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You weren’t a baker. That was evident as everyone who tried your most recent dish gave half hearted “It’s not bad!” commentary to you. Somehow, your attempt was under-baked and burnt at the same time. Maybe it wasn’t your fault, it was the oven at fault, or maybe it was the recipe! You had tried to make a homemade cinnamon roll recipe you found on devilgram. Admittedly, NOT the right place to go looking for a recipe. Maybe you’d try DevilTube instead? Hell, maybe you could’ve just Akuber’d some better ones from Madame Scream’s. But something in you just wanted desperately to make something, and maybe it had to do with your big fat crush on Beelzebub, the fucking avatar of gluttony.
Most everyone was home, except Beel, he was busy with Fangol practice. It was no coincidence you decided to make the rolls today; you had wanted to surprise Beel with your amazing (never-tested) baking skills. The fact that you had not been wildly successful on your very first attempt to bake something should have not surprised you, but it made you salty nonetheless.
Under better scrutiny of the Devilgram post you referenced, you realized that there was heavy debate in the comments that pointed out the contradictions in the recipe given and the one used in the video. Damn it. At least there was some left over, you mused as you turned back to face your mediocre attempt.
Upon glancing at the glass pan, your heart suddenly dropped as you saw nothing left in it. Panicked, you looked back up as you watched the most recent taste-tester/culprit sneak away with a plate, stuffing his face. “Levi! I thought you said you didn't like it?!” Like a deer caught in headlights, but still chewing nonetheless, Levi choked out a “I said it wasn’t bad! Not that I didn't like it.” Before you could say anything else, he scurried out into the hall and up the steps. With a groan, you walked the dish to the sink.
“I knew I should have made more…” Then again, everyone that tasted it wasn’t impressed by your baking endeavor. It made you pout as you washed the remnants of sugary goodness (or mediocreness) from the glass pan. You had at least hoped Beel would get to try some- Beel would have praised you to no end even if it was just “not bad.” It would have been more than “not bad”. It might have been good, even. At least, that's what you had hoped.
Your pouting was loud enough to drown out the steps of a hungry demon that made his way into the kitchen. “Made more of what?”
Oh shit.
“Beel!” You quickly turned around as if you had been caught red handed, a warmth flooding to your cheeks as you saw the most handsome demon in the devildom. He flashes you a soft grin as he immediately heads towards the pantry, no doubt looking for a quick snack of about everything ready to eat.
For a split second, it crosses your mind to try and hide your endeavor, but that must be more suspicious and ridiculous. Quickly dismissing that thought, you clear your throat and address him. “I made cinnamon rolls-” He eyes you immediately and closes the pantry, instinctually walking closer to you. What he wants to say is clear in his bright eyes, “Is there some for me?”. You bite your lip and look down. “I’m sorry, Beel, there’s none left.” It pains you to admit it, after all, you were making them for HIM.
“Oh.” His eyes look downcast as he nervously rubs his neck and stomach. A hungry growl escapes from Beel’s stomach and it rings louder in your ears as you truly feel like you failed at your attempt to woo him. You scramble with the glass pan again, furiously scrubbing the charred sugar to find something to do with your hands. “If it makes you feel better, no one actually liked it. I did pretty bad,” you laugh dejectedly and turn to look at him again. He looks sad- of course he’s sad, you accidentally denied him food.
Beel catches the look of internal debate on your face and does his best to reassure you. “It’s okay.”
He stays standing close to you as you wash the dish, which is both unnerving and comforting. He has always made you feel comfortable, but sometimes he unintentionally triggers you. The irony of him being the avatar of gluttony and being so lean and muscular. You, on the other hand, are bigger than most of the people around you. In the human realm, it's likely others dubbed you with Beel’s title, despite them having no evidence of your diet. And there you were, also having a crush on him, falling ever so innocently in love with him. There was no issue whether you thought you deserved him or not, however cocky that may be, but sometimes it reminded you of a different time in your life. Beel, being a huge foodie, often commented on how little you eat in front of others. He’s so sweet, but those comments weigh differently on you and the struggles you’ve faced in the past (no pun intended). None of this is Beel’s fault, and actually you are more comfortable eating around Beel than anyone else.
You are taken out of your thoughts when Beel, like a child, pulls on your sleeve to get your attention. You look up at him, flustered that you were so out of it for a moment. “Um,” he begins. “I want you to bake for me.” His eyes intensify as he shuffles closer to you, unintentionally making contact with your body. “No one else can try it. Well… maybe Belphie, but he has to try what you make after I do.” It's light, but you notice the creeping flush around his cheeks and ears from his confession, which you happen to mirror.
You turn off the water and stutter out quickly, “I-I’ll do it, yes!” Drying your hands, you face him. “I was already planning to. Actually, these were supposed to be for you,” you confess.
“Really?” His eyes alight as he grasps both your hands. Have mercy on your soul because the way Beel is looking at you is so perfectly sweet. At this point, your skin is burning everywhere that Beel is making contact, but it only makes you more confident.
“Yes, really.” With a loud growl of Beel’s hungry stomach, he scoops you up in a hug, lifting you really high off the ground. At first, it sets off alarms in your insecure brain as you feel dread. However, that feeling dissipates at the ease Beel displays from lifting you, he doesn't even seem to notice your dazed expression as you feel weightless in his arms. He throws you a big smile as he gently sets you back down and sheepishly scratches his face. “I really can't wait. I’m hungry right now, though. Would you come with me to Hell’s Kitchen? Practice usually makes me hungrier.”
Trying to calm your heart rate, you let out a hearty laugh. “Is that even possible?” You beam at him and take his large hand in yours. “Let’s make it a date then.” This time, you catch him off guard as his face brightens and he gives a gentle nod. “Okay.”
He holds your hand tightly, like a threat that he’ll never let go.
You’ll do anything for him to hold you like that again.