Take A Deep Breath

Take A Deep Breath

***After 24 hours of pure stress, I have finally found a calm, and thought, "hey? Why not channel this experience and emotions through headcanons?" So alas, have a very small fic of Lucifer helping out an overwhelmed MC ***

CW: Immediate anxiety attack/ overwhelmed description

It was all too much.

Everything seemed to pile up, one task after the other, in monstrous amounts that screamed at you and your failures. You felt like a failure, and you hadn't even started working on anything yet! You didn't know what to do. You didn't even know where to begin.

You couldn't help but grip tightly at your hair as sobs of frustration burst from your lips and tears burned behind your tired eyes.

In your panic, you hadn't even noticed your bedroom door open

Lucifer pauses as he sees you so distressed — he silently narrows his eyebrows and scans your room, searching for the cause. It's not long before he spots your laptop, haphazardly tossed away from you and the loose pages scattered around you.

He can't help but feel understanding and sympathetic toward the situation. He was no stranger to being swamped by work, and thankfully for you, this meant he knew exactly how to handle it.

He makes his way over to your bed and sits at the end of it, giving you plenty of space to be comfortable and only come to him if you wish. "What seems to be the matter?" he says softly with only the gentlest of tones.

And he listens. He sits there, and he lets you cry, and shout, and scream, as you finally get out all the frustration, hopelessness, despair, and utter stress that had been overflowing within you like a thick poison blocking out your veins. He listens, and he takes note of every word you speak and your dilemma.

Once your finished, and there are no more tears to spill and your voice is horse from the strain, and only then, does he take your laptop and very carefully set it back in front of you. "Alright," he whispers. "Let's think about this logically. What are the most important things you have to do?"

He's by your side every second, as the two of you carefully make a list of the tasks you have to complete, and then separate your "pebbles from your boulders" and break your larger tasks into more manageable chunks.

Within a couple hours, the two of you have made a new schedule to help you healthily and efficiently get your work done. He'll kiss your cheek and say, "It may seem like a lot, but take a step back and take a deep breath and look at it from a different angle. Remember you don't have to do anything alone, and that if you need me, I will always be there to help you."

***This is 100% inspired by Mother who has a business major and was my super hero last night. I might do these with the rest of the brothers. I think I like these quick little fics because they let me feel like I accomplished something and aren't as harrowing or demanding as the full length ones I usually do. What do you guys think? Would you like to see more of these? Perhaps ones with the other brothers?***

TAGLIST: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @rul-of-demise @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21

How they sleep headcannons pt. 2

Part one

Dateables + exchange students

Gender neutral

Warnings: None

Simeon

He could sleep in both. Considering the fact that he falls asleep at his desk fairly regularly socks on is more likely.

HUGS A PILLOW. Don’t ask me how I know, he just does. Even if you are sharing the bed the pillow is going to stay for a while. Gotta leave room for Jesus.

Wears old man pjs like Lucifer but they have fun designs and color. Has a set that Lucifer bought him that’s his favorite. Definitely sent Lucifer a pic of him in it.

Luke

He was a strictly socks only kind of guy back in the Celestial Realm but the Devildom was just too warm for that. Socks off now unless Diavolo switches up the weather, then those bad boys go straight back on.

Sleeps on his front, face into the pillow. Traditional sleepover kind of guy. MC gets a mattress on the floor. Very comfy and quiet compared to the house of lamentation, 10/10 sleep.

Has a favorite shirt from Diavolo with little bears on it Don’t tell anyone he actually really likes it.

Solomon

No socks, Let them floor grippers breathe. Won’t wear socks until it is freezing. He likes the pair of toe socks Asmo got him as a joke. Likes to ~wiggle~ his toes in them bc it freaks out Luke.

Any position goes tbh. He could fall asleep upside down and still have a good sleep. Would probably hug you with an iron grip. Good luck MC this one is a doozy.

His current favorite are plaid pj pants but no shirt but it tends to change every 50 years or so. Asmo really hopes that he goes back to sleeping lingerie one day.

Diavolo

No socks. Have you seen his demon form. Tits out toes out is his motto. It’s also just a little too warm for socks.

Face sleeper, all the way. I feel like he sometimes accidentally transforms to his demon form while he’s sleeping because it’s more comfortable. Don’t worry about this if you ever share a bed though, he will be too excited and nervous to even fall asleep.

Like I said, tits out toes out. His demon form is the most comfortable to sleep in. If he can’t do that he has some loungewear Lucifer bought him that he prefers.

Barbatos

Socks. On. No arguments. The stompers will be appropriately clothed.

Out of habit he’s a very light sleeper will wake up if you move. Sleeps in a corpse position unless he is very worn out. You’re very lucky if you catch him sleeping anywhere outside his bedroom.

Another one who has a classic old man set. These are the only known pyjamas he has. Diavolo has sworn secrecy regarding his other nightwear.

Thirteen

Toe socks, they are fun. She enjoys the chaos of knowing the fact that she can cover each toe with a bit of sock. Has a magenta and pink set she got from Solomon and regards it as the only redeeming thing he has ever done.

Doesn’t have to sleep for a while if she doesn’t want to. Prefers to sleep with an invention of hers near enough that it could be used if need be. Good luck MC.

Likes tank tops and shorts that match. Also likes to have a matching hair tie and has a strict hair regimen. She won’t tell you but she likes doing hair so if she gets the chance you will end up with a new hair style specifically for when you sleep.

Mephistopheles

Socks, appropriate bed attire only. Wait Lucifer wears socks too? No socks, socks are for those who lack class.

Sleeps like a 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃, meaning that he snores loud enough to wake the dead. Likes to kick sometimes. Rip MC.

Has a favorite set of black pyjamas they have a nice pocket on the chest ☺️👍. Don’t tell him Lucifer has the same set, he will loose it.

Raphael

No socks. He wants to feel free of obligations so he finds socks too constrictive.

This man is tired of dealing with Michaels shit. Please let him get at least 8 good hours of sleep. For the love of god, MC, if you’re in the room you better be quiet or he may pull a reverse guardian angel on you.

Not fully nude but close to it, he locks his door unlike a certain nudist sleeper. Just a good pair of boxers is all he needs. It reminds him of the days of loincloths. Good times.

[ 𝟐:𝟒𝟔 𝐀𝐌 ] 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍.

“mammon!” you shriek, soft giggles airing through the room.

“i told ya i’d eat ya,” he chuckles, nibbling on your cheeks as he hovers over you, hands pinning yours above your head to keep you caged. “‘m gonna devour ya if ya don’t take it back.”

it’s late, and mammon should be asleep if he wants to pass his exam tomorrow—and he really needs to if he doesn’t be held back—but he thinks he’ll take the extra grogginess in the morning if it means hearing the sweet sound of your laugh like this.

“not…gonna take it b-back!” you say between fits of laughter. he stares down at you, stares at the way your cheeks widen as you smile, as your eyes crinkle and your lashes cast a shadow over your skin.

and maybe if he had to pick, he’d say his favorite part about you is this—the human and fragile part that makes his heart ache, the part that makes him feel like you need him, the part that makes him realize every little moment means something when you don’t have centuries to live.

“oh yes ya are,” he scowls, “nobody insults the great mammon and gets away with it. ‘specially not some human,” he moves to bite at your other cheek, tongue swiping across your skin and making you gasp.

“ew, mammon,” you whine, “you’re gross.”

“bleh,” he twists his face, eyes glinting with playfulness, “ya taste rotten. ain’t no way anyone could eat ya.”

“how rude,” you huff, poking his chest with a pout on your lips. and for a second, he almost leans in to kiss it off. “i’m delicious. you have no idea what you’re saying.”

“i’ve tasted humans in my many years,” he says matter of factly, “i know plenty.”

“that’s why i said you’re old,” you snort, “you even have the white hair to prove it.” your fingers ruffle through the snowy locks atop his head, and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as his cheeks burn a little with heat.

“h-hey! i told ya to take it back, not say it again,” he grumbles, and this time, it’s his turn to pout. “the great mammon’s also the most handsome. a-admit it, go on.”

you smile, and he doesn’t meet your eyes. and he’s starting to realize this is a bit of a compromising position—he really hopes no one walks in or he’ll never live it down. his face is just inches above yours, and it wouldn’t be hard to close the gap between your lips, to feel your warmth and get a taste of you.

“you are handsome,” you murmur, no hints of teasing in your tone, just honeyed smiles laced with truth. he gulps, looking down, avoiding your gaze as your hands gently pry free from his grasp. and he’s almost certain you can feel the heat of his cheeks as you cup them.

“h-hey, what do ya think you’re d-doing,” he huffs, furrowing his brows and pretending to frown, “s-stop that, i ain’t a child.”

if you notice him lean into your palms despite his words, you say nothing—and he’s grateful.

“no, you’re an old man,” you giggle, squishing his cheeks together. mammon thinks if he weren’t immortal, you’d kill him right here—and it’s not the worst way to go, he thinks, basked in your touch as your scent floods his senses.

in fact, if he had to go, he thinks this would be how he’d want to.

“quit callin’ me tha—” you cut him off with the press of your lips, making his eyes widen before they flutter shut, pressing firmly against you as your thumb rubs his cheek.

and mammon’s lived a long life, he’s felt the familiar lull of hands over his skin, he’s tasted lips that mold against his over and over, but nothing’s quite ever felt like this. no one has ever left his skin warm like the sun resides in your fingertips, and no one’s lips have fit against his like they were meant for him.

and then he wonders if you were made for just him, if he was always meant to fall and meet you here, if being damned like this was his own way of being blessed. so he kisses you, cups your cheek right back and let’s out a shaky breath against your mouth before he all but devours you whole.

“i love you,” you murmur when you pull away, forehead pressed against his. because mammon, under dark wings and large horns, under tough words and a rough exterior, under heavy sins and a tainted past, is the closest to an angel you’ve ever seen.

and when his body sinks into the mattress beside you, arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against him, you think you’ve found a heaven built just for you in his hold.

“course ya do,” he mumbles with a cheeky grin, eyes bright and face warm, “and i love ya too, ya rotten human.”

© sakusins do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

The Goddess of Flashiness and Festivals 😌🎆🎇

Time and Time Again

*** This fic is something I've been excited for ever since @dicetheroll, @rainiishowers, and I brainstormed the concept for it in the Hive Discord! It the most voted for the recent "Help Me Choose" post, so alas, Barbatos simps, this one's for you. I hope you all enjoy it ❤️-B ***

Summary: Barbatos loves MC. He has loved them for nearly as long as he has known. He goes back and relives every second that he can with them, over and over again. But, after experiencing a time line so many times, one begins to notice certain patterns — MC getting hurt, for example. And after one too many times, he decides that he can't stand idle by any longer.

*Spoilers up to Lesson 16*

The confusion, but glittering curiosity that shimmers in your eyes never ceases to excite him upon the inevitable first meeting. It's one that he's lived a thousand times, yet still, it remains one of Barbatos's favourites.

Sometimes, when he first gets there and hears Lord Diavolo and Lucifer discussing your new pact with Mammon, he'll see you — the slight twitch of irritation in your brow in the way they converse as though you're not there. The proud puff of your chest as they remain in awe of your achievement. The flickering of your gaze around you, ever alert and cautious — and he'll forget you're not an MC who knows him yet.

But there comes the moment, where your observant stare falls onto him and your soft lips purse.

"Who are you?" You ask, just as you have a thousand times before. He's memorized the question and the way your voice dictates the words.

To him, the question reads like poetry. Who are you? So innocently unaware of the history you've shared with him. As friends. As allies. As enemies. As lovers. You ask the question, completely unaware that you are his polar magnet — a ruthless force that constantly draws him in no matter how he may resist.

And resist he did — at first at least. He had responsibilities and duties. Diavolo was meant to be his priority, not a rambunctious human who had no concept of self-preservation. And yet

"Ah yes. Pardon me," he responds with a subtle grin. "I suppose we haven't met before, have we?"

There it is. The slight flush that painted your expression as he took your hand into his and kissed the back of it.

He already knew which way this route will be going, he decided it before he even entered the timeline.

He has seen you choked, and broken, and ripped to shreds. He has seen you destroyed both mentally and physically to the point that had become nothing but a shell. He has stood as a bystander as you lived a life with each and every one of the brothers, his lord, and even Simeon and Solomon — and he has witnessed both the good and bad endings of each of those relationships.

Time, as it seems, was not kind to you, despite all the kindness that you gave. It would chew you up and spit you out with every chance that it got.

But not this time. Barbatos would be sure of that.

This time, he spared no mind to being suspicious to others or acting out of character. His only concern was you and your safety — and in order to ensure your safety, he needed to become close with you as quickly as he could.

He spent your lunch hours by your side — claiming he needed your aid with paperwork or surveying the students. It would hurt your connection with Mammon, sure, but for all his efforts, Mammon never was all that great at his job of protecting you.

He, much to Diavolo's delight, would often invite you over for tea and dinners at the castle — it was a joy to be the one to introduce you to your favourite Devildom delicacy. The honor was usually reserved for Beelzebub, but he found he couldn't help himself.

It was after one of these dinners, as you aided him in doing the dishes that he dared to spark a conversation he had only initiated a handful of times before.

"MC?" he questioned as you scrubbed the porcelain plates with the same care and ease as one would when handling an ancient artifact.

"Hm?" You hummed in response, squinting your eyes to glare through the soap suds at a particularly tough stain.

He smirked knowingly as he set down his drying towel and faced you. "Make a pact with me."

He quickly reached down and caught the plate slipping through your fingers before you had time to even process you had dropped it. You blinked at him with wide eyes as he carefully set it back on the counter.

Barbatos could feel your gaze on his back — filled with pure shock and confusion. It was one he knew all too well.

You had told him once, after the first time he had ever proposed the pact, that you had never expected him to ask you this. Not in a million years. You knew he had a pact with Solomon, but no one truly knew how that particular agreement came to be (and he would much rather keep it that way). But you also knew how much trust went into bestowing a pact with someone. It was not something to take lightly.

"Barbatos," you breathed with awe on your tongue. "You ... Why?"

To protect you. To ensure that he could be by your side in an instant the second you call out for him. To keep you safe from the world — from time. To love you.

He smiled and went back to putting away the dishes as though he hadn't just offered his entire being to you. "You already have Mammon's. And I hear that you have a contest with Leviathan soon approaching to earn his. It seems you've become a collector of sort."

And if the promptness of the decision had anything to do with the lingering threat of Leviathan's rage during said competition, well, Barbatos was hardly one to offer spoilers.

You huffed and placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to face you. He reveled in the closeness. "This is serious. I- You're not usually one for jokes. I- I mean, pacts are a big deal, right? I'm just beginning to understand that. I-"

He gently scooped your hands into his own gloved ones and peered deeply into your eyes. "We're friends, are we not?" he couldn't help the flare of pride that ran through him as your expression grew flush. "I like to keep my friends close. I like to protect them. And this, this pact? It's the best way I can think of to keep you as protected as possible."

A frown dug at your lips as you tilted your head in confusion. "Isn't that what the brothers are for? Do you not trust them?"

Quite honestly, no. He didn't. More often than not it was them who were the very cause of your pain. He would never understand why his Lord thought that it was best to keep you there, with the brothers who had barely agreed to the program in the first place, over keeping you in the castle with them. But that was out of his control.

This, however, was not.

"I think they do the best they can," he answered instead as he peered down at your joined hands. He would never grow tired of just how nicely they fit together. "But this is different. It's a personal comfort that you're alright," your breath hitched as he his thumbs caressed your knuckles. "Would you allow me that one little peace, MC?"

"Okay," you whispered, and that oh-so-beautiful burn ran through him and branded itself into the base of both of your throats, just under your voice box.

He couldn't help but smile. Teal always looked so good on you.

He lifted a single hand to touch the mark — it was still warm to the touch. "Perfect," he muttered.

The pact was good. It meant you two were connected now. But it wasn't enough.

He knew from experience. The pact alone wouldn't prevent you from nearly dying in the competition. It wouldn't stop you from getting Leviathan's cursed album and finding your way to the attic.

It wouldn't stop Belphegor.

The night before the competition he made his way to the House of Lamentation with one goal in mind — to take the pendant of the Lord of Corruption's lost wing that Solomon had given you.

You hadn't spoken in detail with Simeon as Satan had advised you. Meaning this pendant was your only chance of winning the competition. Without it, you would lose, Leviathan would never go into a frenzy, the two of you would never form a pact, and most importantly, he would never give you the cursed TSL album that would allow you access to your doom.

Barbatos knew what this meant. He would be completely shredding apart the timeline and creating a number of unknowns.

But it had to be done. To save you.

As he was making his way out the door, a large hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.

Barbatos felt his heart nose dive from his chest to his stomach as he stared at the door not five feet in front of him. "I have to do this," he said firmly even as dread began to swirl within him.

"You know you can't," came the Young Lord's voice — calm, for once. Thick with morose solemn.

The butler swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. "They're going to die.

"They will." "I can stop it." "No. You can't," Barbatos felt his hands begin to shake at the finality in his tone. "You know this. It's fate."

Anger boiled deep in his stomach at those words. "It's fate," Diavolo would always tell him, as though that excused the endless hardships you were forced to endure.

It wasn't fair, he knew that. Diavolo loved you just much as Barbatos himself did. But he didn't understand. How could he?

While he may be able to see through lies, he couldn't travel through time as Barbatos could. He didn't have the power to actually change fate like Barbatos did.

He wasn't the one who could do something, but has been forced to stand by and do nothing every single time and just watch.

Watch as your back broke and blood trickled out from your lips. Watch the soul leave your eyes as your face remained frozen in eternal horror. Watch as you died. Time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time again all because it was fate.

His hands twitched at his side. "Why?" He pleaded in grievous whisper. "Why not just this once? They live, and they'll be safe."

The grip on his shoulder tightened. "It's MC's fate to sacrifice themself for the betterment of the Devildom and those within it. Just as it was Lilith's fate to die so her brothers could fall and take their rightful place here. If it didn't happen here, and now, it would only happen later on. But in ways that we won't be prepared for."

"I know" he damn-near growled. Where Diavolo could only speak based on theory, Barbatos had lived it.

One time you were kidnapped by a rebellion who disagreed with the exchange program and publicly mutilated you as an example. The next, your head was sent to Mammon by the witches he loved to infuriate. In another, your soul was claimed by the very nature of the Devildom — torn apart by beasts and plants alike. And one more, the angels stole you to "train" and shape you until you're the perfect weapon against the Devildom that they'd been searching for.

And again, and again, and again.

"I hate it," he spits as exhaustion bleeds into his tone and his voice cracks. "No matter how many times I reset the timeline. No matter how many things I change, I-I can't-"

"You can't save them, Barbatos," a sob escapes him as Diavolo speaks. "I'm sorry, but you can't. It's ... It's impossible."

And that was it. Wasn't it? There were simply somethings that, no matter how hard you tried, you could simply never change.

A little over a week later, his pact ignited. He felt the air cut from his lungs. He felt his spine break into two. He felt the blood trickle down his throat and flood his lungs. He felt his stomach flip as he plummeted.

He felt you die. Just as you had before. Time and time again.

***Oh this may be on of my favourite fics I've written yet. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did! Thank you all again for endless love and support. You guys are the best community I could ever ask for. Love you all! ***

Tag List: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @rul-of-demise @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @fuzzyphotography @avatar-mikazuki @curatoroffiction @sunlightocean @taare-ginn @dragon-rider-with-a-book @korneatto @rphantom1

he cures depressions