#3am texts

it gets harder each time you leave the devildom.

mood sunken and stomach churning, the walk to the portal is always silent. the seven brothers already have an established system of calls and texts, having worked out an order of who gets the joy of speaking to you. but its never the same. not a sturdy arm around your waist in the night nor a calculated brush of the hand when walking together. and when home again, even the brightness of the human sun can’t seem to cure your blues.

you don’t know whats changed this time around, just that it hurts a lot more. goodbye hugs have grown tighter, longer, and tears prick hotly at your eyes. your words are getting stuck in your throat, caught in a sob that you refuse to let escape, knowing it’d only make things more painful.

mammon had been the last brother left to say your farewells to. he’d hung around in the back, denying that you were going for as long as he possibly could. he’d watched as you embraced his brothers - a collection of shimmering eyes and sad smiles - carefully positioning his sunglasses every now and then as to avoid the truth that his eyes had been growing wet too.

but as soon as you had turned to him, the softest call of his name, mammon had clung to you. not the avatar of greed nor your first man for nothing. and the security of his arms wrapped around you had been so soothing, so familiar, that the sadness overwhelmed your systems, tears finally flowing.

a gentle hand moved up and down your spine, steady palm pressing love into every fibre of your body. “’s’ok,” mammon hums, voice a whisper that holds all the experience of a loving older brother, “you’ll be ok. just...” a pause and then, “don’t forget about me.” his words grow damp, becoming little more than a fragile plea.

chest aching, your arms squeeze tighter around mammon, desperate for him to be closer, closer, closer. your lips press gently into his skin, soft kiss sinking into his very being. “i’ll think about you all the time, i promise. i already do.”

In my defence I was sleepdrunk

We are two halves of a whole idiot, Alien @athenastar

lucifer knew he was overworked. the signs were all there - heavy bags under his eyes, painful crick in his neck, seemingly permanent irritated attitude. but he’d had years to get used the heavy workload, taking on his brothers’ responsibilities too, no doubt in his voice as he put them before himself. his shoulders were broad enough, strong enough to carry the weight of the world, he didn’t care whether they were in the celestial realm or the devildom.

but lucifer didn’t like seeing it happen to you.

the exchange programme had been hardest on you, stuffed to the brim with new information and expected to navigate the sudden change in surroundings. you dutifully completed your studies, bridged the three realms and took care of the seven demons who you’d come to adore. lucifer blinked away the heat that threateningly pricked at his eyes at the thought. you meant more to him than he knew how to show, how to put into words either. he could only hope his sincerity around you was enough.

a call of your name surprised you after dinner, ready to turn on your heel and trod back to your room, fill out out some paperwork diavolo had asked of you and practice the spells solomon had so kindly taught.

instead, you meet lucifer’s gaze, eyelids heavy though stare gentle.

“come here,” lucifer’s tone is as stern as ever, but this time his demand seems more of an instruction. you nod, shadowing him to his room, a place familiar to very few. 

you flounder in his doorway for longer than you mean to, mind dazed and gaze unfocused. your name once again snaps you out of your haze, heat creeping up your cheeks. “sorry, i- um,” you stumble, not quite sure which words you’re trying to get out.

“come here,” lucifer repeats, a little softer this time now that his only audience was you. he pats the end of his bed gently and you can’t find it in yourself to decline, moving before you can think.

you’re embarrassed that the soft touch of the sheets and the warmth of the demon beside you sends you unravelling, bringing about a sudden swell of emotion. you suppose it’s a result of how fatigued you are, feelings on the brink of spilling and barriers all but worn down; lucifer knows better.

the demon’s big hand finds it way to the back of your head, ever so gently pushing you closer into his side. the steadiness of his hold is comforting, stabilising, and you feel for the first time in a while that you can truly breathe. in, and out.

“don’t think i don’t know how much work you get, and how hard you try,” lucifer whispers as the rise and fall of your chest evens out and you finally let your eyes flutter shut, if only to hide their newfound wetness. “get some rest now,” he hums, “i’ve got you.”  

diavolo is a proud man. he’s more than accepting of his high status, knowing full well the advantages he reaps in as a consequence. but sometimes his grand palace feels empty and the constant pressure begins to gnaw away at him. is he ever making the right decision? will he ever be sure which path to take?

for despite all of his impressiveness, diavolo’s not proud enough to tell you the truth. not how you brighten up his day or make his breath catch in his throat. and definitely not how you make the weight of the world - his world - feel more manageable. it sends him dizzy in a way that’s far too familiar with his nerves, heart quickened and palms clammy. but diavolo’s not stupid, he knows what all the signs point to and his duties to the devildom are bigger than that.

it’s amidst his latest ball - an event to celebrate a newly developed alliance between realms and an excuse to see you - that diavolo finally feels overwhelmed. he fears for a split second that his heart will beat right through his ribcage and he can only rub a closed fist over his aching chest. the smile on his lips doesn’t falter, it never does, and he only shoots a quick glance around the room before he slips away, making sure he only misses the happiness of everyone else.

diavolo’s sure no one’s noticed his absence, save for barbatos maybe, never really approachable despite how hard he tried. but you do.

and as soon as diavolo steps back in, you’re standing in front of him, steady hand on his broad shoulder. your touch is warm and soothing and sure, a silent ask for diavolo to share some of the burdens that weigh him down.

“are you ok?” you murmur, not wanting to make a fuss. and the way you’re so caring and lovely and kind has diavolo’s heart doing somersaults. yeah, he’s ok.

you’ve told satan a million times it isn’t his fault. voice soft and kind and accepting as you press a steady hand on the base of his spine, ever so slowly moving up. and down.

“your wrath is a part of you,” you whisper soothingly, “and it’s ok that sometimes it spills out. i know you try your best, your brothers know too.”

but it doesn’t change anything. nothing ever does.

the sadness is still suffocating after he explodes and it pairs easily with guilt, eating away at the demon whose anger turns heat, pricking away at his eyes. he shoves his palms roughly to his face, swiping harshly at the tears. he doesn’t deserve to feel sorry.

sorry for not being able to control himself, sorry for being weak. he’d yelled at you with a harsh voice and even harsher words. if anyone is allowed to cry, it’s you.

maybe you do, maybe you don’t. satan doesn’t know, he stormed to his room as soon as his tongue spat and hissed and betrayed him. it’s easier not to face you, not when he loves you.

it’s a few hours of punishing himself, wrath entirely dissipated, when satan’s DDD rings. it’s you. the shock comes running through satan’s veins like a bullet. all he’d done and you still cared, giving the demon the time and space needed to cool down before checking on him. knowing full well that if he’d been mean to you, he’d be awfully crueller to himself.

satan takes too long to collect his thoughts, collect himself. his DDD stops ringing - and then, not even a second later, starts again. this time, satan surges forward to pick up.

the human realm hadn’t felt like home for a while now.

you’d grown up on those streets, walked them a million times. and yet, your feet felt heavy, unbalanced, wrong as you took the same old routes. the tip of your shoe scuffs into the ground more times than you can count, all too used to taking large steps, mindful of the uneven cobble and winding pathways.

your bottom lip feeds through your teeth the entire way back to your house, trying to dispel the churning of your stomach, the weight pressing down onto your chest. even as you collapse into the safety of your own room, body slumped and mind foggy, nothing changes, nothing works. you’re lost in the human realm, it’s no longer yours.

the talks with diavolo begin soon after. tense fingertips tracing your pact marks, quickly receiving seven demons’ worth of warmth during the private calls. secrets to be kept for some time.

it’s only when the young prince summons the brothers to the portal that mammon falls uncharacteristically quiet, tongue dry and heartbeat quickened. the way he always feels around you.

mammon engulfs you. one step into the devildom and strong arms are wrapped tight around you, white hair tickling at your jaw as he tucks himself into the crook of your neck, pulling you further and further in. the sudden sensation is soothing and familiar, soft excitable giggles leaving your throat as you squeeze mammon’s abdomen in return.

“you’re back,” he chokes, tiny words pressed into your skin, hardly enough space between for the air to flow through.

you hum amusedly, taking in the darkness of the devildom, pulsing shadows dancing in the corner of your eye. taking in the thickness of the air, heavy pressure in your lungs never quite easing. taking in the demon enveloping you, skin pressed tight against skin as he aches to be closer, devilish no. 5 surrounding you and calming all your nerves at once.

your voice comes out a relieved sigh, “i’m home.”

you and mammon are never quite as subtle as you hope to be, waiting for one another to make the call with wide eyes and bated breath. his brothers are kind enough not to tease (to your faces at the very least), pretending not to be witnesses to your sickeningly sweet love in favour of protecting that dazed smile you and mammon pull out of each other. something akin to hope bubbles in the chests of the other avatars of sin, it seems demons yearn for love too.

you’d caught mammon’s eye countless times during dinner, corners of your lips tugging upwards at each tiny interaction. your stares had met again shuffling into the living room, levi insisting that the house come together to play his latest video game. he was undoubtedly the best of everyone, skillful strategies against your manic button mashing sending your character to the ground within half a minute.

it hadn’t been long until mammon had given in. third to lose against leviachan, he could hardly focus on his attention on watching levi and beel battle it out on screen as the greed bubbled in the bottom of his stomach. he knows best the sin is unavoidable, surging his twitchy fingers forward until they pressed into the pact mark.

you’re not sure what came first through the shared link - the brilliant rush of warmth that engulfed you or the golden glow that shone upon your skin like a second sun.

the excuse had come easy, dropping from your lips without a second thought, and mammon’s stammers had followed almost instantly. you suppressed an amused laugh, never cruel but rather fond at mammon’s compelling desire to be near.

the adoring thought had hardly formed in your mind before mammon wrapped a hand around your wrist, tugging you down the hallway, teeth bared in an eager smile. no, he never could be close enough.

tender lips are sealed against your own, curved into a pleasant smile as your breaths merge, chests heaving. the burning of your lungs comes slow, steadily building until you and simeon are forced to part, foreheads pressed together in poor semblance of your previous connection. still, skin to skin, the intimate moment is maintained, bubble not yet popped.

simeon lets out a fond chuckle at your flustered state, lips red and puffy, eyes dazed and unfocused. you can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed, too enraptured by the otherworldly lightness of his laughter, an angel through and through. you’re already certain the other celestial beings pale in comparison to him.

the pair of you have spoken about it before, in soft murmurs and hushed whispers. saying yes, announcing your relationship, visiting the celestial realm together. all a pleasant dream that neither of you can wait to come true, pausing only to make sure the time is right. you’re already inundated with the exchange programme, solomon’s apprenticeship and the constant schemes you find yourself in with the seven brothers. nothing you would yet change.

you begin to seek simeon once more before your mind can clear and your breathing can even out again, lips chasing his touch. love blooms in your heart, beating through your bloodstream until it fills every last bit of your body.

simeon’s always surprised how quickly he loses his refined demeanour around you, fingertips running along your jaw, immediately raising goosebumps all over. along the length of your arms and up the back of your neck. you sigh, melty warm as you lean further into simeon, only ever wanting to be closer and closer and closer.

maybe, simeon thinks as your chest presses to his own, the celestial realm is an unnecessary trip, because this feels a lot like heaven to him.