is the fandom dead cuz😭😭😭 I MISS THESE BOYS SO MUCHHHH UGHHH. whos ur fav cuz i cant choose between mammon and asmo..(its mammon)
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･
The Weight of the Crown
The House of Lamentation was unnervingly still.
Normally, Lucifer’s presence was a constant force—measured footsteps in the hall, the quiet rustle of papers in his study, the occasional exasperated sigh whenever Mammon did something idiotic (again). But tonight, the silence felt heavy, pressing down on the walls like a storm waiting to break.
You found him at his desk, as expected, but something was wrong.
His usually pristine posture was absent—he was hunched over, elbows on the desk, head resting in one hand. The other gripped a glass of Demonus, but he hadn’t even taken a sip. His brows were furrowed, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The candlelight flickered against the sharp angles of his face, making the tired lines around his eyes more pronounced.
Lucifer was rarely unguarded. Even in moments of quiet, he held himself like a statue carved from obsidian—elegant, untouchable. But right now?
Right now, he looked tired.
"Lucifer."
He didn’t react immediately, only inhaling sharply through his nose before straightening, his usual mask slipping back into place as if it had never cracked.
"You should be in bed." His voice was smooth, steady. But there was something strained beneath it.
"So should you." You stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed—just for a second—before exhaling and leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
"There’s still work to be done."
"Lucifer." Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck, gentle. "You say that every night."
His silence spoke louder than any excuse.
Carefully, you reached down and took the glass from his hand, setting it aside. He didn’t resist, just watched you with those sharp crimson eyes, searching.
"What happened?" you asked softly.
He sighed, tilting his head back slightly. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual.
"Diavolo has entrusted me with another task. A delicate one. And my brothers…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "…continue to be themselves."
You almost smiled. Almost. But the weariness in his voice was enough to keep your expression soft.
"You don’t have to do everything alone, you know."
"Yes, I do." His answer was immediate.
"No, you don’t," you countered, shifting to kneel beside his chair so you could look up at him properly.
Lucifer’s gaze flickered.
"Who else will?"
That was the heart of it, wasn’t it?
For thousands of years, Lucifer had been the protector. The eldest. The one who took the fall, who bore the punishment, who carried every burden so his brothers wouldn’t have to. It was ingrained into him, a duty written into his very bones.
But even the strongest pillars cracked under too much weight.
"You don’t trust anyone else to help." Your voice was gentle, not accusing, just understanding.
Lucifer sighed again, closing his eyes. "It is not a matter of trust. It is simply reality."
You hesitated before reaching out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers were tense, cold from exhaustion, but he didn’t pull away.
"Then let me be part of that reality."
His eyes opened, startled. You squeezed his hand.
"You carry so much, Lucifer. Too much. You hold up the Devildom, the House of Lamentation, your brothers. But who holds you?"
Lucifer didn’t answer. He just stared at you, something unreadable in his expression.
"Let me be that person," you whispered. "Even just for tonight."
Something in him broke.
Not in a dramatic way. Not in some grand display of emotion. But in the way his shoulders slumped just a little, in the way his fingers slowly curled around yours, gripping you like a lifeline.
"You are too good to me," he murmured.
"You deserve it," you countered.
Lucifer exhaled, a slow release of tension, and for once, he let you guide him. You tugged him gently up from his chair, leading him away from his desk. He hesitated, casting one last glance at his unfinished work, but ultimately followed as you pulled him toward his bed.
He sat at the edge, and you stood between his knees, running your fingers through his hair. He melted under your touch, leaning into it without resistance.
"Close your eyes," you murmured.
Lucifer obeyed.
For a long moment, you just stood there, combing your fingers through his dark locks, letting the weight of the day slip away from him. His breathing steadied, and the tension in his body slowly eased.
"Stay," he murmured, barely above a whisper.
"Always."
And that night, for once, Lucifer let himself rest.
Golden, Even in the Dark
The first sign that something was wrong was the eerie silence.
Mammon wasn’t yelling about some new scheme. He wasn’t bragging about his latest purchase or complaining about his brothers. He wasn’t even trying to drag you into some get-rich-quick plan.
He was quiet.
Too quiet.
When you found him in his room, he was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed with his knees pulled up, staring at the wall. His D.D.D. lay forgotten beside him, the screen dim. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen.
This wasn’t his normal sulking after losing a bet or getting scolded by Lucifer. This was different.
"Mammon?"
He flinched slightly at your voice but didn’t look up.
You didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, you sat beside him, close enough that your knees brushed. He stiffened for a second before sighing, running a hand down his face.
"You shouldn’t be here," he muttered. "Ain’t exactly good company right now."
You bumped your shoulder against his. "Too bad. I like your company."
Mammon let out a humorless laugh.
"Yeah? Well, you’re probably the only one."
That was what made your stomach twist. The way he said it—flat, resigned, like he truly believed it.
You stayed quiet, giving him space to talk.
It took him a moment, but eventually, he sighed again, running a hand through his messy white hair.
"I just... I dunno." His voice was quieter than usual. "Some days, it just feels like—like everyone’s right about me."
Your chest tightened.
"What do you mean?"
He scoffed. "C’mon, ya know what I mean. I screw up all the time. I owe Grimm to half of the Devildom. I mess up every job I get. No one takes me seriously, and maybe they shouldn’t."
His hands clenched into fists.
"I get called a scumbag so much it’s startin’ to sound like my damn name."
You reached out, gently prying one of his fists open to hold his hand. His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away.
"Mammon." Your voice was soft but firm. "You are not a scumbag."
He let out another bitter laugh. "Ya don’t gotta say that just ‘cause you’re my partner."
"I’m not just saying it. I mean it." You squeezed his hand. "You mess up sometimes. So what? That doesn’t make you bad. That makes you human. Well… demon. But you know what I mean."
His lips twitched, just barely, before he sighed again, rubbing at his eyes like he was trying to wipe away thoughts he didn’t want to have.
"It’s just…" His voice wavered. "Sometimes, I think—what if I really ain’t good for nothin’? What if they’re all right?"
That was it. That was the thought eating away at him.
Without thinking, you moved, shifting so you were right in front of him. He blinked at you, startled, as you took his face in your hands.
"Mammon. Look at me."
He hesitated but obeyed, his eyes flickering with something vulnerable.
"You are not worthless. Not even close. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
His throat bobbed. "…A greedy idiot?"
You flicked his forehead lightly. "No, dummy." You gave him a soft smile. "I see someone who cares. Who loves his family even when they’re mean to him. Who protects the people he loves even when he’s scared. I see the Mammon who makes me laugh when I feel awful. The Mammon who gave me his jacket when I was cold, even though he pretended it was ‘just ‘cause I looked pathetic.’"
His ears went red. "Oi—!"
"I see the Mammon who would give me the last bite of his favorite food if I asked."
"Tch, yeah, ‘cause you steal it from my plate."
"And yet, you never stop me."
Mammon grumbled something under his breath, but his shoulders relaxed a little. His fingers squeezed yours back.
"You’re a lot of things, Mammon. Stubborn. Loud. Sometimes reckless. But you are not worthless. And I don’t ever want to hear you say that again, got it?"
His eyes searched yours like he wanted to believe you, but something was still holding him back.
So, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his.
"I love you," you whispered. "You. Not some perfect version of you. Just you. The greedy, dramatic, ridiculous, caring, golden-hearted dude that I fell for."
Mammon sucked in a sharp breath.
And then, to your surprise, he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder. You felt the way his breathing hitched, the way his fingers clutched at your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.
You hugged him just as tightly.
"You really mean that?" His voice was so quiet it nearly broke your heart.
"With everything I’ve got."
He didn’t respond right away. But after a moment, you felt him nod against your shoulder.
"…Okay."
It wasn’t a grand declaration, but you knew what it meant.
So you just held him, letting the silence settle, warm and comfortable.
Eventually, you felt him shift, mumbling into your hair, "You… You ain’t gonna let go yet, right?"
You smiled, squeezing him tighter.
"Not a chance."
Glitches in the System
Something was wrong.
You knew it the second you stepped into Leviathan’s room. The usual comforting glow of his multiple screens flickered erratically, casting strange shadows across the mess of figurines, manga stacks, and game cases scattered around. But the most unsettling thing?
Levi was silent.
No muttering about some new event in Mythic Devildom, no complaints about normies ruining a franchise, no excited rambling about an upcoming gacha banner. Just… silence.
Your stomach twisted.
He was at his desk, hunched over with his back to you, but he wasn’t playing anything. His keyboard was untouched. His headphones hung around his neck, blinking like they’d been disconnected mid-game.
"Levi?"
He tensed, fingers curling into his sleeves. "Go away."
Your heart sank.
"Not happening." You stepped closer, hesitating only slightly before reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.
He flinched.
"I said—!" He spun around, eyes burning with frustration—until they landed on you. His glare faltered, flickering into something more uncertain.
You took that as a win and pulled over a chair, sitting beside him.
"Want to tell me what happened?"
Levi scoffed, dropping his gaze. "Tch. Like you care."
Your chest ached.
"I do care, Levi. That’s why I’m here."
He hugged himself, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, a defensive habit you knew all too well.
"It's stupid," he muttered.
"If it’s making you feel like this, it’s not stupid."
He inhaled sharply but still wouldn't look at you.
"…I lost," he finally said.
You blinked. "Lost?"
"Yeah." His voice was bitter. "I was in this tournament—one of the biggest ones for my game. I practiced for weeks. I barely slept, barely did anything else, and I still—" He cut himself off, gripping his arms tighter. "I lost. And everyone saw. Everyone in the chat was laughing, calling me a failure, saying I was all talk. And maybe they’re right."
Your heart broke.
"Levi."
"No—!" He shot up suddenly, knocking his chair back. He started pacing, his movements frantic. "They are right! I am a failure! I call myself a pro gamer, but what kind of pro gamer loses like that?! It wasn’t even close! I embarrassed myself in front of thousands of people! I—I—" His voice cracked.
Then, suddenly, he stopped, shoulders shaking. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
You realized with a jolt—he wasn’t just upset. He was panicking.
You moved without thinking, stepping right in front of him.
"Levi, look at me."
He shook his head violently.
"Levi."
Nothing. He was spiraling, lost in his own thoughts, drowning. You hesitated only a moment before cupping his face gently, forcing him to focus on you.
His wide eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown out in distress. His breathing was ragged, his whole body trembling.
"Breathe with me," you murmured. "Okay? In—" You inhaled deeply, exaggerating it. "—and out."
His breath hitched, but he followed, shaky and uneven.
"Again," you urged.
Another breath. This one a little steadier.
And another.
And another.
Slowly, the tension drained from his body. His fists loosened, his breathing evened out.
And then—he collapsed against you.
You barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a desperate, shaking hug. His face buried itself in your shoulder, and you felt a dampness against your shirt.
"I—I tried so hard," he whispered, voice raw. "And I still wasn’t good enough."
You held him tighter. "Levi, you are more than a game. More than a tournament. Losing doesn’t make you a failure."
His grip tightened. "Then why does it feel like it?"
You exhaled softly, running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp the way you knew soothed him.
"Because you care. Because you put everything into the things you love. That’s not a weakness, Levi—that’s passion."
He shuddered against you.
"But they—everyone in the chat—"
"They don’t matter. They’re just voices in the void. I’m real. Your brothers are real. And we all love you no matter what."
He let out a broken noise, gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
You held him through it, letting him feel everything he needed to feel.
Minutes passed. Eventually, his breathing steadied, and his hands wrapped loosely around your wrist—a quiet, instinctual gesture of comfort.
"You’re really not gonna leave, huh?" His voice was hoarse but teasing.
You smiled against his hair. "Not a chance, Leviathan."
He sniffled. "Tch. Normie."
But his arms never let go.
Tears in the Pages
The library was quiet, as it usually was in the late hours. But tonight, there was a noticeable absence of the usual rustling of pages, the low murmurs of Satan reading, lost in a novel or some new research.
Instead, there was just silence, thick and heavy.
You found him curled in the corner of the library, a worn book resting untouched in his lap. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered against his pale skin, but his usual sharp gaze was nowhere to be found. His eyes were staring blankly at the floor, distant, lost in a sea of thoughts that you could almost feel pressing down on him.
"Satan?"
His head lifted slowly, and you saw the faint traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something you hadn’t seen in a while. Vulnerability.
"I didn't hear you come in." His voice was softer than usual, quieter, almost subdued.
You hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting beside him. The familiar scent of old books and the warmth of the fire were comforting, but the coldness in his posture was anything but.
"Satan, what’s going on?"
His eyes flickered, briefly meeting yours, before he turned away again, like he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze. "It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it."
You knew that tone. It was the same one he used when he didn’t want to be a burden, when he wanted to keep whatever was bothering him locked away. But Satan was many things—sharp, confident, clever—but the one thing he wasn’t good at was hiding his true feelings from you.
"It’s not nothing," you said gently, your hand reaching out to rest on his.
He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t speak either.
"You can’t keep it all inside," you continued. "Whatever it is, I want to help."
Satan’s fingers twitched beneath yours, and for a long moment, he stayed silent, as though he was debating whether or not to speak. His chest rose and fell with a deep, almost imperceptible sigh.
"I’ve been...thinking about something." He finally spoke, his voice strained. "Something from a long time ago. Something I thought I had dealt with."
You leaned in slightly, concern creasing your brow. "What is it, Satan?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pressing together in a thin line, before he spoke again, his words quiet, almost fragile.
"The truth about my origins. The things that… were done to me before I became who I am."
You blinked, taken aback. Satan rarely spoke about his past, about the early years of his existence, before he was the commanding and intellectual demon you knew so well. It was always a sensitive topic, one he tried to avoid, but now it was spilling out, the weight of it too much for him to carry alone.
You placed your hand gently on his shoulder, offering silent support. "You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but I’m here for you."
He let out a bitter laugh, though it held no mirth. "It’s not about being ready. It’s just that…" He hesitated, his voice almost breaking. "I’ve spent so much time focusing on proving myself. On showing that I’m not what they made me, but…" His voice trailed off, and you could feel the tension radiating from him.
"But what, Satan?"
He swallowed, his jaw tightening. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid that, despite everything I’ve done, I’ll always be... that thing."
You didn’t hesitate. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His body stiffened at first, as if he wasn’t sure how to react, but then, slowly, he relaxed, melting into your warmth.
"You are not that thing," you whispered firmly, your voice strong, unwavering. "You’re Satan. The demon who’s fought so hard for everything he has, for the person he is. None of that changes, not because of your past. Not because of anything."
He buried his face into your shoulder, his grip tightening around you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight of his walls coming down.
"But what if I’m not good enough?" His voice was muffled against you, raw with emotion. "What if I’ve ruined everything by trying to be something I’m not?"
You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, to see the sincerity in your eyes.
"You’re more than enough," you said, your voice steady, full of conviction. "You’ve always been enough."
Satan’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the two of you were locked in that quiet space—where only truth mattered. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against yours.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I’ve always been afraid of being a disappointment. To you, to my brothers, to myself."
You kissed his forehead softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "You could never be a disappointment. You’re perfect to me, just as you are."
For a long while, neither of you moved. Satan was still, his body language soft and open, and you could feel the way the heaviness in his chest had lightened just a little.
And for the first time in a long while, you both allowed yourselves to just be.
"Stay with me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less burdened.
"Always," you replied, pulling him close once more, never wanting him to feel alone again.
A Night of Roses and Reassurance
The House of Lamentation was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong, like something was missing. You didn’t even have to check your phone to know—Asmo hadn't messaged you all day. No excited texts about the latest Majolish trends, no voice notes gushing about his new skincare routine, not even a single selfie.
Something was wrong.
You found him curled up in his room, hidden beneath a sea of silk sheets, his usual scent of roses and vanilla barely noticeable under the weight of something bitter. He didn't look up when you entered, which was an immediate red flag. Asmo always acknowledged you, always made a show of greeting you, even if he was in the middle of a dramatic episode about a chipped nail.
But not this time.
You approached slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped, and Asmo stirred just enough to peek at you with tired, dull eyes. His makeup was smudged—something he’d never allow in normal circumstances.
"Hey, sweetheart," you said gently, brushing a strand of soft champagne-colored hair from his face. "Rough day?"
Asmo let out a heavy sigh, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. His lips trembled slightly before he spoke.
"It was awful."
You didn’t rush him. Instead, you took his hand, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his palm, waiting for him to continue.
"Everyone was so… so mean today." His voice wobbled, and your heart clenched. "I know people call me shallow, but today it felt different. I overheard some demons talking about me—saying I was nothing but an airheaded flirt, that I don't really matter beyond being pretty. Like I'm some… disposable accessory."
His fingers tightened around yours as he whispered, "I know I shouldn't care what lesser demons think, but I do. And I hate that I do."
You didn't hesitate.
"Asmo," you murmured, shifting closer, your free hand cradling his cheek. He leaned into the warmth, his eyes squeezing shut like he wanted to block out the world.
"Listen to me. You are not shallow. You are not just ‘pretty.’ You are the most radiant, kind, loving person I’ve ever met. You make people feel seen. You make me feel seen. And anyone who reduces you to just your looks is too blind to recognize the heart behind them."
Asmo let out a shaky breath, his lower lip quivering.
"But what if they're right? What if I am just—"
"They're not." Your voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Do you think I love you because of your looks?"
His eyes fluttered open, glistening with unshed tears.
"...I mean, it helps," he tried to joke, but his voice cracked. You huffed out a small laugh before cupping both of his cheeks, thumbs stroking his skin.
"I love you because you're you, Asmo. Because you're the one who remembers how I take my tea. Because you send me cute messages just to make me smile. Because you give the best hugs, even when you're the one who needs them."
His breath hitched.
"Because you care so much it hurts. Because you have so much love in your heart, you don’t even know what to do with it. And because I—" you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, "—would be lost without you."
A single tear slipped down his cheek. You wiped it away before he could, and that was all it took for the dam to break.
Asmo let out a choked sob and threw his arms around you, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him together. You held him just as tightly, rubbing his back as his body trembled against yours.
"I hate feeling like this," he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.
"I know, baby," you whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "But you're allowed to feel like this. You don't always have to be perfect."
He let out a wet laugh. "That’s funny coming from you, my little perfectionist."
You snorted, giving his side a playful squeeze. "Says the demon who takes an hour to pick a lip gloss."
"Excuse you, that’s a crucial life decision." His voice was still thick with emotion, but a little bit of his usual spark was returning. You smiled.
"How about this? We do a little self-care night. Just us. No outside world, no mean demons, just cozy blankets, snacks, and pampering. You can rant all you want, and I'll be here to listen. Sound good?"
Asmo sniffled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "You really mean it?"
You booped his nose. "Of course, silly. I’d do anything for you."
He let out a watery giggle before pouting dramatically. "Ugh, you're too sweet. It's so unfair. How am I supposed to stay miserable when you're this cute?"
You grinned. "That's the point."
Asmo exhaled deeply, his body finally relaxing. "Okay, okay, you win. But only if we do facemasks. And you let me paint your nails."
"Deal."
And as you pulled him into another warm embrace, feeling his heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, you knew—no matter how bad his day had been, he would always have you to make it better.
The Weight of the World
Beelzebub had always been a rock—unshakable, steadfast, and incredibly reliable. But tonight, something was different.
You found him in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge, staring at the vast array of food with a look of emptiness in his eyes. It wasn’t like him to be lost in thought like this, especially when food was involved.
“Beel?”
He didn’t respond right away, his hand still resting on the fridge door. He was so still, you could almost believe he wasn’t even breathing.
You stepped closer, quietly, making your way around the kitchen island to where he stood.
“Beel, talk to me.”
He let out a long sigh, closing the fridge door gently and leaning against it, his broad shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping much, or maybe he had been sleeping too much, trying to escape whatever was weighing on his mind.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but even you could tell that was far from the truth.
You didn’t let him hide this time. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm, your touch warm and grounding. “Beel, I can tell something’s wrong.”
His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar nervous habit of his.
“I don’t know why I’m feeling this way,” he confessed, his voice heavy. “I’ve been so tired, and no matter how much I eat or how much I rest, it’s like there’s something missing. Like I can’t shake it off. It’s...”
He trailed off, his words stuck in his throat. You could see the turmoil in his eyes.
You stepped closer, closing the space between you, and took his hands in yours. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself. I’m here for you.”
For a long moment, he just stood there, his grip tight on your hands as though he were afraid to let go. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been so focused on making sure everyone else is okay... but I haven’t been okay. And it feels like I’m failing.”
You blinked, surprised. “Failing? Beel, you’re one of the strongest people I know. You’re always there for your brothers, always looking out for them. You don’t fail.”
Beel’s shoulders slumped further, and he shook his head slowly. “It’s not just them... it’s me. I... I feel like I’m always just... eating to fill something up. It’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I don’t know how to stop, and I don’t know what else to do.”
You could feel the weight of his words sink into you, the pain of struggling with something so deeply personal and self-destructive. You took a deep breath, squeezing his hands.
“Beel, you don’t need to do this alone. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
He didn’t answer right away, but he finally let go of your hands to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His chest was warm, but his grip was shaky, as if he needed this more than anything right now.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”
You hugged him back, tightening your hold. “You won’t hurt me, Beel. You never could. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”
He stayed like that for a long time, his face buried in your shoulder, his body heavy against you. But little by little, you felt his tension start to ease. The weight he’d been carrying slowly seemed to lift, just by being here with you.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Beel murmured quietly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little tired, but there was a softness there now, a sense of relief.
“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied with a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “We’ll get through this together. One step at a time.”
Beel gave a small, thankful smile before pulling you back into his arms. This time, there was no tension, just a quiet comfort in knowing you were there for each other.
And as the night wore on, you stayed by his side, letting him rest, letting him be, while you both found the strength to face whatever came next—together.
Whispers in the Dark
The lights in the attic were dim, only the moonlight filtering through the small window to cast soft shadows across the room. You had been looking for Belphegor for a while now, knowing he’d been unusually quiet. Normally, he'd be lounging around or teasing his brothers, but tonight, the silence was unnerving.
Finally, you found him curled up on the couch, his head resting against a pile of pillows. His eyes were closed, but there was something about his stillness that made you uneasy. Normally, he was playful, sleepy, maybe a little too sarcastic, but tonight, he was just... absent.
You stepped closer, your voice quiet but gentle. "Belphie?"
He didn’t stir, not immediately, but you could see his shoulders shift slightly, as though he was aware of your presence but didn’t want to face you.
You sat down next to him, your gaze soft, watching him closely. It wasn’t like him to shut himself off like this.
"You’ve been quiet." Your voice was a little hesitant, knowing how he sometimes liked to keep to himself when he was upset. "What’s going on?"
Belphegor finally opened his eyes, slowly blinking at the ceiling, as though he didn’t have the energy to move. "It’s nothing."
You knew that wasn’t true. Belphie had a tendency to keep his feelings locked away, but you also knew that he didn’t want to talk about things he couldn’t fix. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his, resting against his side, silently offering your presence.
"It’s not nothing," you said softly, watching the way he stiffened for just a moment before his hand relaxed against yours.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of his frustration. "I’ve been... feeling like I’m not good enough. Like I don’t belong. I thought maybe, if I stayed away, it would pass, but it’s not going away. It’s just..." He trailed off, his words barely a whisper. "I don’t know what to do."
Belphie never liked feeling like he was a burden, and the weight of those emotions was evident in his voice. He didn’t need to say it, but you could hear how much he was struggling, how isolated he felt in the midst of everything.
You leaned in closer, your voice gentle but firm. "Belphie, listen to me. You don’t have to carry everything alone. You’re not a burden, and you do belong. You’re a part of this family, and you’re important to me."
He shifted, his gaze meeting yours, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to believe you but the other part that still felt unworthy.
"I just don’t feel like I can do anything right," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I’ve been so... tired of everything. It’s like I’m stuck, and no matter how much I sleep, I’m still exhausted, still empty."
You brushed your thumb across the back of his hand, your touch soothing, trying to ground him. "You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Belphie. It’s okay to feel this way. You’re allowed to have bad days, to feel lost sometimes. But you don’t have to stay there."
He turned his head toward you, his eyes softening as he studied your face. Slowly, he lifted his hand to your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. "I hate feeling like this," he admitted, his voice quiet but vulnerable. "But... I’m glad you’re here."
You smiled softly, moving closer until you were right next to him. You pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping your arms around him, offering the comfort he didn’t know how to ask for.
"I’ll always be here, Belphie. You don’t ever have to face this alone," you whispered into his hair, your heart swelling with the desire to make him feel safe. "I’ll help you carry it, okay?"
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. But you felt his grip tighten around you, his body slowly relaxing in your embrace.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I don’t deserve you..."
"Yes, you do," you whispered back, holding him a little tighter. "You deserve all the love in the world, Belphie. And I’m going to make sure you always feel that."
Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease. He rested his head against you, his breathing steadying as he allowed himself a rare moment of peace.
And for that moment, the world outside felt far away. It was just you and him, holding each other close in the quiet, letting the weight of everything else drift away.
Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor
Genre: Fluff / Slice of Life / Comfort
In the Devildom, it’s always night, and for a human like MC, the lack of sunlight can become exhausting. With different rhythms and endless-feeling days, it’s not unusual for MC to suddenly collapse onto someone… even at the most unexpected moments.
How would each brother react?
LUCIFER
A soft, elegant melody played in the background, keeping you company alongside two glasses of fine demonus, one of Lucifer’s favorites. In his study, your voice had grown quieter and quieter until you finally gave in, leaning against his shoulder with a slow, deep breath.
Lucifer paused mid-sentence, his gaze drifting down to you.
“...Really? Now?”
he sighed softly, though a small, fond smile tugged at his lips.
The truth was, the warmth of your body against his affected him more than he cared to admit.
He watched you for a moment, then set his pen aside and slid an arm around you, pulling you closer to better support you.
“...You’re so fragile sometimes. But with me, you’re allowed to be.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
Lucifer continued his work with careful composure, though every so often, his eyes would flicker back to you, as if to make sure you were still breathing easily.
MAMMON
You were lying together on the couch, watching one of his favorite movies (a loud, over-the-top action flick), and Mammon was in the middle of an animated rant about how he could "take that guy down in five seconds flat", when he felt a soft breath against his chest.
You had completely collapsed, curled up against him. "Hey... MC...? You even listenin’—oh..."
His cheeks instantly flared bright red. Mammon bit his lip, barely holding back the urge to wake you up just to see that confused little face of yours. Instead, he tightened his arms around you, heart pounding wildly.
"Sleep tight, babe..."
The words were whispered so quietly he was sure you couldn't hear them, a sweetness he only ever let slip when he thought you were fast asleep.
LEVIATHAN
You had been gaming in his room, surrounded by piles of plushies and anime merch. At some point, your controller slipped from your hands, and you slumped against him, fast asleep. Levi froze instantly, his entire body stiff with panic.
"O-OMG... MC?! W-what do I do?!"
He was sweating bullets, heart racing, mentally flipping through every "how to handle sleeping MC" trope he had ever read in fanfics. Finally, he cautiously, so cautiously, laid a trembling hand on your hair, stroking gently.
"I-it's fine... you can sleep on me if you want..."
His voice was barely a whisper, but the tips of his ears were burning bright pink.
SATAN
You were reading with him in his room. His voice, calm and deep as he read aloud, had an almost magical way of lulling you to sleep. Without warning, you leaned against him, your breathing slow and even.
Satan noticed immediately and smiled to himself. "You really are precious, MC."
Without a word, he pulled a blanket around you and kept reading, this time just for you. His voice softened even further, a silent promise to guard your dreams.
ASMODEUS
Asmo had been showing you some new skincare products, excitedly chatting about face masks and beauty routines. You leaned into him, clearly exhausted.
He gasped, then giggled softly. "Aww, my darling MC… completely worn out! So cute!"
With infinite care, he repositioned you comfortably against him, running his fingers through your hair in slow, affectionate strokes.
Every now and then, he pressed tiny kisses to your forehead.
"Sleep well, love. You're in the best hands possible."
BEELZEBUB
Beel was munching on a snack after training when you slumped beside him, yawning.
He noticed right away when you leaned into his side, falling asleep without a second thought.
"Oh... MC fell asleep?"
He set his food down quietly and wrapped his massive arm around you like a protective wall.
Beel didn't even dare to move too much, afraid to disturb you. He simply sat there, holding you gently, feeling the slow rhythm of your breathing against him.
BELPHEGOR
Belphie was already half-asleep, of course. But when you curled up against him and buried your face in his chest, a smug little smile appeared on his lips. Without even opening his eyes, he tightened his arms around you, pulling you even closer.
"Yeah... right where you belong..."
He nuzzled against your hair, completely content, and let himself drift into sleep with you tangled securely in his arms.
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