From the very first day you entered RAD, Lucifer tells you that when Mammon starts to take a liking to someone, fortune follows them around. You didn’t think much of it back then. Mostly because Mammon clearly hated you at first. He called you stupid, annoying, useless. He refused to say your name and always calling you “human”. You never once thought someone like that could ever like you.
But Lucifer ordered Mammon to stay close to you, and slowly, things changed. He started hanging around without complaining as much even to the point where he helped you with the TSL quiz willingly.
And then strange things began to appear in your room. A shirt that was definitely not yours, a D.D.D. charger you never bought, a small stack of Grimm on your desk and even a deck of cards tucked into a drawer. Sometimes he even let you keep the grimm which shocked you.
As time passed and you grew closer, a random gifts start to appear outside of your door. You thought it was a prank the first time until you opened it. Inside was a real gift. Another time, it was jewelry, and you froze because it looked far too expensive to be random. Sometimes it was just Grimm.
What you didn’t know was that Mammon watched every time. Hiding just out of sight, peeking around corners, heart racing as he waited to see your reaction. He didn’t understand why he cared so much, only that he did. He laughed quietly when you stared at the jewelry in shock. When he won tons of grimm from gambling, his first thought is about what he could bring for you on the way home.
Eventually, you figured it out. And one day, Mammon found a small gift outside his door too. He stared at it for a long time before picking it up with a warm cheeks realizing that his fortune had finally turned on him too.
being married has changed your entire relationship with mammon. he doesn't love you any less, you aren't fighting twice as much, no, nothing like that. he's gained an extra kinda of confidence, and now he can't keep his hands off of you. ever.
trying to be sweet and cook him some breakfast in morning, he'll stumble into the kitchen only a few minutes after you turned the stove on, unable to stay asleep for long without you in his arms. coming up behind you, arms wrapping around your middle while he buries his face into the crook of your neck, he sniffs at your neck–not stuble at all–before letting out a long, happy sigh. "hmm.. yer so cute, cookin' us breakfast.. in our kitchen.. our house.." the sniffs turn into kisses, which turn into bites, and then you're rushing to turn the stove off while mammon's hauling you up onto the counter and tugging at your pajamas.
cleaning up the house while he's at work, he comes through the door at the end of the day calling your name while you're carrying a basket of laundry. pausing on your way to the bedroom, you turn to him and smile happily. "welcome home, mammon," you greet, and he's rushing over to you, the basket in your arms quickly being replaced by six feet of clingy demon husband as he smothers your face in kisses. "i thought i–hmmf–told ya to wait for–aah–me so i could help," he whines against your lips, backing you towards the couch, his warm hands pawing at every part of you he can reach, and you both end up a heap of tangled limbs on the floor right next to the couch.
movie nights are no longer a family activity, and without his brothers around anymore, mammon doesn't have to be subtle with his touches. he'll drag you right into his lap, hugging you against his chest tight, and the intro has barely ended before his hand is in your pants. playing between your thighs, he encourages you to be as loud as you want–is basically begging you for it. "it's just us, remember? wanna hear you," he murmurs into your ear while his fingers tease you til you're a squirming mess, "yer so perfect. made just for me, weren't ya? all for me." he doesn't let up until you're coming all over his hand, leaving a sticky mess between your legs as you pant and tremble against his chest.
grocery trips end with a quickie in the back seat of his car in the parking lot. bouncing on his dick while he whimpers underneath you, hands gripping onto your hips as he guides you up and down, over and over again. "don't stop, don't stop..! 'm almost there," he cries, staring up at you like you hung the stars in the sky, pupils so wide you can see your own expression of pleasure reflected in them. when he comes, he keeps you sat on his lap, buried soo deep inside, mewling into your chest as he shakes through an orgasm. the windows are left foggy, clear evidence of what you two just did, and mammon leans over to draw a heart with both your initials in the center, a dopey smile on his face before dragging you into a long, sweet kiss that steals your breath.
he wants to take you out on dates, but seeing you all dressed up, all for him, reminds him of your wedding day, and he just gets so emotional, he has to fuck you deep and slow in your bed like he did on your wedding night. fingers tangled with yours above your head, he keeps eye contact while thrusting into you. drawn out grinds that has the tip of his dick reaching the deepest parts of you, making your back arch and your toes curl. "my baby.. still can't believe yer really mine.. love ya s'much," he basically sobs, genuine tears in the corners of his eyes as he leans in to kiss you, "marry me again? wanna do it all over. wanna do it forever."
this is trash but i keep thinking about IDO and how neither mammon nor mc can keep their hands to themselves. every other scene we're makin out, and i loveeeeee ittt
Obey Me! Brothers x reader: Free use, pt. 1 (Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan)
Tags; Gender neutral user, free use kink, public sex, minor dom/sub, oral (M receiving), Mammon and Leviathan are pathetic losers and I love them <3
𝔏𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯
It's not uncommon for Lucifer to become overwhelmed by his work—it’s stressful, balancing RAD, his brothers, the mountain of paperwork that seems so neverending, and the man so keen on assigning it to him. Some days he's so engrossed that time slips away- forgetting to eat, to drink, to so much as stand up for a moment so his aching muscles can be given a break. It's those days that he turns to you.
Lucifer will pull you into his office without warning—no matter your task, who you're talking to, or where you were; whether it be with a strong hand or a simple spell, you'll find yourself there in his lap. He has no preference at that point for how you take his cock, only desiring to be buried deep inside the heat of your body while he mulls over documents.
You’d be tempted to think he doesn’t even notice your weight, mouth or body stretched around his shaft, if it wasn’t for the slack in his muscles—and the deep grinding of skin to skin while he forces himself deeper. You won’t get the satisfaction of movement until he decides he’s finally reached a point where he can take a break, shifting his glasses down and his pen to the side so he can fuck you like he really wanted.
𝕄𝕒𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟
Mammon is possessive, that’s well known—what’s also known is the way he uses you as his own personal good luck charm, swearing that he wins big more often when you’re there at his side, his pretty human all dressed to the nines. More often than not, his winning streak will be accompanied by a familiar face under the table, stuttering moans breaking up bids while your tongue laves over the head of his cock.
No other demon dares mention it. Mammon may be the known punching bag of his brothers, but he is still an avatar—the second most powerful at that. Anyone who stares too long at the display will be killed painfully, and the way they desperately try to avoid making eye contact while keeping the money rolling gives Mammon a thrill like nothing else. You’re his treasure, no one else gets to see how gorgeous you look with a cock in your mouth.
You know it’s time to go home when he stops being able to properly call out bids, slumped against the blackjack table with his legs shaking. Cum slicks your throat, dripping down the sides of your mouth and over Mammon’s thighs by the end of the night; so blissed out he can’t do much other than grin like an idiot at his perfect love. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a million grim richer.
ᒪEᐯIᗩTᕼᗩᑎ
Levi was too shy to take up your offer initially. While his brothers were taking you around the House of Lamentation, leaving the smell of sex and demon pheromones for anyone to find, he was desperately, angrily pumping his fist in the dark of his room; cursing himself for not being able to take the step. In the end, you need to give him a little push—cosplaying as his favorite hentai character. It was a ridiculous getup, tight and revealing in all the wrong places; but it was worth it when Levi found you in his room, taking on the sexiest pose you could in something that didn’t allow proper blood circulation.
He was hard before you could even speak, the night spent tangled together on any surface flat enough to mount you against. Mercifully, he ripped the skimpy clothes apart soon after getting his hands on you, more needy to rut his cocks on soft skin than to admire your hard work. After that, Levi was a bit more open minded—though he still refuses to be as public as the others.
You often find yourself bent over his gaming desk or bouncing in his lap after a particularly good—or particularly bad—gaming session, the adrenaline running high enough for the otaku to tug you aside with little concern. And, like his older brothers, Levi loves it when you sit between his legs, kissing at his cocks until he’s a whimpering mess; trying to focus on the 4-hour campaign he promised his team he’d carry.
“Woah! Blackjack,” Mammon laughed loudly as the dealer flipped over the last card. The whole casino would stop to look over at him but he didn’t care, especially when you were his good luck charm. “Come on, baby. Give me another kiss,” he turned to you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He pulled you closer in his lap and only smiled more when you gave into his demands. “There it is!”
The dealer looked completely done with the two of you. He usually had to deal with Mammon as a regular but he was easily ten times worse when you came. Public displays of affection, sickening, sweet words that made you blush, and shameful touches that made Asmo look conservative.
“How much this time, treasure?” Mammon asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and looked up at you with those lovesick eyes. He rested his chin on your shoulder and squeezed you tightly before relaxing again. “Your call,” he muttered as he kissed your shoulder sweetly.
“Uh,” you muttered as you looked over the pile of poker chips he only seems to gather when you’re around. You shifted slightly in his lap, it didn’t matter how many times the two of you had done this before but you still always got shy out in public. “Fifty?”
Mammon looked up at you with hooded eyes before glancing down out at the chips with the same look. Neither of you said it but you both knew his greed was growing with the way your bond mark glowed beneath your jacket. “Fifty,” he nodded before sliding the exact amount of chips forward. “Sure thing. Here we go!”
The two of you watched as the dealer shuffled the cards one more time. It didn’t take long before Mammon started kissing your shoulder and neck again. You were already embarrassed by the attention it was drawing and it didn’t help that the featherlight kisses were making you laugh a bit due to how ticklish you were. The dealer finally passed out the cards before looking at the two of you with a deadpan look.
“You do it,” Mammon smirked slightly as he looked up at you. He couldn’t help but glance down at the cards in delight as his thumb brushed over your hip repeatedly. “You have better luck than I do. Flip them, Sweets.”
You couldn’t help but nod as you reached over to flip the cards. The first was a ten, which only made you and Mammon grow more excited. “Ace,” you heard him mutter as he squeezed you tighter. You flipped over the last card to reveal a nine, much to his dismay. “It’s okay,” he shrugged as he kissed your cheek. “Let’s just see what he’s got.”
The dealer sighed as the two of you remembered he was there. He finally flipped over his two cards to reveal a pair of nines. “Yes!” Mammon laughed at the lower amount before turning to you and kissing you dramatically. He deepened the kiss easily with a hand on the back of your head. “Mmph,” he whined into the kiss a bit before pulling back with a bright smile. “My lucky charm-“
“Mammon!” A booming voice sounded through the whole casino. There was a sudden silence as the two of you turned around to see Lucifer standing there with his arms crossed.
Mammon quickly jumped up and pushed you off his lap. You simply watched as he shoved a bunch of poker chips into his pockets as Lucifer walked over. “Hey, Luci.” You waved casually as the older demon walked over.
“(Name),” he greeted casually as he stopped next to you. He looked you over briefly before nodding. “You look…nice.”
“Thanks,” you nodded before stepping back as he turned to his brother.
“Lucifer,” Mammon laughed nervously as he continued to shove chips into his suit jacket. “What are you doing here-ahh!”
Lucifer didn’t even let him finish before grabbing Mammon by his collar. He turned and started to drag his younger brother out the casino, much to the dealers delight. “Hey! My money…” Mammon pouted as the chips fell out of his jacket and the rest sat there on the table, mocking him.
You simply sighed as you shook your head. You followed after him with a sympathetic yet amused look. “Oh, Mammon…”
ੈ✩ summary: Ever wonder how the demon brothers deal with jealousy?
ੈ✩ wc: 4.2k
ੈ✩ author's note: If you want a side character or the reverse version, just send a request!
[Lucifer]
The sin of pride is his most familiar companion, but jealousy is a foreign, unwelcome guest. It's a dark, primal rage that he despises because it threatens the meticulous control he has over himself. When jealousy strikes, it isn't loud. It's a cold, suffocating silence. He will observe from a distance, a still figure in the room, his eyes sharp and analytical as a hawk's. The air around him drops a few degrees, and even the other demons instinctively give him a wide berth. He won't make a scene or confront you directly. Instead, he will punish the one who provoked the feeling with a quiet, efficient cruelty—a new, impossible task, a revoked privilege, a subtly damning comment that makes them question their own worth. The jealousy isn't about you not choosing him; it's about the very idea that anyone else could even think to lay claim to a part of his world, a world that is now undeniably yours. Later, he will find you, alone. His touch will be possessive, his gaze a silent question. He will pull you close, a silent claim whispered against your skin, not with words, but with a lingering touch on your hand or a tightening of his arm around your waist. It's a demonstration of ownership, a reminder that you are his without ever having to say the word.
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You’re in the House of Lamentation library, helping Satan alphabetize a new set of human-world grimoires. It’s a tedious task, but Satan is animated, laughing and explaining the finer points of occult history. He leans closer to show you a specific diagram, his hand hovering over yours for a moment as he points to the page. The low rumble of his laughter fills the quiet room. You don't notice the subtle shift in the air, the way the light seems to dim just slightly, but Satan does. His laughter dies in his throat, and he clears it awkwardly, stepping back from the table.
“Lucifer,” he says, his tone a bit strained. “Didn’t see you there.”
Lucifer stands in the doorway, motionless. His gaze is fixed on the space between you and Satan, his crimson eyes gleaming like coals in the low light. His smile is thin, a blade of a thing. “Clearly.” He walks into the room with a deliberate grace, his presence a physical weight. “I was just coming to retrieve something, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon a rather… focused study session.” He doesn't look at Satan; his eyes are locked on you. “I trust you won’t be needing them for much longer, Satan? I do have a rather pressing task that requires them immediate assistance.”
It’s not a question. It’s an order. Satan nods, his shoulders slumping slightly as he closes the book and steps away. “Of course. I’ll see you later, MC.” He gives you a quick, apologetic look before slipping past Lucifer and out the door. The sound of the door clicking shut feels like the final word on the matter.
Lucifer waits until Satan has left before he speaks again. He walks to you slowly, his footsteps deliberate. He takes the grimoire from your hands and places it back on the shelf, his fingers brushing against yours with a possessive, lingering touch. “I believe,” he says, his voice a low murmur, “that I just saved you from a rather dull conversation.” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your face to meet his gaze. His eyes are a blazing red, but his voice is quiet, intimate. "What were you two talking about that was so fascinating?" he asks, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "You were so engrossed, you didn't even notice I had entered." He leans in, his face close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. "Tell me. What could possibly be more important than my presence?"
He doesn’t wait for a response. He just leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both a question and an answer—a silent, possessive claiming of your attention, your time, and your very self. When he pulls away, his gaze is a silent promise. "You are mine to attend to," he says softly. "Let's not forget that."
[Mammon]
Mammon’s jealousy is loud, frantic, and completely transparent. It's not a cold silence but a chaotic storm of shouts, misplaced bravado, and a desperate need for your attention. He doesn't get quiet or sulk; he gets active. He will puff out his chest, make a scene, and loudly declare his importance. He might start a ridiculous argument with the person he's jealous of, throwing insults that are more silly than hurtful. His pride is on the line, and he's not afraid to put on a show to prove that he's the one you should be looking at. He'll pull you away from the person, demanding you help him with some "very important business" or that you just "look at him for a second." It's an ego-driven display, but beneath the bluster and noise, there’s a real, raw fear—the fear that he's not good enough, that you'll realize you deserve someone better than him. His attempts to win you back are as clumsy as they are earnest; he'll offer you "the best seat" in a room, give you a stolen trinket, or try to one-up the person he’s jealous of with a grand, but probably ill-thought-out, gesture.
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You're in the student council room after classes, chatting with Diavolo about a new school festival idea. He's laughing at a joke you made, and his golden eyes are crinkled at the corners. He seems genuinely delighted. Mammon, who was supposed to be waiting for you outside, suddenly bursts in. The door flies open with a bang.
"Hey! MC! I've been waitin' forever!" he yells, his voice far too loud for the quiet room. He strides in, a crumpled flyer in his hand. “Ya gotta help me with somethin’ super important right now! Like, right now.”
Diavolo raises a brow, a knowing smile on his face. “Is something wrong, Mammon? You seem a bit flustered.”
"N-no! Nothin’s wrong! What’re ya lookin’ at me like that for?" Mammon sputters, pulling you by the arm, trying to get you to leave. “I just… got important plans! Really important ones! Way more important than… than whatever you two were doin’!”
“We were just discussing the festival, Mammon,” you say, trying to calm him down.
“Yeah, well, this is more important! This is… a business venture!” He gestures vaguely at the crumpled paper. "And I need my… uh… my assistant! Yeah! C’mon, let’s go!” He tries to drag you out, but you stand your ground.
“Mammon, calm down. What’s the matter?” you ask, your tone firm.
He deflates slightly, his bluster fading into something more anxious. “Nothin'! I just… I don't get it. Why are ya hangin' out with him? He's all powerful and stuff. He's way better than me." He pulls a shiny, slightly tacky keychain of a crow from his pocket and shoves it into your hand. "Here! This is for ya! It's a limited-edition lucky charm! Costs a fortune, ya know!"
You shake your head, a fond smile on your face. "Mammon, you didn't need to do that."
"I know I didn't!" he huffs, finally meeting your eyes. His wild, golden gaze is a mixture of embarrassment and genuine fear. "But... but I wanted to! Because... because I'm the one you hang out with! Not... not him! C'mon, let's go get some snacks, just the two of us. I'll even buy you some Ghost Lemon Muffins! Please? Please say yes?" He clutches your hand, his shaky grip more honest than any of his words. You squeeze his hand in return.
"I'd love to get some muffins with you," you say, and the immediate relief on his face is more revealing than any of his dramatic gestures. He gives a triumphant little cheer and practically drags you from the room, shooting a final, victorious glare at the now-empty doorway.
[Leviathan]
Leviathan's jealousy is a storm contained within a teacup. He doesn't yell or confront anyone. Instead, he retreats into his room, his safe space, and lets his anxieties spiral into a toxic, self-deprecating monologue. He'll watch from a distance, hidden behind a screen or a corner, and the internal narrative will be a cascade of bitter thoughts. He will convince himself that you're just being polite, that you're only with him out of pity, and that you're finally seeing what everyone else sees: that he's a pathetic otaku. He will find reasons to hate the person he's jealous of—they are too popular, too handsome, too confident, too "normie." His jealousy is a direct attack on his self-worth, and he deals with it by putting himself down even more. When you finally find him, he'll be curled up in a corner of his room, his video game playing on mute, a quiet, miserable funk clinging to him like a second skin. He won't tell you he's jealous; he'll just say something like, "Of course you'd have more fun with him," or "I knew it was only a matter of time before you got tired of a shut-in like me."
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You’re in the dining hall, and you see Levi huddled in a corner, nursing a lukewarm bowl of ramen. You walk over and sit with him. "Hey, Levi. I was looking for you earlier. I couldn’t find you after classes.”
He doesn't look up, his fingers nervously tracing a pattern on the table. "Yeah, well, I was... busy." His voice is flat.
“Oh, what were you up to?” you ask.
He shrugs. “Nothing. You seemed to be having a good time, though.” His eyes flick upward for a split second, and you can see the pain in them. “Hanging out with Asmo must be way more interesting than hanging out with me.”
You remember the brief moment you spent with Asmodeus in the hallway, talking about a fashion magazine. You had no idea Levi even saw you. "Levi, what are you talking about? I just talked to him for a minute. He was showing me something in a magazine."
He scoffs, a dry, bitter sound. “Yeah, right. Of course. Why would you want to hang out with me when you can be with him? He’s the Avatar of Lust. He’s perfect. He’s charming. He’s got friends, and he’s not a complete loser with no life. He’s everything I’m not.” He finally looks at you, and his eyes are clouded with self-loathing. “I knew it was a glitch. You were just being nice, right? Now you’ve found a real person to talk to.”
You reach across the table and take his hand. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Levi, stop. That's not true. You're the one I want to spend my time with. The fact that I said hello to someone else doesn't change that."
His lip trembles slightly. “But… he’s so… smooth. He makes everything look so effortless. I’m just… me. I sit in my room all day. My biggest achievement today was finally beating that one boss in Tales from the Devildom that’s been giving me trouble for weeks.” He looks down at your intertwined hands, his expression softening just a little. “I don’t want you to see me as pathetic.”
"You're not pathetic, Levi," you say, squeezing his hand. "And I don't care about 'smooth.' I care about you. I want to celebrate with you that you beat the boss. That's what I want to talk about."
He looks up at you, a flicker of hope in his eyes, and a small, genuine smile finally breaks through the misery. "O-okay. As long as you don't mind me being a complete weirdo." He leans over and gently rests his head on your shoulder. “Thank you, MC. For not being a normie.”
[Satan]
Satan's jealousy is a quiet burn, a simmering intellectual rage that he tries to rationalize away. He views it as an illogical emotion, unworthy of his intellect, but it seeps into his demeanor all the same. He won't make a scene or throw a tantrum. Instead, his jealousy manifests as subtle, cutting remarks and a sudden need for intellectual one-upmanship. He'll find an academic weakness in the person he's jealous of and exploit it, dissecting their flaws with a cold, almost clinical precision. He might "accidentally" point out their factual errors, question their judgment, or simply make it clear that they are not on his intellectual level. His jealousy is a matter of perceived competition; he's not just worried about losing you, but about the idea that you might find another’s mind more compelling than his. When he’s alone with you, the mask of scholarly calm falls away. He will become intensely focused on you, showering you with attention and seeking reassurance in the quietest ways—a soft touch on your arm, a gentle pull to sit beside him, or a quiet request for your opinion on a book, wanting to re-establish the connection that he felt was threatened.
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You're in the library, laughing with Solomon. He’s just demonstrated a simple but amusing magic trick, making a small paper bird flutter from his palm to yours. You're genuinely impressed, your laughter light and genuine. Satan enters the room, a stack of scrolls in his arms. He stops for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene. He walks over to your table, his expression unreadable.
“Solomon,” Satan says, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “I see you’re still wasting your time on parlor tricks. Such a shame to see a warlock of your purported caliber dabble in such pedestrian illusions.”
Solomon just smiles, unfazed. “Just sharing a laugh, Satan. It’s a nice change of pace from your usual self-aggrandizing lectures.”
Satan's jaw tightens. He places a scroll on the table, unrolling it with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Ah. I see. Not something I would know about. I prefer to engage with those who value intellectual pursuits over cheap theatrics.” His gaze shifts to you, an almost imperceptible glint in his eyes. “MC, I trust you’re not letting him fill your head with nonsense? I was hoping you could assist me with translating a text on ancient Devildom incantations. It's a rather complex bit of work that requires a… discerning mind."
He gives Solomon a final pointed look before taking your hand and pulling you toward his desk. Once you’re seated, he doesn’t immediately start the work. He simply holds your hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles. "He has an infuriatingly smug way about him, doesn't he?" he murmurs, his tone low and personal. "Always so sure of himself. I'm sorry if I was abrupt. I just... find him quite irritating. I much prefer our time together, you know. It's so much more… fulfilling." He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, a silent request for you to affirm his position as your preferred companion. When he finally begins to talk about the scrolls, his voice is warm and enthusiastic, meant only for your ears. He pulls you into his world, a world of forbidden knowledge and secrets, and you understand that for him, jealousy is not about wanting what he doesn't have, but about protecting what is already his.
[Asmodeus]
Asmodeus’s jealousy is a fragile, insecure thing hidden behind a wall of theatricality. He won’t admit to being jealous. Instead, he’ll try to out-glitter the competition. He'll become extra flamboyant, extra charming, and extra demanding of your attention. He might interrupt your conversations with a dramatic flourish, complaining that you've been neglecting him or that you're not paying enough attention to his latest fashion emergency. He'll use his charm as a weapon, throwing himself at you with extravagant displays of affection—over-the-top compliments, dramatic poses, and a constant need for physical contact, wrapping his arms around you or clinging to your arm. He's trying to remind you and everyone else that he is the Avatar of Lust, the most desirable of them all. His jealousy is a desperate fear of being forgotten, of having his light overshadowed. Beneath the sparkle, there’s a vulnerable, scared part of him that believes his worth is tied to how much he is desired. When you finally confront him about his behavior, the mask will crack, revealing the hurt boy who just wants to be chosen for who he truly is, not for his looks.
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You're at Majolish, helping Satan find a new scarf. Asmodeus is already there, trying on a ridiculous hat and making a spectacle of himself. He’s been quiet all day, but when he sees you and Satan together, he suddenly comes to life. He rushes over, his voice a little too loud.
“Oh, darling! There you are!” Asmo says. He glides over and wraps his arms around your shoulders, draping himself over you like a boa. “Satan, I’m so sorry, but MC promised to give me their expert opinion on this new line of lip gloss! You know how important this is, my dear?” He doesn’t wait for your response, pulling you away from Satan.
Satan raises an eyebrow. “I believe you were the one trying on hats, Asmo. I don’t recall a conversation about lip gloss.”
“Psh, details, details!” Asmo says with a dismissive wave. He turns to you, pouting dramatically. “MC, you haven’t paid any attention to me all day! I’ve been feeling so neglected! You were talking with… him.” The way he says the word “him” is almost a hiss. “When you could have been with me! The most beautiful, most captivating person in the entire Devildom!”
He pulls out a pocket mirror and primps his hair. "I simply don’t understand why you would want to look at something so... beige. When you have this!” He gestures to himself with a flourish. You gently push him off you and take his hand, leading him to a quiet corner of the store.
“Asmo, what’s wrong?” you ask softly. "You're being over-the-top, even for you."
He looks away, fiddling with a button on his jacket. His voice drops to a near-whisper. “I just… I don’t like it when you look at someone else like that. You get this soft look in your eyes. It’s a look I want all to myself. Am I… am I not enough? Am I not exciting enough for you?” His eyes are wide, and for the first time, you see the raw insecurity beneath the glamorous façade. He's not the Avatar of Lust right now. He’s just Asmo, a boy who’s afraid he's not enough to keep you interested. You pull him into a gentle hug. He stiffens for a moment, then melts into the embrace, burying his face in your shoulder.
"You are more than enough," you say. "And I'm not going anywhere. I love all the parts of you, not just the beautiful ones." He holds on a little tighter, and you feel the shaky exhale of a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
[Beelzebub]
Beelzebub’s jealousy is a physical, gut-wrenching feeling. He doesn't have the words for it, so it manifests as an uneasy restlessness, a quiet, almost mournful stillness. He will retreat not into a room, but into himself. He won't pick a fight; he’ll simply sit somewhere else, his hands clenched, his eyes watching you from across the room. He might pick at his food, suddenly losing his appetite—a clear sign that something is deeply wrong. His jealousy is the hunger he thought he’d filled returning in a different form. It’s a fear that someone else might be able to offer you a different kind of nourishment, a different kind of comfort than he can. His love is simple and pure, and the idea of you seeking that from someone else is a profound and painful betrayal to him. He doesn’t need grand words or gestures to win you back. He just needs to be close to you, to feel your presence, and for you to let him know, in simple terms, that he is your person.
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You're on the couch, watching a movie with Belphegor. He has his head on your shoulder, and you're quietly talking about the plot. Beelzebub comes into the room, and his usual smile is absent. He was supposed to join you, but he simply walks past and sits on the floor across the room, leaning against the wall, a bag of chips in his lap. He doesn't eat them.
Belphegor notices him. “Hey, Beel. You gonna sit with us?”
Beelzebub shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine right here.” His voice is flat. The silence is heavy, and you can feel Beelzebub’s gaze on you, a heavy, silent presence. He’s so still, it’s unnatural. When the credits roll, Belphie gets up and stretches, yawning. “Well, I’m off to bed. Night, you two.”
Once you’re alone, you sit up. “Beel, what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice soft. “You’ve been so quiet. Did something happen?”
He finally looks up at you. His eyes, usually so gentle and kind, are filled with a sorrowful confusion. He doesn’t say anything. He just pats the floor beside him. You stand up and sit down next to him, leaning against the wall. He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He lets out a long, shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment.
“I was watching you two,” he says finally, his voice a low rumble. “You were so happy. It… it felt like you didn’t need me there. Like I wasn’t enough.” He looks at his clenched fist, then back at your hand, held so gently in his. “I just… I don’t like it when I’m not the one who can make you smile.” He squeezes your hand, a silent, desperate plea. You can feel the deep pain in his simple words.
You lean your head against his shoulder. “Beel, you’re the one who makes me smile the most. I want to be with you. I want to spend time with you. No one can make me feel as safe as you do.”
He lets out a long, shaky breath and shifts so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He buries his face in your hair. “Okay,” he murmurs. He doesn’t need any more words. The simple reassurance, the physical contact, and the feeling that he is still your rock is all he needs to fill the empty feeling in his chest.
[Belphegor]
Belphegor's jealousy is a quiet, manipulative bitterness. He’s not going to yell or fight for your attention. Instead, he will use his charm and his words to make you feel guilty for paying attention to anyone else. He’ll make passive-aggressive comments, hinting at how lonely he is and how you’ve "abandoned" him. He might use his sleepy persona to his advantage, pretending to be more tired or sad than he is, hoping you’ll choose to stay with him out of a sense of obligation. His jealousy stems from a deep-seated fear of being alone and a belief that any happiness he finds is temporary. He’s afraid of losing you, and he’ll do what he can to ensure you feel a strong sense of loyalty to him above all others. He won't confront the person he’s jealous of directly; he will simply try to make you so comfortable with him that the thought of spending time with anyone else feels like a chore. His ultimate weapon is emotional manipulation, but it comes from a place of profound pain and fear.
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You're in the living room, having an animated conversation with Mammon about a new Diavolo's Castle event. Belphegor is curled up on the couch, pretending to be asleep. You glance over and see his eyes are open just a crack, watching you.
After a few minutes, he lets out a soft, dramatic sigh. “Oh, it’s so noisy in here. I guess there’s no place for a quiet person like me.” He sits up, stretching with a big, fake yawn. “I’m going to go to my room. At least I can get some peace and quiet there.” He looks at you, his eyes pleading. “It would be nice if someone would come sit with me. It gets lonely, you know, being all alone.”
Mammon, completely oblivious, just shrugs. "Suit yourself, Belphie. We're busy."
Belphegor’s eyes narrow at Mammon for a second before he turns his full attention to you. “MC, you’re not really going to make me go all the way up there by myself, are you? It’s so far.” He leans in, his voice a soft murmur. “I had a really bad dream, too. It would be nice to have someone there to make sure I don’t have another one.”
He pulls on the sleeve of your shirt, his face an expert blend of sleepy and sad. “I miss you. We haven’t had any time just to ourselves. I just… I want to be with you.” His words are a direct challenge to your conversation with Mammon.
You sigh, giving Mammon an apologetic look. "I'll catch up with you later, Mammon."
Belphegor gives a tiny, satisfied smile as you get up. He doesn’t say another word until you’re in his room. He closes the door and turns to you, his entire demeanor changing. The sleepy act is gone, replaced with a sharp-eyed clarity. “See?” he says quietly, his voice lacking its usual playful drawl. "I knew you wouldn't leave me. You're too nice for that." He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your neck. "I don't like it when you laugh with other people. Your laugh belongs to me." It's not a request. It’s a statement of fact, a quiet claiming that is more possessive than any shout.
crowhybrid!mammon x gn!reader. Parts: 1(this!) 2, 3, 4
crowhybrid!mammon who you were 99% sure was the source of the gaze you’ve been feeling on you for the past 2 weeks. You had already made the educated guess that you were being stalked by day 3 of your nervous system screaming at you that there were eyes on you, but you really weren’t expecting the culprit to be….well, whatever that is.
Inky black, sharp looking fingers that looked more like talons than anything, small feathers sprouting from the sides of his face and a pair of large, beautiful wings on his back. He was something out of a movie — or more like some creepy old folklore, if you were being honest.
You had so many questions, like who is he, what is he, and why has he been following you and staring you down for weeks on end? You were happy to convince yourself you were just hallucinating and carry on, but then he had to go and prove he was far more than a figment of your imagination.
It was the start of week 3 with the bird man still! watching you when it happened. You were crossing the road, too distracted looking at a commotion up ahead that you didn’t look — only hearing the blaring sound of a horn seconds before something grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked.
crowhybrid!mammon who just saved you from being turned into a heap of broken bones by a semi-truck. When you turned around to look at him, your expression stuck in shock as you tried to process how you were seconds away from becoming a red smear on the concrete — he just glared, feathers literally ruffling in annoyance.
“thank yo—“
“Idiot.”
You blinked. He didn’t even give you a second to respond to the insult before he was flying off, leaving you to stand there and look around like an idiot for anyone who could vouch that they also just saw the strange, apparently very rude bird guy and you weren’t just losing your mind.
Instead of finding any witnesses, though, you find your neck feels a little emptier than it did before. You feel at your collarbone in disbelief to find that your necklace is gone. Sure as hell, when you look up there he is, up up and away with your precious jewelry shining in his thieving little grip.
You don’t even know what to say.
“You feathered fuck!! Give that back!”
You don’t miss the different kind of bird he flips you as he flies off into the distance.
a/n: this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever written I’m giggling but like.. .comment if you want a part 2...? 👀
no thoughts just hugging mammon with everything you have and crying into the nape of his neck while he hugs you just as tight, just as hard, just as desperately, but also so gently because he’s afraid he’ll break you with how delicate you are right now.
no thoughts just slumping against him after crying out everything left in you and falling asleep while he still holds onto you and kisses the crown of your head because he knows you won’t notice.
no thoughts just his heart breaking because if he had his way he would take your pain onto himself in a heartbeat but he can’t and that’s what hurts the most.
no thoughts just mammon staying with you like that the whole night and checking your pulse occasionally and feeling relieved at it’s presence because it means you’re still here with him.
no thoughts just falling asleep with your first man and having him treat you like you’re the most precious thing in all of the three realms.
no thoughts; just mammon being your rock like he always is.
thinking about sitting on the couch post-movie with mammon.
mammon tenatively rests his head on your lap, his gaze at last meeting your eyes. which was simultaneously the worst and best decision he ever made. because, dammit, your eyes are so. fucking. beautiful. despite his desire to spend the rest of his life looking at you - only you - he finds his eyes closing in relaxation as you quietly hum.
his eyes don't stay closed for long. you absently card your fingers through his silvery hair, and he lets out a moan. open-mouthed. head tilted back. eyes still closed. eyebrows raised, meeting in the middle in pure bliss.
his eyes shoot open, staring at you wide eyed. you briefly stop your ministrations, just as shocked at his reaction. and he is SO. EMBARRASSED. so, he turns his head, averting his gaze. but he turned to the wrong side, and now his mouth is centimeters away from your crotch.
in his attempt to remove himself, he scrambles and falls off the couch, slamming against the floor. he stares at you in horror, sitting up with his hands against the carpet, breathing heavily, face flushed bright red.
you stare at each other, completely silenced.
then, you let out a laugh, your eyes shinning brightly. you try to cover your mouth, but you know there's no point.
mammon sputters incredulously. "s-stop laughin'! 's not funny!"
you only laugh harder, falling off the couch yourself in your fit of hilarity.
despite his slight displeasure in your amusement, he can't help but tilt his head and smile.
you're his everything, don't you know?
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a/n: trying something a little different with a short little imagine. hope you guys like it 💕
