Next To You

next to you

“rin, is something wrong?” you look across the table at your boyfriend of 2 weeks. “…no,” he focuses on eating his cheesecake but the small pout on his lips says otherwise. “hey, you can tell me,” you say. “it’s nothing…” he trails off. 

you think he looks kind of cute like this, hesitant and embarrassed. but you aren’t able to help him if he keeps quiet like this. “i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, rin,” you gently nudge his leg with yours under the table. 

after another beat of silence, rin finally opens up. “the distance,” he says, “is too…far.” “what?” you ask, confused. “i…want to sit closer to you,” he mutters shyly, avoiding your gaze. “o-oh…” you stutter at his confession. “it’s stupid, i know,” rin pokes his cheesecake again. “no rin, that’s not stupid,” you smile, getting up from your seat. 

“hm?” he looks up at you with those wide teal eyes that make your heart palpitate. you round the table and plop down on the seat next to him. “happy?” you look over at rin whose cheeks have turned a pale pink. 

“closer,” he mumbles. you scoot a tiny bit closer to rin. “closer,” he voice comes out close to a whine at this point. “rin, we’re literally right next to each other,” you chuckle at his clinginess. rin gently grabs your arm and pulls you impossibly closer to him. you two end up so close that half your leg ends up resting on his chair. rin takes it a step further as he intertwines your hands together under the table. 

“there,” rin’s lips upturn slightly as he goes back to eating his cheesecake. cute, you think giddily as you go back to eating your dessert as well. 

Oh God, What Have We Done??: Father!Solomon Headcanons

You know what? I'm a Solomon love-hater but I'll go to bat for him too. You could pick worse.

Contents: Unhinged Ms. Frizzle-style parenting, the horrors of human biology, possible pregnancy implications, fluff

~♡♡♡~

So. I can see this happening intentionally. Solomon craves a happy family, so I absolutely see the thought of rasing a kid with MC coming up once or twice.

That said, I think zero planning actually went into making it happen. This is a spur-of-the-moment decision made by two lovesick dolts. Not a damn thought was spared for the consequences, and it shows.

For starters, MC and Solomon both agreed to raise a child together while they were in the human world and told NOBODY ELSE. So from the outside looking in, they just left the Devildom for “training purposes” and returned with a random infant!

No call ahead. No fanfare. They both stepped out of the portal with a flying stroller and bottomless diaper bag, grinning from ear to ear like it all was just souvenirs from Disney World!

Naturally, all hell broke loose. The brothers were collectively hyperventilating, Simeon almost fainted, and Diavolo noticed that Barbatos wasn't moving or blinking, so the Little Ds had to carry him away like a malfunctioning android...

Does Solomon having a kid make him a grandfather…? He is not ready to ponder that thought. No one is.

Despite Mammon and Belphegor’s insistence they had to “Put it back!” after MC made it clear that raising a baby was what they wanted and that Solomon was there to stay, the brothers made peace with it… to varying degrees.

Asmo was the only one thrilled that his favorite humans now have an even cuter mini-human to take around because he'd get to try his hand at baby fashion design! The least happy was probably Belphegor because a baby means that MC is going to be way too busy to nap now. Plus, he had to deal with a lot more Solomon in his life, which very few people ever ask for...

The crew's reaction to the baby's development is actually pretty funny to see. Humans age much, much faster than their supernatural counterparts so, from their perspective, the new baby is growing at lightning speed!

Mammon was with them when they were teaching the baby to crawl and he started freaking out because, “How’re they movin' already!?” The first day their child came running, physically running, into the HoL without any help actually made Levi scream in fright.

The House had a complete meltdown when Beel was watching the child one day and they lost a tooth while eating some hard candy. They all thought that MC and Solomon were going to burn the place down, so imagine their surprise when the overjoyed parents kept congratulating their kid for losing a baby tooth...

And don't get any of them started on the growth spurts...

The one to take to the kid the most as they grew was, funnily enough, Lucifer. Most likely because their various milestones reminded him of when his brothers were doing the same things.

The child is more than happy to tell “Uncle Luci” anything, which he acts like he only tolerates, but in reality he loves being their favorite brother.

Barbatos is EXTREMELY protective of them. Nearly as protective as he is with Diavolo.

Their kid, of course, has no clue. He's just nice Uncle Barbie (he refused to be called Grandpa) who makes them sweets and watches over them in the Castle. But anyone who get too close while they're playing gets a stare down worse than all of Cerberus’ heads combined...

Mammon swore in front of them once and Barbatos strung him up so tightly that even Lucifer thought it was overkill.

Luke seems to enjoy having a baby sibling of sorts to look after, but he is going to be so upset when they get taller than him in the blink of an eye. He’s going to be their guardian angel for sure, btw.

As a father, Solomon is… spirited. Anyone can see that he’s ecstatic to be a parent, it’s just…

Well, years of isolation on top of being a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy may not have made him the most “in touch” with children these days, you know? MC has absolutely come home to find Solomon has propped up their 6-month-old with a stack of books to start teach them how to play chess.

Daddy-Baby adventure always end in spectacular fashion. Solomon is a very “hands-on science teacher” kind of guy with unwavering confidence in his abilities to keep his child safe. This, to be fair, isn’t unwarranted, however...

Does that mean you should make a plans to take your child to forbidden places for some sightseeing? Or let your child touch, paw at, and gnaw on any magic item that suits their fancy in the name of a making a new teaching experience...? Probably not, but it’s also how he learned so…

It must be assumed that whatever kid these two have, biological or not, will be a magic powerhouse of destructive proportions. All that training from Solomon himself since infancy? They'll have a wand in their hand before they can even work a fork!

I like to imagine that Solomon's kid would have a very, very hard time controlling their magic and it would get uncontrollable at times. Like, a sneeze could knock over a bookshelf or getting angry makes things go flying. But Solomon would never ever scold them for it like it’s they're fault.

He'd never make them feel the same isolation and shame that he did at their age.

It would be very, very sweet. But it also means that MC could come home to a flooded house and, instead of cleaning out the water, Solomon would teaching their child how to snorkel in the living room.

Pure chaos, but MC could never find a prouder father. Solomon would devote his entire being to giving their child all of the love and happiness they deserve. Their kid almost never sees him without a grin on his face, just ready to just wrap them a bear hug for no reason.

On quiet nights, he'd cradle them or rock them to sleep while holding back tears. MC has found him over their crib like he’s still trying to convince himself that they're real, that he's gotten this lucky.

He's not a conventional father. Hell, he's not a conventional human either. But he’s grateful for day he gets to be a parent... Every. Single. One.

Michael Kaiser — Molasses

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k TYPE: Humor, Established relationship, Idk if i'd call this fluff lol, bad communication gets resolved at the end WARNING: trigger warning for CRINGE

“Is it easy for you to keep up with him?”

Your friend is interrogating you about Kaiser again. After a while, the topic of your relationship lost novelty, making way for newer drama, but it’s difficult for them to disregard that you’re dating a football player. Like, a real one, not just some dude who goes to play every other Sunday with his buddies.

You swirl your straw around your drink, looking at it like there’s slop in the glass instead of what you ordered. You wouldn’t say you keep up with Kaiser, so you shrug. “Give him a ball to kick around and he’ll be content.”

They raise an eyebrow, picking up on your sulking. Not like you’re being subtle about it. “So, I take it you’re not super stoked about things right now?”

Well, that’s the thing. You have nothing to do with what makes him happy. You don’t even call him by his first name, which is odd for obvious reasons, but also because it gives off the impression you’re one of the lackeys on his team, even though you don’t play. Or worse, a stalker fan who follows him around a lot.

Of course, you know what he’s like. That he’s a jerk who isn’t occupied with much besides himself, whose personality is cold and distant, and despite being a bit of a romantic, you’d prefer to think you didn’t have any unrealistic expectations. Maybe you overestimated your ability to tolerate how unavailable he is. And still — still! — is it such a crime to expect your boyfriend to display some vulnerability after several months of dating?

He doesn’t show you much of himself besides his persona, but you find it unnecessary, this covering up and playing His Majesty and forcing distance between you two with his paper thin smiles and showy kisses after games. You’re not a journalist trying to write an exposé on him (‘Michael Kaiser Is a Big Bitch’). You just… You just like him is all, and have a desire for a more profound closeness.

Does he share the same sentiments of affection towards you? It’s kind of a ridiculous question to ask yourself, and he’s way too pompous to allow anyone he finds uninteresting in his presence, but are you on his mind as often as he is on yours? Does he wonder about you the same way? You don’t believe you’re even half as elusive as he is, so it doesn’t seem plausible.

On the other hand, are you too overbearing? Should you pull back and relax?

You’ve been meaning to be mature and speak up about your concerns, but have been procrastinating on the conversation. For now, you wallow in your doubts while your friend suggests you break up with him and points out how big his forehead is, and how dumping a star is a ‘once in a lifetime opportunity.’

___

Kaiser is… off balance.

Not really. He’s standing upright and his posture is perfect and he’s not dizzy, but right now, the world is wrong and he can only hope the way he is clawing at his phone doesn’t betray how upset he is.

“Ness,” he says in his ‘I am about to complain’ tone. It is also only slightly different from his usual voice.

“Yes?”

“Before I continue, I just want you to know that I’m being very brave and nonchalant about this.”

Ness smiles, the expression seeming guileless as usual. “Of course,” he says eventually.

Kaiser all but shoves the screen in his face, since putting all of your offenses into words is beyond him, though it soon occurs to him Ness can’t read from this proximity and ceases the assault he’s committing on his eyes. Ness scans over your sparse chat, looks up at Kaiser again, and raises his eyebrows.

“They can’t make it to practice?” He states it in the form of a question when it appears that Kaiser is unwilling to talk, even though he’s the one who started the conversation.

“Congratulations, you can read. How many times has this happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ness says, despite knowing this is the fifth since he counted every time you didn’t show up the last two weeks. “Are they not feeling well?”

You shot him down the last two times he asked you to go out on a date. And you haven’t called before bed in a while. And you didn’t even add a kissy emoji when you told him good luck (not like he cares about your stupid emojis, but you didn’t). And whenever you see him lately, you act closed off.

“No, they’re totally avoiding me,” he says, after going through a mental flashback of all of your betrayals as if he was in a war instead of on iMessage. “Do you think I’m ugly? Or maybe boring?”

“Never.”

“Then what should I do?”

Did he have a plan for if he were unattractive? Get plastic surgery just to keep dating you or something? “You should try asking.”

“Maybe our relationship is losing its spark,” Kaiser says, completely disregarding Ness’s input. Ness continues smiling. It is unnerving, but an idea comes to Kaiser’s mind, and he’s too busy marveling at his genius to notice. “It’s an easy fix. I just need to romance [Y/n] again.”

Ness is still smiling.

“Anyway,” Kaiser continues despite the lack of answer, “you know they love those comics or whatever. It can be like a challenge. Recreate the atmosphere, sweep them off their feet. I can make my sweetie’s dreams come true. Because I’m not replaceable, and only I can do that for them. Right?”

For a brief moment, Ness considers telling him this is not the way and that he’s jumping through so many hoops, he’s going to trip and fall, but decides against it. Maybe there’s a grain of truth to what he’s saying. He doubts anyone else would come to this conclusion, for one, let alone devise a plan around it. If irreplaceable is synonymous with unique by some stretch of the imagination, then sure.

“Of course,” he says again. His eyes are big and innocent. Kaiser gets the distinct impression that Ness is judging him right now.

___

It’s already dark outside and you’re still sitting at your desk, doing mundane things on your computer, once again distracted from an assignment you’ve been meaning to do for a while. Something smacks against the window, startling you, but when you pull the curtains, you don’t see anything near the sill. You assume you imagined the noise, but another pebble hits the window, and this time you witness it as it happens.

The thought of some asshole throwing rocks at your windows irritates you, so you stand up to investigate, pressing your forehead against the glass.

Kaiser waves at you from below, looking way too cheery. You don’t know what he’s doing here, but you turn to go and let him in through the intercom — did he ring? you don’t remember him doing so — until you notice him gesturing at you to open the windows. Confused, you comply, peeking your head out, the cold breeze blowing against your cheeks and invading your already poorly insulated apartment.

“You look lovely today,” he yells out. Not a strong start, but he can redeem himself. Maybe.

“Thanks? Do you wanna come in?”

“Yes.” You lean away from the window again, but he stops you with another bizarre request. “No, wait. Later.”

This perplexes you even more, but you humor him with a weary expression anyway, resting your face against your palm.

… You interrupt his unnecessarily loud reading of some obscure love poem with a flail of your hands and a, “Cut it out and just come up!”

God, you hope none of your neighbors heard. To spare you both of this embarrassment, you don’t give him a chance to continue and instead close the windows, hurrying to let him in and unlock your door.

What’s with him, anyway? You feel a pinprick of anxiety at what’s about to come after such a strange… greeting from him, but try your best to seem stoic while you wait for Kaiser to climb up the stairs.

When he comes into view, you offer him what you consider a cool nod (which you may or may not have practiced in the mirror), and he continues to stand there at the doorway as if waiting for something. You move aside to give him space. Kaiser blinks once, figures this isn’t going his way, then follows your lead.

“Please don’t make me ask ‘where’s my hug at?’” he says, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. “That’s not like me at all.”

In your struggle to think of a neutral response, all you come up with is, “No one’s making you do anything,” which sounds more disagreeable than what you’re going for.

His lips settle into a thin line, the action calculating, as if he’s contemplating his next move. Both of you are being tactical. It’s weird considering this is supposed to be a sweet surprise visit from your boyfriend, not a battle of psychological warfare, but you don’t even know what’s going on anymore.

Then he takes a step closer until he’s in front of you, invading your personal space with his face leaning in so close to yours, resting his palm against the wall, almost pinning you to the wall but not quite. “Why not?”

“Do you need something? I kind of wasn’t expecting you, so,” you say irrelevantly. In your head, you’re still trying to make sense of this, not understanding where these corny gestures are coming from all of a sudden.

“No, I just wanted to see you. Is that a crime?” he says, backing away, folding his hands behind his back. There’s an artificial grin on his face. “Was this enjoyable for you?”

“Well, um, it was alright.”

“Did you like my recitation?”

“No…”

He read your stupid favorite series and the idiot love interest did both of those things. Does he have something that Kaiser doesn’t? And should he throw an irrational and jealous tantrum about it, shoujo style, or should he move onto the amnesia subplot?

This is awkward. You can’t think of an inoffensive topic to bring up. Perhaps deliberately withdrawing yourself from him has impaired your conversational skills? Either way, his unpredictable actions from earlier are throwing you off your game.

Kaiser follows you when you lead him to the couch, sitting in a manner you think is far too dignified considering he was serenading you from under your balcony not too long ago — prim and proper, with his ankle crossed over his knee and his hands intertwined together like he’s at a fancy meeting, offering opinions about a business deal.

You fumble for the remote with sweaty fingers, turning on the TV, hoping for a distraction. You can’t focus because you can feel Kaiser’s gaze on you, putting you on edge, burning into your side profile. He’s not even paying attention to whatever random show you started.

You turn towards him, conveying your incredulity with a raise of your eyebrows because you’re not even sure what you’re supposed to ask. ‘Why are you looking at me?’ doesn’t communicate what you want to say to the fullest extent.

“Oh, you caught me staring longingly at you. How embarrassing,” Kaiser says with the same sly smile, not sounding the slightest bit ashamed.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Have we met before?”

You scrunch your face in evident disbelief and think, OBVIOUSLY?

It makes Kaiser contemplate whether the amnesiac subplot is worth continuing.

“Seriously, you’re acting weird,” you say after gathering your wits.

“‘Weird,’” he repeats in fake amusement and looks away, switching from… whatever he’s been doing to a strange defensiveness, then adjusts the collar of his shirt. “I think the definition of that word is subjective.”

“I mean, sure.”

“And anyway, you were the one who was acting strange first.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Instead of acting like I don’t exist anymore, you should’ve just said you want to separate.”

God, Kaiser is so dramatic. Saying you were ‘acting like he doesn’t exist’ just because your world doesn’t revolve around him. You’re struggling to keep up with these mood swings. “But I don’t want to break up?”

“Oh,” he says before his lips turn up again. “That’s good,” he settles on, figuring it makes him come across as calm and collected enough.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you were doing, but… if you were worried about something, maybe you should’ve just told me?”

“You’re so cute when you’re being hypocritical.”

You cross your arms and frown, offended.

“I mean,” Kaiser elaborates, “you haven’t told me why you’re avoiding me either. And what was I doing? I wanted to find a new way to woo you again, but since you didn’t notice, it obviously didn’t work. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

“Well, it’s hard to put it into words,” you say, picking at a hangnail on your finger to distract yourself. “I don’t want you to woo me or anything. A lot of the things you do are performative, just for show. Even all this wasn’t sincere… So I don’t wanna be in a situation where I’m opening up to you when you’re not doing the same.”

He seems taken aback by this. “Do you doubt my feelings for you?”

“Not exactly. More like the depth of them, if that makes sense?”

“When I thought I was losing you, I started acting irrational,” he says in a disdainful tone, vaguely gesturing at nothing in particular to imply this entire ordeal. “I hate to admit it, but it scared me how much it was affecting me.” Kaiser appears to regret admitting this almost immediately, though, because he tries to divert your attention by asking, “Is this the appealing kind of vulnerable? Or the pathetic one? I could repeat myself while flipping my hair from my best angle if it’d help.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you say. “I should’ve just been upfront instead of playing games. You were right, that’s pretty hypocritical of me.”

“Yes, you should be sorry, making me act like a clown.” You narrow your eyes at him in annoyance. “But I guess I was confusing you, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Hold on,” you say, when the tropes finally click into your head (though you have to admit, as much as you love the romance genre, these things do come across as really bizarre in real life). “I don’t know if you were reading with your ass or what, but all these things are supposed to happen before the characters get together. It was way too late for any of this!”

“Haha. Is that so?” Kaiser asks, pretending he’s not dying of even more mortification on the inside. Then he pulls out his phone. “That reminds me, I organized a duel for your hand against Ness at the city center for later. I guess I should cancel it.”

“What-”

“Don’t worry, we choreographed it to be quick and painless, with a decisive win in my favor,” he says, as if any of what he mentioned is what you were questioning.

“Choreographed- Never mind, actually, I don’t wanna know. Why would Ness even agree?”

“Because I asked him to do it…?”

TW: violence, gore, female reader, cursing

When Muzan sniffs the wind, and catches the scent of human, he hisses softly, his lips peeling back from his pointed teeth.

He’s not pleased. He hasn’t seen or smelled a human in decades—and now that he’s managed to carve out a territory, there’s one coming back to the mountain? Hell no.

He jumps between the trees, gracefully leaping from branch to branch. He’s going down the mountain, down to the foothills where the scent’s coming from. There’s a house there, he remembers—humans used to live there, hunters, before he killed them all. So, some foolish human’s moved back in.

They’ll be a foolish, dead human soon, before they get near his kin.

He thinks of Rui, caught in an iron-toothed trap and crying like a fawn. He thinks of Gyutaro and Daki, starving and exhausted, driven from their forest to his. He thinks of Zohakuten, trying to carry his brother’s body through the snow, leaving a black trail of blood behind them.

No human will touch them again.

When he lands on the long bough of an oak that stands beside the small house, Muzan notices the gray car drawn up out front, and the boxes on the porch. His nose wrinkles. This isn’t good. The human’s planning to stay.

He doesn’t see one, so he drops down, and takes out his anger on several of the nearest boxes. His claws shred through cardboard, tape, and everything inside—which turns out to be pillows, blankets, and a few clothes. Irritated, he swipes at another box, intent on finding the traps or guns or nets—and his claws shatter glass. The pieces stick in his fingers, and he snarls in pained surprise. He leans over, and sees a small drawing in a frame. His claws broke the glass covering it, but they didn’t rip the drawing.

It’s simple, black lines on cream paper. He cocks his head, and the lines resolve into a forest, waterfall, and pool of water. It’s strangely beautiful, appreciative of the woods and the water in a way Muzan couldn’t imagine from a human.

“Yeah, I heard something outside. It’s probably just some small animal or something. Don’t they have tanukis here?”

Muzan, startled, scrambles up the side of the house and onto the roof. His hands ache and sting, the glass still stuck in the skin.

A human comes out, a phone pressed to her ear. He can tell she’s female, smell it on her. Usually, humans use phones to tell others to come, to join the hunt—but she’s saying, “No, no, I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to come, Aunt Reese, I’m serious. It’s perfect.”

She slips the phone into a pocket of her clothes, and then she notices the wreckage of the boxes.

“What the hell?” she murmurs, squatting to examine the scattered remnants of pillows and bedding and clothes. “Okay, that definitely wasn’t a tanuki.”

When she sees the other box, she gasps and tears it open, sagging with relief when she finds the drawing unharmed. And then she notices the broken glass, which, Muzan suddenly realizes, has his dark blood on it.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs. “What are you?”

She starts sorting things into piles—unusable, and usable, Muzan thinks—and sighs a few times. She seems more attached to her belongings than he expected. Maybe if he rips up more boxes, she’ll leave.

But he’s going to pick the glass out of his skin first.

You learned very quickly that whatever it was, it didn’t care for your presence in the house.

Every morning, you woke up to find something broken, scratched to ribbons, or just plain unrecognizable. At first, it was just your car—the tires ripped up, the glass smashed, huge divots torn out of the metal like butter—and then the house. Windows scratched, screens with gaping holes. It was like living in a haunted house, and it always happened at night.

But it hadn’t come inside the house. Until now.

The pen and ink drawing your mother made—the last one before she died, before her cancer got worse again, before everything—isn’t in its frame.

You slowly walk out onto the porch, your gut sinking. The sky is still dark, dawn too far off, and the front door is hanging open—and the drawing is on the wood, torn into so, so many pieces.

You sink down on your knees, and as you sift through the wreckage of the last part of your mother, you burst into tears.

Muzan had tried everything to make the human leave, shy of attacking her. He’d demolished her car, her house—and she still wouldn’t leave. She’s a threat. She’ll bring others, hunt him and the others down.

Muzan can’t afford to let her stay.

She cares about that drawing, so he’s going to destroy that paper tonight. See if she’ll stay without it.

So, when the human’s gone to sleep, he creeps up to the house. He goes in the door, into the first room he comes to. And there it is, on the wall. He pulls it out of its frame.

The thing on the wall, the round white thing with black marks around the edge, suddenly makes a noise. A long, loud noise, like a bell.

Muzan jumps and runs, panicked, onto the porch. Movement inside tells him the human’s getting up, and so, hurrying, he shreds the paper and jumps onto the roof. The human won’t stay. He’s made sure of that.

And then she comes out, and she sees the scraps of paper, and she bursts into tears. Muzan pauses. Something in his chest tightens, oddly, when she cries, trying to gather up the pieces.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” she suddenly shouts, her face still wet. “You hate me! You want me to leave! But I—“ She gulps on a sob, voice breaking softly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. And this is all I have left. So please, please, just leave me alone!”

He should be happy. He should. But he isn’t. Muzan’s chest clenches. He’s gotten used to her face, her smile, the way she whistles off-key while she does her chores. Seeing her break breaks something in him.

Does he care about her?

She goes inside, drooping, and comes back with something strange. Muzan, curious, watches, and she starts using clear things to put the drawing back together. It stays, so the clear strips must be sticky.

A loud ringing sound. Muzan knows it by now—she uses it to know when to get up. Sighing, she gets up, goes back inside.

Muzan drops silently onto the porch, and pulls a strip of clear stickiness off the plastic thing. And he starts sticking the paper back together. He remembers the drawing. It must have really mattered to the human, then.

He’s sorry, oddly. She doesn’t seem to have any guns or knives or traps, and he made her cry.

He doesn’t like to see her cry.

You switch off your alarm clock, and stand beside the bed for a minute, sighing as it sinks in. You don’t have anywhere else to go, but the creature in the woods has made its opinion very clear. You can’t stay.

Slowly, you make your way back out to the porch, and when you see it, you stop.

The drawing’s fixed.

You hadn’t put more than half of it back together, and now it’s all there in one piece. The tape dispenser is scratched—by long, sharp claws you’re more than familiar with by now—but unharmed.

It feels like an apology.

So you take the drawing, and put it back in its place, and then you go through the fridge and bring out some eggs, some bacon. You fry the bacon, scramble the eggs and salt them, and plate the lot—and carry it outside.

“I think you can understand me, or at least some of what I say,” you tell the woods, the sun still out of sight. “You’re a predator, right? So you’ll probably like this. And, um—thank you.”

You leave it on the porch and shut the door. The creature likes its privacy, so you eat your own breakfast in the living room, humming quietly as you stare up at the repaired paper. The creature’s very intelligent—you can hardly tell the drawing was torn at all, from how well it was fixed.

When you check the plate, it’s been licked clean. Literally.

Maybe things are finally looking up.

Muzan sits on the long, overlooking branch of the same oak, watching the human plant a small garden. He smelled the seeds yesterday, when she left them outside. Edible. Nothing dangerous.

He tells himself that if she ever proves dangerous, he’ll drive her off.

He knows perfectly well that he won’t.

She talks to him now, though he still hasn’t let her see him. When she’s outside, or when she has the windows open, she’ll say things like, “How are you?” Or, “That was a bad storm last night. Hope you didn’t get too wet.” Or even, “I wish I could show you this show I’ve been watching on Netflix. You probably have no idea what that means, do you? I think you’d like it.”

When the fall’s cold snap came, she started leaving blankets out for him. Muzan brought them back to the den, for Rui and Zohakuten and the others. They’ll be warm this winter. When he goes into sleep with them, they’ll be warm until spring.

So he left his human a few birds he hunted, on the porch. She’d laughed, and said, “I—have no idea what to do with these. How about you not hunt for me? I’ve got food, I promise. But thank you!”

Muzan had taken back the birds, and left something from his collection behind. Like all his kind, he’s drawn to bright things, and he keeps the best ones for himself, in his part of the nest. So he left her a silver button, and a red ribbon, from his hoard.

She liked those. Muzan’s seen her wearing the ribbon, using it to pull her hair back.

A few nights ago, he started coming to the house at the same time, around sunset, every day. He’s done it since. She’s noticed—she talks more when she knows he’s there.

Yesterday, she teased him, and he dropped a nut on her head. She laughed until she almost fell over.

Muzan thinks he might like this human.

When your creature doesn’t come back all winter, you realize he’s probably hibernating. Some large predators do that. He’s probably one of them.

You were really worried the first week he didn’t turn up, though.

You’re not sure when he stopped being an it, when “the creature” became “your creature,” but you’ve gotten attached to him. You can tell when he’s there. He visits around sunset every day. Recently, he started interacting with you—dropping nuts and other things to make his point—even if you still haven’t seen him.

You spend the winter wondering what he looks like, if he’s warm enough. If he’s safe and comfortable and happy, while the snow falls outside and you turn up the heating.

When spring comes, you’re excited to have him back. And he comes back.

One night, you hear a knock at the door. It’s still a little cold at night, so you pull a blanket around yourself to answer it, not thinking about who the knock came from.

You pull the door open.

And there he is, letting you see him. Your creature. You let the blanket fall, unable to think of anything else.

He’s tall and thin, but lined with muscle—and he could almost pass for human, except for the dark tint on his forearms shading into black on his hands, or the deep red of his eyes, or the claws tipping his long, graceful fingers. He licks his lips, his eyes dropping nervously, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth and a long tongue.

His hair is long and black, but well-cared-for and clean, not draggled. His skin is porcelain pale, and he’s nude—but unlike a human, he doesn’t have any obvious genitals, just a smooth mound. (You immediately kick yourself for even looking.)

Very, very slowly, he holds out a hand toward you. It’s hesitant, almost fearful, so you meet him halfway with your own hand and squeeze his.

He jumps a little, startled, but then he leans closer, his eyelids fluttering. He has long lashes, you realize. Before you know what you’re doing, you lift your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. And he leans into it, turning to nuzzle against your palm.

“You—do you want to come in?” you ask.

It takes some time, but eventually he grows comfortable enough to show himself more frequently. When you’re gardening, struggling to pull a particularly stubborn sweet potato, he’s suddenly there to nudge you aside and dig it up with clawed hands. When you’re making breakfast, he shows up at the kitchen window and hands a few berries though it. He’s always there these days, whenever you turn around.

The first time he speaks, you almost jump out of your skin.

You’re talking to him, telling him about something inane—something you saw on Netflix—without expecting anything to fill the silence.

So when he says, “What is Netflix?” in a low mellow voice, you start, spilling your morning tea all over yourself and your blanket in the chair on the porch.

“Did I scare you?” he says, worried, and your heart jumps.

“I—I’ve never heard you speak. I didn’t even know you could,” you say, shoving the blanket off and rubbing your legs. The tea was still hot, and your thighs are hurting.

He kneels down in front of you, looking at your legs intently.

“It hurts,” he says softly. “Did it burn?”

“I don’t think so,” you manage, almost tongue-tied from seeing him so close to you. “But you—how did you learn English?”

“You,” he says, still intently studying your legs. “I listened to you.”

You huff an incredulous laugh. “Well, I always knew you were clever, but this is—“

He chuckles, and it’s a wonderful sound that makes your heart feel light and warm and full.

“I think you should change your clothes,” he says gently. “And then you can show me your Netflix.”

You do show him your Netflix, and other things around the house—the microwave, the fridge—and every time he sees something new and unexplained, he learns quickly. He adapts too; the television is not a threat, it’s entertainment. He doesn’t like the fridge, but he understands that the microwave makes food warm again, and he likes it better that way.

You learn too, more about him. His name is Muzan. He eats a lot of meat—preferably animals he hunts himself, though he seems to like eating with you—and has incredible senses. Smell seems particularly important to him; he can tell what you’ve eaten hours before, and find you unerringly with just your scent to go on.

After a little while, Muzan gets comfortable enough to visit every day, coming inside the house. He’s very intelligent, and spends a lot of time pouring over your books or discussing what he’s read with you. He likes documentaries or meaningful films, but generally doesn’t care for shows. If you want to watch one, he’ll settle himself beside you, reading silently.

And time passes like that, for weeks and months.

When summer is coming to a close at last, Muzan asks you to walk with him in the forest. He seems almost nervous when he asks, twisting his hands together. You often walk together on the paths, but this seems different somehow.

“What is it?” you ask gently. “Muzan, is something bothering you?”

He huffs a soft laugh.

“I want you to see my den,” he admits. “And meet my family.”

You can’t keep the smile off your face. You’re touched by the clear trust in that gesture. The two of you have come so far.

“Do they know I’m coming?” you check.

“Yes.” Muzan bites his lip. “They…may not trust you as I do right away.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to.” You slide your hand into his larger, dark-tinted one. “You’ve been hunted by humans, so you hunted them. I’m guessing they’ve experienced the same. Trust would be a big ask after that.”

Muzan pulls you into a fierce embrace, nuzzling into your neck.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice almost breaking.

The den is a cave, the entrance fairly cramped. Muzan guides you very carefully through it, at one point using his hand to stop you from slamming your knee into a sharp rock. It’s much bigger on the inside, with a pile of very familiar blankets directly in front of you on the floor. There are a few ledges, which seem to be full of bright things—buttons feature prominently, but so do shiny rocks and strips of cloth.

Muzan’s a bit like a crow, actually. Now you know where your button and ribbon came from—you’re wearing the ribbon in your hair today.

Zohakuten emerges first. He has black hair, like Muzan, and they’re clearly the same species. But he’s small, about the size of an 8-year-old. He’s glaring at you.

Muzan slips a hand around your waist. You take a deep breath.

“You’re Zohakuten, right?” you ask, squatting down. “I brought something for you.”

Muzan had explained that for his kind, their collections were very important. New members of a family group usually gave each other gifts, so you’d brought a few things.

Carefully, you hold your hand out. In it is a wooden dinosaur. “My uncle was a whittler,” you tell Zohakuten. “And he made this when I was little.”

Zohakuten sniffs it before he takes it.

“Your uncle ate a lot of cheese,” he says. Your brows rise.

“You can smell that?” When Zohakuten nods, you say, “You must have a really good nose.”

He smiles. Just a little.

Gyutaro comes out next, with Daki behind him. His hair is black; hers is white.

“You’re the one who gave us the blankets,” Gyutaro says flatly.

“Yeah. I’ve got something else for you though. Muzan told me you like knives, Guytaro.” You hand him the little pocketknife your mother gave you when you turned sixteen. “You want this one?”

Gyutaro looks it over. Then he takes it. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“So, do I have something?” Daki asks.

“Yeah, you do.” You give her a piece of embroidered cloth. “My mom’s mom made this when she was little.”

“What’s it for?”

“Being pretty,” you say, and wink. “Just like you.”

Daki squeals and hugs you. As she and her brother go to curl up in the blanket mound, you hear Gyutaro say, “You smell gross now.” Daki swats him, and snaps, “Nice things aren’t gross and she was nice, so she doesn’t smell gross. You’re gross.”

“Your hair’s gross,” Gyutaro mutters.

Apparently kids are still kids, even when they’re creatures in the woods.

When the sun sinks, and Rui still doesn’t come out, Muzan asks if you should go home. He’s worried about you being outside in the dark.

“Muzan,” you tell him, hands on hips, “if it’s okay with everyone, I’d rather stay.”

Zohakuten laughs. When you both look at him, he shrugs.

“I like her.”

Daki runs over and pulls up and down on Muzan’s arm.

“Can she stay? Can she please?”

Muzan looks over at Gyutaro. The boy shrugs.

“She doesn’t smell that gross,” he says, his arms folded. “I guess.”

Muzan sighs. “All right.”

Daki squeals with delight and drags you over to the blanket mound, pulling you down beside her. She curls up next to you like a cat, and starts telling all about everything in her collection. Halfway through, she starts yawning. A bit later, she falls asleep.

Gyutaro plops down next to her, stares at you for a second, and shuts his eyes. Zohakuten leans his head against your knee, looking over his gift again. And very gently, Muzan tucks himself against your other side, smiling.

“You’re smiling,” Zohakuten says, surprised.

Muzan puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t wake your siblings,” he says softly. Zohakuten wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going soft, papa,” he whispers.

Muzan shows his teeth playfully. “Oh, am I?”

“Definitely,” Zohakuten says. “You like her. You like her a lot.” He stares at you in the dark. “You’re all mushy now. You didn’t used to be mushy.”

“I’ll show you mushy,” Muzan warns. “In the morning.”

As Zohakuten rolls over, still holding his new present, he mumbles quietly, “That’s just what a mushy person would say.”

The morning after

includes: Nagi, Kaiser, Alexis, Oliver

gn!reader. no pronouns mentioned.

cw: Suggestive, mention of sex, pet names, forced plot.

Seishiro Nagi

The warmth of the sunlight beaming through the curtains is what stirred you awake. A quiet groan climbed its way up your throat as you turned to hide your face in the comfort of your pillows.

You stretched your hand out to grab the spare blanket but it landed on something else. You felt hair? Your eyes shot open. A person is lying next to you.

You rubbed your eyes and blinked through the blur from the action. As you woke up a little more, you realized that it was Nagi.

He hummed and stretched his arm out, snaking it around your waist and pulling you back down to the bed. "'m tired." You wanted to laugh at how he doesn't seem to care about the situation you both are in, but you just kept quiet.

You pulled up the blanket. A blush climbed its way onto your cheeks as you let the blanket fall back over your bodies.

You're both naked. How did this happen?

You shook Nagi, trying to wake him up. "Sei. What the hell is going on?" He only groaned and shifted, making his way on top of you. His head on your chest and his arms around your waist.

"What does it look like?" The only answer you get from him is a sarcastic one. His voice is deep and raspy with a tone of humor. "Just go back to sleep."

Micheal Kaiser

You groan when you hear the sound of running water from your bathroom. You're about to rush out of bed and see what the hell is going on. But before you can, you feel the sheets rub against your naked nipple.

You gasp as you pull the blanket up, you're completely naked. How? You don't tend to sleep naked, so how did you manage to get your clothes off?

You get up, grab the sheet wrapping it around your body, and make your way to the bathroom. The water isn't on anymore, it turned off a few minutes ago. As you open the door, you see a person in your bathroom.

You're tempted to scream, to slam the door and rush to the front and call the cops. But after opening the door even more, you see the blond hair (can't forget the blue ends). You almost sigh in relief.

You clear your throat and Kaiser turns around, smiling at you. "Good morning, I'm sure you missed me." His smile grows bigger as he walks to you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You can feel your life drain just by being next to him, did you really have to sleep with the most self-centered guy out there? What is wrong with drunk you?

"Knock it off, Kaiser," you roll your eyes at his words. "What are you doing here." Aren't one-night stands supposed to leave after the sex? Do they usually take residents in your bathroom? You almost want to say this out loud, but you know that he'll throw a little fit.

"Mm, just getting ready for my game, my sweet." He turns back around and faces the mirror. His hand reaches out for the hairbrush and you almost want to knock it out of his hand.

"Every goal will be for you," he starts while he runs the brush through his hair. "So you better be there, cheering the loudest for me, my sweet." You almost want to roll your eyes, but you're sure you've rolled them more than you can count this morning.

"Just get dressed and get out of my house." Hopefully, Kaiser can't see the red on your ears when you make your way back to your bedroom.

Alexis Ness

If only you could kill your alarm, but that would be killing your phone and you do not have enough money to buy a new one. You blindly feel your way to your phone. Once you do, you squint and press the snooze. You'll wake up later.

"Better wake up now, don't want to sleep too late." A cheerful voice almost shouted, his voice bouncing off your walls.

Your eyes shot open as you quickly sat up. Your blanket falls down from the action which reveals your naked chest. If your eyes widened anymore, you'd be gawking at the man standing in front of your bed.

You hurriedly grab your blanket and wrap it around your naked torso. Alexis smiles and pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. He leans down and kisses your neck, making his way up to your ear.

He nibbles on your earlobe, licking a tiny bit. "Gonna give me another show?" He teases as he whispers in your ear.

Alexis pulls back and hums at your reddened face. He turns around and faces your body-length mirror.

Now you actually have a reason to gawk. His back is covered in red scratches, from his neck to his torso. You almost gasped, did you do that?

He sees your widened eyes staring at his back, his smile growing bigger. "Like it~? It might be your best artwork."

You never thought Alexis would be one to tease. But here you are, getting teased by the one man that keeps your sanity in check.

You almost want to laugh at the drastic change in him. Compared to how he acts on the field and now, in your bedroom.

"I'm going to get us some breakfast," he turns back to you and kisses your forehead. "I'll see you in a minute, baby."

The name makes you blush. Your eyes follow him out as he leaves your bedroom. Your sigh finally leaves your mouth, this man will be the death of you.

Oliver Aiku

Your yawn was quiet as you stretched your arms. Your hand flopped onto the bed as you turned your body to nuzzle deeper into your pillows.

"Ow! What the fuck, Y/n?"

You opened your eyes and saw Oliver resting on the other side of your bed. His hand is covering his nose from where your hand lightly slapped him.

"Mmh, good morning, Oliver." This isn't new. He usually sleeps over after 'fucking your brains out,' his words. After another failed talking stage or relationship, Oliver comes over and is reminded that there's someone who will actually give him the time or day.

He softly glares at you. You want to scoff at the glare, he should be grateful that you keep opening your door for him. Your hand comes up and taps his nose.

"Boop." He scrunches his face as he gently slaps your hand away. "Enough," he takes a deep breath. His body shifts and his legs tangle into yours. He climbs on top of you, his smirk spreading onto his face.

You roll your eyes, leaning your head back as Oliver reaches forward to kiss you. "Morning breath," you sigh. "Brush your teeth."

He only scoffs. Oliver pulls away and grabs your hand, leading you both to the bathroom. "I might be catching feelings for you, doll."

He laughs when he sees you roll your eyes. "Keep it at might."

You hope he can't hear the way your heart beats faster at the thought.

a/n: I love Alexis <3 I was giggling and kicking my feet when I saw him in the manga again

Hello merry Christmas :) I saw request was open and was wondering if you could do scenario where the brothers and Solomon (separately) celebrate the holiday with mc and their family in the human world ? Thank you and happy new year! :)

Merry Christmas, Anon! 🎄🎁

It's been a while since I've gotten a request and I really wanted to finish it before Christmas is over in my timezone and I just barely made it ^^;

I hope you like it!

***

The Brothers + Solomon at Your Family's Holiday Party

Lucifer is the perfect party guest. He makes effortless conversation and can get along with pretty much everyone. As devilishly handsome as he is, Lucifer looks good in an apron and he'll definitely take advantage of that. He'll help in the kitchen if needed, he might even help out with the dishes and somehow not get any soapy water on his expensive looking clothes. Throughout the night, he keeps you near as much as possible, with an arm slinked around your waist or a hand in yours, gentle but possessive gestures. It's not that he thinks your family will take you away from him, he just wants everyone to know you're well taken care of. Your family may wonder how you got such a catch, but it's very clear that he's chosen you.

Mammon is a favorite with your older family members, though they might not have known what to make of him at first. He joins in on their card games and loses just as many games as he wins. He tries to keep you near him for good luck and that does seem to work, hopefully the two of you end up with a small pile of riches to show for it, be they candies or cash. He'll insist on bringing the flashiest gifts, but somehow he knows exactly what each of your family members would like, even though he hadn't met any of them before the holiday. Mammon's natural confidence and model good looks make him the center of attention at your family party, and his ego will inflate accordingly. Despite all this, he is a very good party guest, and it is clear to everyone that he adores you.

Leviathan is very shy with your family at first. It takes all of his strength to make the most basic responses to their questions and even then, he beats himself up inside for being "weird". If you get pulled away, he panics. Don't worry too much about him, though. He's stronger than both of you think. He'll gravitate toward the kids table, maybe building Legos with them to soothe himself or starting an impromptu Mario Kart tournament. Of course he's a champion gamer and he shows everyone all his special techniques to get a high score. Levi becomes the new favorite of all the kids. As you leave for the night you'll have several cuties telling you to never break up with him. He's blushing, he didn't realize he made that much of an impression (also he's internally freaking out because you breaking up with him didn't occur to him until now, please promise you won't!)

Satan, like Lucifer, is a perfect party guest. No one would ever know he's actually so guarded and calculating. He's taking mental notes of every interaction the two of you have with your relatives. If any of them seem not quite right (backhanded compliments, rude remarks veiled with insincere smiles) he files away that information for later. If he finds your family to be relatively harmless, he's relieved. Satan has a good handle on his anger, but sometimes he needs a break from all the stimulation so he doesn't have an outburst. If he disappears, you might find him taking a breather with one of your family's furry friends (he's ecstatic if it ends up being a cat). Let him rest until he's ready and he'll come back refreshed and ready to impress your family with his charisma.

You don't have to worry about Asmodeus at all. Even without charming your family members, everyone will love him. He fits in well with the adults, but with the young kids as well. Asmo wants to know all the tea, all the family drama, and he'll give his input on things. He'll especially be on the lookout for any of your childhood photos or stories your family wants to tell. I hope you're comfortable with lots of public affection, because he's another who will keep an arm around your waist the whole evening. He might go as far as sitting on your lap or pulling you down to sit on his, and he'll attack your face with kisses every chance he gets (he'll stop if you ask him to, he promises to be on his best behavior). Please do let him indulge in cuddles a little bit, what's better than snuggling by the fire after dinner as everyone winds down for the night?

With the power of love, Beelzebub is able to quell his normally voracious appetite, and when he does that he basically becomes the perfect boyfriend. He's kind, friendly, AND he eats well? He's constantly complimenting whoever is in charge of cooking, and they'll fill his plate again and again. He'll silently glance toward you to ask if it's ok to take more, and when you nod in approval, he happily digs in. That's another thing, with the way he looks at you, your relatives know it's true love. It's very important to him that you have your special time with your family, his family means so much to him. So he might sit back when you socialize, while the kids try to use him as a jungle gym but he doesn't mind. As long as you're happy with your family, he's happy.

Belphegor is a good party guest when he sets his mind to it. It's probably best to keep him away from plush surfaces, especially when there are lulls in the festivities, because he will tend to doze off (I remember reading someone's headcanon a while ago that Belphie is the type to seek out the party's designated baby sleeping room and crash there, and I totally agree). If this happens, you can tell your family he's suffering from jetlag (whether this is true or not). He's definitely the most subdued of all of the brothers, but he's a surprisingly good conversationalist and gets along well with your family. He may lightly tease you (he still is a bit of a brat) which your family might take as a good sign of his affection for you. Though he's no stranger to loud family gatherings, Belphie will need a few days to recover from all the socializing, so I hope you don't mind him napping longer than usual.

Please, for the love of Diavolo, keep Solomon away from the kitchen during your family's party. Everyone will thank you. Solomon's gifts are the most creative, definitely embued with magic, and I don't think he'd be able to help himself from doing a few minor magic tricks for the kids before the party is over. He'll make an excuse, it was a simple trick, anyone could do it. But you'd know the truth. He chats freely with your family, no shortage of fond remarks from him about you. It's been so long since Solomon has spent this much time around human families, he's taking it all in and enjoying having you by his side. If you were worried about the party going smoothly, you don't have to. Just, maybe toss out that plate of cookies for Santa and replace them, our witty sorcerer may have tampered with the recipe when your back was turned.