warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, mild roughness, implied sexual tension, suggestive behavior
synopsis: mammon hates the idea of you walking out dressed like that with other people watching, he does not like the outfit one bit.
mammon is pissed.
he’s slouched against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looks like he might just tear his own jacket. his jaw is clenched, golden eyes sharp, and his fingers keep twitching—like he's resisting the urge to grab you and ruin your plans.
"ya ain't goin' out like that," he finally says, voice low and firm.
you barely glance at him through the mirror, adjusting your outfit. "yes, i am."
mammon lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "the hell ya are!"
you sigh, turning to face him. "mammon, it's just a night out with my friends—"
"yeah? an’ how many guys are gonna be there?"
"i don’t know? who cares?"
he does. he cares. too much.
mammon pushes off the doorframe, stalking toward you, his irritation practically radiating off of him. "ya know damn well why i care," he grits out. "look at ya."
he gestures at you—at the way your outfit hugs your figure just right, at the way your skin glows under the dim lighting of your room. he knows you look good. too good.
and so will everyone else.
"it's not my fault if people look at me," you say, folding your arms.
mammon's eye twitches. "exactly! that's the problem!"
his hands land on your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you close. "i know how guys think," he mutters, voice rough. "they’re gonna look at ya like—like you're some prize to be won."
you blink up at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. "but i am a prize."
mammon glares. "not for them."
"well, yeah," you say, teasing. "i'm yours, obviously."
his grip tightens, a low growl rumbling in his chest. he knows you're messing with him, but it doesn't stop the possessiveness clawing up his throat.
"damn right ya are."
he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. "so why ya gotta go out dressed like this? huh? ya tryna drive me insane?"
"mammon, relax," you murmur, running your hands over his shoulders. "i'm coming home to you."
he exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours. for a second, just a second, his grip loosens—like he’s actually considering letting you go.
then his eyes darken.
"nah," he mutters, shaking his head. "i don’t like it."
you sigh, exasperated. "what do you want me to do? change?"
mammon huffs. "obviously."
"not happening."
"babe."
"mammon."
his fingers twitch again. his mind is racing—debating whether he should just ruin your outfit and force you to stay in.
you see the way he's looking at you.
"mammon," you say slowly. "don't even think about it."
he lunges.
you squeal as he grabs you, tackles you onto the bed, pressing you down with his full weight.
"mammon, you are so dramatic—!"
"ya made me like this!" he growls, burying his face in your neck, hands sliding up your sides. "walkin’ around all pretty, makin’ me jealous—what am i supposed to do, huh?!"
you can’t help but laugh, even as he nips at your skin in frustration. "you are jealous!"
"damn right i am!"
his hands roam, gripping at your hips, your thighs, possessing every inch of you.
and just like that, you know you aren’t leaving anytime soon.
synopsis: you suck levi off as he’s in the game with his friends.
a/n: look at him manspreading like yes gimme gimme more
leviathan’s room is a dimly lit sanctuary of otaku bliss, walls covered in vibrant posters of anime characters frozen in dramatic poses, shelves brimming with neatly arranged manga volumes and ruri-chan figurines that catch the soft glow of fairy lights strung across the ceiling.
the air hums with the constant whir of his high-end pc fans, the massive monitor dominating one corner, casting flickering blue light across a cluttered desk littered with energy drink cans, snack wrappers, and a jumble of controllers.
in the background, his aquarium bubbles gently, fish gliding through the water, oblivious to the chaos.
levi sits hunched in his gaming chair, its rgb lights pulsing in sync with the game’s intense soundtrack.
he’s dressed in his usual casual gear—a baggy hoodie with a devildom anime logo, sweatpants slung low on his hips, his indigo hair a mess from hours of gaming, orange-tinted eyes fixed on the screen through his glasses.
headphones clamp over his ears, the mic hovering near his mouth as he banters with his online friends, his voice a mix of excitement and that signature envy-laced sarcasm.
you slip into the room quietly, the door clicking shut behind you, but levi doesn’t notice, too engrossed in the raid boss flashing across his monitor, his fingers dancing over the keyboard and mouse with practiced precision.
“guys, flank left! no, not that way, you normie idiots—come on, we’ve practiced this!” he snaps into the mic, his tsundere tone masking the genuine care he has for his team.
you smirk, watching him, his legs spread wide in the chair, an unspoken invitation that sparks a bold idea.
you know how levi gets when he’s gaming: hyper-focused, competitive, his envy flaring if someone dares to outshine him.
but tonight, you want to shift his focus.
crawling under the desk on all fours, the carpet rough against your knees, you settle between his thighs.
the space is cramped, warmed by the heat of his body and the humming pc tower nearby.
levi shifts slightly, muttering, “hold on, something feels off—nah, probably just lag.”
his friends laugh through the headphones, their voices muffled to you but clear to him.
your hands glide along his sweatpants, feeling his muscles tense under your touch.
he jolts, glancing down, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he spots you, a flush creeping up his pale cheeks—classic levi, shy and flustered despite his demonic nature.
“wh-what are you doing down there?” he hisses, keeping his voice low, but the mic catches the edge of it.
a friend chimes in, “levi? you good, bro? sounded like you saw a ghost.”
levi stammers, “n-nothing! just… uh, my controller glitched. yeah, that’s it. focus on the boss!”
your grin widens as you hook your fingers into his waistband, tugging his sweatpants down slowly.
he lifts his hips instinctively, too shocked to resist, his envy momentarily drowned out by embarrassment and arousal.
his cock springs free, already half-hard, veiny and flushed at the tip, a bead of pre-cum glistening in the desk’s shadow.
you lean in, your breath hot against his skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his mouse clicking erratically as his focus wavers.
“dude, levi, your dps is dropping! what the hell?” a friend complains over the comms.
levi grits his teeth, forcing a laugh. “sh-shut up! i’m… strategizing. yeah, that’s it. you normies wouldn’t understand.”
you ignore his half-hearted protest, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe along the underside of his shaft.
he twitches, a low groan slipping out before he disguises it as a cough.
the game rages on—explosions, spells flashing, his character dodging attacks—but under the desk, it’s all about him.
you take him into your mouth slowly, savoring the salty taste, the way he throbs against your tongue.
levi’s hand drops briefly, tangling in your hair, not pushing but guiding, his fingers trembling.
“guys, cover me—i need to… adjust my setup,” he mutters, voice strained.
his friends laugh “adjust? levi, you sound weird. you watching hentai mid-game again?”
he flushes deeper, sputtering, “as if! i’m not some pervert like you! i-i mean, focus!”
you bob your head, taking him deeper, cheeks hollowing as you suck.
the wet sounds are faint, masked by the game’s audio blasting through his headphones, but levi feels them, amplified by the thrill.
his hips buck slightly, pushing further into your throat.
you gag softly but recover, hands bracing on his thighs, feeling the muscles clench.
his room grows hotter, the aquarium’s bubbles a calm counterpoint to the chaos—the pc fans whirring faster, as if mirroring his racing pulse.
leviathan glances down, his orange eyes meeting yours, a mix of awe and embarrassment shining through.
“y-you’re… insane,” he whispers, barely audible, but his friends catch the tail end.
“insane? yeah, this boss is insane! good call, levi.”
he bites his lip, stifling a moan as you swirl your tongue around the head, teasing the slit.
pre-cum coats your lips, and you hum, the vibration making him gasp.
“okay, phase two—everyone ready?” he tries to rally, but his voice cracks as you take him deeper, your nose brushing his base, inhaling his musky scent mixed with the faint oceanic trace of his body wash.
the game hits its climax—the boss’s health bar dwindling—and so does levi, his hips stuttering.
“almost there, guys! push harder!” he commands, but it’s aimed at you too, his hand in your hair urging you faster.
you comply, sucking harder, your tongue pressing against the pulsing veins.
he tastes of salt and desire, pre-cum flowing freely now.
the wet, sloppy sounds of your mouth blend with the game’s chaos, unnoticed by his friends but driving levi wild.
finally, the boss falls, victory music blaring, his friends cheering through the headphones.
“we did it! levi, you carried us!”
but levi’s own victory is silent—his body tenses, a choked groan escaping as he cums, hot spurts filling your mouth.
you swallow it all, milking him through it, his cock twitching on your tongue.
he slumps back in the chair, panting, the rgb lights reflecting off the sweat on his forehead.
“yeah… we won,” he mumbles into the mic, voice hoarse.
“g-gotta go, something came up.”
he rips off the headphones, tossing them aside, and pulls you up from under the desk, his face beet red.
“you… you normie! how could you do that while i was raiding? i almost lost because of you!”
but his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his lap, his tsundere complaints melting into shy kisses.
the room quiets, the pc screen frozen on the victory screen, but levi’s real win is here, with you—the one who turns his envy into something warmer, deeper.
you nestle against him, tasting him on your lips, and he buries his face in your neck, mumbling, “don’t tell anyone… but that was kinda hot.”
the figurines stand sentinel, the fish swim on, and in levi’s chaotic otaku haven, the game pauses, waiting for the next round.
synopsis: beel gives you a late night treat in the kitchen
the kitchen in the house of lamentation hums with a quiet stillness at this late hour, moonlight streaming through the tall windows, bathing the marble countertops and cluttered cabinets in a silvery sheen. the air carries the lingering aroma of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and the faint sweetness of custard puddings—beelzebub’s favorite, though the fridge never holds enough to sate him.
pots and pans dangle from overhead racks, clinking faintly in the draft from the open refrigerator door where beel stands, his massive frame silhouetted against the cold light. shirtless as usual for his late-night raids, his toned muscles ripple under scarred skin, a testament to his fangol games and demonic battles. his orange hair is tousled, and his violet eyes scan the shelves with a focused hunger, always searching for the next bite.
you slip into the kitchen, your footsteps soft on the tiled floor, drawn by the familiar sounds of cabinets creaking and wrappers crinkling. the house is quiet—mammon’s snores rumble faintly upstairs, and lucifer’s study light is, for once, dark. “beel?” you call softly, leaning against the doorframe. “what are you up to? it’s like 2 am.”
he turns, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, crumbs dusting his lips. beel’s face lights up with that innocent, boyish grin, though the glint in his eyes betrays the ever-present hunger of the avatar of gluttony. “oh, hey,” he mumbles through a mouthful, swallowing quickly. “couldn’t sleep. stomach was growling again. want some?” he offers the sandwich, his large hand dwarfing the bread, his generosity as boundless as his appetite.
you shake your head, smiling as you step closer, the cool air from the fridge brushing your skin. the kitchen island, littered with empty wrappers, a few apples, and a picked-over cluster of grapes, separates you for a moment. beel’s presence dominates the space—his towering height, broad shoulders, and chiseled abs on full display. “no thanks, i’m not hungry for food,” you say, your voice teasing, eyes locking with his.
the air shifts, charged with something heavier, as he sets the sandwich down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his violet gaze darkens, reading the intent in your stare, his hunger morphing into something more primal.
he rounds the island with surprising grace for someone so large, closing the distance between you. “not hungry for food, huh?” his voice rumbles like distant thunder, warm but edged with desire. his rough hands, calloused from sports and fights, settle on your hips, pulling you against him. you feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of sweat and whatever he’s been eating clinging to his skin. “then what are you hungry for?”
you look up at him, your fingers tracing the ridges of his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. beel’s eyes flicker with anticipation, his pupils dilating as he leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “i could give you a treat,” he murmurs, playful but laced with need. “something sweet. i’ve got just the thing.”
before you can respond, he lifts you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, the cold marble biting into your thighs through your thin pajamas. dishes rattle nearby—a stack of plates, a forgotten mixing bowl—but beel doesn’t care; his focus is solely on you. the fridge door swings shut, plunging the room into softer shadows, the moonlight carving out the contours of his face, his fangs glinting faintly when he grins.
beelzebub kneels slowly, his massive form folding with ease, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them. his violet eyes meet yours, seeking permission in that quiet, protective way of his—always caring, even in his hunger. you nod, threading your fingers through his soft orange hair, and he dives in, his mouth hot and eager against your slick, wet pussy.
the sensation is electric—his broad tongue lapping with the same voracious appetite he brings to his meals, exploring every fold with fervor. you gasp, your back arching against the cabinets, knocking over a spice jar; it clatters to the floor, unnoticed.
beel’s hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he devours you, his low groans vibrating through your core. “you taste so good,” he mumbles against your skin, voice muffled, ravenous. “better than any food. i could eat you forever.”
you moan, your legs wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer. the kitchen fades—the gleaming appliances, the half-empty pantry, the ticking clock—all secondary to the heat building within you. beel’s tongue is relentless, sucking and licking, his fingers joining in, thick and calloused, sliding inside you with ease, curling to hit that perfect spot.
your head tips back, a cry escaping as he works you expertly, crumbs still faintly visible on his chin, now mingling with your wetness.
he rises after what feels like an eternity, lips glistening, chest heaving. he wipes his mouth with his arm, that boyish grin returning, but with a feral edge. “that was just the appetizer,” he says, voice husky. he stands fully, towering over you, his pants straining with his obvious arousal. with a swift motion, he shoves them down, freeing himself—his hard, veiny dick standing proud, thick and ready.
he steps closer, gripping himself, and runs the tip along your slick, wet pussy, teasing, coating himself in your arousal. the sensation makes you whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more.
“beel,” you breathe, your hands reaching for him, but he holds you in place, his eyes locked on yours as he drags his length through your folds, slow and deliberate, the heat of him maddening against your sensitive skin. “please…”
he grins, satisfied, and finally positions himself, guiding his cock to your entrance. he slides in slowly, letting you feel every inch, every vein, as he stretches you, the wet sound of your bodies connecting like the squelch of mac and cheese, his dick slick with your arousal. “fuck,” he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. “you’re so tight. feels amazing. like you were made for me.”
the rhythm starts gentle, his hips rolling with controlled power, each thrust deep and filling, the wet, rhythmic noises echoing in the kitchen—sloppy, obscene, mingling with your gasps. you wrap your arms around his neck, nails digging into his back, leaving red trails across his scarred skin.
beel’s pace quickens, driven by that insatiable hunger, his grunts blending with your moans, bouncing off the walls. pots clang as his movements jostle the counter, a fruit bowl tipping over, apples rolling across the floor—one crunching under his foot, but he doesn’t falter.
“beel, yes, right there,” you cry, your head falling back against the cabinets. he nuzzles your neck, his fangs grazing your skin lightly—not biting, but teasing, a reminder of his demonic nature. his hand slips between you, fingers circling your clit in time with his thrusts, amplifying the pleasure until you’re trembling. the wet squelching grows louder, his dick drenched as he slides in and out, the sound almost as intoxicating as the sensation.
he pounds harder now, the counter creaking under the strain, the air thick with the scent of sex, spilled food, and sweat. beel’s muscles flex with each thrust, sweat dripping down his brow, his chest glistening in the moonlight. “i’m close,” he warns, voice strained, but he holds back, waiting for you—always putting you first, even in his gluttony.
the climax hits you like a tidal wave, your body clenching around him, milking his cock as you scream his name. beel follows instantly, his release hot and abundant, spilling inside you as he buries himself deep, a guttural roar tearing from his throat. his body shudders, his dick still slick, pulsing with the aftershocks.
he holds you close, arms wrapping around you protectively, his breathing heavy against your shoulder. the kitchen is a wreck—food scattered, counters smeared, the floor littered with fruit—but beel just chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “that was the best treat ever,” he murmurs, voice content, sated for now. “but now i’m hungry again. wanna share a pizza?”
you laugh weakly, still catching your breath, as he helps you down from the counter, your legs shaky. his touch is gentle despite the passion that just unfolded, his violet eyes warm with affection. the moonlight shifts, illuminating the chaos of the kitchen, but in beel’s gaze, there’s only you—the one who satisfies his deepest cravings. as you both clean up half-heartedly, sneaking bites of whatever’s left in the fridge, you know this midnight rendezvous is just the start of many more “treats” in the house of lamentation’s kitchen.
