🗝bel

Lucifer only had to tell Leviathan to put his phone away twice and Beelzebub hadn't been caught stealing food off anybody's plate. Belphegor and Satan were discussing research instead of causing headaches.

You were familiar with 90% of what was on your plate. The other 10% you had learned to just try. At least two bites. Devildom food was weird and looked unappetizing but could be surprisingly delicious, and this pink bulbous tentacle-like thing was no scarier than the quetzalcoatl brain sandwich Belphegor packed for lunch.

You mixed it into your pasta and put a forkful in your mouth. It wasn't bad. Spicy, very spicy, but kind of savory and salty. You tried another forkful. Could use sauce.

"Beel, pass that black nightshade sauce, please?" you asked.

He grunted in affirmation, his mouth too full of food to say much else as he reached for the bottle in the middle of the table. Asmodeus screamed.

You dropped your fork in surprise as all of the brothers looked up. Some were annoyed, some were startled. The eldest in particular looked exhausted. Yet all of those expressions equally turned to alarm.

Leviathan stared at you, slack-jawed. "Uhh..."

Before you could ask what the big deal was, Satan exclaimed, "Your face!"

"What happened!?" Asmodeus demanded. He thew his silverware down and marched over to you, grabbing your face in his hands. It was starting to feel a little tingly.

This served as a catalyst for all the brothers to crowd around you. Mammon practically jumped across the table, knocking Satan's glass over. The latter's wrath was held at bay by concern as he began taking note of your symptoms. Beelzebub yanked your chair away from the table, rattling you even further and creating more room for Belphegor and Lucifer to get in your personal space.

"Is it a curse?" Belphegor asked, taking hold of your hand and prodding your palm. Your hand seemed fine.

"I don't sense any hostile magic," Lucifer responded, tilting your chin up.

Satan was on the right track when he theorized, "Could it be a reaction to something?"

"Water! Water!" Leviathan cried as he stole every glass that was still standing and placed them in front of you. Some were filled with wine.

Asmodeus held your head in a strange grip as he caressed your hair and lamented, "You poor thing! Asmo's here, it'll all be okay!"

"Don't be touchin' my human all intimately," Mammon growled. "I'll figure out what's wrong!"

"What is going on!?" you shouted. Their reactions were really freaking you out, it was never good when all seven were fussing over you.

"Your face's purple!" Mammon explained, dabbing your cheek with a napkin he licked the corner of. Nothing rubbed off.

"What?"

"Well, not all of it. Mostly your mouth," Beelzebub clarified, pointing towards his own face to demonstrate that you were purple from your nose to your neck.

"It's spreading," Belphegor observed. He didn't mean to cause panic but it made Mammon, Leviathan, and Asmodeus fuss even more.

"Do you have any allergies we're not aware of?" Satan asked, staring at your partially eaten dinner.

"Not to any of this," you said, "but it is my first time having that spicy pink stuff."

It was hard to remain calm and not visibly shake. Your tongue felt a little swollen, and you think they noticed you slur the last word. Asmodeus ruffled your hair some more and Belphegor tightened his grip on your hand.

"Spicy?" Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

Beelzebub checked that your plate had the same contents as his and asked, "Pink... Do you mean the nautilus tentacles?"

"Ew," you muttered. That's what that was?

"That ain't spicy. At all," Mammon stated. He even grabbed a piece off your plate and threw it in his mouth to make sure you were eating the same thing.

"I cooked it properly, too!" Leviathan insisted. He ushered you to take a sip of water as he continued, "I used the meat thermometer and everything since you didn't like the newt we had last week. Said it looked too raw. There should be nothing toxic about this."

"Humans frequently eat shelled fish across different cultures," Satan noted, proving it ought to be safe.

"So it was just spicy to you," Belphegor reiterated. "That's not good."

Beelzebub asked, "Can you spit it out?"

He looked about ready to do the Heimlich on you. It was a concerning sight and made you lean away from him as you shook your head. Your lips felt like tiny balloons. The swelling became more obvious when you said, "I shwallowed it."

Lucifer was already on the phone figuring out a solution. The others began reassuring you that "It's fine!"

"The Great Mammon's gonna take good care of ya, don't you worry!"

"It will all be okay."

"Hey, I think it's already starting to go away!"

"You look good in purple."

"Belphie, that's not helping!"

Leviathan made you drink another two half-filled cups, one of which contained demonus instead of water, before Lucifer elbowed his brothers aside and wrapped his coat around you. He was off the phone.

Then the night before the wedding, you were tying the blankets and escaping through the balcony and all that but when you looked to your left, Mammon was literally doing the same fucking thing.

his cloak serves as quite a comfort to him to begin with - a blanket-like cover that keeps him warm, secure and safe. not only that, but he knows it looks cool, he really leans into the whole sorcerer thing. he occasionally enjoys using the fabric’s movement for dramatic flare.

but when it smells like mc, solomon gets an extra surge of energy that he’s been missing all these years.


any excuse. ESPECIALLY in the winter

cold? come under my cloak

raining? hide under my cloak

too sunny? cloak shade

hand holding? under the cloak

sat in the park? cloak on the grass

hugging? you bet, under the cloak

that guy bothering you? IN THE CLOAK

at the beginning of knowing mc he’d often hide it and be very subtle when noticing the wall of scent flutter past him, a slight flush appearing over his face that he tried to hide from the brothers. but now, he doesn’t care.

sometimes if he’s stressed, mc would catch him at a desk in the library, head down as his face is buried in his arms lying on the table. seemingly asleep, but his cloak is pulled up just so that his face is resting on the soft fabric, his face nuzzled into the folds.