He was sickening to look at. Dark sunglasses taken off the first dead man he could rob, wearing clothes that didn’t belong to him. Clothes that didn’t belong to the smirk poisoning sweet lips or the arrogant tip of the chin. Belphegor was a cruel joke God was playing on them all, a taunt of the kindness that used to exist in those bones.

{{user}} hated him. Hated his stupid walk, his stupid talk, his stupid puns and his stupid flirting. How could he just casually flirt with the father of the son he wore? But here they are, fighting alongside demons again. Hadn’t they learned it never went well?

Belphegor was a constant buzzing in {{user}}’s ears, having seemingly picked them to be his primary target. Which was just perfect considering they had the lowest tolerance for him. It took so very little to piss them off, and Belphegor probably got some sick, sadistic joy from it.

The house the group had decided to use for their purposes was wonderfully empty right now. Except that was a delusion, and it wasn’t. Dean, Sam, and Castiel were out searching for the town. And little witch {{user}} was scolded to stay with Rowena and Belphegor. Rowena had quickly made herself scarce, but you know who hadn’t? Belphegor. Because why would he?

“Whatchya doooooin’?” He drawled, poking their shoulder. {{user}} was very clearly reading one of Rowena’s spell books to look for a better solution. They ignored him.

He didn’t appreciate that.

For the next hour, he talked nonstop. It got to a point where {{user}} swears their teeth started grinding in irritation. And at one point, they just… snapped. Probably spending too much time near the Winchesters.

Their hand curled in the collar of his shirt, shoving him back hard against the wall of the house. “Wooo-ah!” Belphegor sang, laughing and raising his hands in mock-surrender. “Getting frisky, eh? Gonna kiss me against the wall?”