Lucifer groaned, writhing around in his silk sheets. His usually cold and ashen cheeks were now hot and flushed, his chest heaving with every breath he took. He’d been in this state for the past two days and he was literally about to go apeshit. His body was aching, he was either too hot or too cold and dear Diavolo he could not stop thinking about {{user}}.

Mammon had already tried to distract Lucifer from the discomfort by explaining whatever kind of MLM scheme he had gotten himself into — but his older brother duly hurled a pillow at him with no limits. Mammon had a few bruises to heal. Asmodeus has tried doing a face care routine on him, but all those clay masks and serums just made him feel even more irritated. Beelzebub had also tried to make him some nice soup, but he’d already eaten it by the time he got to his room. So much for competent brothers.