The Unwritten

Beau| 23| She/Her| Fandom: ObeyMe!

[collectorofsoulss]

I thought you were gonna abandon us after dropping that gem. I'm so glad you're making a part 2. I'm so hyped and looking forward to it. Hopefully the wait isn't long. Manifesting it turns out exactly how you envisioned it 🧎‍♀️😂 I love drama and chaos so I'm glad you wanted to give it a twist.

Thank you! I'm trying to see this story through! This was my original idea. I condensed it to a snippet. This was my thought process until I sat on it for a little bit.

I was like eh, what if Reader doesn't know about his world? Mammon just erased his entire identity and sense of self just to be with this human. Since they're married, why not create conflict in the marriage and how they overcome it - hence the twist.

At this point in time, Mammon was married with children, two, might I add, with a talk of having number three. Once Mammon knew he was in love with you, he revealed himself. He removed the false appearance and showed you who he truly was: a greed demon.

Despite being from different realms, the two of you made it work, creating a lovely family in the process. Life was good. The peace was soon shattered when his brothers appeared at his doorstep in search of him. At the time, Mammon was at work while you were home with the children. They stated who they were looking for, and their relation to your husband, whom you did not know had brothers. When you called Mammon, he came home immediately.

They varied in size, shape and appearance, which had the children peeking from behind the furniture, curious about the strangers. In the meantime, you offered water or tea, they were really quiet with various expressions of hurt and anger on their faces. Mammon came home hot. He did not look at you when he told you to go upstairs. A child in each arm, up the stairs you go.

How long has it been, a decade? The moment he heard your footsteps disappear, the restraint broke. He demanded to know why they were there and told them they had no right to show up. Voices rose, old wounds surfaced. There were accusations, resentment, things left unsaid for centuries spilling out in minutes. A few tried to reason, after all, they did not come here to fight, but Mammon wouldn’t let them explain. It wasn't until Belphegor said something disrespectful that everyone kicked out.

Once they were gone, you eventually returned downstairs. He was seated on the couch, his gaze was to the window, the last place they were. You joined beside him, quietly asking the truth, “Were those men your brothers?”

He scoffed, “Tsk. They’re dead to me, ain’t want nothin’ to do with ‘em.”

Mammon does not elaborate further; his knee was bouncing uncontrollably until you set your hand on it, sliding closer. His fidgeting eventually slowed until it came to a complete stop. He was silent, ashamed even as he sat there, unable to explain himself.

“They shouldn’t’ve come ‘ere,” he muttered. “They don’t get to just show up like that. Not after everythin’–” he paused as if second-guessing himself to continue. “Forget it.”

“When you’re ready, I’m here,” you whispered, supportively, your hand patted his knee.

Mammon let out a humorless huff and turned his head, blinking hard. The tears came anyway, traitorous, sliding down before he can stop them. He scrubbed at his face with one hand, embarrassed.

“I could forgive ’em for what they did to me. But I swear if they ever made my kids feel like I did back then…” He shakes his head once.

“They did search for you,” you reminded. “Maybe they’ve changed and want to do better.”

He scoffed, “Demons don’t change,” he laughed in disbelief. “We’re bound to what we are: greed, wrath, envy—pick your poison. We’re cursed to carry it for eternity to be miserable fucks.”

“Are you miserable here with us?” you asked softly.

Mammon sat up, “What! Of course not, babe – !” He stopped himself mid-sentence. The words caught in his throat when he realized what he was saying. He looked at you then, truly looked, as if the answer had been sitting in front of him the entire time.

“I know,” you murmured. “I know you’re not.” You reached up without hesitation, brushing your thumb beneath his eye, wiping away the tear he had missed. “Because you changed.”

Mammon’s shoulders slumped as if exhaustion had finally caught up to him. He laid in your lap, face inward, burying it against your stomach as if the past could not reach him there.

“There, there,” you murmured, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. Your fingers moved slowly through his hair, smoothing, stroking, the same gentle rhythm you used when the children were overwhelmed.

“I know you said they’re dead to you; however, you should use this moment to get closure, to tell them exactly how they hurt you.” Your hand slid down to the nape of his neck, massaging gently. “Honey, you deserve peace. This must have been bothering you for a long time now. If hearing them out gives you the help you need, then let it happen. And if all you need to do is tell them goodbye, that’s enough, too.”

Mammon finally lifted his head from your lap. His eyes were red, lashes clumped together. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah… I should meet with ’em. Tell ’em to fuck off properly this time.”

You offered him a small, approving smile, “If that’s what you need to say, then say it.”

Mammon paced the living room, eyes constantly checked the clock, then the door, until he ran a hand through his hair like he might rip the nerves out by force.

“They’re gonna be here any minute,” he muttered. “This is stupid. I shoulda told ’em to get lost through text! I don’t— I don’t gotta relive all this shit.”

You watched him for a moment before speaking. Then, calmly, you held out your arms. “Come here,” you said.

He hesitated, pride flaring on reflex, then it fizzled out just as quickly. He crossed the room and let you pull him in. You wrapped your arms around his waist. Mammon exhaled as soon as his chest met yours, tension bleeding out of him in a slow, uneven breath.

Rising onto the tips of your toes, you lifted your hands to his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His hands found your waist almost instantly, fingers gripping gently, to hold you close.

Your lips brushed his lightly, testing, a soft question rather than a demand. He responded slowly, tilting his head slightly, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss deepened just enough to convey reassurance.

You felt the tension in him begin to dissolve under your touch, the tight line of his jaw softening, his hands loosening ever so slightly. Your heart swelled at the vulnerability he allowed in this small, sacred moment. You simply held the kiss, letting it speak all the things words could not: love, support, understanding, and the unspoken promise that you were a safe place for each other, no matter what's to come.

He let out a relieved sigh and murmured, “…I needed that.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice warm. “And I’ll always give it to you.”

Mammon's blues eyes widened slightly, a warm blush spread across his cheeks, creeping even into the tips of his ears. He stared at you, unblinking, as if seeing you for the first time all over again.

He couldn’t find words; none of the clever, snarky lines or boasts he usually used came to him. He was speechless, captivated by the depth in your gaze, the quiet certainty in your voice. The thought struck him with a shiver of reverent wonder. She's Father's best creation. And she's all mine.

His lips parted slightly, just enough to draw in a shaky breath, and he continued to stare, completely lost in you. Mammon's eyes shone, sparkling in delight, not with mischief but with pure, unabashed adoration. The moment was disrupted when there was a knock at the door.

“Okay,” he found his voice. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

“This is my wife,” he said, gesturing toward you as he called your name. You stepped forward with a calm smile and a slight nod, acknowledging each man as Mammon introduced them. From the moment your eyes met theirs, it was clear the room was charged with different, complicated energy.

Lucifer’s aura carried a tension beneath the surface, a silent storm he masked with an almost clinical indifference. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together and his gaze lingered on Mammon with a cold scrutiny that hinted at frustration and disappointment. He didn’t meet your eyes for long, as if dismissing you entirely from his existence.

Leviathan’s presence was weighted with guilt. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his eyes flicked to Mammon then back to the floor, as though he wished he could erase the years of his ill-treatment. The air around him was tense with remorse, asking for forgiveness even before words were spoken.

Satan’s aura was probing, curiosity evident in the way his head tilted slightly, brows arched. He observed you analytically, not judgmental but intensely focused, like he was trying to understand your place in Mammon’s life and the dynamics that had kept this family together.

Asmodeus' energy was wounded, a subtle mix of hurt and disbelief. His smile was forced, eyes softening as they lingered on you. The aura he radiated was warm yet brittle; he realized a cherished part of Mammon’s life had been kept from him, and it stung.

Belphegor, on the other hand, exuded anger. Every movement was tight, controlled yet brimming with irritation. His glare landed squarely on you, dark and accusatory, as though you were responsible for every year Mammon had kept his distance. He didn’t bother hiding his resentment, the faint edge of a growl audible in the back of his throat.

Beelzebub’s presence was heavy with quiet hurt. His eyes held a sorrowful weight, the sort of pain that comes from feeling excluded, untrusted, left out of the life of someone you deeply care about.

 “And… that’s all of ’em,” he muttered, voice tight. “My brothers.”

Everyone was located in the living room, complementary water remained untouched on the table. The conversation started as an argument. Belphegor was the first to openly lash out, his voice sharp with anger and accusation. “You kept him away from all of us!” he spat, glaring at you as if you were the one responsible. “All these years, and you just let him hide his life from us!”

Mammon didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move much at all. “Belphie,” he said evenly, “disrespect my wife again, and I’ll show ya what it feels like to have me as an enemy, ya 'ear?”

Belphegor huffed, clearly simmering ready to say more but Asmodeus and Beelzebub intervened before things escalated further. “Belphie, calm down,” Asmodeus said. “You’re just going to make this worse.”

Beelzebub nodded in agreement. “Yeah, stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

Once the tempers settled slightly, Mammon calmly explained his reasoning for keeping his family secret. Slowly, the brothers started to share their own pieces.  Eventually, they reached an understanding. Each brother, including Mammon, acknowledged their failings and vowed to do better, not to erase the past but to move forward without causing each other more pain.

The tension broke when Asmodeus, unable to contain his emotions, started to cry. “Can… can I get a hug?” he whispered, “I missed you!” Mammon pulled him into his arms without hesitation. Soon after, Beelzebub stepped forward, and Mammon hugged him as well. One by one, he embraced each brother.

When it came to Belphegor, he remained aloof, crossing his arms and leaning back, pretending indifference. Asmodeus, with mild annoyance despite his tears, gave him a gentle shove. “Come on, Belphie,” he said softly. “Get over yourself.” Reluctantly, Belphegor allowed himself to be pulled into Mammon’s arms.

Finally, it was Lucifer. He had remained composed and quiet, but Mammon stepped toward him hesitantly. Lucifer’s arms went around him almost reluctantly at first, shoulders stiff, but then he pressed a little closer. His voice, low and uncharacteristically soft, reached Mammon’s ears only:

“I’m proud of you,” Lucifer stated quietly, “After everything… after all the mistakes and the years apart, you found yourself, you found your life, your family. I am happy for you.”

Mammon’s eyes welled up, blurring slightly, and he had to blink quickly to keep the tears from spilling over. “L-Lucifer…” he murmured, a waver in his voice.

Lucifer stepped back enough to look him in the eye, the slightest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. He placed a hand on his shoulder as he said these words: “You’ve done well, Mammon. That’s all I wanted to see.”

Eventually, the brothers would get a chance to officially meet their nephews. And there would be talks of having the children visit them in Devildom, too, learning about their father's side and what it means to be a half-demon.

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Chapter VIII

The morning arrived without sunlight, a transition you still haven’t grown used to. The sky beyond the windows looked the same as it always did: dark and daunting. The Devildom did not wake the way the human world did, there were no golden stretch of dawn.

The children were still asleep. Last night, you gave Junior a warm bath, you were careful enough to examine for any cuts. Regardless, you had him sleep in the healing pod. At first he did not want to but you held his hand until he fell asleep. Maximus was already tucked into bed, worn out from the day and blissfully unaware of what was happening beyond his dreams.

On the couch was were you slept, barely, you were too busy tossing and turning. Periodically, you’d get up, checking on them both. There was an anxious feeling that never quite left you. This place made you paranoid, on edge, constantly waiting for something to go wrong. You couldn’t wait to leave.

“A meeting?” you repeated in disbelief. “Of course there is.” You laughed once, hollow. There was a gradual cross of your arms over your chest as you looked at him with guarded eyes. “And who is this Lord Diavolo?” there was hesitation, but you added it quietly, “What, are you planning on sacrificing me?”

Moments earlier, Barbatos had arrived on time as always to deliver breakfast. He was polite as he informed you that Lord Diavolo had requested a meeting. Not an interrogation, he’d said. A necessary conversation.

Mammon stiffened at your question, eyes widening in genuine shock, “Don’t—don’t say that,” he said pleaded, eyes darting to your face as if trying to read where this fear had come from, “C’mon…” Then, softer, almost ashamed, “C’mon… baby. It’s me.”

The intensity of your eyes didn’t soften.  “Don’t… don’t look at me like that.” He shook his head, frustrated, words tripping over each other. “I ain’t— I wouldn’t— hell, I’d never, even to save my soul.”

The statement had some weight to it; his words pierced through your anger. There was a slight shift of your body, opting to look at the darkened window as if that alone might keep the tears from rising.

You barely had the voice to say words, so all you could do was nod.

“Diavolo, he’s… he’s reasonable. It shouldn’t be nothin’ too serious. He probably wanna know what happened.”

“You’re saying that like it’s supposed to make me feel better,” you replied. “It doesn’t. I don’t want to be here.”

“Look,” he said, voice dropping further, trying and failing to sound confident. “Diavolo runs this place. He’s gotta ask questions, yeah, but that don’t mean—”

“Is he dangerous?” you interrupted skipping straight to the point.

Mammon paused for a second. Was it a trick question? Technically, yeah. Diavolo can be dangerous, anyone here can, it’s Hell after all. However, compared to Lucifer, Diavolo was far more forgiving but how the hell was he supposed to explain that to you?

“…No,” he said at last. “Not to you.” Then, he doubled down too fast, “He’s harmless.”

You stared at him. “A demon,” you said slowly, “can be harmless?”

Mammon opened his mouth only to close it. He knew that nothing he said was going to make this better.

Time passed like sand in an hourglass. You sat perched on the windowsill, staring into the endless darkness beyond the glass. There was nothing beautiful about the Devildom, no horizon or stars worth naming. Mammon had gone quiet because everything he said only seemed to make things worse. He sat on the couch, turning his wedding band around his finger again and again, a nervous habit you knew too well. Your rings, your wedding band and engagement ring hung from the chain at his neck, hidden beneath his collar, close to his heart.

He can have them, you were never going to wear them again. The entire marriage had been built on a lie, not a malicious one, perhaps, but selfish. You weren’t angry he was a demon, it was due to the fact he decided for you what you could and could not know. Because now this lack of information made you unprepared and unfit to properly care for you children. This secret hadn’t stayed harmless, it had hurt them and will continue to.

Eventually, he went to check on the children. They were still asleep, both of them curled in their separate places, faces soft and unguarded, somehow untouched by the tension that had settled so heavily over everything else.

A knock. The sound hit the door like a command, heavy enough that you felt it in your chest. There was a slight jump in your pulse. This is him, your mind supplied immediately. The Prince.

He actually came. The comment you made to Barbatos after he delivered the message was reflected in this moment.  You were not walking into unfamiliar halls, separating yourself from your children not for politics or for the comfort of anyone else in this realm.

You did not know the Devildom. You did not understand its rules, its dangers, or what passed for mercy here and until you did, you were not leaving your children behind for even a moment.

If something happens you needed to be there, you would not forgive yourself if otherwise. You had already spent a few night haunted by what could have gone wrong. There cannot be another.

So the Prince came to you.

Whatever this meeting was about, whatever questions were going to be asked or judgments made, one thing was non-negotiable: you were not going anywhere without your children.

Carefully, you slid down from the sill and took only a few cautious steps forward.

“…Come in.”

The door opened and cold air swept in from the hall, sending goosebump up your body as you shivered. The figure who entered filled the doorway so completely that you instinctively stepped back from his sheer size.

He was enormous. He was taller than Mammon, broad enough that his shoulders brushed the frame as he came through. Golden eyes locked onto yours immediately, and a friendly smile followed.

“Good morning,” he greeted. He smiled warmly as if appearing to be friendly, however you did not return it.

“I am Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom,” he introduced formally. “Ruler of this realm, guardian of its balance.”

He gestured to the table, “Shall we?”

You sat first. He followed, the chair beneath him creaking faintly under his weight. Against your better intuition, you found yourself staring at his massive hands. His fingers were thick, strong with broad knuckles. He had hands that could cradle a skull as easily as a teacup.

The hell were they feeding him for him to be this size? The thought came uninvited and unwelcome.

They fed on humans. It had to.

There was a burning sensation in your stomach as if you wanted to puke from the image flashing across your mind.

“How are the children?”

It was an innocent question, however, your mind felt stuck on the image of those hands, on the impossible size of him, on the fact that you were sitting in Hell across from its prince with no shield but borrowed protection of being his guest. Finally able to look away, you met his eyes who waited expectantly but no answer came.

There was the sound of a distant door, Mammon exiting the bedroom. “They’re good, still sleepin'.”

Diavolo nodded, accepting the answer without further comment.

“As far as introduction goes, you are...?” he prompted.

You said nothing. Mammon joined by your side, seating close till your knees touched. His presence was almost careless, but there was something deliberate in the way he positioned himself just a fraction closer to you than necessary. He answered for you, he said your name, “My wife.” Diavolo eyes glanced to you for a reaction but when none came, he nodded.

Mammon leaned back in his chair. “So,” he started, raising an eyebrow to Diavolo, “what’s all this ‘bout?”

“I am simply seeking clarity of this rather delicate situation.”

There was a moment of nervousness flashing across Mammon’s face, but it eventually faded to understanding.

Diavolo folded his hands atop the table. “You two are husband and wife, correct? When did this union occur?”

Mammon answered easily, “Ten years ago.”

“Then she possess the mark of unity?”

Mammon’s demeaner faltered, “…No.”

“I see,” Diavolo said quietly. “So you do know that in the eyes of Devildom that this union is not official?”

Mammon gave an reluctant nod.

“Human marriages are recognized only within the human realm. They hold no legality here particularly when one party is a demon. There is a formal rite, a binding ritual of unity in order to be acknowledged under Devildom law. Currently, there is no legal recognition.”

The explanation was for you but you did not care.

“When did you intend to formalize it?”

Mammon glanced at you from the side of his eyes, but you gave him nothing. Your expression remained closed off, arms crossed loosely as you stared past the table, present but distant. Mammon looked away, shoulders slumping a fraction. He said nothing.

Diavolo observed the exchange, understanding. “I see,” he said, softer this time. “Now, the children,” Diavolo moved on. “How many is shared between you both?”

“Two.”

Diavolo paused just long enough to carefully craft this question, “And there are no…others?”

Mammon’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Are there any children outside your marriage?”

Your posture stiffened beside him, the reaction instinctive. The question had never crossed your mind before not once. It had never needed to.

And there are no… others? The words burrowed deep in your mind where they didn’t belong. You kept your face still, but inside, something shifted. A cold, creeping thought you hadn’t prepared for. Were there others before you?

Mammon had lived a life before you, you had made peace with that but knowing he had lived a longer lifespan than yours changes everything.

But the darker possibility followed too quickly behind it, during your marriage? A quiet, nauseating fear curled low in your stomach. Right now you were surrounded by truths you hadn’t known, secrets that had rewritten your life overnight. If something this significant—what he was—could be hidden from you, then what else had slipped passed without you ever noticing?

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye without meaning to. Mammon’s reaction was immediate, the sharp snap of someone insulted by the very suggestion. That should have soothed you. It didn’t.

Everything suddenly felt fragile, look how easily your mind now reached for worst-case answers where trust had once lived unchallenged.

“The hell kinda question is that? No. Hell no.”

Diavolo gave a short, awkward laugh, lifting one hand. “Forgive me. That was poorly phrased. It is not my intention to imply impropriety.” He cleared his throat lightly. “However, when jurisdiction between realms is involved, I am required to account for all possibilities.”

Mammon scoffed under his breath, offended but restraining himself. When Diavolo waved the implication away with polite awkwardness, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding; the uneasiness lingered because there are going to be things you do not know of Mammon or of this world.

“Let us continue,” he concluded. “Now, your children were born in the human realm,” he summarized, voice now returning to neutral. “They remained there without authorization. Their demonic heritage went unregistered and untrained.”

Mammon shifted in his seat. “I didn’t leave it unchecked,” he said, a note of urgency slipping into his voice. “I— I took precautions.”

“Explain.”

Mammon hesitated only a second before continuing. “I went to a witch. Cost me a fortune.” A humorless huff escaped him. “She brewed somethin’ to suppress it.”

“Untrained demonic power draws attention. It invites response. Had your son’s manifestation escalated further, there are external forces that could have intervened in ways they seem fit. And that,” Diavolo paused, “brings us to an unavoidable conclusion. I am not authorizing your children to return to the human realm.”

Mammon stood. The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed back. His palms slammed flat against the table, not in violence but in disbelief.

“The hell you mean?” he snapped. “That’s their home. That’s where they grew up. You don’t just—”

“Mammon,” Diavolo said calmly. “You fathered half-demons children in the human world and concealed their existence from this court, and from me. The potential consequences of this secrecy are far greater than you seem to realize. The laws of our realm exist for a reason. If your son had lost control again, human authorities or worse, celestial forces could have intervened. It could have sparked a conflict between realms.”

“I want to return home,” you spoke. “Today.”

You wanted to see it, the demon beneath the prince. The threat, the cruelty, the inevitability you had been bracing for since you arrived in this realm. Part of you expected fire, or chains, some declaration of absolute authority. Something… monstrous. Instead, Diavolo regarded you in silence for a long moment.

“I cannot allow that,” he replied calmly.

Your voice rose despite yourself. “You bring me to your realm, tell me my children can’t leave, and expect me to sit politely at your table? This is kidnapping.”

Diavolo did not correct you immediately. He folded his hands together, posture still composed, “You are free to leave,” he said evenly. “At any time.”

 “…My children?”

“They are not.”

The room seemed to tilt. “So you’re saying I can go,” you said slowly, carefully, “but I have to leave my children behind.”

“I am saying,” Diavolo informed, “that your children are under my jurisdiction. You. Are not.”

The words landed with devastating clarity. You shook your head once, sharply, as if that alone might undo what you’d heard. For a heartbeat, it looked as though you might say something else, something reckless and utterly disrespectful. However, you opted to dismiss yourself from the room. The bathroom door closed behind you with a soft click.

You barely made it to the sink before your composure shattered. Your hands gripped the porcelain edge as your breath came apart, uneven pulls that made it difficult to breathe. Tears spilled, uncontrollably; you felt humiliated. Your new reality was setting in and you don't think your body was able to handle it.

Back in the sitting room, the atmosphere changed the instant the door shut. The warmth faded from his expression it was not replaced with rage but with gravity. The indulgent politeness fell away like a curtain being drawn back, revealing the ruler beneath. He no longer looked like a host appeasing a guest but a prince weighing a sentence.

Mammon couldn’t sit. He paced a short line across the rug, boots scuffing against the floor before turning back again. His hands dragged through his hair, fingers trembling just slightly. “They’re just kids,” he said, voice strained. “They ain’t weapons. Ain’t threats. They’re good kids.” He stopped, turning sharply toward Diavolo. “I’ll make sure of it. I swear.”

Diavolo watched him for a while. He briefly closed his yes. When he finally spoke again, the warmth was gone from his tone. “They are children which is precisely the problem. Children are volatile,” Diavolo disclosed. “They feel first and think later. In their rawest state they are destructive because they have not yet master restraint. You know this. Remember Satan?” Diavolo reminded. “His birth nearly tore apart this realm. He was so uncontrolled Lucifer had to bound him in chains because there was no other way to contain the sin of Wrath.”

Mammon’s voice dropped. “Satan ain’t a kid.”

“No,” Diavolo agreed. “He was a newborn demon with no emotional regulation and lacked the ability to reason. It took centuries before he could exist without destroying everything around him.”

Mammon stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling too quickly. Then, suddenly, “…Strip ‘em.”

Diavolo’s brow lifted slightly. “Strip them?”

“Their power,” Mammon said hoarsely. “Seal it, remove it, whatever you gotta do. Just—” He faltered, “Just don’t make ‘em stay here. They belong with their mama.”

Diavolo studied him carefully now. “You would deny your children their heritage?” he questioned. “Their birthright as demons?”

Mammon hesitated. The pause stretched long enough to be an answer on its own. “…If it keeps ‘em safe,” he said at last. “Yeah. I would.”

Diavolo was silent for a long moment, contemplating his next choice of words. “You are a demon, one of the Seven Sins. A being of excess, desire–greed, a force that consume and never satiated… and yet you would sever that very nature from your children to spare them suffering. To remove their power is to deny them of who they are.”

Mammon was at a loss for words. He stared at his reflection in the tall glass windows, the faint distortion warping his face just enough that he barely recognized himself. For once, there was no grin to hide behind. Greed had always been easy: wanting, taking, hoarding. He had lived his most of his existence embracing excess.

Mammon was confronted with the idea that he would be the one to decide which parts of his children were too dangerous to exist.

He had never questioned what was in him, yet the thought of those same traits inside his children made his chest ache in a way he didn’t have words for. He wasn’t afraid of them becoming demons. He was afraid of them being hurt because of it. Afraid that one day they’d look at him and realize he’d handed them a curse.

“Allow me to ask you this,” he continued. “If your wife had the means to remove the fragility of humanity from them, the parts that can get them hurt or betrayed, would she?”

Mammon’s gaze shifted from his own reflection to Diavolo’s, whose caught faintly in the glass. The prince remained seated, patiently waiting a response. Mammon didn’t need time to consider it. She wouldn’t.

The thought struck him with absolute certainty. She would never look at her children and decide that something about them was wrong that there was as a flaw to be corrected. She had always protected them by adding, whether that be more love, more care, more vigilance never by taking pieces away.

Where he saw danger in what they might become, she saw innocence in what they already were. Where he feared their power, she feared the cost of losing even a fragment of who they were meant to be. She would never strip them because them being a demon is part of their identity now.

Mammon turned away from the glass, unable to look at either reflection any longer. A decision was made.

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Chapter VII

Mammon was introducing you to this strange demon. He presented himself before you as a human. That was the most frightening part, how easily they could pass as one. Sure, Mammon was actively doing the same but part of you wasn’t prepared to see the other side of him. But on second thought, would he ever show you? Regardless, this demon was,

“Barbatos,” said with a bow.

A tall and slender man, he was. He raised his head to allow your eyes to meet. They were unnerving; an unnatural green devoid of emotion. Neither warmth nor even malice, only an invasive stare. It was as if he was examining inside of you, viewing the circulation of blood flow through the organs until it reached your heart and watched it beat.

Frightened, you flinched backwards, your feet stepping on Mammon’s as you jarred him. Instinctively, you attempted to sever eye contact but you could not; he held you captive as if he was not done scrutinizing you. This light tug-of-war ceased when you managed to break eye contact. What the hell was that? This was the weird demon shit you knew was coming. Uncomfortable, you crossed your arms to try to tolerate this interaction.

Soon, there was a hand at your lower back, lightly patting you before settling at your hip. The sudden intimacy startled you, and you turned your head to see that Mammon was already looking at you. He searched your face openly, “It's nothing,” you whispered.

“Welcome to the Demon King’s Castle. I am the royal butler who serves the Prince, and as our honorable guests, it is my duty to ensure your comfort and safety,” Barbatos introduced. “I am at your service, shall it be at any hour of the day. If you require anything, summon me with a chime.” A polished silver bell appeared in the center of his gloved palm with a petite lime-green bow on top.

Mammon was the one who accepted the bell; you had not so much as looked at it. There was no intention of taking anything offered by a demon’s hand, no matter how polished the gesture appeared. The silver chimed faintly as it settled into his palm. Barbatos lingered moments longer, as though inviting questions. And you had none, well, not for him at least.

“I shall take my leave.”

The instant he dismissed himself and the doors closed, you stepped away from Mammon’s side. You spun to face him, arms refolding over your chest as if to hold yourself together.

“I don’t trust him,” you stated. “I don’t trust any of this.” You began to pace the length of the suite restlessly. Your fingers pressed to your temples as you forced yourself to breathe slowly, anything to keep from panicking. When you stopped, your eyes lifted to his, searching, “I need to know,” you paused. “He won’t hurt Maximus.”

Mammon answered immediately, “He won’t,” he said, stepping forward towards you. “I swear. Trust me—”

“But that’s the thing, I don’t!” The words tore out of you unrestrained. “I don’t trust you!”

That stopped him. Your hands lifted, palms open as you gestured around the suite, the marble floors, the silks, the quiet opulence that felt more like a cage than comfort. “I don’t have a choice,” you continued, voice breaking despite your effort to remain calm. “...I don't even know why I asked,” you muttered after a thought. “Just go.”

Mammon had guilt etched plainly into his features. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he headed to the door. There was remorse there, the kind that did not ask for forgiveness because it knew it had no right to.

Against your will, you grew accustomed to this demon. He was quite the butler; he would have been phenomenal under different circumstances. Three meals were freshly prepared and promptly delivered to your suite. Each was carefully balanced and thoughtfully portioned. What unsettled you most was not the consistency but the familiarity. The dishes were from your country, foods you recognized. They were prepared with a skill that suggested it was possibly studied to the finest detail. Everything was cooked exceptionally well.

When Maximus grew fussy, soft pastries appeared alongside sliced fruit, peeled and arranged into animals. He brightened at those moments, delight replacing his earlier unease. To spare Maximus from boredom, toys and books appeared: wooden figures polished smooth by hand, plush animals stitched from soft fabric, storybooks with thick pages and fun illustrations clearly chosen with a child in mind.

On the couch, Maximus was seated on your lap as you gently brushed through his curls. He was reading aloud, stumbling over a word every now and then until you helped him pronounce it.

A sound at the door. Barbatos.

Despite his eerie energy, he never entered without permission.

“Come in.”

The door opened just enough for him to pass through. He did not step far inside, only far enough to roll a small table into the suite. He positioned the tray with deliberate care beside the couch, then bowed his head.

“A snack for you and the young master.”

Maximus stiffened; he was never fond of Barbatos either.

As Barbatos straightened, he led with a question. “If I may offer a tour of the castle grounds? It may provide some relief from the indoors. I can personally escort you.”

The idea was tempting to see anything beyond these stone walls and velvet drapes, however, you were not naïve. Yes, you ate their food because Mammon had assured you it was safe and accepted their hospitality because refusing it would change nothing. The fact remains, this was still a demon’s domain,  kindness did not equal harmlessness and their refinement did not erase danger.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “But I’ll rather wait for Mammon.”

Barbatos regarded you for a brief moment then nodded. “As you wish.”

Leviathan surfaced through a shallow puddle at the edge of the street. The water rippled once, twice, then stilled as though nothing unnatural had occurred. It was night when he appeared; the streets were vacant. The energy pulled him here. Mammon’s scent was faint but was unmistakably his. It was threaded through the air but heavy around the modest house ahead. It clung to the porch, railing, to the small wooden bench that swung gently in the breeze. Leviathan stared at it longer than he meant to, imagining Mammon there, slouched and relaxed with a child resting on his chest, living in a way Levi had never known him to be.

He approached slowly, boots crunching over fallen leaves. The house itself had warm-colored siding. A light was left on inside, glowing softly against the windows as if someone had simply stepped away and meant to come back.

Leviathan hesitated at the door. Did he have the right to enter? But what if the child's here? A quick spell, he unlocked the door. He took the time to examine the photos lining the walls, moments captured in time. One was Mammon, hyper-focused as he held his son overly carefully. Leviathan strolled down the hallway, admiring each one. Eventually, he paused at the refrigerator where he saw a calendar, dates circled in bright ink. School. Birthday. Doctor. Anniversary.

Leviathan cleared his throat, “This…” He reached for his phone, notifying a select few of his brothers. And one by one they appeared.

Beelzebub moved slowly, afraid the house might collapse from his weight alone. He noticed the small shoes lined up by the door. “They lived here,” Beel said, stating the obvious.

Satan lingered near the kitchen counter, eyes drawn to the stacks of paperwork: forms, lists, reminders written in Mammon’s unmistakable scrawl. “He maintained this life?” Satan said almost to himself in disbelief.

Asmodeus said nothing, too stunned and possibly overwhelmed at all this. Beelzebub, now in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator to see that there were labeled leftovers, healthy snacks and juice boxes. He stared at them for a long moment before his vision blurred. “He really didn’t trust us.”

Satan stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Beelzebub’s shoulder. He was at a loss for words, unable to provide encouragement.

Leviathan found the album by accident. It was tucked onto the highest shelf of a narrow cabinet in the living room, half-hidden behind children’s books and folded paperwork. He had reached for it, thinking it was a photo album for the kids, of their school pictures, holidays, something harmless. The weight of it told him otherwise. It was thick, cream-colored. The edges were worn smooth by hands that had opened it again and again. The spine bowed slightly, softened with use.

Levi froze. A wedding album. His fingers hovered, then recoiled as though the thing were alive, “We shouldn’t,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “This is…this is private.”

Asmodeus had already noticed, “Yes. If he won't tell us, we'll just see for ourselves!”

“A-Asmo!”

Levi barely tried to stop him because deep down he was eager to know too but his conscience wouldn't let him. Asmo doesn't have one, so he was perfect for this. Asmodeus didn’t open it right away; he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. When he did, Levi sat beside him.

“Satan, Beel, come look,” Asmodeus called forth the other two.

They too circled around, awaiting to look at the contents.

Asmodeus inhaled sharply before he opened the page to the wedding. Mammon stood at the altar in an immaculate white suit, tailored perfectly. His hair was combed back, one rebellious strand falling loose over his forehead. Mammon was absolutely smitten and utterly undone as if a spell was cast. Asmodeus had never seen his brother with such expression; he sat up for a closer look, unable to believe his eyes. Mammon was mesmerized; his eyes held nothing but love.

His wife appeared on the opposite page. She wore a gold ballroom gown, the fabric flowing in layered cascades. The bodice was fitted, its embroidery delicate as it traced her form. The skirt billowed outward, pooling at her feet like molten gold.

The makeup was gold-toned shadow dusting her eyelids, accentuating her eyes without concealing them. Jewelry adorned her sparingly. A fine chain rested at her collarbone, bearing a single pendant that gleamed faintly against her skin with matching earrings. Mammon’s expression in the photo said everything.

Asmodeus went completely still, pausing at the page. “Oh,” he breathed.

“She’s pretty,” Beel said after a while.

“Pretty?” Asmodeus repeated, “Pretty doesn’t cut it! She’s a masterpiece. Where the hell did Mammon find her?”

Page after page told the same story; Mammon was never far from her. In one photograph, they sat in a quiet corner of the reception hall, noise and celebration around them. She was turned slightly away, attention caught by something off-frame. Mammon had a lock of her hair around his finger with eyes half-lidded as if he was intoxicated by love, awaiting her dose.

Another image caught him standing behind her, arms wrapped around her middle, chin resting against her shoulder. His hands were possessive, fingers flexed as if he needed to grasp every inch. She leaned back into him completely. He was smiling, almost shyly, like he couldn’t quite believe she was his.

At the long banquet table, Mammon sat close enough that their knees touched beneath the cloth. One of her shoes lay discarded beneath his chair. He held her hand in his lap, thumb over her knuckles, while he talked animatedly with someone else. Even distracted, he never let go. In another, he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her fingers, eyes closed like a prayer was answered.

Later, in softer, quieter moments Mammon had shed his jacket. The collar of his shirt was undone, sleeves rolled up. She sat sideways across his lap, barefoot, her feet resting on the edge of another chair because they ached. One of his hands went around her waist and rested on her thighs, while the other massaged the arch of her foot. She looked down at him with tired affection, and he looked at her like he’d do anything for her.

And then toward the end of the album, she slept against him, fully spent. Mammon’s arm was wrapped around her; his head leaned against hers, eyes closed, expression peaceful in a way none of them had ever seen. Bare feet were hidden beneath her dress. Every image spoke the same truth: he couldn’t keep his hands or eyes off her; he was in love.

“This was touching,” Beel acknowledged. “I’m happy for them.”

Asmodeus closed the album slowly, “Me too,” he agreed.

Satan stood near the entertainment unit, “There’s more,” he said with interest. He knelt and opened the cabinet beneath the television. Inside were neatly stacked discs, each labeled in Mammon’s careful handwriting.

Wedding

Maternity

Junior

Maximus

Vacation

Graduation

The video stuttered once, then smoothed. Music filled the room, a melody that curled softly through the speakers. The camera found them at the center of the floor. The first dance.

Mammon stepped into her space, one hand settled at the small of her back, the other found her hand, fingers lacing together. He led beautifully. Every step was smooth; he turned her with a subtle shift of his wrist, a gentle pressure at her waist, and her dress followed like it was alive, fabric blooming outward as she spun, layers of silk catching the light. She laughed softly, and Mammon drank up the sight of her.

When he drew her back in, it was intimate. His forehead rested against hers, noses nearly brushing, the rest of the world dissolving into a blur of lights and murmurs. For a moment, they swayed, until Mammon leaned down, lips to her ear. Whatever he whispered wasn’t meant for anyone else.

The camera captured her expression; her eyes filled instantly. She laughed and cried all at once, joy spilling over; it was too big an emotion to contain, her fingers clutched the fabric of his suit as she went weak in the knees. Mammon tightened his hold, two arms curling more securely around her. They swayed like that for a few more beats before he kissed her. The camera wobbled slightly as whoever was filming sniffled.

Beel smiled. Something warm pooled in his chest as the screen glinted with shared joy. Laughter spilled from the speakers, and Mammon looked… happy. Beel folded his arms loosely over his stomach, the sound filling something deep and familiar inside him. Family. Belonging. He let the feeling sit there.

Leviathan, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably. His gaze slid away the moment laughter erupted. At first his eyes were stubbornly on the wall, anywhere but the screen. There was a faint blush to his cheeks. This felt wrong, like stumbling into a private conversation you weren’t meant to hear or even worse...reading someone else’s diary. This wasn’t for him. This was too intimate.

Asmodeus did not once look away. He stared, refusing to blink as if he'd miss an important scene. Asmodeus typical playful expression was replaced by fascination. He watched the way Mammon leaned close, moments where she giggled into him. The way they touched naturally was foreign to a demon like him. This was affection; it was pure an emotion he understood once a long time ago.

Satan was too busy analyzing the content, fingers gripping his sleeves in thought. His eyes narrowed as the footage played, gaze intense as they absorbed the details. The trust was undeniable. It unsettled him, because who would have thought a demon of such high status would have let his guard down so low, it was practically nonexistent. Mammon trusted this human with his entire well-being, something that no demon takes lightly.

Belphegor manifested from the shadows near the back of the room. He was leaning casually against the wall, nonchalant. He was mildly confused why no one told him they were gathered here. His eyes were half-lidded, bored at first until they lingered on the screen longer than necessary. Once he realized what he was seeing, his eyes bounced from the screen to the album resting on Asmodeus’ lap, then around the room at the expressions he didn’t expect to see.

“…You’re kidding me,” he scoffed.

No one responded to him. On the screen, Mammon spun her around and around, her laughter spilling freely as her dress flared in a wide, luminous arc. The image froze for half a second as the disc skipped, her smile caught mid-laugh.

Belphegor glared, “So this is what you’re all crying over?” he caviled. “Some fake fairytale?”

Asmodeus stiffened immediately. “Belphie,” he warned. “Stop.”

Belphegor didn’t even look at him, “He lied to us!” his eyes locked on the screen. “Built a whole life behind our backs and you’re sitting here acting like you lost something. He chose them.”

“That doesn’t make it meaningless,” Asmodeus retorted, finally turning on him. “Did you even look at them?”

Belphegor gave a humorless laugh, “What’s there to look at? He's playing house with a mortal,” he scoffed. “Pretending he was something he’s not. Now it’s over, thee end.”

Beel’s shoulders tensed. Belphegor noticed immediately. “What?” he taunted. “You gonna whine over it too?”

“He loves them,” Beelzebub voiced.

Belphegor clicked his tongue and looked away, jaw tightening like he was biting down on something bitter. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was no humor left, only irritation. He turned his back, voice rising. “You’re all being ridiculous. Mammon didn’t want us to know anything. So he can go fuck off with his choice. We were fine before. We’ll be fine now.”

Asmodeus stood abruptly. “Well, I want to get to know them.”

Belphegor scoffed. “I don’t care.”

Beel nodded, “I do too,” he said quietly. “And you should care, Belphie, they’re family.”

Shadows stirred at his feet, reacting to the spike in his emotion. “Mn,” he grunted. His eyes glared back at the screen one last time, “…This was never going to last,” Belphegor muttered before dispersing.

Asmodeus slowly sank into his seat. His hands came to rest on the closed album. His eyes were glossy, unfocused.

Satan rubbed his temples, exhaling through his nose. “That,” he muttered, “could have been worse.”

Leviathan hadn’t moved at all. He stared at the screen with glassy eyes as he continued to watch. The music played on. The scene shifted again. Mammon and her stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the cake, hands overlapping around the knife as they cut into it together. When he lifted the first piece, he was careful to not to let the excess icing smear her face, checking twice before feeding her, eyes narrowed in concentration.

She laughed at him for it, yet she did the same, feeding him just as carefully, mirroring his care. Mammon grinned, chewing exaggeratedly in delight before she dabbed a bit of icing onto her own nose, playfully. He leaned in, kissing it right off, lips lingering just long enough to make her giggle. The crowd erupted. Someone whistled. The camera shook.

Junior ran until the world stopped looking familiar, stone replaced pavement and wind replaced voices. The air thinned, carrying no trace of human warmth, only the cold earth. He didn’t know where he was, only that it was far enough. He crouched near the edge of a ruined structure half-swallowed by the landscape, broken columns, cracked stone, remnants of something long abandoned. The moon hung low, casting silver across the ground. It caught on the ragged edges of his wings, drooping uselessly at his sides.

Junior wanted to escape what he’s done, to get away from your eyes. Those eyes, the way you looked at him, he couldn’t understand what it meant, or maybe he didn’t want to, too afraid of its answer. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face and Maximus’ anger. He hadn’t meant it.

The shattered mirror fragment at his feet caught his attention. The glass was cracked and the moonlight spilled across it, illuminating his reflection in broken pieces. Golden eyes stared back at him. His white hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. Junior's shadow stretched unnaturally long behind him, wings distorting it further across the stone. A monster.

He didn’t look like a little boy at all.

“Put those claws away before you scratch someone again.”

“Stop biting your brother!”

“No wings! What did I tell you about flying in the house?!”

“MJ, you don’t growl at the table, use your words!”

In his eyes, you weren’t being mean, you were being mommy but sometimes the difference blurred. Every time he did just about anything, you were always there telling him to stop because he could hurt someone. He stared at his hands, his clawed hands. They tore through things easily, growing longer when his emotions spiked. Junior didn’t want to be like this; he just wanted you to hold him like you used to, to play with Maxi again and Papa…Papa hasn’t been around and he wonders if he’ll ever come back.

The tips of Junior’s ears twitched; his thoughts were answered. There was a sound in the distance, slow footsteps. The sound was familiar, comfortingly so. It was the way Papa used to walk after coming home from work; he’d searched for everyone so he could pull them into hugs and kisses.

The little boy kept his eyes low, unable to meet the eyes of his father. He stayed rested his pouty face on his knees.

“Mind if I sit 'ere?”

Slowly, he nodded. Mammon lowered himself beside him on the cold stone, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. For a while, nothing was said. MJ used the silence to study his father from the corner of his eye. It was strange. When Mama was near, she was loud: her heartbeat, her breathing, her emotions were all clear. That, too, felt wrong; his senses being sharper now, he could smell the emotions on skin. It felt invasive, like he was learning things he wasn’t supposed to know, yet with Papa, it was different. There was almost nothing; he couldn’t tell what his father was feeling at all.

“…Mommy, is she okay?” he asked after a while.

“She’s okay.”

“And Maxi?”

“Yes.”

The boy was content with the answers to his questions until one was asked about him.

“And is Junior okay?”

The sudden question startled him. He immediately looked to his father, who waited expectantly. The control he’d been holding onto slipped all at once, eyes filling with more than tears but the pain he had to endure the entire time.

The little boy shook his head. “Junior’s… n-not okay.”

Mammon cradled his small figure in his arms. He rocked side to side, as he’d done multiple times before. “Hey, hey… I gotcha,” he murmured, giving a rhythmic pat to his back. “Tell me where hurts.”

MJ cried into him, shaking, breath hitching in uneven pulls. Mammon rested his cheek against the crown of the boy’s head, careful of the small horn nubs there and held him closer.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you,” Mammon said softly. “You hear me? Not a damn thing.” He kept rocking his son, encouraging him to release it all for him to carry. “You’re okay,” he whispered again. “You’re with me.”

As his father cleared the tears from his eyes, he was able to witness his loving expression. “Papa… am I dangerous?”

“No,” Mammon answered without hesitation. “You ain’t.”

“I didn't mean it,” he whispered.

“I know,” Mammon reassured. He pressed his forehead briefly to MJ’s. “And Mama knows too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. She's waiting for ya.”

And you were.

Mammon stopped just inside the doorway. Ears following the sound, eventually you looked up.

There he was.

Junior stood half-hidden behind Mammon’s leg, small hands curled into the fabric of his pants, wings tucked tight against his back like he was trying to make himself smaller. His white curls dropped, his eyes were red and swollen, lashes still damp. He peeked out just enough to look at you, then quickly ducked back again, as if afraid of your reaction.

Your knees gave out beneath you, you dropped down in front of them without thinking, one hand bracing against the floor, the other reaching out but stopping halfway, afraid you might scare him.

“MJ…” Your voice wavered. “Baby.”

Mammon glanced down at the boy, then back at you. He gave MJ an encouraging nod.

“It’s okay,” Mammon murmured. “Go to mommy.”

MJ hesitated only a second longer, then he bolted. He ran straight into you, small body colliding with your chest as his arms wrapped around your neck. You caught him instinctively, arms closing tight around him as his face bury against your shoulder.

“Ooh, sweetheart,” you breathed, clutching him to you like you might lose him again if you let go. You kissed him everywhere you could reach, his hair, his temple, his damp cheeks, over and over, murmuring his name between each press of your lips. Your hands cradled the back of his head, fingers threading through soft strands as you rocked him gently.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve got you. Mommy’s here.”

MJ clung to you, shaking as the last of his fear poured out, small hands fisting in your clothes. You held him tighter, pressing your cheek to his hair, breathing him in. He was safe.

“I’m here,” you repeated softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[collectorofsoulss]

Halloo have you played the new obey me game?

Hello!

No, I haven't played the new ObeyMe game, should I? Do the story deepen their character or explore their powers and abilities 'cause I would love that! 😣

If you'd played, I'd love to know the comparison to the original.

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon xF!Reader Pt 6

One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Mammon paced the guest chamber like a caged animal; teetering on the edge of a breakdown. A soft sound broke through his thoughts, yours, in a haste he tripped over himself to get to you. As soon as you came into view, he made himself approach slowly, careful not to startle you in such a vulnerable state.

Heavy was your eyes, clouded was your mind as you stared upwards, dazed. The cool, sterile air filled your lungs as you took a deep breath, fingers twitching as you felt the sensation of the smooth surface from beneath. The glass of the chamber retracted; its seal hissing. The moment you placed your hand on the edge, another one was placed next to yours, a sudden presence in your space.

There was an exhale of relief, “You’re okay,” he whispered to himself, more than to you. A hand reached to caress you, desperate to feel your warmth but the moment his fingers grazed the air beside your cheek, you angled shoulder.

Mammon was embarrassed; he stepped back half a pace.

“Where are my children?” you swung your legs over the edge, goosebumps scattering across your skin as your feet touched the cold floor. There was a tight pull of bandages across your ribs from your first attempt to stand. There was a step, an outstretched hand, “Don’t – touch me.”

Mammon stepped back, hands raised in surrender, “C-Careful, okay?” His eyes—bloodshot, rimmed red from guilt and sleeplessness—pleaded silently.

Cautiously you took in your surroundings. It was luxurious; intricate carvings were present in the stonework, thick velvet drapes along the walls and ancient bookshelves. There was a large window on the far side of the room; you made your way over to it, snatching the heavy velvet curtain to reveal something you could not have prepared yourself for. The sky was black; it was not ‘night’—but black as if the stars had fallen out the sky.

Above it all, impossibly large and bleeding red, was the...moon? The full moon casted a crimson sheen over everything below. The buildings you could glimpse were jagged, massive, cast with long, menacing shadows that seemed to crawl as the wind howled past the tower. The view told you everything you needed to know. This was not Earth, nowhere close.

Instinctively, you backed away from the window, your stomach twisting. A cool breeze whispered through the cracks of the old stone walls to encircle itself around your frame.

“W-Where the hell are we?”

Mammon set his hands on his hips, exhaling a shaky breath as if bracing himself. His eyes darted down, unable to meet the intense look in yours. One hand lifted to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously as he stumbled out, “W-We’re, uh, we’re in this place called—” He gestured vaguely with both hands,“I-It’s not like, y’know, bad or nothin’, it’s just—uh, it’s complicated, okay? I-I didn’t mean for it to go like this, it just sorta happened, and now—now we’re here and I…” He trailed off, voice shrinking.

You arched your eyebrows. “Where. Am. I.”

Mammon froze mid-gesture, hands awkwardly suspended before slowly falling to his sides. His voice shrank to a whisper, barely audible, “…Hell.”

“Hell?” you echoed, the word catching in your throat. “Hell!”

The panic surged, your chest tightening with the force of your rising voice. “You dragged me to hell?!” you choked in disbelief, taking a step away from him.

“Did you—did you kidnap us?” you demanded, eyes wide and wild now. “Is that what this is?! Kidnapping!”

The word made him flinch. “K-Kidnapped?! I—I didn’t—It ain’t like that!” Mammon’s hands flew up in peace. “Barbatos—he—he found ya in the fire—you were dyin’—I didn’t even know ‘til—!”

“Excuse me?” you interjected. “Barbados? What the hell is that?”

“Barbatos, he’s uh the Demon of Time; he just knows shit. I—I don’t get how his power work. I was told somethin’ happened to ya and you were brought here for help.” He rubbed the sweat from his forehead, panicked and breathless. “I didn’t kidnap ya. I swear.”

“What kind of help takes me to a place I never agreed to be in?!” you exclaimed. “Away from everything I know—my home, my life, my safety—what kind of twisted idea of help is that?!” Your fists clenched at your sides. “How about an actual hospital!”

He could not look at you, not when your eyes burned like that. The tips of his ears were red with humiliation. Out of the entire years of his marriage, Mammon has never seen you like this—never heard your voice escalate to this volume, never seen your face twisted with...disgust.

The gauze crinkle under your weight, threatening to tear as you staggered toward Maximus, floating in the adjacent pod. Your trembling hands clawed at its release latch. “He shouldn’t be in there. He needs a hospital,” you muttered. The pod swung open, and Maximus stirred faintly inside as you reached in and pulled him into your arms. The shift in weight tore the gauze along your ribs.

“Babe, stop it,” he pleaded, keeping his distance. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.” He gestured weakly to your wound.

But you curled around him protectively, ignoring his words. You rocked him gently, soothing him as you made your way to the next pod only to find it empty.

“Where’s MJ?” you demanded, your voice rising, growing frantic. “Where is he? Where is our son?”

Mammon hesitated. He wanted to find MJ before you woke, to spare you the heartache, but he failed. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I—I tried. I’ve been lookin’—I’ve been searchin’ every second since you got here—” He stopped when he saw the slow descent of your arms, the weariness overtaking you.

Mammon was across the room but in seconds he was behind you, steadying you as you sank to the floor. He lowered himself with you, supporting your weight. Tears streamed down your face, falling onto Maximus’ tangled curls.

“I yelled at him,” you whispered, the weight of the memory crashing over you. The flashback of that night played vividly in your mind. “He was upset and I— I didn’t listen. I didn’t… This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that,” Mammon replied softly. “This ain’t on you.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the flood of tears. “He’s just a little baby. He was so scared, and I only made it worse. I should’ve been more patient. What if something happens to him out there? I need him to come home.”

“He will,” Mammon murmured, his voice low as he pulled you and Maximus closer. His lips brushed your temple, soft as a promise. “He’ll come back. And I’m gonna be the one to bring him home—no matter what it takes. I swear, I’ll find him.”

Maximus stirred, his breath deep and warm against your chest. You barely had the strength to hold him anymore as if your arms might give way.

Mammon shifted carefully, “Lemme… take him.”

For a moment, your fingers clenched tighter, desire to hold him close but your body could barely hold itself. Finally, you nodded, a small, shaky surrender. Mammon moved slowly, careful not to disturb him. He didn’t take him to the pod immediately. He paused to look down at the boy—his baby—and for just a breath, pressed his lips to Maximus’ forehead, whispering something inaudible, a promise. The glass hissed open, accepting the child and the soft hum of magic resumed.

Mammon squatted to your level, his eyes observing the fragile state you were in. Your arms hung limped at your sides, head bowed, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“Let’s get ya cleaned up,” he said gently, almost hesitant. “And change yer dressings.”

Mammon knelt in front of you, a basin of warm water and a clean cloth in hand. Your swollen eyes followed nothing in particular, distant, as if you weren’t really seeing him at all. You didn’t protest when he dipped the cloth in the water, wringing it out with a quiet drip—the only sound in the otherwise still room.

He moved slowly—so slowly—like if he touched you wrong, you’d break. The first touch was light; he wiped beneath your eyes first, catching the tracks of your tears before they could dry. The cloth followed the curve of your face, across your cheekbone, over the bridge of your nose and across your forehead. His eyes never left you, tracing the contours of your face, memorizing each detail.

You looked worn—beyond exhausted, skin streaked with soot, grime and faint ash. Carefully, he wiped the smudges along your jaw, lifting your chin with shy fingers as he worked his way down your neck.

When his hand reached the edge of where the bandages began, his breath caught in his throat. There was a paused, shaky hands brushing over its edge. His eyes fell to the burn marks peeking beneath—faint now thanks to the healing chamber but it was still there.

Gently, he peeled the bandages. Lacerations marked your back and shoulder— from debris, evidence of the destruction. Bruises bloomed where the beam had struck, smaller scrapes dotted your arms.

He’d nearly lost you.

He dipped the cloth again, wiping your shoulders in slow, rhythmic motions. Each scrape was cleaned tenderly as if washing away what little guilt he could, hesitating over the worst. Mammon rewrapped your torso in fresh gauze while you watched, emotionlessly.

This was his fault—every wound, every scar—born from the lies he fed you. He’d passed his blood into your sons, made demons of them; kept you blind to it and still you protected them. Your love for them never wavered yet...that same love couldn’t survive for him.

“‘M sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve told ya sooner. About everything.”

Still, no words came from you. Mammon reached for the soft house dress—simple, easy to wear. He unfolded it, guiding your arms through the sleeves, easing it over your shoulders and down your body. When the fabric caught slightly at your hips, he adjusted it, gently tugging the hem into place.

He knelt there a long moment afterward, his hands resting lightly on your thighs, his head bowed like a knight asking forgiveness or a sinner seeking grace. The weight of everything—the absence of MJ, your pain, the truths he’d buried for years—pressed heavily on his chest. This was the closest he’d ever come to having you back, if only he could sit here forever.

“C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s get ya off the floor, yeah?”

Only a select few of Diavolo’s elite staff were present, those trusted enough to be summoned and wise enough to hold their tongues unless it was he who addressed them. The grand briefing chamber was quiet, save for the distant echo of boots in the outer hall. Diavolo sat on his throne, one elbow resting on the carved armrest, expression solemn. Barbatos stood by his side, the ever-silent sentinel.

“Three humans are now under full protection of the crown. There shall be no forms of intimidation. In their presence you will wear human forms.” An absolute command.

Not a single guard exchanged glances; they knew better than to let doubt show on their faces. Questions had no place here. Not in their eyes, not in their breath. There was no room for questioning, only devotion and obedience.

“Any cruelty, be it word, gesture, or intent, shall be regarded as an act of defiance against my authority. If even a word of scorn reaches them,” beneath his feet lied his shadow curling, it rose tall and slow twisting into something sharp above the throne, “I will know. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the room echoed.

The royal guards moved with silent precision, their departure as disciplined as their presence. Swords at their sides, boots in sync, they began filing out of the throne room in two clean rows. The guards halted as Lucifer stepped through.

He didn’t need to speak. They shifted wordlessly, parting down the center like a tide splitting for the moon. Lucifer passed through them, cloak sweeping from behind. Once he was through the last pair exited with a closing of the massive double doors.

“I’ve handled the other meetings,” he said without preamble as he reached the dais. “The remaining nobles are being escorted out as we speak.”

Barbatos gave a small nod, hands behind his back. “I’ve cleared the rest of the schedule. The upcoming congregations will be held off-site or postponed. All correspondence is being rerouted through me.”

“Good,” Diavolo said, his voice softer now, thoughtful.

The prince stood; he descended from his throne with the quiet grace of royalty, the weight of leadership following behind every step. Barbatos shadowed him instantly and together the three of them moved towards the center.

“How’s Mammon?” Diavolo asked.

“He’s not speaking to any of us not at the moment.”

Diavolo and Barbatos exchanged glances.

“We were permitted to assist in the search for his son, that’s all. Once the boy is found our presence is no longer needed.”

Diavolo’s brows pinched faintly. “He’s severing ties?”

“He’s grieving,” Lucifer corrected. “And angry. Whether he comes back from that, I do not know.”

The torches lining the dark stone walls cast flickering shadows across Diavolo’s face, warping the furrow of his brows into something deeper. He folded his arms across his broad chest, the ornate rings on his fingers catching the firelight with a dull glint. Lucifer and Barbatos stood before him, his oldest trusted allies.

“How did this happen?” Diavolo asked at last, as though forcing the words past something unspoken. “A demon and a human producing viable offspring? Two of them?”

“There are records,” Barbatos informed. “But they are scarce, fragmented. Half-blood children are always stillborn. The mother’s body typically rejects the fetus which leads to miscarriages…” His voice softened, if only slightly. “and the death of the mother as well.”

Diavolo’s jaw tightened, fingers flexing against the curve of his biceps. “Yet we have two surviving hybrids,” he said, almost to himself. He nodded once, slowly, as though the information had finally solidified into something tangible. “I’ve only seen a handful of cases. My father documented a few scattered throughout the centuries. None of them lived long. The others were…” He paused, searching for the word, but it came heavy with distaste. “Culled. Unable to be studied.”

Then, at last, Lucifer spoke. Though outwardly calm, there was something protective, even pained, buried beneath the words.

“Will they remain stable?” he asked. “As they grow?” Lucifer waved a dismissive hand, “However they came to be is irrelevant. What matters now is if they’ll survive into adulthood.”

“I am uncertain if they’ll stay healthy, or even survive adolescence," Barbatos answered. “We’ve never observed hybrids past infancy. There are no medical studies nor magical archives to rely upon.”

Lucifer’s head turned slightly, a subtle motion and for the first time, his composure cracked just enough for the exasperation to bleed through.

“Of course it’s Mammon,” he muttered, a sharp note of sarcasm woven into his tone. “Out of all my brothers, it had to be him.” Lucifer paused to pinch the bridge of his nose, “What makes Mammon so different? What alignment of stars, magic, or sheer cosmic irony let him succeed where no one else ever could?”

“There are possible mutations,” Barbatos explained. “Or perhaps a perfect alignment we cannot yet replicate. From a biological standpoint, a demon’s sperm should be treated as parasitic to a human host. The body should reject it.” He looked to Diavolo. “But in this case her body did not. It accepted the foreign cells.”

“More than accepted,” Diavolo murmured. “It nourished them.”

Barbatos gave a slow nod. “There’s a possibility the demonic cells altered their behavior. Chose to coexist with the host rather than destroy it. A genetic anomaly. Either way, without the ability to recreate the conditions, it remains unknown.”

Diavolo looked past them, eyes unfocused for a moment. They soon drifted to the far wall, where the ancient tapestry of the Three Realms hung, a visual reminder of a fragile balance that he had personally established. His gaze lingered there, thoughtful.

The firelight danced across the gold in his irises. Slowly, his attention returned to the room, his expression neutral, simply... considering. When he spoke again, it was quieter but his next choice of words weighed heavier than any command ever said.

“Tell me Barbatos. Do these children existence… pose a risk to the balance of our realms?”

Lucifer did not respond right away. Something in him shifted. His crimson eyes, usually relaxed behind a veil of impassive calm, suddenly narrowed. The pupils constricted, catlike slits locking onto Diavolo with the precision of a blade being drawn.

He crossed his arms. The motion seemed calm at first until a faint crack split the air. His nails, sharpened by centuries of restrained power, had pierced clean through the fine fabric of his gloves and into the sleeves of his tailored coat. Threads split. A thin line of blood shimmered across, where nails had met resistance. Still, he held his stance.

“What do you mean by that?”

Click. Click. Click.

Their conversation interrupted by a cut clean sound of polished white boots tapping acrossed marbled floors. A voice followed, breezy and bold: “Well, that explains the silence.”

The grand doors hadn’t been opened for him and yet there Mephistopheles stood, one hand sweeping his coat behind him, his green eyes already scanning the chamber with exaggerated curiosity.

“Meetings have been dismissed, schedules cancelled. What is going on here and why am I the last to know?”

Lucifer turned his head just enough to acknowledge the interruption, but not enough to grant Mephistopheles full attention. “This does not concern you.”

Mephistopheles ignored him and walked farther in, eyes narrowing on Diavolo. “Is there a reason I’ve been kept in the dark? I am head of the press. If this affects the crown's stability, I have a right to know. I can shape the narrative before it becomes a scandal.”

Mephistopheles looked past Lucifer to Diavolo, silently seeking justification but the prince only offered a polite, distant smile, “You know I value your insight, Mephistopheles but this is not the time. This is a rather... delicate matter.”

Mephisto’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course, my prince.” he bowed with mechanical grace. The echo of his retreat less flamboyant than his arrival. He did not rush to leave, not yet. He paused at the base of the west wing staircase.

Magic clung to the air: old, heavy, not quite hostile. He squinted at the corner of the ceiling. A surveillance sigil pulsed faintly, hidden from normal view. Something was being kept here. He turned slowly, taking note of the posted guards at the end of the hallway and their new positioning. This was new.

He walked a bit farther, his steps casual, something was happening in the palace and he intended to find out exactly what. Mephistopheles approached one of the guards stationed. They stood rigid, motionless, eyes fixed forward. Trained. But not mute.

“You,” Mephisto said, voice cutting clean through the silence. “What exactly is being kept behind those doors?”

No answer. “You can speak, yes? Or are you part of the furniture now?”

His expression twisted with irritation. “Mind I remind you who I am, Mephistopheles. Head of the royal press. I’ve stood at Prince Diavolo’s side longer than most of you have held a blade. I am his right hand. You will answer me.”

There was a sharp breath from the guard on the left. Breaking composure, he turned his head slightly, just enough to lock eyes with Mephistopheles.

“Lucifer is the prince’s hands. Barbatos, his eyes. You are merely his mouthpiece and he has no need for a voice right now. What the mouth does not know, it cannot say."

The words struck deeper than they should, his lips parted in disbelief. “You watch your tone,” he said sharply, the sting of embarrassment bleeding into his voice.

But the guard wasn’t finished, “Once you exit the premises, you are not permitted to reenter until further notice.”

Mephistopheles smoothed his coat, as if he could press the crack in his pride flat with fabric alone. His fists twitched at his sides, but he stilled them. He would not let a lesser title drag him out of composure.

He moved through the quiet corridors of the palace, not toward the exit but away from the main path, slipping into one of the stonework alcoves tucked beside the eastern staircase.

It wasn’t just the secrecy that bothered him. It was the fact that Lucifer knew. Lucifer always knew. Once upon a time, Diavolo would have told him first. He remembered it vividly—late nights in the study, papers scattered, wine half-finished, Diavolo laughing as Mephistopheles made yet another overdramatic point about the nobles’ fashion crimes. Diavolo listened then.

Now Diavolo dismisses him like a guest overstaying his welcome. He knows how to serve the prince. He's protected his image, whispered the right rumors, erased the wrong ones. Everything was perfect that is until Lucifer came along.

He leaned his shoulder against the cool stone wall, gazing out the narrow arch of a palace window. If Diavolo was hiding something, it was for a reason but if Mephistopheles could get close to it, to understand, offer solutions and spin the narrative he could make himself invaluable again.

Hands can strike. Eyes can see. But when the blade is at your throat: hands tied, eyes blind, only the mouth knows what to say.

[collectorofsoulss]

Are u still alive (⁠ꏿ⁠﹏⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠)

Yes! I am alive !

[collectorofsoulss]

Obey Me! Exchange Students! II

Part I

Satan

Satan’s assigned human would likely be shy and anxious in the face of his imposing presence. They’d be cautious about stepping on his toes; constantly second-guessing themself. They are aware of his reputation, and most importantly his temper. Satan sees them as an inconvenience, just another responsibility he didn't ask for. He’s likely to be dismissive, keeping his interactions short. Despite his indifference, he still keeps an eye on them, just enough to keep them alive.

When you arrive at his usual spot you notice another person is waiting in front of the door, fidgeting nervously. Her eyes flicker from the ground to the door, then to you, uncertain.

“I… I really need to ask him to follow me somewhere, but what if he gets mad? What if he thinks I’m being… annoying?” Her voice is barely heard. “I-I’m not allowed to explore areas alone. I—I—”

With a worried look, you set a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. “Hey,” you say softly, “I'm sure it'll be fine. He loves to explore, too.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Her hands tighten around the hem of her sleeves, shoulders curling inward. “But… what if I—what if now is not the right time?”

“If it’ll help, I’ll ask him for you,” you offer, reaching for the door.

She stops you with a light touch, a hand resting over yours. “Are you sure? It's...” she lowers her voice, “...Satan. He gets...” she trails, “you never know what he might do.” A warning.

Right, you forget people are afraid of him. You’re so used to seeing him as he is with you—warm, gentle, impossibly soft despite the sin that defines him.

“…Yeah,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “He does have a temper.” Then, with more certainty, “But not with me. Don’t worry about it, I'll take care of it,” you said nonchalantly.

She exhales, visibly relieved, nodding hesitantly. She lingers behind as you lead. Satan is seated in his usual chair, a book open in his lap. He doesn’t even glance up at first, too engrossed in whatever he’s reading. But then, his senses catch up to him, and his emerald eyes lift. Everything else ceases to exist.

The book in his hands? Forgotten. The air in his lungs? Stolen. The way you move, the way your voice lilts through the air—his mind blanks, unraveling into static, drowning in the sight of you. Lips. Eyes. Skin. He swears he’s lost himself in those details before, traced them with his fingers, mapped them in his mind a thousand times over. Now, standing here, his memories feel inadequate.

The melody of your voice lulls him into a trance, his head tilting ever so slightly. He watches the way your lashes flutter when you glance toward him, the way your fingers move, gesturing to something. Though your lips move—he hears nothing. He only nods.

The human stiffens beside you.

“…You’ll go?” you ask.

Another nod.

“Great,” you say, smiling. “She was nervous to ask.”

Nod.

The human’s jaw drops. She whips her head between the two of you in panic. Something is very, very wrong. She tugs on your sleeve, eyes wide, panicking, “…Did you… do something to him?”

You barely suppress a laugh. “Of course not.”

She stares intensely. “Are you sure? He just—he just nodded without even asking a single question.”

You shrug lightly, still smiling. “It’s nothing. He just misses me, that’s all.”

She takes a half-step back. “That’s all?” Her eyes narrow in disbelief. “You’re telling me he can just—agree—without question—and it’s nothing?”

You tilt your head at her, your expression softening. “You really—” you stopped after seeing the fear in her shrinking pupils. The human backs up suddenly, stumbling in her panic. As the shadow stretches, growing larger, closer towards you two, she stiffens.

Gradually, you turn as Satan steps into your space from behind—no sound, no warning. The human is pressed so far bookshelf, the books shake from her weight.

She clearly does not understand what is happening—or maybe unwilling to stick around long enough to find out. Slowly, she edges toward the door. There is barely a sound made from her shoes as she shuffles backward.

Then, just as her hand touches the doorknob, she whispers, “Thank you.”

You glance toward her, catching the flash of wide, nervous eyes before she slips out, closing it quietly like she’s fleeing a crime scene. She didn’t stay long enough to see the warmth in Satan’s gaze. The way his shoulders relaxed the second you turned around. The way his hand reaches for you.

To her, he’s still the Avatar of Wrath.

To you… he’s just Satan—the one who looks at you like you're the first light after centuries of darkness.

Before a single word can escape your lips—Satan moves. His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts your head up—his lips are on yours. A sharp inhale is the only sound before the kiss. Deep. Intense. Devouring.

His other hand grips your waist, pulling you flush against him. His body radiates heat, a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air of the library. The sheer force of him—his presence, his desire—overwhelms you. He’s been starved for the taste of you, for the feel of you in his arms. However, before he gets too lost in the moment, you softly remind him—

“You should be patient with her,” you suggested, fondly wiping the lipstick staining the corners of his mouth.

He catches your wrist firmly as he looks down at you. The frustration in his eyebrows already softened, "Tch. Why should I? It’s just homework. An assignment. I was assigned to ensure her survival, not entertain every frivolous request.”

“But... you already promised me,” you pout.

Satan's brows knit slightly in confusion. He agreed to something, didn’t he? You can see the exact moment realization dawns—registering just how easily he folded under your presence. A flash of frustration—more at himself than anyone else—appears in his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“…the hell did I just agree to?”

You giggle and he exhales like he’s so done—but the brush of his thumb over your wrist says otherwise. “This is unnecessary.”

You tilt your head at him, with a small smile. “For me?”

He seems to consider your words, but you both know the answer. Satan's already lost. He flicks a stray lock of hair out of his eyes with irritation. “Only for you” he mutters. “…But first,” his voice is low, rich against your skin,

“I think I deserve a little time with you before I handle my homework.”

Your fingers lightly curl into his coat as his hands begin to roam—slow, sure, and unhurried. They glide along your back, teasing the edges of your clothes, coaxing you just a bit closer as if even an inch of space between you is too much. Time with you is precious. He has no intention of wasting a single second.

Bonus Details:

The human notices when you ask Satan for anything, he complies. She soon begins to rely on you to handle interactions with him. It's not out of manipulation, but survival instincts.

He does tone down his usual coldness. He makes a conscious effort to be more cordial—solely out of respect and affection for you.

The human can’t quite understand why he’s suddenly less terrifying. She just assumes Satan’s “not that mad today,” unaware of the silent effort he’s putting in to keep you happy.

Eventually she gains the confidence to approach him on her own, leading to a pupil/teacher dynamic.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus is assigned a human who, in his mind, should be grateful to even breathe the same air as him. The human is a nervous wreck—shy, unsure of themselves. Asmodeus treats them as though they’re just an object for his convenience—making them feel like they exist solely to serve his desires. The human drowns in Asmodeus’ demands. Always at his beck and call, catering to his needs, not even getting a thank you in return.

Asmodeus doesn’t want to protect them, nor does he care about their well-being. He sees the action of serving a human— a task that is beneath him. They weren’t someone to care for, they were someone to use.

That was, until you walked in.

The moment you entered his lavishly adorned room, Asmodeus’ head whips around, eyes lighting up at the sight of you. His usual charm and smooth demeanor were replaced by raw excitement and longing. Without a word, he rushes to you, his arms wide.

“Darling! You’re here!” he cried out, sweeping you into his arms like the world had just come back into color.

He pulled you in, lips crashing into yours with the desperation of someone starved of love. The world fell away. The human standing in the corner? Forgotten. The gossip magazine on his lap? Irrelevant. There was only you. After all, he’s seeing the most beautiful person in the world.

Every touch, every kiss, was full of longing, of desire reined in too long. You felt it in his urgency—in the way he breathed you in like his favorite perfume. He’s lost in you, utterly consumed by the familiar comfort of your touch, pulling you as if he’s trying to meld his body with yours.

Asmodeus devotes himself to you.

“I’ve missed you so much, darling. It feels like an eternity…” His voice is soft, but each word is dripping with desire. He wants to remind you just how much he craves you—how irreplaceable you are in his world.

“Yes, I’ve missed you too,” you smiled.

He grinned, eyes shining. “This calls for a celebration! Human—wine!” he called absently, attention never leaving your face.

The human scrambled to obey, practically tiptoeing as they delivered the glass. Asmo barely acknowledged them, raising his drink in a toast to you. But as he sipped, his expression twisted into disdain. He glanced sideways at the human.

“Shoo,” he said with a sneer, flicking his fingers dismissively.

The human lowered his head and quietly left the room.

“Asmo…” Your voice was laced with gentle disappointment.

He blinked at you, confused. “What? I just wanted some alone time with my favorite person.”

You gestured toward the door. “You can’t just treat him like that.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence between you two. Asmo’s usual deflective charm falters for just a beat an almost confused smile curling on his lips, “What? He’s fine. He’s been doing this for me for weeks.”

You sigh softly. “Asmo, he is a person too, who has feelings.”

Something in his expression flickered—guilt, maybe—but he quickly buried it under a breezy chuckle. “Oh, don't be so dramatic. He loves serving me.”

You took his hands in emphasis. “That’s not the point. Kindness isn’t just for the people you love—it’s for everyone. Asmo.”

He groaned dramatically, taking your wine glass and downing it, then finishing his own. “Ugh! You always make me want to be a better person.” He tackled you onto the bed with a grin. “This is why you have to stay by my side! You bring out the best in me!”

You laugh, “Okay, okay, but first things, first you have to apologize.”

He made a face, scoffing at the thought. “Apologize?” as if such actions were foreign to him.

You gave him a look. He huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. But only under one condition.”

You eyed him warily. “Asmo…”

He leaned in close, his smirk returning. “One thousand kisses. Then I’ll apologize. I’ll even make it heartfelt.”

You blinked. “A thousand? You’re ridiculous.”

“Darling, I know you want me to be kind,” he says, his voice oozing sweetness, but there’s a touch of defiance in his eyes. “But, you see, I can’t just give in that easily. I have standards, after all.” He gives you a mockingly thoughtful look. “So, here’s my offer: a thousand kisses. Once we reach that magical number, I’ll apologize to my darling human!”

You are a little stunned at his ridiculousness, “A thousand? Asmodeus, you can’t possibly be serious."

Asmodeus grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Of course, sweetheart. It’s only fair, isn’t it? A thousand kisses for one apology that Asmodeus rarely gives. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?” His voice drops to a sultry tone, and he leans closer to you, making it hard to resist. “I mean, you can’t possibly deny me this, can you?”

You give him a look, folding your arms. “Asmodeus.”

He pouted dramatically, but only for a moment. “Fine, fine,” he sighed, rolling his eyes as if he’d been forced into it. Then, he grinned again, leaning down to kiss you passionately as if to prove his point. “But you’ll make this worth my while, won’t you?”

And just like that, it started. You kissed Asmodeus over and over again—each kiss slowly building, the count seemingly endless. But every time you pull back to catch your breath, he doesn’t let up. His lips are on yours again, pulling you in, demanding more. Every kiss was a battle, a promise, a tease. He wanted to devour you, drown in you—make up for all the time lost.

After countless kisses, Asmodeus finally had to uphold his end of the bargain. With a dramatic groan, he threw himself onto the pillows like a man facing execution. “Ohhh, the things I do for love,” he whined, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Asmo. Apology. Now,” you said firmly.

With a theatrical huff, he rose, slipping into a silk robe as if preparing for a red carpet event. You followed him into the common room, where the human was quietly polishing a wine glass. At the sound of footsteps, he straightened nervously, unsure of what to expect. Asmodeus paused in the doorway, clearly considering backing out. You shot him a look, and he finally stepped forward.

“Hey… I—” he started, voice softer than usual, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. “I’ve been… a little… difficult.” The human blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting anything close to an apology. Asmo waves a dismissive hand. “Fine! I’m sorry, alright?”

You nudged him gently in the side. He sighed again, but this time his voice carried more sincerity. “I mean… I shouldn’t have treated you like that. You deserve better. I was... unfair to you.”

The human was stunned, lips parting slightly at the rare show of humility. Asmodeus, uncomfortable with sincerity lasting more than ten seconds, quickly flipped his hair and smirked. “Now, don’t get used to this! I have a reputation to uphold.”

Still, the human offered a small, relieved smile. Asmodeus—clearly proud of himself—turns to you with a smug grin. “See, darling? I’m practically a saint.”

You rolled your eyes, but can’t help smiling as he draped an arm around your shoulders. Leaning in, he whispers with a wicked grin, “Now, about those remaining 400 kisses you still owe me…”

“You were actually counting?!”

“Of course,” he purred. “I always keep track of the things that matters.”

Bonus Details:

While Asmodeus is not fully reformed—he’ll still be dramatic and selfish—but now he says “thank you.”

Now he asks instead of commands.

He fully recognizes the human’s value—not as an accessory, but as a person.

And somewhere along the way Asmodeus makes a genuine friend.

A trio has been formed.

Beelzebub

This human? Oh, they think they're untouchable. They use Beelzebub’s power as a shield. They start fights, push boundaries, dismiss the rules—confident Beelzebub will bail them out in which he does. They brag about their privileged status. They know no one else would dare, after all, they’re under Gluttony's watch. Limits are tested—to make a statement. Beelzebub doesn’t like it—not one bit. He protects them only because he has to—keeping his human alive is part of the program.

The moment you step into the House of Lamentation, your heart skips—you know he’s here. You’ve missed him—missed his warmth, his presence, his steadiness. As you walk down the corridor, you don’t even have to search for him. You can feel it—the pull between you two that’s always been there. There he was. Beelzebub stands at the end of the hallway, his towering frame a beacon of comfort. He freezes for a split second when his eyes lock with yours as if he cannot believe you’re here, regardless he’s already moving.

You take a breath and in one smooth motion, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you around like he used to. His grip is strong, secure; you feel safe. Beelzebub’s face softens, his eyes glowing with an intensity you haven’t seen in a long time.

He kisses with a force that steals the air right from your lungs. It's intense, hungry—desperate. It’s not gentle, not restrained. It’s as if he’s trying to consume you, to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you pressed against him, your feet dangling, completely at his mercy.

You whimper against his lips, trying to breathe, but he doesn’t give you space. He’s lost in you, greedy for more—like you’re the only thing that’s ever truly satisfied him. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you try to keep up, your heart pounding as fast as his.

Soon your hand drifts upward, fingers brushing along his jaw, palm rests gently against his cheek… and then you feel it. A cut. It was just faintly swollen. He stops.

It appears it could have been bigger, but it was healing at a rapidly large rate, given his demonic genetics.

“What happened? Who did this?” you whisper, fingers tracing the wound with a gentleness that makes him flinch.

Beelzebub lowers you, the second your feet touch the ground, he steps back. His hand moves to cover the cut—as if that could undo what you’ve seen. “It’s nothing.” He avoids your gaze.

You reach up and grab both of his cheeks, he blinks, startled by the sudden affection. You tug his face down closer to yours, forcing him to look at you properly.

“Beel…” your voice is soft but firm. “Don’t lie to me.”

His violet eyes finally meet yours—wide, guilty, and full of regret. The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of what he’s about to say.

“The assigned human I’m supposed to be watching…” his gaze drops. There’s a brief hesitation like he’s still trying to decide how much to tell you. “He… started another fight. I had to step in.”

Your silence hangs heavy between you, and Beel misreads it. His brows knit together, the guilt in his expression deepening as he takes a tentative step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, more urgently this time. “I shouldn’t have lied. I just… I didn’t want you to worry.”

With a small smile, you gently pinch his cheek—not enough to hurt, just enough to make him flinch in surprise. “I’m always gonna worry about you,” you murmur. “That’s not something you get to stop.” Your thumb brushes the spot where you pinched him, a silent reassurance that you’re not mad—just concerned.

Beel’s eyes soften, guilt lingering until it melts at your words.

“If the price of the program is you bleeding, then it’s not worth it,” you confess. “I know it's important...but not more than you. Never more than you.”

“If it bothers you. I won’t do it anymore." A vow.

You smile, relieved that he’s starting to put his foot down, even if it’s a little late as you’re about to say more, you hear footsteps approaching, and you turn to see Beelzebub’s assigned human sauntering down the hall, smug grin in place, as if he owns the place.

“Hey, Beel, thanks for helping me out back there,” he gave a proud laugh. “Couldn’t have done it without ya!”

The human stops when he sees you standing there, and his smugness falters slightly at the intense expression you wear. Without warning, you throw a punch, sending him stumbling back. His wide eyes reflect shock, clearly unprepared for your sudden aggression.

“What the hell was that for?!” he shouts, wincing from the impact.

“You think you can cause trouble just because Beel's watching over you?”

He laughs nervously, trying to shake it off. “Hey, come on. I’m just having a little fun. No harm, no foul, right?” He then gestures to Beel. “It’s not like he can’t handle it. I mean, look at the guy—he’s a tank!”

Your eyes narrow. “He’s not your shield.” Soon your tone drops to something sharper and far more dangerous. “If you pull some shit like that again. I’ll kick your ass.”

At first, he snorts, clearly underestimating you. "You? What, you’re gonna fight me?" he sneers. "No offense, but I’m a man. You’re just a..." He laughs again, dismissive, "a girl."

You watch as the human raises his hand, fingers poised like he’s about to flick your forehead. It’s a mocking, belittling gesture—one meant to humiliate. The movement is trivial, but in Beelzebub's eyes, it’s a threat. Without a second thought, he’s on him. His massive hand closes around the human’s wrist.

The human lets out a cry, but Beel’s already silencing him with his other hand, palm pressed firm over his mouth, smothering the sound as he slams him back into the wall. The impact drops the frame, shattering it to pieces. Beelzebub's fingers gripped under his jaw, pressing with a frightening calm.

He’s fought this human’s battles repeatedly, without fail. He cleaned up his messes, stood in the crossfire, taken hits that were never meant for him—all in the name of the exchange program. He’s worn that duty like a chain around his neck. But this?

This will never be one of those battles.

You're not a mission. You're not a responsibility. The rules he’s played by do not apply to you. Because not matter how many people he's assigned to protect, you will never be another assignment.

His silence says everything. There is a quiet, unshakable fury in his eyes—a promise that if the human ever tries something like this again, he is fucked.

Beelzebub's face was devoid of mercy. The human's eyes are wide, panicked, his body trembling under Beel’s crushing hold. For the first time, it hits him—he’s not untouchable not against you.

Finally, Beel lets go.

The human drops to the ground like a ragdoll, crumpling in a heap of pain and humiliation. He scrambles backward on his hands and knees. He doesn’t even look back as he flees down the hall, fear finally rooting where arrogance once bloomed.

Beel doesn’t even glance at the human, his focus is entirely on you, his eyes drift down, settling on your hand—the same one you used to punch. He steps in close and gently reaches out, his large hand enveloping yours with a care that contrasts the power he’d just displayed.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes flicking back to yours for confirmation before returning to your hand. He turns it slightly in his palm, inspecting it. “Did he hurt you?” he adds, his thumb brushing over your knuckles—slow, soothing, reverent.

You smile up at him, warmth blooming in your chest despite the lingering sting in your knuckles. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t smile back. His gaze drops to your hand, now reddened and trembling slightly from the impact. “You really shouldn’t go around punching people like that,” he says, voice low—not scolding, just quietly pained. “What if you’d broken your hand?”

You try to lighten the mood, flashing him a teasing grin. “Then I guess you’d have no choice but to feed me.”

“Then I’d feed you,” he promises. “Every day.”

He sinks to one knee in front of you, gently taking your injured hand in his. Beel's head bows slightly as he presses a soft kiss to your bruised knuckles—like he’s trying to will the pain away.

“Next time, let me,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to fight. Not when I can handle it for you.” He cages your hand between his, the softness of your skin a stark contrast to the roughness of his own. “I’ll dirty my hands so yours can stay clean.”

You’re left speechless, the weight of his words sinking in, pressing down on your chest. A tear slips down your cheek, unbidden, as his words break something open inside you.

“I’ll carry the hurt,” he says softly, “so you never feel it.”

Bonus Details:

The human avoids him, now he knows how it feels to be beneath Beelzebub's power.

If anyone asks Beel about the human’s injury, he’ll mention it casually, like it’s just another normal part of life. “He tried to touch her, so I broke it.”

Lucifer would be eerily calm when he hears about it. He won’t scold Beel—in fact, there’s a flicker of approval behind those crimson eyes. Because protecting you? That’s never a mistake in Lucifer’s book.

The human definitely complains to Lucifer, trying to one-up Beel. He is still cradling his bandaged wrist and brimming with indignant self-righteousness to report abuse.

“I see no issue here. In fact…” Lucifer leans forward now, elbows on the desk, red eyes glowing faintly. “You should be grateful it was only your wrist. Had I been the one who witnessed it, I assure you, you wouldn’t be speaking so casually right now.”

The human, now thoroughly cowed, keeps his head down, silence his only defense. It’s clear, then, whose shield Beel truly is.

Belphegor

Here’s the thing with Belphegor: he hates humans, you being the only exception. Belphegor is cold, lazy, and couldn’t care less about anything that doesn’t involve sleep or his brothers, especially the new human in the exchange program. He did not acknowledge their existence not even bothering to learn their name. Everyone thought he’d changed. That maybe his bond with you had chipped away at that indifference towards humans. Yeah… a big mistake. The new exchange student learned that the hard way.

When they kept showing up—asking questions, needing help, smiling at him in a desperate attempt to be friendly—Belphegor had finally had enough. He left their body slumped over a desk, still breathing but their mind locked away in a formless, dreamless void. Belphegor placed them into an eternal slumber.

Belphegor called it mercy.

Lucifer called it treason.

The moment Lucifer found out the fury that tore through the House of Lamentation was unlike anything they’d seen in centuries. The walls shook. Doors slammed. Magic crackled in the air like lightning caged in glass. Now, in the cold, echoing halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle, that fury had nowhere to go but toward Belphegor.

“You reckless, thoughtless fool.” Lucifer’s voice was sharp, low, and seething—controlled only by years of command and restraint. “Do you have any comprehension of the consequences of your actions?”

Belphegor leaned against the wall like this was all a boring lecture. His arms were crossed. His eyes half-lidded. If he could have slept through it, he would have. Lucifer turned to Diavolo, still seething. “I deeply apologize for my brother’s actions, Lord Diavolo. His behavior is inexcusable. I will have him wake the human immediately—”

“There’s no need for you to apologize, Lucifer,” Diavolo dismissed. “It’s clear Belphegor feels no remorse. His choices are his own.” He stood perfectly still, looking down at Belphegor like he were a math problem someone failed to solve.

“You’ve endangered the human,” Diavolo stated. “Do you understand what could’ve happened? A single life lost under our protection could have unraveled everything. The celestial and mortal realms—they are all watching. One failure, Belphegor, and we could’ve ignited a war.”

Belphegor didn’t even flinch. He shrugged, voice devoid of emotion. “They were annoying,” he said flatly. “I did everyone a favor.”

Lucifer’s boot hit the stone floor hard as he closed the distance, jaw tight with restrained fury. His pride already stung from the embarrassment, from the way Belphegor spoke so carelessly in front of the Prince of the Devildom. His hand was already half-raised, a slap loaded with discipline and disgrace. But before it could land, Diavolo’s hand lifted—calm, open-palmed. Lucifer stopped mid-stride out of deference.

Diavolo shook his head slowly. “There’s no need for violence, Lucifer. That kind of discipline is beneath us—and unnecessary.”

Lucifer exhaled sharply through his nose, crossing his arms tightly as he leveled a glare at his brother. Belphegor didn’t flinch—he merely rolled his eyes; the entire ordeal bored him.

“One human,” Diavolo accounted, “placed under our care. A representative of their realm. They were entrusted to us, meant to be part of a diplomatic initiative that has taken centuries to build. And you—” he gestured lightly with his hand, “discarded all of that. For what? A moment’s convenience?”

“I’m not interested in babysitting humans,” Belphegor replied with a shrug. “I couldn’t care less about peace between our realms.”

Lucifer’s brow twitched, a muscle in his jaw flexing. The lack of remorse in Belphegor’s voice was like nails down the walls of his restraint.

Then Diavolo smiled—not kindly, but thoughtfully. “Tell me, Belphegor,” he mused, tapping a finger against his chin. “If you can’t bring yourself to tolerate a human… do you think you’re capable of managing a dog?”

Belphegor blinked, clearly caught off-guard. “What?”

Diavolo could never let such a disrespect slide. Belphegor broke the rules, dishonored the delicate balance of the exchange, and risked unraveling the fragile threads of diplomacy between realms. The weight of his recklessness was not something Diavolo would tolerate—the prince of Hell was going to make sure the lesson was carved into his very soul.

The first time Belphegor laid eyes on the mutt, his lip curled in disgust. It sat there, panting softly on the stone floor of the House of Lamentation, looking absurdly out of place. Pathetic. Small. Weak. Just like the humans it was meant to represent. Diavolo’s words still rang in his ears.

“Tch… unbelievable,” Belphegor muttered, turning his back on the creature. “I’m not cleaning up after you.”

He didn’t even bother giving it a name. For days, he barely acknowledged its presence. The dog wandered after him anyway, trailing behind like some loyal shadow, despite being ignored or shut out of his room. It cried the first night he locked it out, scratching pitifully at the door. Belphegor buried his head under a pillow and pretended not to hear. He wasn’t interested in playing pet owner. He had made that very clear. It was Beelzebub who would let it in, oftentimes picking up Belphie's slack.

Belphegor went about his day like it didn’t exist. He didn’t feed it unless someone reminded him, and even then, he’d toss scraps on the floor without care. Water was poured lazily into a bowl, often spilled, sometimes forgotten altogether. If it was hungry, it would find a way to survive. Or not. He didn’t care for Diavolo’s orders or rules. Fuck him.

The dog didn’t respond to his coldness. If anything, it clung tighter—tail wagging whenever he walked into the room, eyes following him with that pathetic gleam of hope. It only fueled his irritation.

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped once, after tripping over it in the hallway. “You’re just a dumb animal. You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want you here.”

Diavolo visited intermittently, much to Belphegor’s irritation—always under the guise of checking in, but never really announcing his arrival. He’d appear in doorways like a shadow, watching. Judging. Making sure Belphegor hadn’t killed that too, like he did everything else he touched.

Belphegor scoffed as Diavolo knelt beside the mutt, who—pathetically—wagged its tail at the prince’s approach. “If you expect me to care for this,” he sneered, arms crossed, voice like venom, “you’re wasting both our time.”

Diavolo only chuckled, fingers brushing the dog’s fur with unsettling ease. It leaned into his touch without hesitation.

At first, the dog was just another chore—a punishment in fur. Belphegor barely looked at it, let alone touched it unless necessary. But the dog didn’t seem to care. It kept following him, even when he kicked at the floor to scare it off. It would curl up in the corner of his room, just far enough to not bother him, but close enough to be present. It never barked, never growled, never did anything annoying. It just was. And over time, that quiet presence… started to gnaw at him.

He left a blanket on the floor one night, claiming he didn’t need it. He scolded the dog for whining, only to open the door moments later so it could follow him. When it rained, he let it onto the bed. Just once, he’d tell himself. It was just because the thunder was loud and the dog was shivering. Yet it continued.

It was on one of those nights—quiet, late, the air still—that the dog moved closer, curling into the space beside him like it belonged there. Belphegor, half-awake, sighed, “You’re not that bad,” he mumbled. He scratched behind its ear absentmindedly.

There was a warmth—then a sudden, brilliant pulse of magic, like a bubble being popped after holding too long. The air shifted. The bed creaked beneath unfamiliar weight. Belphegor blinked, lifting his head in confusion.

The dog was gone. In its place—was you.

You, lying there in the same position. The blood drained from his face. He stared at you in stunned silence, his mind working too slowly to catch up. His hand was still outstretched—resting against your cheek now instead of soft fur.

“…No,” he whispered.

He sat up slowly, eyes wide. Everything clicked all at once—the kindness, the persistence, the silence. The look in the dog’s eyes. Your eyes. It was you. It was always you.

The dog he’d ignored. Yelled at. Forgotten to feed. The one he’d shoved away, rolled his eyes at, told to “stay out of the way” because he couldn’t be bothered. All the times you’d whimpered and still followed him. All the nights you’d curled up on the cold floor just to be near him. He hadn’t cared...not until it was too late.

You stirred, soft and disoriented, blinking at him with those familiar eyes—and that made it worse.

“Don’t,” he rasped. “Don’t… look at me like that.”

Tears welled up in his eyes before he could stop them, shame bleeding into every line of his face.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling you against him, his arms winding around you in a desperate embrace. He buried his face in your neck, trembling slightly, unable to look you in the eye.

“Please… please forgive me…”

You held him tightly, letting him fall apart in your arms, knowing he would carry the guilt forever—even if you had already forgiven him.

Belphegor stormed into the Demon Prince’s chambers without thought. The doors slammed open so violently, the hinges cracked. Diavolo remained calm, sitting at his desk, sipping from a glass with the composed air of someone who had been expecting this very moment.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” Diavolo said coolly, eyes flicking up to meet Belphegor's burning gaze.

Belphegor growled, fists clenched his nails into his skin. “You cursed her. You turned her into a dog.”

Diavolo didn’t flinch. “I did.”

The room felt suffocating, thick with tension. Belphegor’s power rippled through the air like an approaching storm, “How could you?”

“I taught you a lesson,” Diavolo said simply, his voice almost casual. “And you learned it, didn’t you?”

Belphegor’s anger boiled. “She trusted you,” he spat. “You used her.”

“And she trusted you,” Diavolo echoed, his tone devoid of empathy, “and you failed her. If you want someone to blame, look in a mirror.”

Belphegor's claws extended. “Don’t you dare—”

“I dare,” Diavolo interjected sharply, his calm cutting through Belphegor’s rising rage. He stood now, his presence growing more imposing with each passing second. “I gave you something fragile, pure and your hatred almost destroyed it. I didn’t curse her only to punish you, Belphegor.” He paused, locking eyes with the demon. “I cursed her to reveal you. To show her exactly what you are. A creature who is incapable of caring for anything else.” He titled his head slightly, almost pitying, “How lucky she is to have survived loving you.”

Belphegor’s eyes darkened as Diavolo’s words sank into him, each syllable a strike against his very being. Soon his breath quickened, rage, his hand shot out, grabbing Diavolo by the collar, slamming him back against the stone wall of the Demon Lord's castle with bone-rattling force.

“It showed nothing. I know who I am. Don’t pretend to know me, because you don’t.”

Belphegor’s fingers tightened around Diavolo’s pristine collar, claws digging into the fabric. “But you, you watched it happen, you watched me be cruel.”

Before Diavolo could respond, a shadow moved at the edge of the room. Eyes glowing faintly green, hands calmly folded in front of him, he took a single step forward—ready to end Belphegor where he stood. Diavolo, unbothered, gave a single subtle motion of his hand. A wordless command. Stand down. Diavolo didn’t need protection.

He was the threat.

The butler paused, standing at attention, posture shifted only slightly—an almost imperceptible bow of his head. Though he said nothing, his presence, silent and ready, spoke volumes.

Diavolo exhaled a slow, amused sigh. “Careful…” he warned. He leaned in slightly. “I can make her fear you.”

Belphegor froze as Diavolo’s eyes glittered with malice. “I can twist her fear so deeply into her soul, that she’ll cower at the mere sight of you. That her body trembles at the very sound of your name. Do you want that, Belphegor?” Diavolo’s voice was eerily sweet, like honey masking poison.

The words sank into Belphegor’s chest, his hand trembled slightly, a crack in his fury. The last thing he wanted—needed—was for you to fear him. Not again.

Diavolo’s words stung worse than any weapon. Belphegor’s fingers loosened from Diavolo’s collar, but the Demon Prince made no move to push him away. He casually brushed the creases from his clothing, as if he hadn’t just threatened everything Belphegor cared about.

Diavolo smiled serenely, the picture of grace and control. “Now, now… we wouldn’t want anyone else knowing about this little secret, would we?” He paused, his voice almost too calm, too kind. “After all, who would believe you after what you've done.”

The weight of those words crushed Belphegor. Who would? He could see the disappointments of all his brother's faces, even Beel's. Their silent resentment.

A wave of demonic pressure rolled out from Diavolo like a black tide. A power ancient and pure. It pressed into the room like an invisible weight, heavy and suffocating, coiling around Belphegor’s spine like chains.

Belphegor gritted his teeth. He refused to yield. Diavolo’s power only expanded, thickening the air until it felt like molten iron in his lungs. Belphegor staggered, muscles trembling from the effort of standing. The weight crushed down harder, like a god pressing a finger to the back of his neck. A force no lesser demon could hope to fight even a sin incarnate like him.

“The only reason your head remains on your shoulders,” Diavolo stepped closer to gaze down on him, “is because you are of Lucifer’s blood.”

A knee buckled.

“You undermined my authority. You failed an innocent soul and then dared to bring your anger to me?” The pressure flared again, sharper this time—like a warning blow from a beast that hadn’t truly shown its teeth yet. “You live because I allow it. You breathe because your brother’s loyalty means something to me. If not for him, there would be nothing left of you but an empty title.”

He fell—one knee first, slamming against the stone floor with a dull echo. The pressure didn’t relent until his head began to bow, involuntarily tilting forward under the immense strain. Still, he fought it, refusing to tear his glare from Diavolo. His jaw clenched so tightly the taste of blood filled his mouth, his fangs piercing his own flesh.

And still, Diavolo looked at him not with hatred—but with coldness. “You will support the exchange program. You will fall in line. And you will remember that this,” he gestured to Belphegor’s trembling form, “is mercy.”

Behind him, Barbatos stood like a statue, a sentinel to his master’s will. And Belphegor, with every ounce of pride torn from him, knelt in silence.

“You will submit to me.” Diavolo stood over him, a coy glint in his eyes. “Just as Lucifer has.”

From that day on, Belphegor didn’t breathe a word of what he knew. Not to Lucifer. Not to Beelzebub. Not to you. Belphegor vowed he would make Diavolo pay. For every tear you shed. For every moment of fear you endured. For turning him into your tormentor – turning you into his victim.

He was gentler with you than he had ever been—afraid to touch you too roughly. When you were tired, he cradled you close, letting you sleep on his chest, listening to your soft breaths. When you were cold, he wrapped you in his blanket, pulling you into the safety of his arms. And when you whispered that you loved him, he held you a little too tightly, because the thought of losing you—the thought of you ever fearing him—was unbearable.

But beneath the quiet affection, he was building something. A nightmare. He would take his time, perfecting every little detail, making sure it was flawless—Unbreakable. Inescapable. A perfect prison of despair, crafted piece by piece. A masterpiece.

Belphegor’s eyes gazed out over the Devildom. The castle loomed in the distance, its windows lit with golden light. Diavolo was probably still awake, somewhere inside, smiling, laughing…oblivious.

“I will never submit." A declaration. "I will be the end of your reign.”

The room was quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of sheets as the night pressed on. The faintest sliver of moonlight slipped through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over your sleeping form. Belphegor stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes watching you with affection. You were so peaceful, so vulnerable in your sleep, but he couldn’t help himself. His heart, though often masked by apathy and indifference, thudded in his chest whenever you were near.

He couldn’t bear the silence anymore, he needed to hear your voice. To feel your warmth against him. There was a creak of the mattress, the faint rustle of sheets. Then, a familiar weight settled on top of you, draping over you heavily. You blinked until your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Belphie…?” your voice was hushed, cracked with sleep.

He didn’t respond right away. His face was buried in the center of your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if afraid you'd vanish. Belphegor's body pressed into yours, heavy, warm, grounding. You could feel the thud of his heartbeat—just a little too fast.

“I wanted to hear your voice…” he murmured, the words muffled against your skin.

Your fingers instinctively slid into his hair, stroking gently through the soft strands. He melted under your touch, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for hours. He wasn’t just lying on top of you—he was clinging. Seeking something only you could give.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, brushing your fingers along the back of his neck. “I’m right here.”

“Can you say it again?” His voice was small. “Please.”

“Belphie,” you kissed the top of his head. “I’m right here.”

He sighed against your chest, the sound shaky, it betrayed a vulnerability he rarely let slip, even with you. “Kiss me,” he whispered, they barely reached your ears—but they clung to your heart like a plea.

You cupped his face and lifted it just enough to find his lips. It was soft, drowsy, deep—like a secret shared between two hearts in the dark. His lips moved slowly, hungrily, as if the kiss could somehow fill the hollow ache in his chest. His fingers buried themselves in your hair, holding the back of your head like he couldn’t bear for you to pull away. His other hand trailed down your side, then placed protectively on your hip.

He collapsed into you, his weight was heavy, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed it—his warmth, his presence, his need for you. You let him steal your breath, your comfort, you gave everything freely. You coddled him through the night—stroking his hair, whispering soft things, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world. Because to you, he was.

Then long after you drifted back to sleep, Belphegor stayed awake, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat—letting it remind him that he was loved. Truly. Unconditionally. By you. He knew one thing with absolute certainty—he loved you the same way, fiercely, entirely–without end.

Belphegor kept his circle small, his attachments few. His love was a raging fire—deep, violent, and all-consuming. If anyone dared lay a hand on what was his, he'd descend into a rage so brutal, no one would be spared. He couldn’t afford to care about anything or anyone else—because once he did, the world would burn, no matter how insignificant the reason seemed.

And Diavolo... Diavolo had fucked around, and now he was going to find out.

[collectorofsoulss]

Obey Me! The Exchange Students I

Part II

As the first human to attend the Devil's Exchange Program, you had walked through the gates of this infernal realm a year ago, unsure of what awaited you. Your time in the Devildom had been a whirlwind of unexpected friendships, cultural shocks, and—let's be honest—a fair amount of chaos. From awkward encounters with demons that were far too interested in your human snacks, to getting tangled in the absurdly confusing politics of the Demon Lord’s court, you had survived it all.

When you had first arrived, it was just you—one lone human (Solomon definitely does not count! His immortal ass) on an exchange program that no one thought would succeed. Yet, somehow, it did. Diavolo, the charismatic Demon Prince, was so impressed by the success of your year-long stay that he decided to expand the program. His vision? To introduce more humans to the Devildom. And so, the program grew.

Now, seven humans were entering the program, each assigned to one of the infamous seven demon brothers. Their personalities were as varied as the colors of the rainbow, and you had to admit, you were curious how this would work. What made you pause, though, was the fact that each of the brothers was paired with a human. For a brief, fleeting moment, you couldn’t help but feel… uneasy. Seeing the brothers each assigned a human…made you question your place. It was a strange feeling, an uncomfortable thought gnawing at you. Was it jealousy? Or insecurity?

But you also knew that this wasn’t about you. It was their job. The brothers were given this task because Diavolo trusted them to guide and protect the new humans, just as they had done for you. It was just a job, right? Still, that tiny seed of doubt lingered, gnawing at the back of your mind. Would they care for these new humans the way they cared for you?

There was something you hadn’t fully considered—the sheer length of time the brothers had lived compared to the short, fleeting year you’d spent with them. A demon's lifespan wasn’t measured in years or decades—it was centuries. And in the grand scheme of their existence, a year? That was nothing.

Would the feelings they’d developed for you last? At first, you tried to push the thought aside. Surely, their bond with you was deeper than just a passing interest. But doubt crept in, and the more you thought about it, the more your stomach twisted with uncertainty. What if, after you left, the brothers would simply slip back into their old ways, as though you’d never been there? Would they still hold onto the bond you shared, or would it fade with time, as some distant memory of a human they once cared for?

There was that gnawing thought in your mind: Out of sight, out of mind. The brothers were used to long separations. Was it possible that, once you were gone, their memories of you would blur? Was it even realistic to expect that your year-long stay had truly impacted their eternal lives? Perhaps it was just the nature of demons. Time meant very little to them. But you weren’t like that. You were human. You’d only been there for a year, and even now, you weren’t sure if the relationship you had with each of the brothers was strong enough to withstand time and distance.

As you stood before the House of Lamentation, a strange mix of emotions churned inside you. Part of you wanted to believe in the bond you’d created with each of them, but another part of you… wondered if, like many things in the Devildom, it was just a fleeting moment in their endless lives.

You couldn’t help but wonder: Do they still hold the same strong feelings since you were gone?

Lucifer

Lucifer’s assigned human is a self-assured, confident individual—a bit too much for their own good. They walk around like they own the place, constantly giving orders and demanding attention from everyone, even Lucifer himself. They have no respect for Lucifer's position—assuming that because he’s a demon, he’s subservient or lesser in some way. Lucifer doesn’t let anyone speak to him like that, especially not humans. However, he bites his tongue and uses his incredible patience, knowing that it’s his responsibility to ensure the human’s safety and that they adjust to the Devildom properly.

Lucifer’s typical interactions with this human test his limits. Their bossy attitude has him holding back, trying to remain diplomatic, especially since he doesn’t want to risk any issues with the exchange program. Even though they constantly challenge his authority, Lucifer keeps his calm, regal demeanor. There will be moments of passive-aggressive tension, where Lucifer’s patience is thin, but he’d never let them see how close they are to crossing a line that could make him lose his temper and make the human lose their life.

The halls of the House of Lamentation felt as familiar as ever—the low hum of magic in the air, the faint scent of dark roses drifting lazily through the stone corridors. You hadn’t been here in what felt like ages, but everything, from the sleek marble floors to the faint sound of boots echoing through the vast chambers, was just as you remembered. You missed everything—the dim lighting, the faint scent of black roses. But most of all, you missed him. When you spot Lucifer by his office door, your heart clenches. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, that familiar poised stance still intact. His crimson eyes lock onto yours, softening a rare crack in his usually stoic demeanor. He knew you were here; he could just sense your essence and it was unmistakably you.

“Welcome home darling.”

Your breath catches. The way he says it—low and sweet—makes your chest tighten. The two of you slowly gravitate toward each other. You can feel the weight of the years between you, all the unspoken things, the distance.

Mammon always joked about how Lucifer was older than dust, how he’d lived before Earth, before mankind itself. Surely, someone with so much knowledge, so much experience, would forget—right?

The thought stings more than you care to admit, and you shyly avert his reach, walking further into his office. Your fingers brush over his paperwork absentmindedly, pretending to focus on something, anything else but the way he’s looking at you. The subtle tension, the way your heart races—you’re scared to feel him.

“You remember…me?” you said timidly.

Lucifer watches you carefully, his presence is as strong as ever, but there’s a gentleness in the way he moves toward you. He stops beside you, his voice is calm and steady, laced with warmth.

“Of course, I remember you.”

He presses himself against your side, just close enough to let the heat of his body fill the space between you. His hand finds your hips, touching you softly, the feeling of his fingers trailing just a little lower, just a little too intentionally. The touch sends a wave of warmth rushing through you, and you blink in surprise, your breath catching in your throat.

“You remember me that well?” you ask quietly.

Lucifer’s gaze softens, and his lips twitch in the slightest hint of a smile.

“How could I forget?” He leans in closer, the deep, rich tone of his voice wrapping around you like a velvet embrace. “You’re not someone I can forget, no matter how many years pass.”

His hand moves along your side, brushing your skin, fingertips barely grazing. His touch is gentle, making every nerve in your body stand on edge. He moves so smoothly, drawing you closer without a single word. He’s done this dance with you—he’s always known how to make you feel like you’re the only one in the room.

Without warning, his touch shifts, just enough to land on a particular spot. The instant he touches you there, your entire body freezes. It’s an intimate, private place that only he has ever touched. And now, feeling his fingers press there so softly, the connection between you feels electric. Your cheeks flush, your heart races.

You quickly look away, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your neck, but Lucifer’s gaze never wavers. He can see it—the way your body reacts to him, the way you can't quite hide it.

“Does this still affect you, darling?” he murmurs with a small, knowing smile.

You glance up at him, and before you can say a word, he’s lifting you effortlessly, settling you onto the edge of his desk. The cool surface beneath you contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from him. He stands in front of you, his eyes tracing over you like a careful artist, admiring what he's longed to see again. His gaze softens, and he leans in just slightly, enough to be close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

“I remember every moment with you,” he says, his hand resting gently on your thigh, his touch almost possessive yet filled with a tenderness you always expect from him. “Every look. Every laugh. Every sigh. You’ve never left my thoughts.”

Soon a voice cuts through the moment. “Lucifer. I need you now. I have some business to take care.”

Your eyes flicker to the side, and there stands his assigned human. He’s standing with his arms crossed, furrowed brow, and an arrogant tilt to his chin. He glances at you briefly but dismisses you immediately, clearly prioritizing his own agenda.

Lucifer’s gaze narrows. “Excuse you?”

“I have an appointment in the Human World,” the guy says impatiently, tapping his watch like he has the right to rush the Avatar of Pride. “You need to escort me.”

You glance at Lucifer, expecting him to give his usual polite but firm dismissal. Instead, his entire presence darkens. The air shifts—the weight of his magic pressing heavily in the corridor. His eyes narrow into something dangerous, his hand twitching slightly as if restraining an urge.

Lucifer’s voice lowers, deep and venomous. “You dare interrupt me?”

The human scoffs, oblivious to the danger. “Yeah, and? That’s literally your job, right?”

Big mistake. HUGE mistake. Without another word, Lucifer steps toward him, his boots heavy against the stone floor. His magic crackles faintly, the tips of his ebony wings materializing ever so slightly—a slow, deliberate display of power. The temperature in the hallway seems to drop several degrees. Lucifer’s tone is icy. “You seem to have misunderstood your position here, human.” His eyes gleam with a dangerous glint as he leans in slightly. “You are under my protection. Not my command.”

“But—” the human stammers.

Lucifer narrows his eyes ever so slightly, “Allow me to remind you of your place.”

The human stumbles back slightly, his face pale. His eyes flicker toward you, almost as if searching for help, but you just arch a brow. Yeah, you’re not helping him. Lucifer takes a slow step forward, his boots clicking against the floor.

“You are nothing more than a temporary guest in this realm. Do not mistake my hospitality for servitude.”

The human backs away, visibly shaken, his previous arrogance completely shattered. He practically bolts out of the room without another word, slamming the door behind him. The moment he’s gone, the room falls into heavy silence. Lucifer slowly exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the lingering tension in his shoulders dissipates.

He then turns back to you, his expression immediately softening. His wings dissipate reigning in his magic. When he meets your eyes, the contrast is jarring—the sharp, merciless demon replaced with someone who only ever looks at you with tenderness. He strides over to where you’re sitting and leans down, bracing his hands on the desk, caging you in.

His face is inches from yours, “Now… where were we?” he murmurs, voice like honey, as if the previous encounter hadn’t just made you weak in the knees.

Your breath catches slightly at his sudden shift in demeanor. You stare into his eyes, the lingering traces of his dangerous aura making your pulse quicken. Lucifer’s voice lowers further, his lips brushing your ear. “You do know… I only obey you.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, and a delicious shiver runs down your spine. His low chuckle rumbles softly against your skin. He captures your lips in a slow, possessive kiss.

“There is no one who comes before you. No one.”

Bonus Detail:

After the incident with Lucifer’s assigned human, the poor guy is so intimidated that he immediately requests a reassignment.

The human, now constantly on edge, has to remind himself not to interrupt Lucifer while he’s with you.

He knows the human assignment is a mere formality, but when he’s with you, he’ll take every opportunity to make you feel like the only one that matters.

“You’ll always remain my priority, no matter how many humans Diavolo sends my way.”

Mammon

He finally gets the taste of his own medicine. Because of their reckless nature, Mammon is forced into the role of a responsible protector—something he’s not used to, given his chaotic personality. He has to be the voice of reason, preventing them from making dangerous decisions like setting things on fire, taking wild risks, or just generally creating a mess of things. Mammon has to constantly babysit, running after them to stop them from doing something ridiculously dangerous. He’s often seen yelling at them. Mammon has always been reckless himself, but now, with his human, he gets a taste of what it’s like to be the responsible one—and it's not easy.

The House of Lamentation looms in the distance, its ominous yet familiar architecture sending a flutter through your stomach. As you make your way down the path, your fingers brush the iron gate. It swings open with a low creak, and that’s when you hear it—his voice.

“Oi! Get back here, ya idiot!”

You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Mammon. He’s sprinting after a chaotic blur of a human, his jacket billowing behind him, blue eyes narrowed with exasperation. His hair is messier than usual, sticking out at odd angles from clearly having a rough day. His D.D.D. is clutched tightly in his hand, and his mouth is moving a mile a minute as he barks orders. But then… He sees you.

His entire body locks up, eyes are wide in disbelief. For a moment, everything else falls away—the background noise of the human shouting, the distant chaos, the entire Devildom itself. It’s as if the world slows down, and all he can see is you. The human tugs on his jacket, clearly panicking about something, but Mammon doesn’t even blink. His gaze is locked onto you—and only you.

“...No way…” he breathes, barely above a whisper.

Your name tumbles from his lips in a voice so gentle and reverent it makes your chest tighten. Without thinking, he drops his D.D.D. and shrugs off the human like they’re nothing more than a leaf in the wind. The human stumble but Mammon doesn’t care—he doesn’t even notice him anymore. He’s already moving toward you.

Before you can process it, Mammon crosses the distance in an instant.

“You’re… You’re really here…”

His hands are suddenly on your face—trembling fingers brushing over your cheeks, your jaw, your lips, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t touch you. His eyes search yours frantically, almost like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I-I missed ya—damn it, I missed ya so much,” he stammers breathlessly.

And then, before you can respond, he crushes you against his chest, burying his face into your hair. His arms lock around you tightly, almost desperate. You can feel his heart pounding violently against your own, racing so fast it might burst from his chest. His fingers fist into the fabric of your clothes, knuckles pale from the force of his grip. You gasp softly at the intensity of his embrace, but then you melt into him, your arms winding around his waist.

“I missed you too,” you murmur into his jacket.

You feel him shudder slightly at your words. His fingers trail up into your hair, trembling as they card through the strands. He presses you closer, as if trying to memorize the feeling of you in his arms all over again. For a moment, he just holds you, his breathing ragged and uneven, as though he’s trying to keep it together but failing spectacularly.

A loud crash echoes behind you, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. You glance over Mammon’s shoulder, startled, only to see his assigned human tangled in a heap of broken wooden crates. Something is smoking in his hands, and his jacket is slightly singed.

“MAMMON!” the human shrieks, waving his arms. “I NEED HELP! I—I THINK I MIGHT’VE… OH, SHIT, IS THAT A DEMON HOUND?!”

You hear feral snarling in the distance. You look at Mammon in mild panic, but…He doesn’t even turn around. His arms are still locked around you, his face pressed into your neck, ignoring the absolute chaos behind him.

“Tch. He'll be fine,” he mutters gruffly, nuzzling further into you. His hands tighten on your waist. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m lettin’ go of ya for that moron.”

You blink in surprise, glancing over his shoulder again at the disaster unfolding behind him. His human is now frantically stomping out the flames on his jacket, screaming something about impending doom, while the distant demon hound howls ominously.

“Mammon—” you start, but he cuts you off with a low, gravelly murmur in your ear. “Nah… Don’t care. I ain't lettin’ ya go.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but then you feel him kiss your temple—slow, lingering, and achingly gentle. When he finally pulls back slightly, he gazes down at you with half-lidded eyes, his pupils slightly blown out.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya go,” he rasps. His eyes soften, filled with nothing but raw, unfiltered love. “Don’t care what happens—ya hear me? Yer mine.”

Your chest tightens at the tenderness in his voice. His hand cups your face, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles against your cheek. “No one’s takin’ yer place,” he breathes, leaning in closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours.

“Yer always first, sweetheart.”

He closes the distance, kissing you deeply. His lips move slowly against yours like he’s savoring you, desperate to memorize your taste all over again. And despite the chaos and screaming still going on in the background, Mammon doesn’t even flinch. He’s far too busy falling in love with you all over again.

As the chaos continues to unfold behind him, Mammon’s frustration grows. His human is still yelling, running around like a headless chicken, and the shrill sound of him calling his name echoes through the air. Every time he screams his name, Mammon’s brows twitch in annoyance, and his grip on you tightens slightly. He’s had enough.

With a low, frustrated growl, Mammon’s eyes flick toward the disaster unfolding in the distance. His human is now struggling with an oversized demon hound, trying to fend it off. Mammon clenches his jaw and mutters under his breath.

“Ugh, seriously? Can’t a demon have a damn moment!”

In one swift motion, he pulls you closer, his hands gripping your waist possessively, and before you can even blink, you’re airborne, flying higher into the sky. You yelp, but Mammon’s grip on you is firm, holding you securely as he takes you to the roof of the House of Lamentation.

Once there, Mammon wastes no time. He sits down cross-legged, and pulls you into his lap without hesitation. His arms curl around your waist, and his lips are already pressed against your temple, sighing deeply in contentment. He leans back against the roof, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Ain’t no way I’m lettin' some idiot ruin this moment,” Mammon mutters, still sounding gruff. His hands trail slowly up your back, pulling you closer to him, locking you in place on his lap. His eyes never leave yours, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Now... I want somethin’ from ya,” Mammon says, his voice lowered to a hushed whisper, a hint of impatience creeping in. “A kiss. Keep 'em comin' ya hear? I need ‘em, lots of it!"

You blink at him in surprise, but Mammon's expression is unwavering, his gaze full of longing. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each kiss slow and soft. Until he pulls back to ask “Well? What ya waitin’ for?”

You smile, a warm, tender feeling spreading through your chest as you return his kisses, each one more passionate than the last, the world fading into the background. The sounds of his human’s chaos below seem so distant now, as Mammon only cares about the feeling of you in his arms, keeping you close and demanding more of your affection.

Bonus Detail:

Later, once you’ve reunited properly with the brothers, Mammon gets lectured for abandoning the human.

“Mammon… What happened to him?” Lucifer.

He only shrugs lazily, throwing an arm around you, “Eh… He didn’t die.”

The human, still limping, waves off the concern with a weak smile, “I’m alright… really… just a sprained leg… and a… couple broken ribs…” Just as he finishes speaking, he faints and collapsing onto the floor.

Mammon doesn’t even flinch, instead looks at Lucifer with a smirk. “See? Told ya. He's fine.”

Lucifer just sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. Mammon ignores the gravity of the situation and instead decides to tease the current shocked expression on your face.

Leviathan

Leviathan’s human is like the ultimate cheerleader, helping him see his own worth and that he deserves a little bit of love, especially from you. They’d also be a great source of moral support. They also have a love for outdoor activities. Leviathan would find it so awkward and be overwhelmed by their energy. He’d much rather sit with his games and anime, but they don’t give up.

Slowly, he realizes they’re not trying to change him but to help him grow and experience life outside of his comfort zone. By the end of their time together, he’s probably more appreciative of outdoor activities and even starts to enjoy them, but he’ll never admit it. He just likes having a balance now — time for gaming and time for a little adventure. They have some playful streak in — always willing to try new things and encourage others to push their boundaries, including Levi.

You’re standing outside of Leviathan’s door, your hand hovering just over the handle. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to knock right away. Your chest tightens slightly as you stare at the familiar wood, memories rushing back. You remember the hours you spent in his room, watching anime marathons until you both passed out. You remember him excitedly rambling about a new game, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm while he explained the lore. You remember when he shyly held your hand for the first time, his face flushed to his ears. But now… you aren’t sure what to expect. Finally, you muster the courage and gently knock on the door, “Levi? It’s me.”

There’s a brief pause, followed by the sound of something crashing inside. You hear Levi’s frantic scrambling—the familiar shuffle of game cases falling and his tail smacking against furniture. You can practically picture him panicking at the sudden intrusion.

“J-Just a sec!” he calls out, his voice breathless.

When the door finally creaks open, Levi stands there, slightly disheveled, his face flushed from his hurried movements. His amber eyes widen slightly when he sees you.

“Y-Y/N…?” His voice barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid you’re an illusion.

You give him a soft smile, expecting him to pull you into the room—maybe even into his arms. But instead… he hesitates. His eyes flicker nervously over his shoulder.

Your gaze follows his, and that’s when you see her. Leviathan’s assigned human. She’s seated on his gaming chair, her back to you, completely immersed in one of Leviathan’s newest games. She’s wearing his headset, chatting casually with other players online.

“How do I pause the game? Ugh! I don’t know how to jump!” she panics.

Leviathan notices your expression immediately, and his eyes widen slightly in panic, “W-Wait! I-It’s not what it looks like!”

His tail nervously coils around his ankle, a clear sign that he’s flustered. But you can’t help the pang in your chest. The scene is so… familiar. It reminds you of all those times you gamed with him, wearing his hoodies, sitting in that same chair, listening to his ramblings.

“Oh. You’re… busy.” Your voice comes out smaller than you intended.

Leviathan visibly panics, his hands flailing slightly as he steps toward you. “N-No! I’m not busy! She’s just—she’s just— l-leaving!”

The human twists around in the chair and gives you a sincere smile. “Oh! You must be Y/N.”

Leviathan stiffens, his eyes wide in horror, his face instantly turning red. “W-Wait, Don’t—!” But before he can try to shut her down, she appears before you, her grin wide and enthusiastic, “Levi talks about you all the time! You’re like, his favorite person!”

Leviathan’s tail whips around wildly, knocking over a few figurines in his panic. “N-No! I-I don’t know what you mean! I don’t… I don’t talk about her that much!”

The human presses on, practically bouncing with excitement. “Oh, you’re so cute! You’re the one in all his pictures! He has them all over his shelves. I swear, you’re like, the highlight of his life! It so adorable!”

Leviathan looks as though he’s about to faint right there, his tail coils around his ankle so tightly that it’s almost cutting off circulation. “D-DON’T say things like that!” He shrieks, grabbing his head like he’s about to explode from embarrassment. You feel a little bad for him, but his flustered state is just too sweet. You give him a teasing smile, leaning a little closer to him, “You never told me you had all those pictures of me.”

Leviathan freezes, and his eyes widen in shock. “Th-They’re just there for… for sentimental reasons!” At this point, Levi is literally hiding his face behind his hands, mumbling under his breath in defeat. It’s clear how much he still cares.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, “I missed you too.”

“Y-You do?”

You nodded shyly, stepping closer and closer. For a moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of you, standing there in the dim light of his room. As you both stare at each other, you feel a strange pull toward him—an invisible force drawing you closer. You notice his pupils are dilating, and the way his breath catches in his throat. Then there is a quiet voice from behind him—a voice too excited for its own good. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You glance over at Leviathan’s human, who is now quietly chanting, eyes gleaming with mischief. She’s practically grinning from ear to ear, clearly loving the drama of the situation. Leviathan’s face turns beet-red, and he practically staggers backward, his tail flailing as he trips over a stray video game case.

“W-Wait, R-Right now—! I-I can’t—!”

Before Levi can retreat any further, you make a decision. Stepping closer, you place your hands gently on his shoulders, guiding him toward you. Without giving him time to overthink, you pull him in, and your lips meet his—quiet, soft, and shy, just like everything between the two of you had always been. Leviathan’s body stiffens at first, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment, but then he melts into the kiss. His arms, still a little hesitant, tentatively wrap around you. His tail, which had been nervously flicking behind him, curls tightly around your leg in affection.

His heart is practically hammering in his chest, and for a moment, it feels like the world slows down. All that’s left is the gentle warmth of his lips against yours, the softness of his touch, and the steady rhythm of his breath. The world outside seems distant, unimportant. You pull away after, your eyes on his, but just as you do, you hear an unmistakable sound—the giggles of Levi’s human.

“Ooooh, that was so cute!” she teases, clearly loving the scene unfolding before her.

Leviathan’s eyes widen in shock, his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he starts to sway on his feet. Then, in a sudden, dramatic swoon, his eyes roll back, and his knees give out beneath him. In a dead faint, Levi crumbles into your arms, leaving you to awkwardly catch him. The human stands there, eyes wide with disbelief, her mouth hanging open in utter surprise.

“Did he just—?”

You can’t help but sigh softly, feeling a mix of amusement and fondness. “Yep. He does this sometimes. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up in a second. It’s totally normal.”

The human’s jaw drops even further as she stares at you, her eyes darting between Levi, unconscious, and you, who seems completely unfazed by the situation.

“You’re... you're seriously telling me that he just faints like this all the time?” she asks, incredulously.

You give a small laugh, trying to adjust Levi’s weight in your arms, “Unfortunately, yeah. But I’m getting used to it by now.” With a soft groan, you attempt to move him, but he’s heavier than you expected, “Can you help me get him into his tub? He’s kinda heavy.”

The human snaps out of her stunned state and nods eagerly. “Sure!”

Together, the two of you awkwardly drag Leviathan’s limp body across the room. Every now and then, you accidentally bang him against something or nearly trip over him, but you manage to get him into the tub. Once he’s finally settled in, you let out an exhale, dropping onto the floor. The room falls into a moment of silence. After a moment, you look over at Leviathan, still knocked out, and then glance back at the human.

“So… what else did he say about me?” you ask eagerly leaning in.

The human’s eyes light up, a mischievous glint flashing in her gaze. Levi is not going to be happy when he wakes up.

Bonus Detail:

He definitely made up for lost time, having intimate conversations in the tub, noses inches away as you two cuddle.

Constantly feels you up, muttering a shy sorry if he grabs you too hard. What? He's nervous, okay!

Leviathan’s human is the ultimate wingman.

She’s always making sure his brothers don’t cockblock.

Definitely takes secret candid photos of you two to give later, adding to Leviathan's collection.

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon xF!Reader Pt 5

One, Two, Three, Four

There was only so much a mother could bare. In the reflection of the water you saw the bags beneath your eyes, heavy with exhaustion as you mindlessly rinsed the fruits. There were moments you were seconds from having a mental breakdown, on the verge of losing your mind but no–not yet, at least. You had to keep it together for the children, for their sake.

There was a cabin you rented, a secluded area distant from the public where no prying eyes would see MJ’s intricate features. The woman you sought earlier, Agatha, explained there was an insufficient amount of a specific ingredient required to bind his powers. Until there’s something she could substitute, you had to stay out of sight and you were getting restless. Each time there was a need to leave the house, MJ had to be left behind, instructed to stay put until you returned. It was for short periods for necessities.

In these small quarters, little things began to pile up, grating at your nerves. MJ new behaviors were…questionable. For starters, he took things that did not belong to him. It was small things, Maximus’ stuffed rabbit, your shirt until it became more personal like your necklace, your earrings and Maximus’ favorite toys.

“They’re mine!”

However, you stood on business. “MJ, they are not yours. Give it back right now. Do not let me ask again.”

He refused, clutching it tighter. His voice deepened unnaturally, the syllables reverberating as if layered with another voice, “No.”

The way he looked at you was not of this world, his eyes pulsed black, consuming his blues. For the first time, you hesitated, unnerved by the sound and how deep his preschooler’s voice could go. Fear was apparent on his face once he realized what he’s done, and he reluctantly handed over the items. And the strange happenings continued.

Once there was a fluctuation in MJ’s mood, the lights would flicker or even blow. Then the only thing you’d see were glowing golden eyes for a split second until they disappeared. His strange ways were beginning to scare you.

Blinking repeatedly, you realized you left the water running from spacing out. Emptying the drain’s contents, you dried your hands on your apron. There was a sudden crash in the distance; swiftly your large steps made it to the room where the children were playing. The little thread connecting your sanity began to unravel. Immediately your heart accelerated at the sight. Dust–everywhere, MJ rose from the ground while Maximus did not. The chandelier was on the floor, debris haphazardly fallen.

“What happened?” your voice was sharper than intended as you scooped Maximus into your arms, who was crying softly, “…Mommy.”

“I-It was an accident…” he stammered, his eyes widening in fear. “…we were only playing…” he twiddled his thumbs in shame.

“What did I tell you!” a firm grip to his arm, you forced him to look at you. The stress of the past few weeks rose to the surface. “You can’t just fly around like that! Look what you’ve done!”

He began to bawl, “Mommy, I’m sorry,” he cried. He came close to hug your leg, sobbing onto your pants. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”

Soon your anger disintegrated, feeling guilty for raising your voice. “I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I was worried. I don’t want either of you getting hurt,” you hugged them both. The weight of the situation was stressing you out, terrified of what’s to come and not knowing how to protect him.

“It’s okay,” you comforted. “Come, let’s get away from the glass.”

There were times MJ did not respond kindly to your reprimands. There was always a spiral of gold shimmering in his eyes, and just when you noticed it vanished. His powers have been growing immensely, it’s become unpredictable, wild–and your constant corrections made him feel worse.

It was a toy. It was over a single toy.

“Give it back!” MJ voice snarled unnaturally as his claws extended further than necessary.

“No!” Maximus gripped the toy tightly, his own defiance glowing in his tear-streaked eyes. “I’m playing with it now!”

“But it’s mine!” he growled dangerously, “Give it back!”

Maximus grew fearful, fleeing towards you, screaming, “Mommy!” his small frame barely made it two steps before MJ flew after his younger sibling, knocking him down.

“It’s mine!” MJ reminded, his voice warped inhumanly as he straddled his younger brother, yanking the toy free from Maximus’ trembling hands. “You don’t get to have it!”

Slowly you came into view, “Get off your brother this instant!” you yelled, gaining his attention.

MJ rose. The toy clattered to the floor, forgotten, but the anger didn’t leave his face. His breathing was heavy, erratic, his small chest rising and falling like he was holding back something far worse than tears. Maximus scrambled to you, burying his face into your leg. That’s when you noticed the grazes across his hands, where the item was snatched, blood trickling from shallow wounds.

“MJ what did you do?” you questioned. You knelt to inspect Maximus’ injuries. Your voice was louder than you intended, fueled by both worry and anger. “You need to play nice with Maxi, MJ! Come over here and apologize right now!”

MJ was not listening. His glowing eyes darted between yours and Maximus, the jealousy in his expression twisted into something darker. The flickering lights dimmed further, plunging the room into shadows as he breathing grew heavier.

“…no.” his response was far too low.

You looked at the lightbulbs blowing one by one, “Stop this right now.”

Piercing golden eyes started at you in the darkness and Maximus began to cry, burying his face in your side. “Mommy, make him stop!”

“MJ, enough!”

“You only care about him!” MJ screamed, his voice cracking as tears of rage streamed down his cheeks.

“That’s not true,” you said softy, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Yes, it is!” he yelled, and in that moment, the lights flashed brightly. His small fists shook, and the room trembled under his outburst. “You don’t love me anymore! You’re always mad at me… yelling at me … you hate me!”

“Of course not, honey,” you started, in attempts to soothe him, but his voice cut you off, sharper than the crack of thunder outside.

“Liar!”

The storm brewing outside eventually responded to his temper. Lightening split the skies and came crackling down in the house. The surge of power hit the corner of the room. The sound was deafening–like the heavens themselves had opened. It sent a blinding flash of light and a violent surge of wind that knocked you and Maximus backward into the wall. Maximus cried, his little arms clinging to you as you struggled to your feet.

The strong scent of burning wood filled the air. A spark ignited where the bolt had struck, quickly spreading across the dry walls. Flames licked at the ceiling, crawling along the walls like living creatures. Once he realized what he had done, the golden flare in his eyes disappeared, he gasped.

“Mommy…I’m–” his apology was cut short when he was snatched.

One at your hip, the other under your arm you began to move. Each direction seemed blocked by the flickering orange and deadly heat. Your lungs burned with every breath, and your steps grew slower, heavier, as the thick gray haze filled the space. They were across the walls, casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at you. “I can’t breathe!” Maximus whimpered against your chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” you rasped, voice weak as you stumbled toward the door. The promise of safety was just a few steps away. Your cough became wet and ragged, your knees buckling under the weight of the children. You were so close–so close. Then the sound came, a loud cracking from above. The beams of the ceiling, weakened by the fire, began to collapse with terrifying speed. Using the last ounce of your strength, you hurled both children forward out of harm’s away just in time for it collapse onto you.

Maximus landed with a cry, his small frame rolling to safety, MJ hit the ground but scrambled in time to see the horror; the debris pinned you with a sickening thud. Pain seared through your body as the weight of the beam compressed against your back. Gasping, you struggled to draw air into your smoke-filled lungs.

“Mommy!” MJ’s panicked, shaking you. Tears filled his eyes; the fire reflecting off them like mirrors. “Mommy, please, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry…”

“Take… Maxi…and get… out,” you wheezed, barely able to form the words. The pain was unbearable, your strength slipping with every second.

In a desperate attempt, he tried to raise the wood but it hardly budged in his flustered state. His breathing quickened, shallow gasp that worsened with panic.

“Boys…go now,” you whispered.

He reached for his younger brother but the boy shrank away from him, in a coughing and sobbing fit. Maximus crawled towards you, hacking violently, his tear-streaked face twisted in despair, “I hate you!”

MJ froze, his outstretched hand hovering, abandoned, in midair. His pupils shook as he raised his small hands to his face, seeing the red smearing his palms. His claws glinted in the firelight, long and sharp. The metallic scent of it mixed with the smoke made his stomach churn. He stumbled back another step, his small body trembling violently. MJ’s chest heaved, his breath coming in quick, uneven bursts.

“No, no, no, no,” he whispered, hands quivering as he stared. They were covered in blood—your blood. His wide eyes darted to the floor, where the pool of blood gathered. The sight made his chest tighten, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sound of the fire.

“I… I didn’t mean…” MJ whispered, backing away slowly. Unable to find his voice, he started to hyperventilate. He watched as Maximus slumped beside you as he succumbed to the smoke. He stumbled further back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his vision blurred with tears.

And then he saw it.

In the flickering light of the fire, his shadow stretched across the wall—a twisted, monstrous form. Jagged horns curved upward from his head, and enormous wings extended from his back, their edges sharp and menacing.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. His voice was weak.

The shadow moved as he moved, mimicking his every tremble and twitch. It loomed over him, a grotesque reflection of the monster he was terrified he had become.

“I’m a…” The words barely escaped his lips. He clutched his head with quivering hands, his claws scratching against his scalp. He trembled violently as he doubled over, gasping for air that refused to come.

“I hurt them…” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…”

The fire roared louder, the heat pressing onwards as the flames consumed more of the cabin. The shadows around him danced wildly but his eyes stayed locked on his own monstrous outline.

“Get out!” your weak voice echoed faintly in his mind, overlapping with Maximus’s sharp, hateful words: “I hate you!”

Without looking back, MJ stumbled to his feet, his legs weak and unsteady. Tears blurred his vision as exited. He burst out into the rain, the cold droplets stinging against his flushed cheeks. The storm swallowed him whole, the pounding rain mingling with his sobs as he flew blindly into the night. The monstrous shadow followed him, casting against the muddy ground by the flashes of lightning above.

Far behind, beneath the smoke-choked sky, another presence stirred—one untouched by the storm.

A figure stood at the edge of the burning wreckage, watching with an air of quiet inevitability. His emerald gaze, sharp and unwavering, merely glanced across the destruction with neither surprise nor urgency. The storm howled, the wind screeched through the trees, but where he stood, the air was deathly still. Time itself seemed to hesitate, waiting, knowing.

He had foreseen this moment.

The boy had finally lost control.

It was time.

His gaze followed the path MJ had taken, disappearing into the night. There was no need to chase him—he would be found when the time was right. A single step forward, the flames bowed to his will, their violent hunger subdued in an instant responding to an authority far greater than nature’s wrath.

~~~

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the glass chambers that encased you. Next to you, Maximus floated in a smaller healing capsule, his tiny body bruised but stable. Pale blue light shimmered faintly within the enchanted healing pods, illuminating your still faces and casting shadows across the stone walls of the castle’s guest suite. Mammon sat slumped in a chair, his elbows on his knees and his head buried in his hands. His white hair was moist with sweat, strands sticking to his forehead as he struggled to steady his breathing. Clothing, damped and stained with mud from his relentless search. He has been teetering between searching for MJ and being here. Mammon’s eyes, usually so mischievous and full of life, were dull, rimmed red from exhaustion. He hadn’t slept, how could he? This was all his fault.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his knee bouncing from restlessness.

He could see the faint lines of pain etched into your expression, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bloodied bandages wrapped around your torso, a cruel reminder of how close he had come to losing you. The faint rise and fall of your chest was the only reassurance that you were still there with him. Mammon wiped at his face roughly, but the tears kept coming.

“I shoulda been there,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I shoulda been there,” he repeated desperately.

His eyes drifted to Maximus’, his soft white hair a mess of soot and damp curls. Mammon swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch the glass but paused when he heard a loud commotion outside in the hallway. The doors burst open suddenly, cutting through this intimate moment. Mammon’s head snapped up, his face twisted into a glare as Asmodeus stormed in, his makeup marred by disbelief and utter anger.

“Mammon!” Asmodeus’ voice was sharp, accusing.

“Asmodeus, not now,” Satan warned, following closely behind with Beelzebub.

“Not now? Not now?” he repeated with heavier irritation, “When, then? When were we supposed to find out?”

Beelzebub reached out a hand in an attempt to stop Asmodeus, his voice cautioning, “Asmo, wait–”

“No! I won’t wait!” Asmodeus snapped, brushing Beelzebub’s hand off as he marched further into the room.

Mammon cautiously rose from his seat, his voice low, “Don’t you dare yell in here,” he growled. “They’re restin’.”

Asmodeus faltered slightly, his gaze flickering toward the healing chambers. His fury was briefly overshadowed by the sight of you and Maximus. But his emotions boiled over again. “A wife, Mammon? Children? And you didn’t think we deserved to know? Only to hear from Diavolo of all people that our brother—one we’ve known for centuries—has been hiding a whole life from us?”

Mammon’s jaw tightened, and his response was cold. “It ain’t none of yer business.”

“Answer me!”

“Shut up!” The raw emotion in his voice was startling, “This is mine to enjoy—to have, not you! Stop makin’ this about yourself!”

Satan’s gaze met Mammon’s, his eyes narrowing with concern. “Not our business?” he repeated, “Well it is now. We just came out of a meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos to not only search for your child for his own safety but for others as well in case he accidentally blows a town to smithereens.” Mammon shot him a death glare from the corner of his eye, but Satan didn’t falter.

“Let’s not do this here,” Beelzebub suggested quietly, gesturing to the two of you in the chambers. “This is not right, Asmo.”

Suddenly, the door opened again. The rest of his siblings pooled in with the exception of Lucifer.

“To keep ‘em away from all this shit!” Mammon interjected. “I worked hard for this, I worked my ass off to be better and I sure as hell ain’t goin’ to let you ruin it for me!”

“Ruin it for you?” Asmodeus repeated, “Is that what you think we’d do?”

Belphegor stepped through his brothers, “So you keep them away from us? Have them live as fucking humans?”

“The hell I want ‘em here for? All the insults, all the jokes ‘bout my greed? ” His voice shook with frustration. “Each and every one-a ya never let me forget what I am. The one who can’t control himself, who’d do anythin’ for a quick buck.” The words were a bitter mixture of pain and fury. “I didn’t want my kids goin’ through that ‘cause they’re tied to me.”

Asmodeus’ mouth fell open, “Oh, that, well–I –I never meant–”

“Yeah, ya didn’t mean it,” Mammon interrupted bitterly. “But ya still said it, didn’t ya? All of ya did!”

Beelzebub’s expression twisted with disbelief. “…Did you really think we’d hurt them?”

The quickness of Mammon’s response broke Beel’s heart. “I ain’t takin’ that chance. Not with them.”

Satan was disappointed. “How could you think so little of us? As if we do not have the capacity to behave appropriately.”

Mammon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Why would my kids be any different? They’re gonna be a greed demon just—like—me. I wasn’t gonna let ‘em grow up feelin’ the way I did.”

Belphegor’s eyes were cold. “You did all of this shit because of some petty teasing.”

“It wasn’t just teasing!” Mammon retorted. “Each and every one of ya treated me like shit, callin’ me names—and at one point, I believed ya. I believed the fuckin’ shitty ass words you said ‘bout me.” His eyes were wild as he gestured to each of them. “Blamed for shit I didn’t do! A fuckin’ punchin’ bag just ‘cause!”

Asmodeus pointed at him, “Do not stand there and paint yourself as the victim as if you’ve never done anything!”

“All of us did fucked up shit!” Mammon yelled. “But I got the worst of it!”

“And you think being with this human solves any of that?” Belphegor’s questioned.

Mammon’s fists tightened at his sides. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed dangerously. “Bring her into this.”

“I’m just saying,” Belphegor shrugged, as if the weight of the conversation didn’t affect him. “Running off to play house with a human does not change what you are.”

“You shut yer fuckin’ mouth!” The room crackled with his demonic power like static electricity. Beelzebub’s gaze shifted, and even Satan seemed to take a step back, surprised by the violence of Mammon’s reaction.

“Ya don’t get it, do ya?” Mammon continued. “She saved me. She made me feel like I ain’t just some greedy piece of shit. She gave me somethin’ good, somethin’ pure—and ya think I’d let you, ruin it?”

Asmodeus, his voice softer now, spoke again. “We would’ve loved to know you were happy—that you had someone who made you feel that way…”

Mammon refused to meet his gaze, instead he sat down in his seat to watch you under the glass chamber. His brothers could all fuck off.

But Asmodeus wasn’t finished. He refused to let the matter drop. “You didn’t trust us,” he noted. “You didn’t even give us the chance to prove we could love her too—or our nephews.”

Mammon turned away, dragging a hand through his disheveled white hair, his shoulders rising and falling with each shaky breath. He was trying to hold himself together, trying not to lose it entirely in front of them. “I ain’t tryin’ to hear this shit,” he muttered.

Asmodeus took a step forward, his tone shifting to one of remorse, “Mammon… we didn’t realize. If we had known—”

“We did know.”

The words sliced through the room like a blade. Everyone turned toward the quiet voice, their attention landing on Leviathan. He stood near the edge of the confrontation, his posture tense, his tail twitching slightly behind him. Leviathan took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands gripping his arms tightly as if bracing himself. “I knew,” he admitted quietly. “I knew it bothered you. What we said, what we did—it got to you.”

The room seemed to hold its breath; every pair of eyes locked on the normally hesitant third-born. Leviathan continued, “And I didn’t stop it. I couldn’t bring myself to stop it. Because…” He swallowed hard, his tail flicking nervously. “Because if it wasn’t you, it’d be me.”

Mammon’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. Leviathan finally raised his gaze; his watery orange eyes meeting Mammon’s for the first time.

“I felt better about myself,” Levi admitted. “My flaws weren’t noticed. No one called me a useless shut-in or told me how pathetic I was… because everyone was too busy laughing at Mammon...And I know I am not the only one.”

There was a knowing guilt on everyone's face that gave it away. The confession landed like a physical blow. Mammon’s mouth fell open in disbelief. His heart twisted painfully as the words sank in.

“The hell ya tellin’ me this for?!” Mammon roared, his voice raw with betrayal. He stood abruptly, the chair crashing to the floor behind him. “Ya think this makes me feel better? That this makes it okay?!”

Levi flinched, but Mammon didn’t stop. His fists clenched tight, his entire body trembling as years of suppressed pain and anger boiled over.

“They never knew about any of you!” Mammon yelled. He jabbed a finger toward the group. “And that’s why they’ll never know you! You think I’d let my kids anywhere near the sick fucks who get off on treatin’ their own kind like garbage?”

Asmodeus' hands were outstretched in a placating gesture. “Mammon, that’s not fair—”

“Fair?!” Mammon shouted, cutting him off. His blue eyes blazed with fury. “You wanna talk about fair? Do ya even hear yourselves?!” He turned, gesturing toward the healing pods where you and Maximus floated, pale and still. “That’s my family! My kids! You think I’m gonna let them grow up thinkin’ they’re a joke to be laughed at?!”

“Mammon, don't say that...” Beelzebub’s voice was strained, filled with guilt. “We’d never treat them–”

“No!” Mammon’s breathing went ragged as he took a step back. “My kids don’t need you,” he said, his voice shaking. “And they sure as hell don’t need this place!” The words echoed in the room, cutting deep into each of his brothers. For a moment, the room was silent except for Mammon’s irregular breathing.

With deliberate steps, Lucifer entered, his polished boots echoing against the stone floor like the toll of a final judgment. The sheer weight of his power was enough to make the temperature drop, an oppressive force pressing down on everyone's shoulders.

“Enough,” he barked. The command held absolute authority, brokering no argument. “This isn’t about any of you,” he said coldly, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Whether or not you agree with his actions is irrelevant. You will respect it. This is not the time,” Lucifer enforced. “We have a missing child to find, and that is where our focus should be.” His sharp gaze looked to each of his brothers in turn. “Make yourself scarce.”

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon xF!Reader Pt 4

Rain. Blood collected with the rainwater, mixing as it trailed into the sewer. MJ’s eyes casually followed it until they landed on your staggered form against the wall for support while Papa held your sides as you retched. It was not too long ago he arrived; him being the demon he was, it easy to trace your scent. Mammon sought after you in an attempt to win you back. He was not one to wait or let things ‘cool off’ he could not bear the fact you were upset with him.

Mammon had instructed MJ and Maximus to go inside the car and wait. Head laid against the window, MJ exhaled, his breath fogging the window before clearing, there he noticed his reflection, studying the reality of his image until he spotted Maximus staring with curiosity.

“Am I going to get horns too?” he touched the top of his hair, feeling for signs.

MJ said nothing, ignoring him he stared at his bloodstained hands. The image of your expression flickered in his mind, he felt…ashamed although you said nothing. The ambiguity of your face made him scared. Did you not love him anymore? He soon felt a tug on his wing, Maximus pulling at the appendage.

"Can you fly?"

“Stop it,” he mumbled, casually nudging him with it. “Leave me alone.”

“Why you get to have them and I don’t?” Maxi whined.

“Mama said it’s a curse, I’m not supposed to have these,” he whispered. 

The sudden loudness of your voice drew their attention away from each other and to their parents. Climbing into the passenger seat, Maximus gazed out the window for a better view. It was a slight distance, and the rainfall muffled your voice, however, MJ's ears were sharp. He heard everything.

The clothes were glued to your skin, teeth chattering from the coldness of the rain. The breath your body chased was never caught, between the puking and the adrenaline, it left you breathless. Heavily your chest rose and fell in attempts to grasp reality. 

“Babe,” Mammon reasoned. “It’s rainin’ let get outta ‘ere and talk at home.”

“No,” you kept your distance, “You didn’t see what I saw! I need you to reverse it right now, whoever the hell you pissed off caused our son to do that!” you pointed to the dismembered bodies sprawled across the alleyway.

Mammon set a hand on the nape of his neck as he faced away from your intense gaze, he began to pace. He shifted his weight, one foot to the other as he built up the courage.

“I’ll…I’ll explain everythin’ to ya,” he breathed. “Just not here.”

The rain coated your face, dripping from your brows and quivering lips. At this point you could hardly feel your toes, regardless you remained unmoving. 

“It’s hurting my baby,” you gritted. “I don’t want it to get worse.”

“No one ain’t do nothin’ to ‘em,” he confessed. “It ain’t a curse.”

Mammon slowly found the courage to face you. In the depths of your eyes twirled with disbelief, confusion and the searing pain of betrayal. Unconsciously, your body curled inward. The words tripped on your tongue, barely escaping as a whisper, “T-then what?”

Mammon’s heart clenched at your vulnerability, he never intended to keep this secret for so long. He was going to tell you! Not on the first date – or third! Not on the day he proposed or the night of his wedding! Everything was going well, telling you would have ruined everything he’s worked hard for.

He was truly afraid. Afraid you’d see him just like his brothers, that you too will gaze at him with eyes of disappointment and scorn. Mammon desperately ran from his greed, the past and who he was destined to be. He thought it eventually would fade with time. The single thought of you hating him, distrusting him – he simply couldn’t handle it. It’ll break him, like how your look alone is breaking him right now. 

“I’m a…” he struggled to get it passed his throat, “…a –”

The woman’s words decided to echo in your mind. “…a demon,” you finished for him.

He looked into your tear-filled eyes. “All these years…” you murmured, “a-all these years,” you repeated. The outside closed in around you, the space was suffocating from the weight of his confession. Every piece of furniture, the photos, they all mocked you for the life you had built with this man, this demon. Everything you’ve once known about him was lies!

“Were you even an orphan?”

“…no.”

Spinning around, you could not bear to look at his face! “You knew…all this time?”

He did not have to speak for you to know his answer. Immediately you began to walk towards your car where your children were waiting.

“Baby please!” he clutched your arm, delaying your departure. “I was just scared,” he stammered, his eyes plea for understanding. He hoped you’d be able to see beyond the label and had grown to love the layers of his character. “Afraid if you knew, you’d see me as a –”

“What! A monster?” you interrupted, finishing with bitterness. Wrenching your arm from his touch, “Are you!”

The tears eventually cascaded down your cheeks. The weight of your accusation filled him with disgust. Mammon knew his previous actions could mark him as that but every day he found against his instincts, suppressing the desire. Temptation was everywhere, wealth, power and the humans displayed it well; it was partially oozing from their pores. There were moments of weakness but each time he chose you and his children over his selfishness. Mammon was fighting his demons but he couldn’t fight them if the demon was him.

Mammon tried to touch you again, “Babe, c’mon you’d know I’d never –” you raised your hands in defense, flinching. Not once you look at him like that before – ever. It scared him. Mammon stared at his palms, eyes shaking with terror. “I’d never h-hurt you,” his voice was a whisper, however, his words were swallowed by an abyss of mistrust. The way you stood there, staring with foreign eyes. Internally Mammon crumbled to pieces.

           “No,” you breathed, “I don’t know. Do you expect me to believe anything from you?” Little by little you stepped backward, “I never asked for any of this! You never gave me a choice!” you shouted. “And that’s the most selfish thing a demon could ever do!” Mammon was speechless; he watched you slip from his grasp and out of his life.

Maximus saw your figure appearing closer, and quickly he went into the back, throwing himself in his car seat. The second the door opened, you made sure he was fastened. He saw how your hands trembled, you barely buckled him on the first try. Soon after, MJ saw you were going to do the same for him but noticed your hesitation once you saw the blood coating his figure. Regardless, you fastened him anyway. MJ saw Papa was still outside, standing in the same spot you left him in once you got into the car. He said nothing. Maximus strained his head to see where Papa was, eventually speaking,

“Is Papa com –”

Adjusting your rearview mirror, you interrupted. “Not now, mama needs quiet time.”

Mammon's spirit sank into the lowest pits of hell, returning to where he rightfully belonged. There he was in the dimly lit confines of his bedroom. Across his couch, he laid, pillow hugged against his chest, gazed fixed at the picture of his family within his worn wallet. The weight of your absence - was this what it meant to feel soulless? Desperately he desired to see you, to hold you once again, to kiss his children but he could not bring himself to face another rejection. Did he deserve you? Did he deserve them? He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping. His brothers were right. He was scum.

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon x F! Reader Pt 3

One

Previous

The skies were obscured by the darkness of the clouds. Its melancholy rained over you as you drove down treacherous roads. The headlights of your car was the only source of light. The highway lamps were blown, a thick residue of mist made seeing difficult.

The road seemed to stretch endlessly, your headlights struggled to pierce through the mist. Occasionally you glanced in your rearview mirror to observe your sleeping children, making sure they were okay.

How could Mammon subject you to this torment? The curse that plagued your firstborn son had to be from the dark and mysterious past of his, a past that now encroached upon your present. The family now bared his burden.

He might be a changed man now, but the lingering essence of his former self left you troubled. He was reaping the consequences of his past deeds and you found yourself irrevocably entangled in his karmic retribution. When would it all end?

This curse had to be broken. There was a place you knew.

His calls were declined. Mammon possessed an uncanny ability to sway you, to convince you to understand what happened, but this was something you refused to hear.

The relentless downpour drenched your clothing, the frigid water caused your teeth to chatter. Junior was bundled, carefully, his delicacy was shielded from the hash elements. Maximus’ small hands held the hem of your pants,

“Mama, I’m tired,” he mumbled his weariness. There were small splashes as he walked beside you.

Hands full, you urge him to stay close, “Don’t let go. Stay close to mama.”

The shop was still opened, a creaky old sign hung precariously above, worn and weathered. The light flickered, dangers shadows bounced casting scary imagines of the unknown. There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach as if unseen eyes watched you.

Quickly you moved, seeking refuge indoors. The bell above the door sounded. Floorboards aged, every step was an eerie squeak in the deadened silence. Before you could call for help, a raspy voice echoed down the dark shadows of the corners.

“Look who we have here.”

“I’ve heard you had the ability to break curses,” your voice held desperation, “My son, he’s transforming into…” Afraid to say the word chose to misspoke instead, “something.”

The woman emerged. Tall, elegant, she had a slim figure and a face that revealed wisdom and experience. The grays within her hair was slicked into a bun emphasizing the sharpness of her features. Eyes piercing as they come, it held you by surprised. The woman’s lips curled into a smile, her gaze fixed on your son.

“Let me take a good look, child.”

With careful hands you laid your son’s trembling form before the mysterious woman. Junior’s breath came in ragged gasp, “Mama,” he mumbled in distressed.

“Shh, shh,” you whispered with love, “It’s okay, she’s just going to take a look at you.”

The woman came close to examine your son, her hands glowed with a faint light as she hovered her palms. The room fell into silence with small crackles of the candles around the edge of table. Maximus was on a nearby bench, a blanket casted over him while he slept. Anxiously, you paced. The mysterious workings of magic unfolded before your eyes, weaving an intricate dance.

“This child is not burdened by any curse.”

As the woman’s words hung in the air you were consumed with confusion and disbelief. “I’m his mother, I birthed him and he did not have these…things coming out of him.”

“Such creations laid dormant. A spell has been casted, however, it appears it has weakened. Now the child's original form has begun to manifest.”

“Original form?” you laughed nervously. This woman has gone mad. “You must be mistaken –”

The woman’s gaze remained unyielding. “Did you not come to seek guidance?”

“…Yes,” you admitted.

“Then it appears you trust me enough to believe this child is of demon descent.”

Demon descent! Furious, you bundled his weary form, displeased with this woman’s service. She was full of shit. She was nothing more than a fraud. Innocently, you stared at Junior unable to believe these features were destined to be his.

“No, there must be some mistake,” you closed your eyes as you held him closer. “He’s a human just like his parents.”

“Are you sure?” her heels circled you. Eventually she stood behind to peer over your shoulder and onto your vulnerable child. "What be of his father?"

“He’s an orphan. He knows nothing of his parents, abandoned at birth,” you answered truthfully.

These words revealed a life shaped by absence, a child left to navigate a word devoid of parental guidance and love. The women stepped away to lean against the table, staring into your eyes she gave her verdict.

“His maternal or paternal side is of demon lineage.”

The weight of her words settled heavily on your shoulders. The astonishment allowed her to continue.

"It appears the young one has a little more time before he too undergoes his transformation. The spell remains intact but not yet for long." She set a cold hand upon your shoulder, "You make speak of your truth but blood never lies. Unfortunately, I am unable to help you for there is no curse for me to break,” she calmly disclosed. “If you do not see truth in my words so be it.”

The rain seized, the reminisce of its presence were puddles. Junior sleepily toddled beside you, hand in yours while the blanket laid as a makeshift hood. Maximus was exhausted, it was past his bedtime anyway so you had him against your shoulder. Hastily you attempted to leave the sketchy alleyway. 

The woman made it seemed as if you had demonic blood coursing through your veins. As far as you knew, your family was ordinary, it was you who dabbled in sorcery, enticed by the allure of magic until you realized magic comes with a price.

It was far too treacherous to continue. Immediately you casted such life behind you, your status remained at a novice level. As for your husband, you knew nothing his family for he had none to know. Was he a…? Impossible, you’d be able to sense it. Right?

The dimly lit alleyway served as refuge for shadows, allowing treachery to lurk within its mysterious depths. The car was not too far, it was just up ahead. There was a slight stumble in Junior’s steps, his feet nearly tangling in the blanket.

“Ow,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, honey I just need to get you and your brother out of this cold.”

There echoing in the alley, quicken footsteps trailed, their feet splashed in the puddles. The anticipation had you breathless, desperately jogging with two children in tow. An arm grabbed yours, breaking the connection of you and Junior as they pinned you against the wall. The coldness of the concrete soak through your clothes, chilling your entire core.

“Give me your wallet!” a growl.

The glint of the knife glistened ominously under the flickering streetlight as it pointed in your face. Their accomplice snatched your fallen purse shuffling through like scoundrels in search of money.

“Fifty?” they counted. “That’s it!” Disappointment soon grew into frustration.

Junior buried his face in your hip, afraid to look at them. The theft’s grip on your wrist had your fingers losing sensation, you could hard twitch a finger. This was wrong, coming here in the night like this.

“The nearest ATM!” he demanded, voicing echoing through the empty streets, a remainder they had your fate in their hands. “You’re going to withdraw every – last – cent, you hear me?” his lips were to your ear. He swiveled the knife, lightly touching the surface of your cheek. “Don’t be slick, or else I’ll be taking more than just…money.”

Your life.

A single drop of blood fell.

The blanket drifted from Junior’s head, falling, the wind casted it to the side, landing it in a puddle. His grip, once tight and fearful against your clothes soon softened as he caught scent your blood. Pupils constricted into fine lines, Junior’s claws lengthened like a sword unsheathing from a blade.

The small child moved with unmatched speed and precision the attacker’s throat was snatched with a grip promising death. The man plummeted into the wall, the bricks crumbled from impact. The other man lagged, unable to register the scene before him. The pool of blood gathered at his feet triggered him into a sprint.

Desperately he chased the light at the end of the alley which led back out into the main road. Hands clawed at the air in attempts to move faster. He was close but not close enough. The man ran from death but death – always comes.

The moonlight’s shadow concealed Junior’s figure. In the spot you stayed, your figure sunk to the ground, knees weak, arms heavy. Maximus was numb to his surroundings, in your arms he slept, not witnessing the inconceivable power his brother had just wielded.

In each passing moment you hyperventilate with uncertainty. Unsure if your child has been consumed by the curse or if he had the ability to recognize you. The footstep drew closer, and closer while you wait in anticipation in what's to come out. On the edge of light and darkness stood him.

[collectorofsoulss]

Hello, just asking when will you post a part 3 of your series? If you are still planning to continue or in the process of writing it. I've fallen in love with the fic and had been coming back to Tumblr to check for updates

Hello! I'm not going to lie, I did fell off, however, for you I'll continue. I know exactly how the story is going to go; it's a matter of writing it. I'll try to get it out within two weeks. I am terrible at schedules so forgive me if it's not exact.

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon x F!Reader Pt2

Previous

Next

“Liar.”

There was disbelief written across your face. Small steps, you backed up. He was a demon. Demons were liars. You refused to believe anything that comes out of his mouth. They were negative entities, constantly draining those to fill an empty void. Any form of life often decayed and grew weak. Nothing good comes from being around them. How dare he implies your husband could be one of those vile creatures! He was nothing like them! 

The response left the demon silent. Did you not know? The sound of his name did not bring familiarity. Why not? The sudden realization had him pause his own actions. Interesting.

“My husband doesn’t have any brothers or any sort of family,” you reasoned desperately. “And he’s not…one of you.”

The choices of words left Lucifer confused, bamboozled even. ‘…one of you…’ The longer he stared at you, the more the answers became apparent. The despair in your voice, the desperation in your actions. He was seen as the enemy by his own family; a family who does not know of him. 

Did Mammon deny him knowledge of your existence? The demon gave a soft chuckle. Unsure what the laugh represented, he could only shake his head in disbelief. Not again. Both of you two were kept in the shadows not meant to see each other in the light; it was as if Mammon did not want his two words to collide.

“If this was what meant to be, so be it,” he said to himself.

The devil extended his hand towards you and snapped. Instinctively you flinched unsure of what was to come. The weight of MJ’s head crashed down, arms sliding from your shoulders as his body went heavy. 

The sudden response had you roughly shaking him, “Hey, honey,” you adjusted him within your arms to see his face. “Open your eyes, look at Mommy,” No matter how much you called his name the child remained unresponsive. The same methods were used against Maxi, you patted his bottom waiting for a sound but he was silent as well.

“What did you do to my babies!”

The devil towered over you; gradually craning your neck you peered into his soulless pools of red. The vision of him disoriented into nothingness. The control of your body was relinquished to him. The once strained expression you carried relaxed as the magic neutralized you. It had no choice but to follow the orders of the demon. The will of his was now the will of yours.

“Human. Put the children to bed for their afternoon nap, then prepare dinner for the night. Once dinner is finished, fall asleep on the sofa waiting for your husband to return home, however, before he does you awake from a nightmare, this nightmare. Call him and demand he is to return home because you are afraid. You are not to remember my face. You are not to remember by name. You are not to remember me.”

There were two crows stationed outside the windowsill. Hato had taken off to deliver the contents of what occurred while Karasu remained behind to intervene. Hato had stopped in mid-flight to perch on a nearby branch confused as to why he left his post, not realizing the mere minutes were blurred from their minds. Immediately, Hato flew back joining beside Karasu. They both observed the little ones getting tucked into their beds; the intruder was no more. 

By the grace of magic, Lucifer concealed any evidence of his presence. Mammon did not reveal to his family who or what he was; Lucifer had no other choice than to honor it. A secret he will now carry for eternity.

Lucifer knew all there was to know. He had to make sure you were not a threat. There was nothing special or extraordinary about you. Nothing. There was no spell, no bribe, Mammon was not blackmailed nor forced. Everything done for you was done willingly. Which was why it grieved him. How could a mere human shift this demon’s behavior for the better he has worked eons to correct? What made you different? 

Lucifer waited and waited, however, the truth never came. He began questioning the relationship he had with his brother. Everything he’s ever done was to protect them, all of them. Did Mammon doubt him? That somehow that’ll change? After the whole ordeal about Mammon’s whereabouts, Lucifer calmly disclosed to the rest of his brothers, Mammon was simply handling some affairs for the witches, easily they believed him, disinterested in the shenanigans he manages to get himself into. 

Lucifer stilled himself, vowing to not interfere with his brothers’ life. Ignorant to the truth, you knew nothing of the supernatural world. You knew creatures and beasts lived, hidden and dispersed throughout mankind but you knew not of their story or how they came to be. For if you knew the history of their time, you’d know it was not a man you laid next to each night but a demon.

~~~

“What da hell ya mean you don’t have it!” Mammon yelled. “The hell I’m payin’ ya for!”

The side of his fist hit the stone wall he stood at; its cracks dispersing across the center. The signs were already showing, there was barely enough time. It was only a matter of moments before everything he worked hard for goes to shit! The spell needed to be enforced but lacked a few vital ingredients. The woman uncrossed her legs, sitting up in her chair.

“Look! It’s not my fault the flowers have not bloomed! And please,” she pointed, “Try not to damage any of my shit!”

“It’s been a year now, witch! The fuckin’ bind is weakenin’” he explained. “It cannot break, ya hear?”

Prudence saw the desperation within his eyes; there’s hardly been a time where he was ever serious...like ever. Mammon frantically paced in her cabin, ruffling his hair as he tried to think. If you were to ever find out – he couldn’t even imagine your reaction, the words you’d say. 

He was going to tell you, not on the first date–or third but eventually! It was the strength, he lacked. Everything was going so well, this little secret of his was going to strip away all the precious moments he’s shared with you. Mammon was afraid that’s all you’ll see in him just like his brothers. He tried to escape his sin, his past, and who he was destined to be. 

Foolishly, he thought if he doesn’t speak of it, nor acknowledge that side of him, it’ll go away. The thought of you hating him, not trusting him – everything about his character made him sick. Desperately he struggled to avoid such fate yet look where he was now. 

A pang of pain radiated within his chest, a hand, he clutched himself, fingers indenting his shirt. Would you even want him anymore? Would you want…them? Fuck! He shouldn’t think like this, of course, you’d want them. They were your kids, you’d never abandoned them but would you abandon…him? The thought scared him.

“These ingredients have to be in their ripest forms in order for it to be effective,” she reasoned, observing the components on the countertop. “They are already so rare, blooming every decade, growing in the harshest environment. It’s not something that’s easy to come by, not only do we need one dose but two.”

Due to their small potency, during each concoction, its amounts were doubled, and given to each of the children for maximum effectiveness. Mammon could not risk any slip-ups. Performed annually, eventually the flowers diminished in quantity.

“There must be somethin’ else,” he sat on the stool. “That’s all the tricks ya got up yer sleeves? The fuck kinda witch are ya?”

The woman’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance, frustrated about the lack of respect. Not only he appeared unannounced, but he also invited himself into her home. If it weren’t for their past, Prue would have his ass out. Despite his rash behavior, she took into account – he has kept promises before, surprisingly. It’s only fair to return the favor.

“I told you, I do not have strong enough magic to seal their powers,” she disclosed, placing the tips of her fingers together. “Despite them being human, given you being their father, one of the greatest sins known to mankind; their demonic heritage is far too potent for me alone to seal. I would need other members of the coven to have a successful ritual or it must be a demon of higher power. Given how discreet you are about their existence, this is the only option unless…”

Mammon perked up, swiveling around to hear the words come out of her mouth.

“Unless you are the one to seal them.”

There was a sudden vacancy within his eyes. “I…I ain’t good with spells and hexes.” He sucked, terribly; it’s the memorization of words and rituals, there were too many factors he had to take into account. It was far too risky and he did not want to chance to ruin it, causing something grave to happen to his cherished children. He’d rather leave it to someone vastly experienced and well-versed in this specialty, hence why he was here in the first place.

“It’s either risk the spell unraveling by waiting for the flowers to bloom or you learn the incantation and bind them yourself.”

However, the moment he saw Hato; it was too late.

~~~

The young boy held his head in his hands, nails scratching at his scalp as he endured a terrible headache. His room was atrocious. Clothes were everywhere, items turned over while  Junior was in the center of it all. There was an unbearable pain, something he was unable to describe. 

He could hardly move. It felt as if his skin was too tight, it didn’t make sense, but he felt restrained – suppressed. Junior’s been feeling this for a while, at first he was able to tolerate it but as the days came the pain grew stronger. In a fetal position, he was left immobilized. 

Junior didn’t make it to dinner, and he knew you were on your way up. He heard your voice clear as day, why was he able to hear your footsteps? The sound of your heart? The little whisper under your breath as your fingers glided against the railing. The cracking sensation had him groaning, his back was on fire. Something was about to break through. The gentle knock on his bedroom door was enough to hurt him, why was everything so loud?

“Honey, are you okay?”

Soon his hands were wet. Trembling, he looked at his palms. Ink-like substance trailed down his fingers. Was this supposed to be his blood? Junior was going to be sick. On his hands and knees, he coughed. He heard your fist hammering against the door, soon shaking the door knob.

“MJ, why is the door locked? What are you doing in there? Are you okay?”

A surge of pain rippled through him, his nails grew into claws, digging into the floorboards, the wood chipped. His head was about to explode, what was happening to him?

“Sweetie, open the door!”

Outside the room, you heard crashing noises and multiple items falling onto the floor. Knelt, your hand hovered over the lock. Whispering you tried to magically break it. The lock began to alter; back and forth your eyes shifted, panicking as you could only imagine what was happening. Junior started screaming until it morphed into a deep guttural growl, surprising you. 

Unlocked, you turned the knob welcoming a gust of wind blowing you flat against the hallway wall. Furniture broke; debris went everywhere. The wave of unleashed power seized, dropping everything in the air, you included. On your knees, you sucked in a breath – widened eyes. There was an eerie silence of bones morphing. Junior was cowered on all fours, ligaments protruding from his back – black substance coated them.

“Mommy…” Blood spilled from the corner of his lips. “…what’s wrong with me?” He looked at you with curiosity. The size of his pupils enlarged until the colors of his eyes were no longer seen. The opening from his horns trickled blood down his forehead and onto his cheeks. 

Your child was a...was a...Tears swelled in your eyes. No.

Instantly, your strength was depleted from your legs. Unable to take a step forward, you were paralyzed to the ground. Double vision, sluggishly you crawled. He was still your baby. You had to get to him. He was so afraid. The second you held him, it was like your soul was going to be torn out of your chest. He was a demon.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” you hushed, lifting him into your arms. “I’m here, baby,” voice small with fear.

“Mommy, I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled. “It hurts…” Junior curled into your chest, hugging himself tightly. He began to cry.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you whispered. All you could do was hold him, unable to bear his pain.

~~~

Mammon sprinted inside the house. The sudden power of his steps sunk his foot through the stairs. The railings were displaced from his touch as he used it as momentum to push forward. Mammon did not sense you nor the children in the house.

“Oi! Junior, MC!” he yelled, roughly dislodging his foot. 

Swiftly he stomped up the staircase, running into Maxi’s room to see a vacant crib. He touched the top of it, tears burning his eyes. Junior’s door was found off its hinges; his room was in shambles, splatters of blood staining the walls, the floorboards and whatever furniture remained. Roaming the house, he noticed the safe was open, everything inside missing. The cabinets were empty; the suitcases were gone. The last stop was the bedroom you both shared.

There, a gentle glisten on the nightstand caught his attention. Mammon sat on the edge of the bed; Hato settled on his shoulder, observing the actions of his master. Silently, the tears dripped down the bridge of his nose. In the center of his palm was your wedding band. He lost you. He lost them.

Next

[collectorofsoulss]

Do you plan on making your firat post, Exile, a series?

Please say yes 😭 I have fallen in love with your first post and I cannot wait to see Mammon'a reaction

It's funny 'cause, I already had the second part pre-written but as I was rereading it, I was like ehh, too predictable and generic 🙄. I need it to be more dramatic and suspenseful, so I scrapped it, starting from scratch. I feel like the current version I'm writing would be far more interesting and worthwhile.

So yes, there will be a part two but a matter of when? 🫣 Pffttt, I don't even know. Hopefully, the second part is worth the wait 😮‍💨.

<3 Thank you

[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon x F!Reader

Mammon had a secret life. After all, his brothers can’t destroy what they don’t know. But what if they found out? Would they use this moment to be supportive? or destroy his single source of happiness?

Next

A disagreement within the Household of Lamentation left Mammon packing, which wasn’t the first time. He comes back–eventually. Mammon always found a reason to return home, always. And even then in his absence, he wasn’t truly absent. Lucifer was able to keep track of his wildcard of a brother. He was so chaotic, destruction followed. All Lucifer had to do was pick up the newspaper and read. However, this time around not even the local casinos saw him.

Then finally! He returned. To Lucifer’s surprise, there were no traces of damage. Mammon was different. Here the minute, gone the next. Mammon was only present to handle royal affairs or attend mandatory meetings. Of course, there were occasional moments where he needed to cast judgment on those who were assigned to his layer of Hell, however, once the business was handled –Mammon was gone. 

It continued for a few years until Lucifer sought interest in his whereabouts. What changed him? Every demon he sent to trail him wound up missing or dead. The leads were cold, and no information was gained. It was only a matter of time before he did it himself. The Lords of Hell soon found themselves on a trip, scouring the realms of the world to find their dearest brother, Mammon.

When they did not find him during the first search it made them realize Mammon did not want to be found. While Lucifer hunted high and low he discovered rumors and talks about what’s become of his brother. Mammon did have a track record. He was known for entering bad deals, being easily manipulated, baring a curse he was unable to break. They all grew restless, and aggressive in finding answers. Some necks had to be broken, some lives had to be taken. Each result had Lucifer stepping over pools of blood to get to him.

Lucifer had everyone dispersed to cover more ground. Naturally, it was he who discovered the location. The neighborhood was quite…ordinary, basic, a place Mammon would never be caught dead in. The community was bright, friendly with neighbors who’d say ‘hello’ as he, a dark entity passed through white picket fences. A solid knock from his fist nearly unhinged the door. Even in his humanoid form, Lucifer was still large, still mighty. A single flick was all he need, anything more could decimate cities. Frustrated was what he was. His patience ran thin. It was not often Lucifer loses his composure but when it comes to those he loves, composure be damned.

“Hello, how many I help you?”

Lucifer wasted no time getting to the point. “Mammon. Where is he.”

“And you are?”

“It’s not about who I am but what you are going to be.” The air became thin. “Now. Where. Is. He.” A single wave of his hand had the knob snatched from your reach.

Enough of these games, he demanded to see his brother. A dip of his head, he stepped through the low door frame. Mammon was here, he could smell him.

“Excuse me!” you exclaimed, brutally shoved from the entrance. “You need to leave!”

Lucifer’s shadow consumed your form. Tsk. As if you were a challenge, you were barely an opponent. His aura dispersed through your home, immediately plants began to wilt. His crimson eyes radiated the gates of hell, instilling fear into your soul. Maintaining a distance, you accidentally collided into the furniture; the vase toppled over, shattering. A spell left your lips, attempting to buy some time to run–

“Did you really think such amateur hex could work on me?” he adjusted his gloves, breaking the barrier to pass the entrance hall. “You are more foolish than I thought. A trait that will now cost your life.”

“Does he owe you money too?” you whispered. “Please,” you plead. The racing of your heart left you breathless. “I’ll give you the money, just don’t make a scene–”

Before you knew it, small footsteps approached the confrontation. Tiny hands held a stuffed animal, a small child appeared but was frozen from fear. There’s a stranger in the house.

“Mommy?”

Lucifer’s intense demeanor shifted to observe this miniature human. No one else had those striking blue eyes and soft milky white hair. This human was, different – familiar.

The fear was evident in your eyes which made tears swell up in his ocean blues. “M-Mommy, I’m scared.”

“MJ, go back upstairs, I’ll be up shortly.”

As much as he wanted to move, he couldn’t, his legs refused to listen. Even with blurred vision, MJ saw the dark power. It drained everything of its natural energy. He was feeding from life itself. MJ had never seen anything like this, his eyes glossed towards yours and watched how it was consuming yours too. Soon his socks soaked as he made a puddle on the floor. In seconds you raised your child into your arms.

“If you can wait outside, I’ll give you everything I have, just please, leave my children out of this,” you reasoned.

Rage diffused from Lucifer’s body and was replaced with a new feeling, an unfamiliar emotion he dared not name. He took a moment to observe the walls and furniture of your home. Gradually, he approached a frame causing you to take a few steps back. Lucifer held it. There were you…him…and two additional members who ironically looked just like his brother. His dark eyes creased, unable to handle such vital information. Setting the photo down, Lucifer removed himself from the premises to make one single phone call.

In seconds you bolted up the staircase, MJ cradled against your chest until you reached the nursery. Maximus was peacefully asleep when you snatch him from his bassinet. He stirred a little but you hushed him forcefully. Traveling light, you wrapped him against your back.

“Mommy, my socks,” MJ whined.

“Honey, we don’t have time for that,” you grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

He fumbled a little, “B-But I'm wet.”

“We’ll change you later,” you promised. Quickly the two of you moved. That man – no, demon – invaded your home without permission. His presence was heavy, he made you weak. For a moment, your knees buckled as you pushed open the door. You surely would have fainted if you had stood in his presence any further. 

MJ lagged, small legs unable to keep up with your ferocious steps. Eventually, you boosted him into your arms. MJ’s buried himself deep into your shirt as you move, fearful of what’s to come. The exit was near, you could taste the freedom on your lips. Once you were outside, they wouldn't act. Demons wouldn't dare draw attention once in public. Where there were demons, hunters were to follow. If only you could get out in time.

The second you saw the door, the man was already sitting across the room – comfortably, as if he didn’t break a sweat in arriving before you. It felt as if time had stopped the moment you saw him. Expression – unreadable, he stared, not at you but at your children. He rose while your legs failed to continue. The blood rushed in your ears, your heartbeat – loud. 

Everything slowed, you were suffocating in the coldness of his presence. You tried to speak and say something, but there was nothing. Your mouth stayed shut as the demon approached, gradually closing in on the children. Your arms trembled with the lack of control. MJ peeked out from your shoulder and the intruder did not bare the atmosphere of death. Gently, you lifted your babies higher, trying to shield them both from view.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he disclosed.

He was lying, had to be. This demon came with intentions to tear you to shreds. What caused him to change so easily? Your throat constricted painfully. What should you do? Should you run? Stay still? All options seemed useless. Cause no matter what if he wanted you dead, you would be.

“I am Lucifer Morningstar; Mammon’s eldest brother.”

Next