#beel x reader

It’s one of those nights where you find yourself between sleep and awake. As you rest, you remain aware of the warmth radiating from Beel’s frame as he holds you close. His steady breathing, a metronome that rocks you, and the mattress, in soothing rhythm.

Each breath pulls you deeper and deeper into the sweet embrace of slumber, when suddenly. You are yanked back to reality as the Demon next to you jolts up, the blankets pooling around his waist.

“Beel?” you mumble sleepily, recalling the massive jug of water he downed after his evening workout.  “Do you have to go to the bathroom again?” He doesn't answer, nor does he lie back down in bed.

As much as it pains you to do so, you peel open your heavy eyelids to check on your Demon. His eyes are closed, but a famished, blissful expression takes over his face. Eyes flutter beneath his lids as he begins to move, doing something strange with his arms. He’s not quite flailing them; there is a rhythm to it. It isn't until he completes a few fluid cycles that you realize that he is doing a swimming motion in his sleep.

Carefully, you sit up, observing this strange sleep-swimming phenomenon with wonder, when suddenly, he changes directions. His right arm now swings in the direction of your head.

You lurch backwards, barely dodging the massive tree branch of demonic muscle as you fall out of your own bed.

The sound of your body hitting the carpet is enough to rouse the sleep-swimming demon. Rubbing his eyes, he looks around, noticing your missing presence.

“Oh… Mc. What are you doing on the floor?” he asks when his eyes find you. He then tilts his head cluelessly to the side, unaware of the role he played in the journey.

But honestly, he is looking down at you with so much care in his gaze that you can’t bring yourself to be mad at him.

“I think you were dreaming, Beel,” you say. Rubbing the sore spot on your backside as you climb back up into bed.

He scoots over and smoothes out the sheets for you, his whole face lighting up as he nods, “I was, it was a really good dream too.”

“What was it?”

His orange brows furrow as he recalls the foggy details. “I was…On a boat. And I was sailing through a river of chocolate, the current was really rapid, and it kept splashing everywhere.”

“That does sound like a good dream,” you muse, getting cozy under his arm.

He yawns loudly, smacking his lips as he pulls you closer. “I wish it was real,” he mumbles, as you let loose a yawn of your own.

Using his head as a pillow, you listen to the steady beating of his heart as you teeter off the edge of wakefulness.

In the back of your mind, however, you keep coming back to his dream, wondering if maybe you could make it come true.

~

Not everyone is allowed to reserve a private banquet room at RAD for a private Valentine’s date, but then again, not everyone is you.

It didn't take much coaxing to convince Barbatos to hand over the keys, but when he did, his smile was a bit too wide as he reminded you to please clean up after yourself.

Or else…

Having brought extra cleaning supplies so as to not incur the wrath of the Royal Butler, you look around at the sparkling room, which is almost ready for Beel’s sweet surprise.

After seeing how happy his dream had made him a few nights ago. You decided to do your best to bring it to life for him with the help of a small chocolate fountain you found in the clearance aisle of a human world department store.

After eyeballing the height of the vaulted ceiling and the width of the nearly-empty room, you pour in a generous amount of freshly-melted chocolate into the base of the fountain and flip the ‘on’ switch.

It buzzes and hums as the chocolate bubbles and is sucked into the base of the tower and sent cascading down the cylindrical tiers that grow in size with each layer, creating a lovely liquid curtain of chocolate you can’t help but taste test.

Yep… that’s chocolate.

As the fountain continues to flow smoothly, you place the most adorable, pixie-crafted wooden rowboat into the candied waters, taking a moment to gush over the intricate details carved into the wooden oars.

Surprisingly, it bobs in the currant, floating just as it would in water, and you feel an immense weight lifted off of your chest as you move to implement the next step of your (untested) plan.

From your pocket, you pull a skinny glass vial filled with a bright orange vapor and swirl it around, watching as the color deepens.

Once it reaches the color of molten lava, you recall the instructions Solomon gave you when you borrowed this particular potion.

‘Once you uncork the vial, place it on the ground with the lip of the vial facing away from you,’ he warned, with an alarmingly serious expression on his face. ‘Once you do so, leave the room as quickly as you can and do your best not to breathe in any of the smoke.’

Your hand trembles as you do exactly that, crouching to the stone floor, you set the vial down, pointing the opening toward the fountain in the center of the room. Taking a deep breath, your thumb pushing out the cork, sending it flying a few feet away. Holding your breath, you are out the door before it lands, shutting the door behind you tightly as the spell takes hold of the room.  You have no idea what this potion would do to your human body, but you are in no mood to find out today.

With the hard part now done, all you have to do is one more small task before Beel arrives to see his sweet dream turn into a hopefully sweeter reality.

~

Are you ready?” you ask, your hand warm in Beel’s as you guide the blindfolded Avatar of Gluttony to the banquet room. Where the surprise should be ready and waiting.

The quiet hallways carry your nervous energy as you guide him to the room. Mind going a thousand miles a minute as you start to worry.

What if the spell didn't work?

Or worse, what if it worked too well?

What if you come back to a completely destroyed banquet hall and have to spend the rest of your mortal life working for Barbatos to pay for the damages?

Beel stops. The shift in momentum causes you to as well. He inhales deeply through his nose. “What’s this?” His features light up with recognition as you, too, start to smell the familiar scent of warm chocolate flowing through the halls, inviting you closer. “I smell-”

“Sush.” you tease, getting on your tiptoes to cover his mouth with your hand, his lips tickle your skin as your pleased smile grows.  “Don’t spoil the surprise.”

He nods and kisses your palm. The intimate sensation makes you feel warm all over, as if you were dunked into the fountain like a strawberry. “You taste like it too,” he hums. “It’s making me hungry.”

“It’s a good thing we are almost there then,” you wink, lowering your hand and pulling him forward a few more paces until you are right outside the doors to the banquet hall. Nervously, you place your other hand on the smooth wooden door and exhale shakily.

Maybe you should’ve tested this out first before going all in.

You shake the rational thought from your head and push open the doors, walking with Beel just a few more steps. As you take in the utterly glorious sight in front of you.

It’s perfect, that growth potion worked like a charm.

The once small fountain has grown to the ceiling, the drizzle of chocolate now flowing through it like a waterfall. The now enlarged rowboat circles the outside of the fountain lazily, just waiting for you two to take a ride inside it.

You feel giddy as you look back at Beel, who is definitely not ready for the sight in front of him.

“Alright, Beel,” you say in an awestruck whisper. “You can look now.”

No sooner does he remove the blindfold do his eyes become saucers, widening as he triple takes the sight in front of him.

“Happy Valentine's Day.”

“Is this all for me?” he blinks dreamily, as if he is about to dive headfirst into the chocolate fountain.

“Yes, it’s all for you.”

“It’s just like the dream I had the other night.”  He muses, walking up to the edge of the fountain and tasting some chocolate on his finger. His eyelids flutter. “S’ good.”

“That’s not all,” you say with a wave of your hand. Platters of sweets you had prepped after shutting the doors float into the room. “ I got lots of things we can dip into the fountain.”

When that platter of Luke's signature Celestial shortbread cookies passes him by, he looks close to fainting. Only to be revived by the next platters of blood strawberries and fluffy homemade marshmallows.

“This is,” he’s breathless as he rubs his eyes once again just to make sure he isn't in another Wonkaesque dream.  “This is amazing, Mc. You really did all this for me?”

You nod as the demon scoops you off the ground, hugging you breathless. “I wanted to do something special.”

“This is special,” he beams, eyeing the little rowboat as his stomach begins to growl. “ Does the boat really work?” He asks hopefully.

“I hope so,” you answer, an unsure tremor to your grin. The oars may be a bit more stubborn in the chocolate versus water, and the untested boat may capsize, but if there is one thing you are sure of, it’s that even if you were to fall into the base of the fountain, Beel would surely drain the whole thing before anything truly terrible would happen to you.

“Can we try it out?”

You nod as he bounds happily around the base of the fountain, to where the boat has drifted against the ripples of the fountain. “Ready?” you ask, relieved to see that the inside has not sprung a delicious leak.

He lowers himself into the belly of the rowboat slowly, his feet testing the sturdy bottom before extending a hand to you. “It’s safe, I think. Did you use magic to do this?”

“I had a little help,” you admit. “The growth potion will wear off in a few hours, so we can either sit back or go crazy.”

A platter of diligently cut melon floats just under your noses, and Beel drools. “I want to go crazy,” he breathes. “Can we do so together?”

“Always,” you nod as your lips curve into a devilish smile. He pushes off the side of the fountain, and the boat begins to drift off towards the center. You grab the oars, but find that rowing through a lake of chocolate is much harder to do than one of water.

Your muscles strain as you force them through the dense liquid. Beel, noticing the intense look of concentration on your face, gently leans over and takes them from you. “Here, let me. You’ve done so much already.”

“Thanks, Beel,” you beam, relieved you don’t have to row for the next few hours.  

He looks down at the chocolate-dipped paddle. “Looks good enough to eat.”

“Beel… please don’t eat the oars,” you warn. “We need those.”

He laughs, “I won’t,” and you want to believe him, but you beckon a few of the enchanted platters closer.

Just in case.

He starts to row, analyzing the area around you. “What kind of magic did you use to do this?”

“A growth potion,” you say. “We have a few hours till it wears off, but I think that’s more than enough time for us to enjoy ourselves.”

He nods. Eyeing the chocolate lake like draining it is a challenge to conquer.

You grab a particularly plump strawberry from the platter, “Looks good,” you mutter, leaning off the edge of the boat to dip the fruit into the liquefied chocolate.

“Mc, wait.” Beel’s warning comes a bit too late as the boat crashes over a ripple in the fountain, and you are thrown off balance and sent tumbling out of the boat.

The strawberry plops into the water as you throw out your hands and hold your breath; the faint thud of the oars hitting the belly of the rowboat goes unheard by you as you prepare to become a chocolate-dipped human. Your fingertips dip into the chocolate waters when an arm loops around your waist, keeping you from fully submerging.

“Careful, I don’t think I could hold myself back if you were to fall in,” he breathes, steadying the boat and holding you close.

A flustered heat rushes through you as you find yourself the object of his hungry gaze.

“Thank you, that wouldn't have been very fun,” you say, staring down at your candy-coated fingertips.

“May I?” he asks, reaching out, his fingers wrap around your wrist with a featherlight grip, and you allow him to raise your fingers to his mouth. Your head spins as he kisses each drop of chocolate from your fingertips. The gleam in his eyes making him look like he has just won the lottery. In a way, he did.

he's a wall of warm bronze skin and soft, relaxed muscle. the metal of his necklace glints in the soft bedside light, rising and falling with his breath. his hair looks like flame in the glow where it falls forward, still damp from his shower. he's got his legs stretched out in front of him on the navy bedspread, with woollen socks bunched around his ankles from where he fidgets every now and again like he can't decide if he's too hot or too cold.

your eyes drag up his exposed legs, over his glimmering pact mark that snakes its way from ankle to pelvis—though it disappears under the loose chequered boxer shorts he's got on. your gaze fixates on the thatch of hair that creeps up from his waistband and over the gentle creasing of his stomach to his navel. it always does. you continue admiring him, attention caught by the platinum band flashing as he peels a small satsuma, the scent of it drifting up in the space between you.

you like him like this—looking like he's yours—with his pact mark on display and guard down. like he could be caught by surprise. like you could catch him off guard.

beel jolts forwards then, motioning wildly towards the screen and calling the referee every name under the sun. you tear your gaze away, flustered slightly, embarrassed to possibly be caught staring, and back towards the match.

maybe the blue team aren't winning, then.

on screen a blue player is shown the red card and throws his hands up dramatically—voice silenced by the outrage of the crowd and commentators— before striding off the pitch, head held high. "what's happened?" you ask, clearing your throat slightly in an effort to pretend you hadn't been staring at his undressed form.

"high tackle," beel replies around a mouthful of fruit. he turns and offers you the last segement. you shake your head and he continues, "the blue player tackled the other one at chest height, fell like a sack of stones onto eachother. got sent off and the one in white's got ten minutes medical observation. nasty concussion likely - probably won't be back on." beel taps the side of his head as he finishes, tone so casual that you remeber that this looks mild compared to the violence of fangol. you give a little nod just as beel turns back to the screen and finishes his snack.

you really try to behave for the last 20 minutes of the match, truly. you'd done so well but now between the low lighting, warm skin and beel's enthusiasm for the game, it's too much. you have to pounce on him, catch him by surprise. there's a lull in the match and so that's exactly what you do.

"what're you doing?" he asks, voice lilting with a smile, as you land in his lap. he sits a little straighter, hands settling on your hips. you try not to wriggle.

"high tackle." you state, shoving playfully at his shoulders. beel huffs a laugh but doesn't budge.

"that's a dangerous move, baby. could go really wrong," he teases.

"i'm sure you'll correct my form." you try pushing at his shoulders again and beel's only movement is to shake with laughter. you do it again and this time beel brings his hands up to catch you mid push, completely uneffected by your efforts to destabilise him.

you grapple, leaning your weight into the move, the warm metal of his wedding band pressing into your fingers. you feel flush, distracted slightly by seeing it close-up— like it's the first time you've ever admired it. you feel butterflies start to flutter so you screw your face up in faux concentration as you battle to keep your giddiness at bay. you can't let him win.

beel's arms don't even appear to flex as he holds you back despite putting all of your strength into it. there's a smug smile pulling at his mouth as you rise up onto your knees trying to get leverage over him. it doesn't work, but his arms flex a little this time. and, just to show off, he presses a kiss to your wedding band, looking up at you through his hair. the sight makes your stomach flip again.

you wobble a little on the next attempt and beel laughs properly, his face lighting up in delight as you nearly tip into him. your hands untangle and fly out to brace against the headboard while his slip down to hold your hips.

you're so close that your lips brush in an almost kiss as he says, "weak core, need to work on your balance," with an infuriating smirk.

you feel warm all over but take his taunt as a challenge and rise back up. on the tv behind you, the referee's whistle blows followed by the call for a scrum. once back on your knees, you put your full weight into the grapple, but as the ref bellows "crouch, bind, set!", you allow your bent arms to go lax.

this time it's beel who topples forward into you. his arms shoot out either side to try and find some balance, but the attempt fails. you're nearly crushed under him and trapped by the tangled bedsheets, but you manage to use the momentum to get him under you. behind you the muted crowds swells. maybe his guard was down after all.

you're breathless as you pin his hands above his head and settle your weight over his waist, knees digging into his plush sides. "weak core, need to work on your balance," you breathe, a victorious smile breaking across your face. once agian, you resist the temptation to rock your hips into him.

you lean down to brush your lips against his and then pull back up slighlty to look at him. his plum eyes are glassy and the ommatidium of them more obvious than usual as his pupils are blown wide. there's a dark flush across his nose and the tip of his ears, bringing out the faint freckling he has from time spent under the human sun, and remenants of his halo's gold. his necklace continues to catch the light with each shallow breath.

you sit straight then, still straddling his waist, expression softening. you take a moment to admire him in the low light again. he's so pretty— orange hair splayed against the inky sheets. a thrill runs through you; you managed to catch him off guard and get him under you, something that rarely happens when you play fight.

you release his wrists and are about to gloat some more when the raucus cheering of the tv crowd coincides with the world spinning. blurs of bronze, copper and midnight fill your vision.

you bounce as you land against the mattress with an indignified squeak.

"cheat! red card!" beel just grins down at you, eyes crinkling in delight.

"as if you were playing by the rules,"

you huff. "i won fair and square."

"yeah? how fair and how square?" he leans closer and you avert your eyes.

"so fair and so square." you tilt your head, a more extreme attempt to avoid eye contact, but beel moves into your field of sight anyway, continuing to grin down at you. an exaggerated pout pulls at your lips. "you need to look at the rules again," you huff.

"oh yeah?" there's unbridled amusement in his voice now, enjoying how the tables have turnt.

"yeah—" the indigantion dies in your throat. your mind just beginning to register your positions.

beel's looming over you, nestled between your legs with one forearm braced by your head, and the other palm stretched out far to stop him completley crushing you. despite that there's still a negligible amount of space between you. your heart stutters a little and your mouth dries.

suddenly you can see the definition in his arms carved out by his winding tattoo. suddenly you can feel the strength of his thighs where they push your hips apart. suddenly you can feel the burning heat of his bare torso.

it's a dizzying reminder that despite, his outward softness and relaxed manner, he could easily overpower you. just as he frequently overpowers others. it sends a thrill through you, being below him like this, though it is far from the first time.

beel seems to suddenly be aware of this, too. his irises are completely swallowed by his pupils as they dart from your own widened eyes to your lips and down to where your crotch presses against his own and then back your eyes within a matter of seconds. the dark flush has extended down across the breadth of his chest, heaving with each breath that comes out in quiet little pants that hit your face.

distantly you think the television announces the final score—the blues winning after all— but all you can truly hear is the quiet plea from beel for you to move. and so you do, moving your hips against his where you can feel just how affected he is by the game you've been playing. you lift your head to close the miniscule gap between your lips and kiss him. he tastes faintly of citrus; sweet but with an edge and he adjusts himself over you, brushing your pelvises together through the thin sleepwear.

you're consumed by him, the tender kiss dissolving into something more. your hands raise to tug at his hair, pulling away to inhale, noses touching. dimly you think maybe his guard is down enough that you could get the upper hand again, but just as the thought flickers to life beel's pressing his lips to your pulse point. like he can read your next moves as if he were on the fangol pitch, plotting a rival's next throw, and not wrestling with his lover in your shared bed.

as you bring his lips back to your own all you can think about is that maybe a high tackle really is a dangerous move, though not for the reasons beel had so animatedly explained, and that maybe beel is never quite as unguarded as he likes to appear.

“You’re quiet,” he comments after a few minutes, and you hum as he looks down at you. “You’re happy?”

“Happiest girl in the Devildom.” He grins at your confirmation, placing the sweetest of kisses to your forehead. “Excited to have you to myself for a couple days.”

“Watching you get passed around for dances was hard for me,” he confesses, opening the front gate with a gentle foot but not bothering to close it as his steps towards the front door grow faster. “I just wanted you to myself, but it's not fair to keep you from all the people celebrating us.”

“But now we’re alone finally, and I’m all yours until our honeymoon ends.”

He only nodded, easily adjusting you to rest over his shoulder so he had a hand free to unlock and open the front door. This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined being carried across the threshold after telling Beel about this tradition from the human world but it was fitting nonetheless as he kicked the door closed behind him and immediately went for the stairs, taking them two at a time to get to the bedroom faster. 

He’s gentle as he drops you on the bed, pulling himself away from you just long enough to get out of his jacket and rip his shirt open. The sound of buttons hitting against the floors feels so far away when he’s carefully making his way onto the bed. His hands are gentle as they slide under your dress, fingertips dancing along your skin as they move up your legs with gentle squeezes to your calves before crossing over your knees to your thighs, pushing the fabric up as he went. 

“Can you keep it on?” he asks, looking up at you over the layers of fabric that had punched around your hips. “Is that—“

“Yeah, we can keep it on. There are a couple matching ones just in case something were to happen...” you trail off into a contented sigh when his thumb dips under the edge of your pantries to trace along your wet slit. 

You’re cooperative despite the impatience you must’ve also been feeling, your body pliant to the demands of his hands as he rips the lacy material apart to reveal your center. You stay relaxed as his thumb trails along your glistening slit and dips between your folds with a quiet squelch, tracing your hole and carefully pressing in to feel you clench around him. It had been two weeks, he knew he had to spend more time preparing you for his size than he would had it only been a day or so. 

You were his beautiful wife, the powerful sorceress who chose him – who loved him even when he’d eaten your favorite snacks. It was his honor to be your husband, and to be blessed with quite the feat between your legs just waiting for him to devour. All his, not to be shared with his brothers or anyone else, and you encouraged him to be greedy when it came to you. 

But despite his need, he wanted to take things slowly tonight. It was your first night as a married couple, and he wanted to take his time in savoring every centimeter of his wife and every ounce of your essence that leaked from your folds. 

…at least until his tongue dragged up your slit to your waiting hole and he got his prize. After weeks of actively being kept away from you in preparation for your wedding, he was craving your taste – moreso after that last slice of cake during the reception. To have something taste so remarkably like you seemed impossible, and yet that cake had managed it just perfectly. But it wasn’t purely you, there was something else added to the taste that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair while he searches for the solution, his tongue probing your walls as his fingers tease your swollen clit. You sound so cute up there with your soft moans and whimpers tumbling from your lips as he feasts, he’s only moderately disappointed that your wedding dress was kept on only because he wanted to see you. It was easy to picture your eyes half-open, trying so hard to stay focused on him against the sensations that would have you wanting to close your eyes as you basked in the pleasure he was giving you. Your pretty lips stained with your favorite color were likely parted, meeting those soft pants and sweet moans escape into the air that traveled to his ears. 

“B-Beel, please,” you whisper, tugging on his hair with an urgency that had him pulling away from your pussy to get your eye contact. 

“Are you—“

“Not hurt,” you cut him off, your hand moving to cup his warm cheek. “Don’t wanna cum on your fingers.”

“No?”

“I want my first orgasm as a married woman to be on your cock.” He can see how dark your cheeks have gotten, your face burning at the admission. “Please Beel.”

How could he say no to a pout like that?

He couldn’t and, as much as he wanted to stay between your legs and properly stretch you out, he pulled himself away from your pretty pussy and sat himself up. His pants and underwear are gone with a snap of your fingers then you’re moving to straddle his lap, trapping his clock between your two bodies as you pull him into a kiss. 

“You looked so handsome today,” you mumble against his lips, and he feels your smile with every kiss you give him. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he murmurs, turning to pepper kisses around your cheek as his hands grip your hips to position you above his weeping tip. “We gotta go slow, it’s been a while.”

You nod at the reminder, already feeling the stretch with just the head of his cock pushing into your heat. In many ways it was almost like the first time you’d given yourself to Beel, the first time he’d truly trusted his own self control to not hurt you by taking more than you could give. Most demons were significantly larger than you as a human, but Beel was larger than most demons – the Avatar of Gluttony, Sixth Ruler of the Devildom, Beelzebub was a massive figure and his cock was no exception. 

His hands on your hips serve both as a guide and as an obstruction, ensuring that you didn’t try to take too much of him with every roll of your hips, while he whispers in your ear how well you were taking him. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, perfectly manicured nails digging into the skin of his shoulders and dragging with every descent you make to take more of his length until you’re finally fully seated with your body flush against his. Large hands move up your sides to your breasts, groping at them through the expensive fabrics that keep you covered as his mouth trails kisses and nips down the column of your neck. The scent of your perfume still lingered, complimenting the scent that was naturally yours and prompting his stomach to growl with his own hunger for you. 

“Feel s’good, Beel,” you murmur with the first roll of your hips along his length, slow and careful as he hums into your skin. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs before pulling you in for another kiss. It’s more calculated than you’d expect for having his cock buried in your cunt as his hands help you ride him. The sound of fabric ripping feels so distant, the colder air of the room chilling your skin where his hands left you uncovered. His hands are gentle as they knead at your breasts, the multiple sensations near overwhelming as you feel your core tighten with every bounce of your hips along his length. “Gonna cum for me?”

You nod, holding him tighter to you as he tries to meet your strokes. It’s when you start to slow down that he tips you back, your back hitting the plush mattress with a soft thud as he changes the position so he was on top. Your hands settle on his chest as he kisses you, the coil in your stomach tightening with every deep thrust into your pussy. His kiss is sloppy, needy and more of what you expected of Beel after weeks being kept apart with your different duties ahead of the wedding and attending to your guests throughout the reception. His control up to this point was admirable, but you were relieved that he was letting himself take what he needed while giving you what you wanted. 

“Beel,” you whine as he pulls away, cheek pressed to his as he presses his face into your neck. 

“Keep saying it,” he requests, nipping and sucking at the skin he can get to as he fucks into you, one hand gripping your leg to bring it up to his hip for the deeper angle that has you seeing stars. Any concern for his size compared to yours was forgotten, now on the shared mission of getting off. 

“B-Beel,” you moan, his hand finding your clit bringing a choked gasp out of your lips that has him grinning into your skin. “I’m–”  

“I know,” he grunts, the sound coming from deep in his throat and sending a shiver down your spine. “I know, I know.”

Your core continues to tighten with every thrust, signaling the beginning of the end for you, and you hope he’s also close because you’re not sure you could handle any more. While a powerful sorcerer, you weren’t a demon with extreme stamina like he was. 

“Beel, I’m so close.” That gets his attention, leaving your neck with an open mouthed kiss before he’s looking down at you again. He’s smiling as his hand pushes your hair from your face, kissing your forehead as he feels your walls begin to constrict around him. 

“Come on, honey, you can cum for me,” he murmurs, hands cupping your cheeks as he forehead rests against yours. His eyes stare into yours, deep pools of purple full of the love and adoration you knew he held for you.

“Beel, please,” you whimper, gripping his forearms as he grinds his hips into yours. His pelvis rubs against your clit with every stroke of his hips, his own normally controlled gaze unfocused as he feels his own end approaching.

His moans are less intelligible as he tries to hold out through your orgasm, you barely make out your name among a string of curses until he finally stills as warmth floods your core. One small thrust followed by a second push his seed deeper into you, the press of his lips kissing away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.  

“Not hurt?” he breathes, nudging your nose with his own and smiling when you shake your head. “You’re sure?”

“I promise. Can you get me some water, baby?”

He gives a nod before he gets out of bed, leaving you in the bedroom. Your dress is in shreds, Barbatos clearly seeing into the future or knowing the brothers well enough to know that delicate wedding dress could not survive a night around them and their antics. It had survived the wedding ceremony and reception, only to fall victim to your husband’s physical strength and stronger desire for you. A glance at the mirror as you shed the fabric shows your skin littered with Beel’s markings that would blossom into beautiful bruises that he’d lavish gentle attention on until they faded away and were replaced by new ones to repeat the cycle. But you wouldn’t change any of it for the world, because Beel’s love meant everything to you and these marks were just displays of his love for you. 

But it was cold in this room, and you needed something to cover up with that wasn’t the blanket, so you lean over the bed in search of the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. You’re hanging half-off the bed when he returns, your hands patting around for the shirt he’d discarded earlier in the night. He sets the glass down on the nightstand before picking the shirt up and handing it to you, kissing your forehead before he goes to the other side of the room where your suitcases were.

“Are you really not going to tell me what that last slice tasted like?” you ask, pulling his shirt on as you watch him dig through your suitcase. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but you know he’s not finding it if the way he continues to rifle through your clothes is any indicator. But you also didn’t pack your suitcase, so you wouldn’t be able to help even if he had asked. 

“Why are you so fixated on that?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that flustered, Beel.” He lets out a grunt at your explanation, finally pulling out what he’d been looking for from your suitcase and taking it into the bathroom. “Starting our marriage with such a secret isn’t very nice.”

“What do you think it tasted like?”

That was a good question. He’d said it didn’t taste bad, but to get a reaction like that you wondered if it carried a more sentimental value than the other flavors of the cake. 

“Was it something from the Celestial Realm?”

“Close, but not quite.”

“Was it…” you trail off, watching as he reemerges from the bathroom while patting his face with a washcloth. “Something from the human realm?”

“Closer.”

Closer? Hm. 

“Was it…something I cooked for you?”

“Closer.” He’s kneeling in front of you now, between your spread legs with his hands keeping your thighs apart and exposing your messy cunt to his ravenous gaze. He starts to clean your left thigh, wiping away the mess he’d left behind.

“Was it something we cooked together?”

“Getting warmer.” He switches to your right thigh, seemingly unfazed by the way you rest your right leg on his shoulder. 

“Was it the banana bread?”

“Colder.”

“Can you just tell me?”

“I’ll show you,” he assures, bringing two fingers to your folds and collecting some of your combined release and bringing it to his lips. The hum he lets out is just as sinful of the sight of him sucking on his own fingers like that and clearly enjoying it. “That’s pretty close.” 

Oh. 

Oh.

That explained how flustered he was, and how he didn’t want to tell anyone what he was tasting. It was an extremely intimate flavor, and one only he would be able to recognize.

“Can I be a little greedy?”

“I’d be offended if you weren’t,” you respond, only to yelp when he drops between your legs and dives in. Large hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth as you’re draping your legs over his broad shoulders. Those eyes open again to meet yours as he licks a long stripe up your slit to your still sensitive clit. His hands keep your body pinned to the mattress, halting the jump that your hips did involuntarily at the contact. He grins up at you, nuzzling his nose against the sensitive nerve bundle and relishing in the whine that leaves you. So cute, but you weren’t going anywhere until you came on his tongue again.

Your hand is in his hair the moment his tongue dips between your folds to get a taste of the mess he’d helped you make, grip tightening when he groans at how fucking good you tasted. That’s all the encouragement he needs to bury his face into your core, making out with your dripping cunt while his thumb comes to circle your clit again. His name leaves you in a whine, heels digging into his back before he backs off with a smack of his lips, trading places with his fingers so he can suck on your clit while he pushes three fingers into you. By now you’re sopping wet, giving almost no resistance to his intrusion and making him smile against your skin as you stare down at him. 

“Feelin’ good?”

“Mhm,” is all you can muster, a weak hum that he wouldn’t normally accept but these were special circumstances. Your walls are fluttering around his fingers, feeling so sweet but he wants you to truly taste yourself, so he needs you to cum. “Fuck, Beel. Feel s’good.”

“I know, I know. Need you to cum for me again.”

And the way you cry when you do sounds wonderful, your hands gripping his hair so tight he’s sure you’d pulled some out so the pain only spurs him on as you ride it out against his face. You were so beautifull, it’s all he can think about as he looks up at your face to hold your eye contact.

“It’s not exactly the same,” Beel starts, moving to lay beside you and smoothing down your hair. You lean in for a kiss, your hand on his cheek to keep him close as he lets you explore his mouth with your tongue. He’s happy to let you lead the exchange, loves the feeling of your hands on his body – especially your left hand with the ring on your finger. 

“What’s the core memory with it?”

“I think it was the first time I spent the night in your room.”

“We did have a lot of sex that night. And the morning after.” 

“Lucifer had to personally make sure we showed up to school after the weekend.” The reminder has you giggling, the sound more than just melodic to him as he basks in the warmth of your love and laughter. “And then he walked you down the aisle to marry me today.”

“And I’m sure we’d all do it all over again to get back to this moment.”

“Mc, hurry. I think he’s gonna hurl!” Mammon's desperate yells from outside the pantry door only grow more frantic as you search for something, anything that can contain the contents of the Sixth-born’s stomach. 

“I’m looking as fast as I can,” you shout back, your tone way sharper than intended. “Hang in there Beel.” The Avatar of Gluttony responds with a low groan as he twists on the floor in agony. 

The half-empty pantry should make finding something suitable for the demon to use easier, but frankly, you have no idea what half this stuff is. 

Your desperation reaches a boiling point when you spot something large, red, and ceramic-looking tucked away on a higher shelf. Standing on your tiptoes you pull the smooth bowl off of the shelf and set it proudly on the floor next to the ill Demon. “Here, Beel. Use this.”

“Wait, Mc.” Mammon objects, looking disgusted. “That’s our popcorn bowl.”

“It won’t matter after it’s washed.” You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. But it’s hard to keep a straight face as Mammon turns more than a little green as his brother prepares to use the House of Lamination’s designated popcorn bucket for its second intended use. 

From the ground, Beel groans again, looking up at you pitifully in hopes that your sweet face can cure him of what is messing him up inside. 

“Stupid Mammon. What the Hell did you do to Beel?” an annoyed voice calls from the doorway. Belphie storms in, eyes narrowed as he strides across the floor grabbing the Avatar of Greed by his popped collar. 

The excitement in the room is what sends Beel’s stomach over the edge as he retches into the bucket. Ignoring the bickering demons you gently rub his back, whispering encouragements into his ear. “You’re gonna be okay Beel.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles weakly before turning his attention back to the bucket. “Why did I do this?”

“Hey Mc,” Belphie says, taking a break from shaking his brother, letting the Second Born drop to the stone floor. “What happened?”

Keeping a hand on Beel, you glance up at his twin. “We were cleaning out the Pantry and we found a lot of unlabeled jars with no dates on them. I was about to throw them out just to be safe but I knocked over a bag of flour and went to get a broom. While I was gone, I guess Mammon told Beel he would give him a hundred Grimm a jar if he would drink them.” you explain. Pointing at the pile of foul smelling glass jars soaking in the sink. You don’t fail to notice the now-wilted plant turning brown from the fumes.

“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth.” Mammon sputters nervously and crossing his arms.“I told him ten Grimm a jar.”

Ignoring his brother, the demon’s violet colored eyes narrow menacingly as he puts it all together. “I see. And how many did he eat?”

“I don’t know.” you admit worriedly. “I had gone to grab a broom and when I came back he was on the floor. Do you know what was in those jars?”

Shaking his head he starts to walk over to the sink to get a closer look. But as he gets closer, the rancid smell has him covering his mouth in disgust. “This smells horrible. Beel, why did you eat all these?”

“I try not to judge based on smell,” he groans, ignoring food safety 101. “But I haven't felt like this since Solomon went through his soup phase.”

“Be glad you were gone for that one Mc,” Mammon gulps.”He went crazy with the soups.”  A biting chill runs down your spine as you try to imagine what evils the sorcerer could create with just a large pot and a pantry of ingredients. 

But all this talk of Solomon has you wondering if he is partially to blame for Beel’s unexpected case of food poisoning. As bad as he is at cooking, he does love to share his creations with the unsuspecting. “You don’t think Solomon canned some of the soup he made and snuck it into the pantry do you?”

As soon as those words leave your mouth, three heads snap to you in alarm. Fear and disgust painting in their wide eyes. Although you know those feelings aren't directed towards you, you feel yourself shying away.

“I wanna die,” Beel shivers in despair, wiping the corner of his mouth with a towel.

“Screw the exchange program, I’m gonna kill him.” Belphie snarls clenching his fists. With a stomp of his foot he storms out, fully intending on starting a war.

“He probably has been sneakin that stuff in under his stupid cape for weeks jus’ waitin for someone to try it.” Mammon shudders. A calculating grin on his face as he pats his brothers back. “Sorry bout that Beel. Jus’ remember that this is all Solomon’s fault.”

“You are just as guilty Mammon.” Beel growls, his eyes glowing angrily as curved horns emerge from his head. “LEAVE NOW AND NEVER RETURN.”

Mammon looks at you as if he is expecting you to say something but right now, you are here for Beel.  Shaking your head in disappointment, you point to the door. “Go find Belphie and make sure he doesn't do something you’ll regret. 

He nods quickly and hurries away from the scene of the crime. Leaving you with Beel whos skin has taken on a sickly grey hue. His orange hair clings to his forehead with sweat and the poor thing can’t stop shaking.

“Beel? How are you doing?" you ask gently, rubbing his back once again. The gentleness of your touch makes his horns shink back into his flesh as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

“Mc,” he sniffles. “My stomach hurts.”

“I know,” you hum, reaching up from your spot on the floor to grab a glass of cold water from the countertop. “But you probably got most of it out of your system.”

“Thank you, MC,” he sighs, grabbing the glass from your hand and glancing back at the overflowing sink. “Such a waste.”

“Can I do anything for you?” you ask. “I could go and get some medicine for your stomach or I could get Lucifer.”

He shakes his head. “No. Will you come to my room with me and lay down? I think I just wanna sleep it off.”  

“I can do that,” you reply, taking in the mess around you including the jars and steaming popcorn bowl. “I’ll be up after I clean some of this up.”

“No,” he says gently, his large hand encircling your wrist and leading you out of the kitchen and into the fresh air from the hallway. “Mammon will clean this up.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckle, readjusting your hand to hold his. Cleaning that mess was the last thing you wanted to do anyway.

Despite his condition, Beel offers you a soft smile. “Thank you, Mc. You always make me feel good. Once I feel better, I’ll use all the Grimm Mammon owes me to take you out Hell’s Kitchen.”