Where the brothers react to a MC with weird insults.
“Listen here you waxy, lemon-faced bitch-”
There were two reasons why he didn’t set you on fire on the spot after you insulted him; one, no-one dared to insult him to his face, and he admire you for your gut. Two, your way of insulting was quite possibly the funniest thing he had seen in all his centuries of being alive.
He’d try to hide his smile, turning away from you and just walking away. He’d begin to run when you started to chase after him, unable to keep himself from laughing anymore.
“Don’t run away while I’m talking to you, bird man - I said stop running!”
“You lookin’ like you came straight from the clown factory. Honk honk, bitch!”
It wouldn’t resister in his brain at first - he’d be too busy hyping you up to realize what exactly you said. After a few moments, he’d find himself lowering his fists, looking at you inquisitively.
“What did you just say?” he’d ask you.
“Don’t just stand there, Mammon, hold my wig!”
Mammon wouldn’t still completely understand your choice of fighting words until days later, when he was in an extremely important meeting with the rest of his brothers and Lord Diavolo. He’d remember you yelling the words “honk honk” and he’d start laughing right then and there.
“Mammon, we’re in a meeting,” Satan would hiss at him.
“I know, I’m sorry! I just-”
He would physically have to be removed from the student council room.
Maybe it was the simplicity of your insult, or maybe it was the way you completely butchered a basic human curse word, but you had him reeling on the floor. You’d been stewing in your anger for a bit now, getting frustrated by the second, and the way all your rage was directed onto that one word…
He’d be crying, completely abandoning the game you two were playing as he pounded his fist against the floor. You’d be watching him with an unpleasant frown, crunching up your nose in distaste.
“Keep it up, snake man, I’m coming for your lizard ass next.”
He’d only start laughing harder.
“I’m gonna split you like a sundae with grandpa, bitch.”
As the Avatar of Wrath, Satan was well-versed on a variety of insults and curses. Demonic, angelic, human, he knew it all. Color him surprised when you uttered those words under your breath before you attacked Lucifer.
He’d pull you off his screaming older brother, cackling loudly as he slung you over his shoulder and ran like a bat out of hell. He’d still be laughing when he barged into your room, tears streaming down his face as he barricaded the doors.
“I love you so much,” he’d whisper as Lucifer pounded on your bedroom door. “Please marry me, right now.”
“You look like if socks and sandals had a threesome with Voldemort and then you came out.”
He’d be a little confused at your choice of insult, but that wouldn’t deter him. He’d hold your earrings and your shoes as you absolutely roasted the demon in front of you, cheering you on from a safe distance.
It would only be afterwards that he’d question you about your choice of words.
“You couldn’t call them a bitch and move on?”
You’d only smirk, pointing at the demon’s gobsmacked face. “You have to hit them where it hurts, Asmo,” you said.
“I’m gonna roast his ass like rotisserie!”
Beelzebub walked away the moment he heard you scream those words. He’d seen you angry before, and while he knew he should probably stop you from wreaking havoc on the Devildom, he knew he wouldn’t be able keep himself from laughing.
He was used to fiery personalities - he’d shared a room with his younger brother for centuries, having to deal with Belphegor’s morning personality. He could stop you with just a simple scratch on the head, and he probably should have but seeing you so angry, stomping your feet comedically on the ground as you chased Solomon around the school…
He’d be cheering you on through his fits of laughter, following close by you as you hurled your strange insults at the wizard.
Belphegor prided himself in being the most knowledgable about the human realm than most of his brothers, but what in the absolute hell did that even mean? He’d lower the object he was keeping out of your reach, eyeing you with confusion.
“What the fuck?” he’d ask. “MC, what the hell does that mean?”
You’d snatch your coveted cup of pudding, sticking your tongue out at him. “You look like if a cow and a scene kid did the nasty and their holy union produced you.” His eyes would be wide when you placed a kiss against his cheek. “Don’t steal my pudding, cow boy.”
He’d definitely get you back later, but watching you walk away, he could only clap his hands in awe.
