ▸ reader is g!n unless stated otherwise | favs are marked 📌 writing tag ▸ #satangwrites last updated ▸ 12/01/2025

── SERIES LIST ⊹ ࣪ ˖

↳ an ode to nicknames (f! reader)

pt1 - lucifer, mammon, levi pt2 - satan, asmo, beel, belphie pt3 - simeon, solomon, diavolo, luke, barbatos

↳ pact marks

pt1 - solomon pt2 - lucifer, mammon, levi pt3 - satan, asmo, beel, belphie

── SHORT FICS ⊹ ࣪ ˖

↳ no romance

▸break it down, mc! - all brothers & mc ▸Thnks fr th Mmrs - barbatos & reader ▸ too loved he became slothful - belphie, satan & reader ▸live, love, fuck request - asmo & lucifer ▸flower in a creek - levi & reader ▸thick as thieves - beel, asmodeus & satan ▸

↳ romance

▸rose-tinted glasses - satan x reader 📌 ▸show and tell - satan x reader ▸21 questions - satan x reader ▸reimagined first meeting - solomon x reader 📌 ▸home is where the heart is - solomon x reader ▸by my side - solomon x reader ▸the wise sorcerer, solomon - solomon x reader 📌 ▸bloody syrup - mammon x reader ▸ghost - mammon x reader ▸under a trance! - mammon x reader ▸in my dreams - lucifer x reader ▸goodness gracious - lucifer x reader ▸marriage fit for a king - diavolo x reader ▸helping hand - diavolo x reader ▸adoration of love - diavolo x reader, solomon & reader ▸i miss you - beel x reader ▸ ▸ ▸

── LONG FICS ⊹ ࣪ ˖

↳ when we were kids - incomplete

PAIRING: thirteen x f! reader TAG: modern au, angst, childhood friends au

↳ the horrors of economics - completed! 📌

PAIRING: satan x reader TAG: canon-compliant, college au, fluff with a side of angst

↳ one-shots: no romance

▸thick as thieves - beel, asmodeus & satan ▸ ▸

↳ one-shots: romance

▸take what's yours - solomon x mammon📌 ▸ ▸

[satanghulu]

finally updated my masterlist after a couple of months… this was hell.

[satangcrush]

ghost

mammon x g!n reader, sfw, not beta-read

summary: Picking up money and accidentally getting married to a ghost, uhhh belphie and satan makes an appearance here cw: mc is a ghost and mammon is a dumbass an: this is based on a chinese tradition that i dug out from the depth of my mind so it may not be very accurate

“That demon said that the grocery store should be ahead.” 

The blond-haired demon scowled harshly at his device, a frown marring his handsome face. His jacket flutters in the wind, pale mist surrounding the group of demons. Another one tails behind, feet dragging sluggishly as he yawns.

“Who has the list?”

The Avatar of Greed was a step behind, pausing to kick every rock spotted on the walkway. He didn’t understand why he was assigned to go grocery shopping.

He had better things to do, especially with his precious time! He could be hitting up a casino or maybe even raiding a bank right now.

Regardless, he could still be using his time to do better things.

“Are you actually pouting?” Belphegor snorted, half-lidded eyes opening wide when the rock hit his leg. He winces once, bending down to rub at his ankle. “Are you five or something?”

The last-born picks up the offending object, throwing and catching it menacingly. “Rub that stupid expression off your face and say sorry.”

He was not pouting. 

“Stop arguing.” The one at the front sighs, closing his eyes with a shake of his head. Looking weary and far beyond his years, he strides over to grab the rock from Belphegor’s palm.

“Hey–”

“–Thank you, I’ll confiscate this now.” He interrupts, leaving no room for negotiation. Grabbing onto the youngest’s arm, he drags him back to the front, leaving only the second-born behind.

Mammon hears a shushed scolding. “You don’t have to stoop to his level.”

“Hey! Ya’ know I can hear you right?!” He shouts back, voice bordering on a growl. Satan whips his head around to give him an incredulous look.

“That’s the point.”

“Hey!”

He slinks back to the back again, decidedly not wearing a pout.

Satan finally lets out a sigh of relief, continuing with his navigation after keeping his brothers in check. “I know you didn’t want to come along but we have to do this to maintain the relationship between the worlds.”

“Got it.” He groaned loudly, knuckles rubbing at the corners of his eyes hard. His vision goes dark momentarily and he fumbles forward, tripping over his steps. “You sound like Lucifer right now.”

“What’s next? Are ya’ going to tell me that Lord Diavolo is going to be disappointed, yada yada.” He straightens up, pretending to tighten his tie and lowering his tone. He wags a finger and arches an eyebrow, channeling the energy of a tired old man.

Much to his dismay, he hadn’t realised that a cloud of dark unease had surrounded his younger brother.

“I didn’t know you had a death wish,” Belphegor remarks casually, watching in amusement as the blond-haired demon stalks towards his prey.

“Eek!”

No matter how often he had seen his younger brother in this state, it still sent a chill down his spine.

“You have three seconds to run.”

Mammon didn’t even stay to hear the end of the sentence before taking off, putting on the tiniest bit of boost to ensure that he stayed out of his brother’s reach.

He slithered in and out of alleyways, doing his best to evade capture.

The flicker of gold in the middle of the street catches his eye. He hesitates mid-action before deciding to abandon his course, skidding to a stop and grabbing it before anyone could catch him.

“This is my lucky day.” He mutters under his breath, shoving the mysterious item into his pocket. He would just need to lose the mad harpy that was on his heel and thereafter, locate a safe space to break into his present.

.

One way or another, he manages to lose him.

The Avatar of Greed pants hard, hands on his knees, before he slumps to the ground. He makes sure to stay hidden, under the cover of a slide.

His heart beats fast as he slides out what he picked up earlier.

The vermilion envelope glimmers, reflecting the warmth of the afternoon sun back at his confused face. He turns it around, fingers tracing over the velvety smooth surface as he stares in awe at the gold lining.

“Gold…” He breathes out, shaking in barely controlled excitement. He has absolutely no idea why it was lying on the street but it must be Mother Luck shining down at him.

He could strike it rich with this! He just needs to cash it in and make sure to bet it on a sure-win. This would definitely be his breakout chance.

Now, all he had to do was to open it.

He trembles, fingers carefully and meticulously removing the seal on the envelope. It was strange how the seal fell apart easily but he couldn’t be bothered to overthink. He dismisses his concerns, excitedly unfurling his reward after his long patience.

A strange mist curls out, wrapping around his upper body and dimming his vision.

“Mammon.”

 He heard the tell-tale growl of an angry demon but he wasn’t able to see him. Instead, he was frozen stiff, unable to make out where the mist was coming from.

“Mammon!” A second cry comes just as something cold creeps around his chest. He starts to laugh nervously before it trails off.

“It’s nice to meet you, husband.” 

A whisper of his name and a cool exhale of his name near his ears makes him shudder. He turns his head slowly but he can only see the ghost of painted bright red lips before he lets out a scream.

“You—” He recognises that voice, growly with just the barest hint of baritone. Turning in desperation, he tries to locate him. Weirdly enough, there seemed to be a barrier around him as if to keep him in. 

The mist clears enough for him to peek through. A flash of blond hair catches his attention and he clings to the sight, whipping his head to meet the frantic eyes of his brother.

A burst of cool air sends the fourth-born flying back, slamming into the Avatar of Sloth who was a couple of steps away.

“Satan!” He shrieks, clawing at the wall of energy around him. He had to go and check on his brothers now, to see if they were okay. 

The barrier does not respond to his desperation. 

Instead, the apparition appears again, flickering in and out of focus.

“Husband, please hold on as I get rid of them.” The brightly painted lips curve up, stretching into a wide smile. It’s imprinted on the back of his eyelids when he blinks. 

Suddenly, your figure wasn’t there when he opened his eyes again.

A sense of dread fills his veins.

No, no. He can’t let this happen again.

“Wait!”

The taste of bile fills his throat as his eyes feverishly search the area for your silhouette, locating you in front of Satan. A gust of wind throws his brothers down again, and he pounds at the barrier, fear gripping him by the throat.

He has to do something.

“HEY!” He couldn’t tell if the roar in the air was the sound of the wind or his own voice but continued, scratching at the barrier, doing everything he possibly could to catch their attention.

“If I’m your husband, you can’t—”

He chokes on his words, barely registering the taste of blood in his mouth. The Avatar of Greed frantically scrambles for words, spitting out whatever that popped up in his mind.

“—Bully your brothers-in-law!”

The apparition freezes. All he could hear was the ghastly sound of wind blowing past him, and the horrifying realisation of the situation dawned on him. You turn slowly, ignoring the groans of his brothers still slumped on the ground.

This time, he sees you clearly. 

You’re wispy at the edge but he can make out the soft slope of your shoulder, the slight frown on your face. His eyes are magnetized to yours, sparkling and far too bright for what should be a ghost.

“Brothers-in-law?” You state slowly with a tilt of your head. 

He swallows, hands shaking as he brings them to his side. You glide over to where Satan lies, fading in and out of focus.

He nods when you turn to look at him for confirmation.

“We don’t look alike but we’re family.” He clarifies again, wiping at his mouth. He hadn’t even realised he had bitten his tongue, the pain only coursing through him now.

You stay silent, squatting down to survey Satan’s features closer. The blond-haired demon bares his teeth, pushing Belphegor behind him. Thankfully, it seemed that both demons hadn’t suffered any major injuries.

“Husband, you’re not lying to me?” A puff of cloud forms when you speak, blowing into Satan’s face. The fourth-born shudders, turning his head away from the sight.

“No.”

You stand up, tall and proud. For some reason, your silhouette was starting to become more distinct. He can feel that you’re fuelled by magic — it’s a gut feeling. You glow dimly, translucent in the light.

He thinks you’re ethereal and otherworldly.

“Uh, can you take this down?” With a gulp, he calls out while vaguely pointing at the space in front of him.

A whoosh of wind flew past him and the barrier was dismantled in the blink of an eye. You don’t give him an opening, moving to block his path of escape.

Gently, you move to peer closer at his face.

With your face this close, he can only focus on the flecks of gold found in your eyes and he gulps loudly again.

“Husband, you’re bound to me now.” Your laughter tinkles like wind chimes in the air. He can’t tell if he’s imagining it but you seem to grow even brighter at every pound of his heart. 

“Your magic is the one fuelling me.”

Shit.

Lucifer is going to murder him.

[satangcrush]

beel x g!n reader

“I miss you.”

You paused in the midst of your scrolling on your D.D.D, the lowered volume of the video playing softly in the background. It was some cat video that Satan had sent over earlier in the day and you only had the chance to get around to it now.

“I’m here?” 

Beel has an arm wrapped around your middle, tightening it as he mumbles into the crook of your neck. You hadn’t managed to leave the room since Beel fell asleep: tucking him in as you lay beside him, not ready to go to bed just yet.

“What ‘s wrong?’ You asked worriedly, brushing a strand of hair away from his eye. He still hadn’t opened them, making you wonder if he was still sleep-talking. The strong arm around your middle pulls you in and you go willingly.

“You weren’t in my dreams tonight.”

You weren’t sure if he was pouting but it sure did seem like so.

“I miss you.” He repeats, his usual timbre now even deeper and thick with sleep. His eyes weren’t even fully opened yet, half-lidded as he yawned and nose at your pulse point. His arm was starting to cut off your breathing with how tight it gets. 

You drop your D.D.D. and start tapping rapidly on his arm asking for a time-out. He reluctantly lets go, snaking his cold fingers up the curve of your spine instead. Fingers start to thread through your hair, brushing out tangles with silent gentleness. 

You shiver.

“You dream of me?”

He nods, pushing his head further into the crook of your neck. You feel his hot breath and reflexively hold your own. A tuft of hair juts out awkwardly from his head, you smoothen it out and pat it down. 

“I missed you so I woke up.” That was his last sentence before promptly closing his eyes. Within moments, you start hearing him snore.

You stare at his messy bedhair, feeling the urge to tug on it.

“Goodnight..?” You said bewilderedly in the air.

[satangcrush]

challenge masterlist

home is where the heart is

tears

take what's yours

untitled mammon drabble

too loved he became slothful

reimagined first meeting with solomon 

goodness gracious

flower in a creek

untitled diavolo marriage drabble

[satangcrush]

Hi hi hiiiii ♡♡♡

In your solomon marrige post, you mention Diavolo would WANT to elope, but couldn't because of being prince. He would be sooo pouty about it though, like, Lucifer would probably leave their meetings with a headache from Dia complaining about it. (One of Dia's homescreen lines is him saying Lucifer told him off for talking about how beautiful MC is lmao). Idk you've just put this in my mind and I cannot stop rotating him!!

Long way of saying I love your writing, have a great day!!

“Have you ever thought of getting married?” He asks you one day, face stern with curiosity.

You bark out a laugh haphazardly after the silence settles in the air for a beat too long. You’ve thought of this question a billion times but haven’t had the guts to let it play out in your head for too long.

“Why the sudden question?”

Diavolo shoves the sleeves of his shirt up, and you can’t help but stare in dry-mouthed silence. The ink splatters on his finger catch your attention, and you move to grab a tissue to wipe it for him.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” He confesses into the air, ears tinged with a red hue.

You thought the topic had been over: blinking in surprise as you smoothed the tissue over the pad of his index finger. It was a wonder how he still managed to get messy even when he was trying to be careful. You kind of want to lick the ink off.

“You have?” 

The declaration makes your stomach flip in on itself but you quickly squash it down. You know your place well enough. Though, the small thing called hope flutters in your heart.

He nods, presence commanding in a way that makes your skin tingle. You shuffle in your seat, waiting for him to add more. He tilts his head, tired eyes crinkling at the corners with that honeyed smile; you have come to recognise was meant only for you.

“In fact, Lucifer told me to talk to you.” He admits softly, forgoing the pen in his grip to wrap his hands around yours. “He said he was tired of hearing me go on about the same thing.”

“Is that why Lucifer has been in a deplorable mood lately?” You questioned, faking an air of nonchalance as you subtly pinched the skin of his finger. He wiggles the appendage, stopping your motions instead.

“Probably.” He shrugged, a little too casually for your liking.

You hummed, a coy tune you had picked up from Luke while baking with the sweet angel. A cheery ring that probably didn’t suit the situation at hand but you were nervous, placing the other hand on your heart. The prince briefly scans your face before tugging you nearer to him.

“Do you think it’s possible to avoid Barbatos for one full day?” He whispers into the crook of your neck. You could practically feel the pout against your skin. It makes you shudder.

You cross your arms behind his neck, staring at the ink splatter that has now smudged onto your own fingers. We can, the irrational part of your brain urges you to blurt out.

“I can’t answer that.” You say instead.

The unspoken answer floats in the air for a second before Diavolo smashes it with his jolly voice. You hate it in times like this.

“Right.” He pulls back to look at you, an almost imperceptible frown pulling on his face. You soften, unlocking your fingers to cup his face gently. “A prince can only dream right?”

With great effort, you curved your lips into a smile — wobbly at the edges as you continued to knead at his face.

“The future ruler of the Devildom comes with great responsibility.” You teased but his face remained stony, eyes cloudy with thought. You both know the underlying meaning of your words. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

(Don’t forget your duty to the Devildom, Diavolo repeats in his head. A mantra drilled into him ever since he could remember. He wishes for more than what he could have. 

Wasn’t a ruler supposed to be greedy?)

“I’ll work on it.” He stirs, bringing his hands up to place them over yours. You see the glint of determination sparking in his eyes. “I’ll do it for you.”

“For us.” He repeats, leaning in until the tip of your noses are barely touching.

You’re at a loss for words, only managing to nod before he closes the distance, darting his tongue out to lick at your lips. You pull back after a few seconds, his words still heavy on your mind.

“Okay.” You mumble, turning your head as he continues to place chaste kisses at the edge of your lips. “I believe in you.”

You watch as his face lights up into a smile.

“Watch me.” He pulls you in for a hug, one that knocks the breath out of you. “I love you.”

You want to say something in return but you opt for squeezing him back in tandem. 

He already knows your heart anyway.

edit - day 11 for @om-adventcalendar

[satangcrush]

"live love fuck"

this sounds like something asmo would have hanging in his bathroom but like it's an embroidered piece

ofc this bitch did

.

“Asmo. What is this hanging here?” The firstborn stares at the piece of rug hanging on the door to the bathroom. He can’t fathom why the Avatar of Lust could possibly think it was a great idea to display it there.

Then again, the Avatar of Lust did have a different sense of aesthetics.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Asmo gushes, flinging an arm around him. Lucifer stumbles, taking a step forward after being hit with his entire full body weight. He always wonder why Asmo never went on the path of sports. He could have had a bright future in there.

“MC did it for me!” The fifthborn continues rambling, knocking his hip into Lucifer’s. He continues pointing at the rug, explaining about the different colours used. 

Pink, purple, and yellow.

“MC chose pink as the base because they said it was my colour. How practical of them!” The peach-haired demon added on, manicured nails tapping on a part of the rug. The sickly sweet smell of Asmo’s perfume wafts into his nose and he wrinkles them.

“Did they choose the words too?”

“Oh no, I chose it.” He hummed brightly, showing a silver of his teeth as he smiled. “What about it?”

Lucifer sighed.

“Of course you did.” Asmo finally lets go of the firstborn, who straightened up to rub at his neck. He wondered if it was now too late to push the fifthborn into sports. It probably was.

What a failed opportunity.

“Why, big brother? Don’t you like the quote?” He simpers, tiptoeing to tap on Lucifer’s nose.

“I think ‘Live, Love, Fuck’ is a very apt quote to live by.”

Lucifer just sighs again.