Work Text:
When a Devildom spider the size of your head scurries across your foot, you decide the best thing to do is scramble to the highest point you can reach.
Unfortunately, that just so happens to be Beelzebub’s shoulders.
Fortunately, he’s very sturdy and only wobbles a little bit, not even tipping the plate of food in his hands. He’s barely even shocked when he feels your arms lock around his neck and legs around his chest. You’re hugging his back like a baby koala and it’s absolutely adorable. He turns his head back as far as possible and tilts a single eyebrow. His mouth is full of food, but you can read his question well enough.
You point, finger trembling, at the offending arachnid, now crawling up the kitchen wall. “S-spider,” is all you can manage to get out.
“You’re scared of spiders?” Beel asks once he swallows. Your nervous nod surprises him more than you suddenly climbing him like a tree. You were essentially kidnapped to attend school in Hell, and you took that in stride. You’ve purposefully and accidentally pissed off him and his brothers to the point of attack and are still able to live and laugh with them.
You stared down an enraged Lucifer, shielded Beelzebub and Luke from his wrath, without even flinching.
That you were scared of such a tiny, little(to him, at least) spider? You can feel Beel’s soft laughter rumble in his chest well before it reaches his lips. You smack one shoulder and hitch yourself up so that your chin rests on the other, making it easier for him to see your pout. “It’s huge.”
Lucifer’s wingspan is thrice your height.
“I’ll take care of it,” Beel promises. He moves around the kitchen, careful to make sure he’s always between you and the spider. You wonder for a moment what exactly his plan is, but then he reaches up and takes a glass bowl from one of the upper cabinets.
“What are you doing?” you hiss as he approaches the spider. You duck behind his head as it scurries this way and that, feeling the glass of the window before running toward the ceiling.
“Catching it,” comes the answer you were dreading.
“Why?”
“It’s a tasty one,” he says. His mouth already waters at the prospect of eating. It sends a shudder down your spine just thinking about it. “If I remember correctly, that species is easy to grill and delicious with even light seasoning.”
“What if it jumps at you?” Your voice grows quieter with every step he takes towards the spider. You’re whispering as you ask, “What if it bites you?”
“It's harmless.” He shrugs, inadvertently lifting you higher onto his shoulders. “It doesn’t even make enough venom to irritate the skin. To demons, at least. Not sure about humans.”
You whimper at that. As if he needed any more incentive to catch the damn thing.
The spider skitters about as though sensing Beel’s intent. From the window, to the oven, to a place just out of his reach, and then back to the window. It paws at the glass, then backs away, making another run for the ceiling–
WHAM!
You flinch at the sound, surprised the bowl didn’t shatter against the brick wall. The spider is inside it, though, backing away from Beel’s hand in front of it. Beel scoops a plate under the edge of the bowl and slides it until the spider has no choice but to get on top of it. He then removes the bowl from the wall and sets it on the island, licking his lips with a sparkle in his eye.
He’s excited. You can tell even from your position on his back. The spider, on the other hand….
It taps against the side of the bowl, using its front legs to explore. It’s obviously not happy with its new environment. Beel taps the glass with his fingers, a mindless gesture to him, but a world-rocking motion to the contents. The spider shies away from it, backing as far as possible away from the digits, up until its shaking abdomen hits the other side of the bowl. Still it searches for a way out, digging its legs into the seams.
It turns to you and you can feel it’s eyes searching for something. Looking into its little face, you could almost see intelligence. You swallow, trying to ignore the sense of pleading that rolls from it. It settles suddenly, and looks away, crossing its front legs before it while curling the others to its side.
It’s resigned, you realize. Accepted its fate, whatever that may be.
“Beel,” you say. He doesn’t answer, no doubt dreaming up a million different ways to cook the little thing. “Hey, Beel.” You have to smack a hand against his pec to drag his attention away from his wandering imagination. “Beelzebub!” He blinks and looks back at you, wiping drool from his chin.
“Yeah?”
“It’s not going to get out, is it?” He cocks his head as he peers into the bowl. Another shrug is his only answer. “Do you think we could maybe–maybe just let it go?”
He whips his head around to look at you with a stricken expression. Your name falls pleading from his lips.
“I’ll buy you something else to eat! I promise!” You settle your arms around his shoulders and press your face into the back of his head. “It just… it looks scared, don’t you think?”
Beel leans down to look into its face. He scrunches his nose, clearly not seeing what you are. “Pleeeease?” you ask. “Not, like, in here, or anything!” you quickly add. “I mean like, let’s take it outside! Somewhere, uh, where it can be happy. Somewhere far, far away from the house.”
He rises to his full height, and you can feel that telltale rumble in his chest. But laughter isn’t the only thing that falls from his lips.
“You’re so scared of it, but you want to let it go?” he says, amidst his laughter. “I love you, you know. You’re so kind.”
Your eyes pop open, and your mind goes blank. You barely register his moving about the kitchen, gathering the things he’ll need. “You love me?” you whisper against his neck.
The back of his neck flushes, which means he’s blushing. “Yeah,” he says, hesitant. “I, uh, I probably shouldn’t have said that. It just slipped out….”
“No, it’s okay,” you tell him, interrupting his apology. “I… l love you, too.” You nuzzle your face into his back, and only then do you realize he’s walked outside. “Wait, Beel, what are you doing?”
“Going to the park,” he answers. He lifts up the bowl and plate, tied together with kitchen twine. “We’re going to let him go, right?”
“Well, yes–”
“Then we need to go somewhere he’ll be happy, right?”
“Yeah, but–”
“I’ve seen some like this over there. It’ll be fine.”
“At least let me put my shoes on!”
“No❤️”