#but ya even if it's like months down the line or smth and u recognize me from artfight + youre like hold on a second i dont like that you

[ria-starstruck]

OK so perhaps i will post my other artfight pieces here (and even on insta? hmm) BUT like in what way should i post them. keep in mind this is ~20(?) drawings iirc so:

[obaby-me]

Your writing's really good! (~^-^)~* Can I get strong MC carrying their demon around bridal style?? (just an idea but imagine Levi being carried by MC in his favorite male character/ruri's cosplay :o, and for Belphie, maybe, him falling asleep during movie night or smth and MC just casually scooping him up to get him to his room?? For Mammon maybe rescuing him and running away from witches?) but u can think of smth by yourself ^^ can't wait :D

Thank you for the compliment anon. ♡

Manhandle the boys?  I got ya covered.  You had some great ideas, by the way.  These turned into basically mini-stories.

Lucifer

“Chicken fight?” Diavolo asked you with a glint in his eye, always eager to learn more of the human world.

“It’s a pool game, where two people carry two other people and try to push the carried person off their person.”  You explained, or rather tried to.  Even for a mostly sober Lucifer, the explanation was a mess.  A tipsy Diavolo found it impossible.

“Show me,” Diavolo asked. “Just show me.”

“It takes a minimum of 4 to play.  And it’s done in a pool.”  You laughed.

“You can’t do it outside of a pool?”  Diavolo whined with a frown.

Never wanting to disappoint, you quietly considered it.  “I mean…” Your eyes travelled to Lucifer, lighting up in a way the Avatar of Pride knew meant trouble.  But with a shake of his head, knowing what was to come, he stood from his seat, and rotated his shoulders.  Carrying you would be a simple task for him.

“If you can lift Barbatos, and I lift Lucifer, we could do a little demonstration.  But we can’t actually play.  Without the water it’s like, dangerous.”  You suggest.

“Lift me?”  Scoffed Lucifer, looking a little incredulous, while a delighted Diavolo barked out a laugh.

“Okay!”  The prince agreed enthusiastically.  His gold eyes flitting to the avatar of pride giving a silent, mortifying, order that sealed Lucifer’s fate.

Groaning into his drink, Lucifer quickly chugged down the last of his drink.  You kneeled down to the floor, and Diavolo followed suit, as you instructed Barbatos how to climb on to Diavolo’s back.

“Like this?”

“Yes!”  You nodded happily.  “Lucifer, your turn!  Hop on.”

The word no sat on his tongue but Diavolo’s expecting gaze wouldn’t allow for the word to pass his lips.  “Perhaps I ought to be the one to—”

Suddenly one of his legs was yanked out from under him as you swung it over one side of you.  You made no move to grab the other.  “Stop worrying.  I can lift you easy!”  You assured him with a cocky grin.

“I don’t know—”

When you ignored his protests and attempted shift yourself between his legs to grip the remaining foot tethering him to the ground, in fear of losing his balance, Lucifer finally complied.  He threw his leg over your shoulder, gripping on to your head and wrapping his thighs about your neck.  He shot a glare at his liege.  If you broke your neck, he refused to be held responsible.

To his surprise however, you stood straight up with ease, balancing him on your shoulders.  He was rather impressed.  Though that was sort of overridden by his unease at the sudden lack of control he had by being on your shoulders.

“Okay, now in a pool, Barbatos and Lucifer would have to shove each other off.”

A look of determination flashed across Diavolo’s face, and it took all three, Lucifer, Barbatos, and you to reiterate that this was not a game that could be played outside of the water.

Mammon

The witches call at the most inconvenient times.  But Mammon knows he must answer.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled in apology to you as he dropped the shopping bags he’d been carrying into your arms.  “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

“Should we call someone first before you go?”  You asked, waving a hand at the plaza that surrounded you filled with demons.   Eyes flickered towards you occasionally, however they quickly averting upon recognizing the Lord of Greed.

He didn’t have time, but he also knew you were right.  Groaning and grumbling he texted a request to his brother’s chat for someone to come and get you.

But there was no immediate response.  Calls to several of the brothers also went unanswered—even when you made the calls.  Mammon grew impatient—because he knew the witches were too.

“Looks like I’ll just have to take ya with me,” he sighed.  “Ground rules, first.”  Looking serious and he holds his fingers up, “Don’t say anything,” he begins, dropping one finger. “Don’t touch anything.  Anything I say, ya agree with.  Anything I tell you to do, you do—no questions.  If I say run, run.”

You looked nervous—as you should be, so was he.  It was a bad idea to take you.  But it’s a worse idea to leave you alone.

Seeing the witches generally made Mammon a little queasy—but he can handle anything they throw at him. It’s you he worries about.

“Got it.”

“Don’t you worry, human. The GREAT Mammon won’t let anything happen you,” he said with a grin, trying to rid you of your worries.  You give him a small smile in return and he throws an arm around your shoulder as he begins to lead you away.

Meeting with witches didn’t seem to terrify you as they invited the two of you in for tea and treats. Mammon however, declined for the two of you, getting right to the point of their requests.  They made their demands rather politely, but the undertones of a threat obviously present.

The nature of their demands however, no matter how honeyed the language, were insane.  Limos, and dresses, and jewelry, and tools used by witches, made of luxury woods and metals.

“There’s no way I can get all this!”  Mammon shouted as he estimated the total.

“You can, and you will. We trust you’ll find a way,” one of them said sternly.

Another slid herself to your side, an arm drifting to wrap about your waist.  “And while you do so, we’ll just enjoy some tea with—”

“Don’t you touch my human,” hissed Mammon.  His eye flit to you, a dangerous glint in them, and he nods his head to the door in a silent order.

“Don’t you talk that way to us,” another witch hissed in return.

“Your pact is with me, not—” Mammon started to argue in return.

“Yes, it is.”  One witch calmly stated, “and by our pact, I order you to—”

Before her order could be completed, she was thrown back, the literal rug ripped out from under her. Mammon’s eyes widened and turned to see the edge of the floormat sitting in your hands.

“Time to go,” you told him.

Suddenly laid out over your shoulder, hefted about like a sack of potatoes as you ran the two of you of the building.

Mammon wasn’t sure how to feel.  He was surprised, that was for sure.  Thankful to some degree, but humiliated as well—for being the one in need of saving, for the way he was being carried (ass up).  And though he dared not admit, turned on.  He could only hope you were too busy running the two of you out of trouble to notice him at half-mast.

Leviathan

A convention has come to the Devildom and ecstatic was a massive understatement.  When the convention was announced months back, Levi was already including it in every conversation somehow.  As the weeks grew closer, his fanaticism was getting so out of control Lucifer banned him from bringing it up in the group chat, the dining table, and specifically, in Lucifer’s presence.

“Today’s the day!” Shouted Levi, as was his morning ritual of the countdown.  While he was not technically in the dining room, everyone could hear him from his room. Annoyed but relieved that finally the day had come that perhaps he’d finally shut up about it, the brothers gave a sigh of relief.

“Come on, come on, Normie!” He pounded at your door.  “We have a very strict schedule to keep!”

“Levi, you sound like Lucifer.  Give me some time to get dressed!  Honestly, if you’re this excited you might accidentally transform.”  You scolded him with laughter dancing behind your door—still refusing him entry to drag you out.  “It’ll ruin your cosplay if you do you know.  Have you even gotten changed yet?”

“I will once we eat breakfast.  I don’t want anything to get stained.  And you shouldn’t either!  Come on out!”

“Levi, I’m already half into the costume.  You want me to come out there half naked?”

Levi blushed at the thought. “N-no!  Just take it off, normie.  Get changed after!  We need a perfect picture together as Henry and the Lord of Shadows!  And we can’t have one if you’ve got food all over it.”

He heard you sigh and grumble, but he knew he was getting his way.  You had been supportive of all his enthusiasm, despite the numerous reprimanding your received from his brothers for “encouraging” and “enabling” his behavior.  You always had his back, just like Henry.

Why, you even agreed to cosplay as his Henry to his Lord of Shadows!  He thought he was having the most blissful heart attack when you suggested it.  You suggested to be his Henry.  

He could hardly wait to see you dressed, but the reveal was something he would savor, dressed in his own costume.  And it would be worth it.  Additionally, once he got his picture of the two of you in your perfectly pristine cosplays, he would be posting it and using it everywhere.  As his profile pictures, in his icons, framed in his room. He had it all planned out.

He rushed you through breakfast, through packing, and through the door.  But you took it all with a smile.  He knew you weren’t as excited about the convention as he was, but the fact that you had the patience to put up with him on this day meant the world to him. He’d already put some Grimm aside to buy you whatever you wanted at the convention as a gift of thanks.

The line was agonizingly long, even with his pre-purchased pass, and changing into your cosplays in your shared hotel room took a while more than expected.  He missed an early morning panel and went hysterical.

“Levi, you’ll ruin your cosplay if you transform,” you warn him again from the bathroom as you adjusted make up on your face to get some details just perfect for your Henry imitation.

“We should have gotten here sooner!”  He complained.  “We should have-“

“Levi, I’m ready.” You called out, interrupting him before he could rant any further.

He swallowed hard, eager to see the result.

You looked perfect.

“Well?”  You asked as you gave a small twirl for him to let him see it in whole.

“Every detail i-is, is—” His heart raced, his face reddened. It was not that your outfit was revealing, but you were cute.  You were really cute.  You were cute and in cosplay with him, for him.  It was just an outfit, but the implications hit him like a ton of bricks. He was overwhelmed, practically in tears.  Too overwhelmed, really.

He passed right out.

When he finally woke up, he realized he was slung over your back, carried through the convention halls. “W-what is happening?”  He screeched in embarrassment into your ear.

You faltered and nearly dropped him.  Quickly you adjusted him, bouncing him with your grip on thighs to get him balanced properly against you again.  “Don’t shout,” you hissed your ear ringing painfully.

“The next panel was about to start and I couldn’t let you to miss it.”  You explained as you trudged along to your next destination.  “You’ve been looking forward to this one most of all.”

Touched by the sentiment, Levi tucked his burning face into your shoulder mumbling ‘thank you’s and praises that you were a perfect Henry.

Satan

The Devildom archive is massive, and yet given its size it is still overfilled with books and shelves that line the walls up to his high ceilings.  Tall ladders that slide across the rooms on tracks in front of the shelves, to allow easy maneuvering are available, but not many.

“I can see it just there,” frowned Satan as he stared up at the dusty covered volume, embossed letters with faded and chipped gold foil labelling its spine.

On his tiptoes, reaching upwards, his fingers just barely above the shelf and his fingers graze the binding, only to push it further back on to the shelf and out of his reach.  He cursed.

“I’ll have to fetch a ladder,” he spat, turning his from side to side to spot on.  On the farthest ends of either side of him he could see a few unoccupied steps.  The trek just to fetch the damned things was an exercise in itself.  Why the hell was the archive this size with so few ladders between them?  Or rather, why wouldn’t they restrict ladders to certain sections?  Why did they have to make the process so difficult?

“Seems hardly worth the effort,” you commented, as you slipped your arms around his waist.

The action was sudden, but welcomed.  Having you wrapped about him was instantly soothing, and his temper dropped immediately. He sighed, letting out the tension, and his hand came to rest on yours.  “To get as perfect score on this essay, all efforts are worthwhile.  This time I will be top Lucifer’s standing for sure.”  He said with a nod.

With a light blush, he pushed his fingers between your digits in an attempt to hold your hand, but your hands instead tightened and gripped tight together, as if rejecting him.

Actually, your entire hold on him tightened.  His eyebrows furrowed curiously.

Next thing he knew, his feet were no longer on the ground.  His first instinct was to struggle as he was suddenly lifted into the air.  “What do you think you’re doing?”  He whisper-shouted, wide eyes trying to peer at your face behind him, rage rising with his embarrassment.

“I’m just helping!” You laughed, rubbing your cheek into his back in a reassuring gesture.  “Can you reach your book now?”

“Ah, right,” he muttered, his face heating to a deeper red as he hastily tore the book from the shelf and patted at your arm to let him down.  “A little warning next time,” he chastised with a small smile, his anger clearly evident in the way he punctuated his request.

You gave a quick “sorry” but your smile showed no real apology.  Well, he’ll have to wretch a real one out of you in a bout of punishment later.  He hoped you’ll be looking forward to it as much he was thinking of it.

Asmodeus

Your ball ensemble for Diavolo’s ball was magnificent, and Asmo, as your date wore its perfect match.  He could not be prouder of his efforts to make you both look stunning for your evening out.  He designed the outfits himself, weeks before, and today he’d spent all day preparing the two of you—hair, make up, nails, last minute tailoring.  It had been exhausting, but it was well worth it.

All eyes were on the two of you the moment you’d entered the room, and he couldn’t have been more pleased. Not that it was unusual for people to stare at him—but tonight, you were on his arm, and he felt a sense of pride that was new to him.

Because I have you. And they can only dream to.

It took a few drinks to loosen you up to the idea of dancing.

“Just one song,” he begged throughout the evening.

You smiled and promised him just the one, and at three drinks, he had finally could lead you to the dance floor for at least a slow one.  Having you in his arms was a delight, though you seemed so focused on your dancing that you were forgetting to have a good time yourself.

To lighten the mood, he made it a point to spin you, and then himself, rocking together with you before repeating the process.  A spin for you, a spin for him.  The two of you looked childish, almost ridiculous.  The type of dancing a 5-year-old’s interpretation of a fairytale dance. Asmo, a man of allure and the pinnacle of sexy, was happy to play goofy if it meant making you smile.

It took another drink to get you on the floor again, but this time it was song that was much more upbeat.  There was less concern in you now for your steps, a little sloppy, but full of joy, which is all Asmo wants.  He gave you a cocky grin before lifting you slightly into the air and spun you.

Your laughter was the best song all night.

Much to his surprise, you locked your hands on to his waist and lifted him in return, mimicking his spin. Giggling in the thrill.  Almost like a child, he asked for another spin and another, posing each time he was held up high for all to see until the song ended.

“Let’s see what else we can do with that strength of yours,” he panted, catching what breath he’d been losing in all his laughter.

“This one’s a bit of a slower one,” you commented.  “Spinning might be—”

“Oh, no, honey.  We’re done with dancing.”

Beelzebub

Beel’s a quiet guy but that didn’t mean he wasn’t affectionate.  He was a hugger and he different types of hugs for different occasions.

He gave short but firm for hellos.  He held a little longer for good byes.  Thank you’s were half hugs and pats on the back.  And I’m sorry’s were engulfing but gentle, never imposing.  For comfort, he was

But this hug was a new one. It wasn’t one he’d ever given you before.  And it wasn’t one his brothers had ever seen him do since he’d been down in the Devildom—not since Lilith.

He’d been gone for about five days—given some business direct from Diavolo to handle an incident on the other side of the Devildom with Lucifer in tow.  Lucifer returned early, but Beel remained for two days more.

When Beel finally lumbered through the door relieved to be home.  He was chilled from the rain pouring outside, hungrier than he’d ever felt in the past two decades, and in desperate need of some time to relax.

The first thing he heard was the patter of footsteps, running to meet his arrival.

“Beel, welcome home!” You shouted from the top of the stairs, laughing heartily as you came down to meet him quick as you could. Trailing behind you came Belphie, eager to meet him, but slowed down by his sin to reach him as fast as you did.

It was as if his exhaustion disappeared at seeing your smile, and your rush to meet him was so endearing, it warmed him—at least his face—instantly.

“Glad to be back,” he said with nod, opening his arms.

To his surprise you launched yourself into him, the momentum knocking into him.  To keep balance, he gave you a spin, chuckling at your excitement.

“I missed you!”  You shouted as he spun you about.

“I missed you too.”

He held you tight against him, and in response to his grip, you gripped him tightly back.

It’s an affectionate game of mimicry you two play often.  If you tap a beat on his hand, he’ll tap it back with an addition.  If you give him a kiss, he’ll give you two.  Back and forth until one of you gives.  It was a game generally played behind closed doors, but this was a special occasion—he missed you too much.  Now it was game of who can give a tighter hug.

And he was determined to win.

He adjusted his arms around you to hold you just a little lower—and then lifted you off the ground.  You giggled, pleased.  It was only for a moment before he set you down.  He grinned at you.

But his smile soon turned to shock when you in turn put your arms about his waist, lifting him and spinning.

Too stunned to respond, Beel lost the round.

“Never expected that out of you,” whistled an impressed Belphie, having finally descended down the stairs.

Beel could only nod, wide eyed in agreement.

You gave him a cocky grin, planting your hands on your hips and puffing your chest with pride.  Beel too beamed with pride at his partner’s strength.  He begins to invite you to workouts together, curious to see just how much you could lift.

Belphegor

Movie nights followed a very specific pattern.  It was a scramble to get the boys together, and just when you think you’ve settled in, someone remembers something they’ve forgotten:  popcorn, blankets, phones, chips, drinks, coasters, pillows.  And of course, the matter of seating arrangements was always a battle.  You had your designated seat, but the demons around you didn’t—each fought to take the seats beside you in some way shape or form.

“You had your turn last week!”  Fumed Levi, glaring daggers at his younger brother Belphie.

It did little to persuade the seventh born who seemed to instead nuzzled his face deeper into your lap, a hint of a teasing smirk his only answer.

Grumbles and protests eventually died down as Lucifer threatened each one into settling in.  Finally, they could all relax as the movie began to roll.

Lucifer fell asleep midway through.  Mammon and Levi shouted out quotes in bouts of laughter.  Satan shushed his elder brothers, and Asmo sighed and provided commentary on outfits and hair styles.  Beel ate most of the popcorn and chips, munching away happily.  Belphegor managed to last to its ending, but the minute the lights were brought back up, he went right to sleep, skipping the inevitable post-movie debates and commentaries by his brothers.

As it grew later into the evening, the boys slowly trickled out to their rooms to bed.  You however, remained a pillow to the cat-napping avatar.

“I’ll carry him up,” offered Beel, the last of the conscious.

“No, I’ve got it.” You told him with a smile, a hand slowly stroking through Belphie’s hair as he slept.  “I’m not quite tired yet.  I’ll leave him undisturbed for just a bit longer.”

Beel nodded, and returned to his own room.

You browsed your phone for awhile longer, one hand mindlessly running through Belphie’s soft locks.

When you were good and ready for bed, you slowly sidled out from below Belphie.  Carrying him was the easy part.  The only difficulty you had was trying not to disturb him as you slipped your hands beneath him to lift him.  You seemed to have succeeded, and Belphie was determined to let you believe it, amused that you were going to such lengths for him.

He’d been awake for some time, mostly from the time you started trailing your fingers through his hair. He didn’t dare move and let you know he was awake.  He feared you’d stop if he did.  So instead he laid and enjoyed your gentle petting him the way you might a beloved pet.

When you moved out from under him, he considered waking up to walk himself up, but the thought of you lifting him amused him greatly.  He assumed you couldn’t, and to have you try and fail to do so would be the perfect time for him to wake up and tease you.

Much to his surprise however, you lifted him with ease, carrying him all the way to his room. He would be keeping this in mind for the next time he decided it was too much trouble to make the trip himself—play dead and he can get a free ride.