#aboau

The Devildom is, for a lack of a more fitting word, strange. Though, you suppose, being surrounded by demons should be. 

There’s too much you don’t understand still. Three months have passed since you arrived - or were kidnapped? the jury is still out on this one - and it feels like an eternity of time and too little all the same. 

Demons, as it turns out, have very different customs and rituals from humans. So do angels. You are in the least thankful for the classes, but every other student in them seems well versed in the basics, while you float about unsure of what’s happening. Hell, even Luke knows more than you, and he hates demons. Not to mention he’s a child. Double low blow. 

The classes would be going a little bit better if you only had time to actually study for them. Though you do suspect that Diavolo doesn’t actually give a shit about grades and this entire school is a mockery to appease his peaceful plans, you're still stuck in what’s basically hell and having to go to what’s basically hell’s undergrad school. Great. 

The least you can do is prod around for some demon knowledge. You know, just in case. Because things are getting weirder by the day, and sometimes it feels like it’s all an ongoing inside joke you’re not really a part of.

Also, because of them. 

Living with demons wasn’t exactly unexpected, but living with the Seven Rulers of Hell - well, six of them, was. 

Despite initial impressions, you’re quickly figuring out there’s more to each of them than the public eye could see. Something lurking below their perfectly crafted personas, that is reserved only for the ones in close proximity to them. Only for family.

You’re not family, but you’re definitely in close proximity. 

It’s easy to tell how much they hide behind masks. Lucifer, as far as everyone else knows, it’s the always serious and stern big brother that will never crack a joke or play around. The entire foundation of that statement could be torn down with one single picture you had, of him playing with Cerberus. 

Leviathan, despite actively trying to kill you over a book series since - no, you’re not over it - is more than the shut-off otaku who is otherwise known as the Admiral of the Devildom’s marine. He is also clumsy and shy, and he goes on tangents about what he likes, and he is friendly. 

Satan, known as the hot-headed brother who has a tendency to overwork himself into humor changes and explosive arguments, is a reserved person, a cat lover, an erotica reader, and an absolute dork. 

Beelzebub, though he whines about food a lot, is far more than just the hungry brother who also happens to be a jock. He’s a carebear, a very attentive listener, has great movie recommendations, and an amazing cook. 

Asmodeus, who may look lust-driven and shallow to the onlooker, but is caring, a hopeless romantic, a good friend and brother, and even a little insecure. 

And then there’s Mammon.

At first, you didn’t know what to think of him. He acted high and mighty, too strung up in his high horse to look at a human such as yourself. When Lucifer put him in what was basically the task to babysit you, it’s safe to say you were annoyed. 

But then, you started to pick up on things. Small things. Unnoticeable to those who aren’t looking, but that become increasingly clearer once you realize them. 

He’s clingy. With his brothers, with you, even with his credit card. Though he never lets himself linger, when he hugs you, it’s tight and crushing, like he needs to be as close to you as possible. When your arms brush together as you walk about, he blushes. 

His brothers tease him. A lot. To the point, it’s painful to even to you sometimes. He laughs through it all, but you can see the drooping at the corners of his mouth, and how the giggles don’t reach his eyes.

And he’s scared. At least, that’s what it seems like to you. He puts up a front of being this big, angry, scary, and powerful demon such as his brothers, and though you certainly don’t doubt the powerful part, the angry and scary seem faulty. 

It’s intriguing. One day he’ll be all over you and the next he’ll act like he barely knows you, avoiding your eyes and only answering in curt answers. Sometimes his PDA is off the charts - he’ll throw arms around you, stick close, pull you closer when you’re walking together - and others he acts as the smallest of touches burns him like it pains him to be so much as near you. 

And there is that smell. It lingers on him but not on his brothers, like a perfume stronger than anything else. It doesn’t make any sense, though, because you’re pretty sure it’s not perfume. You’ve seen him spray himself before leaving in the mornings and it’s not the same smell. It’s something else, a light waft that emanates from him in waves, but no one else seems to pick up on. 

He’s a puzzle that refuses to fall in place, and all you want to do is figure him out. 

Solomon sits down in front of you with a loud gruff, dropping a small pile of stacked books on top of the wooden table in the library. The librarian shushes him when the sound echoes through the empty halls. Asmodeus hot on his trail, carrying nothing but a bag. He sits down as well, eyes all but sparkling.

“MC!” He sings. The librarian shushes him. 

“Hi, Asmo,” you make space on the table, putting your bag on the chair next to you.

“Ready to cram years of demon biology in one afternoon?” Solomon asks. He smiles wickedly as if he thinks it’s actually possible to do so, and you feel a little bit like a prey caged in by a much, much more astute predator.

You asked for help with the subjects, and maybe you’re already regretting it a little. “Sure,” you answer, trying to sound determined. 

He smiles. “What are you seeing in your class?” 

Solomon picked different classes for the year, and while you were fine with not doing whatever the hell goes on in advanced alchemy, it’s a little bit of a bummer to not share even one class with the only other human around. 

“I’m not… really sure,” you slouch on the seat, ready to give up. Why can’t the world be like the movies and you can spend an entire year just looking out the windows and being pretty? “Subgroups? Or sub genders?” 

“Oh,” he says softly, flipping through one of the heavier looking books. 

Next to him, Asmodeus is pulling out a notebook filled with post-its and notes made in glitter pens. You suspect he didn’t come to lecture you, and that suspicion is confirmed when the notebook is discarded as soon as it showed up, apparently being pulled out only because his bag was on the smaller side and his pink switch-like video game was at the bottom of it. He sighs dramatically, lowering the music coming from it, and laying his chin on Solomon’s shoulder.

Yeah, definitely not here for you. 

Solomon slides the open book towards you, marked on a page titled Subgenders then starts flipping through the next. 

Asmodeus watches as you read over the basic introduction. 

“It’s not hard,” he says, voice bubbly even though the words game over can be read on his screen, “It’s a little tricky to separate, but you get the hand really quickly.”

-

It’s not actually all that hard to figure things out. Solomon, despite the borderline chaotic ways he chooses to explain things, is a fairly good teacher. You manage to grasp the three sub genders and the differences between them in no more than a couple hours - a record if you’re being honest. 

And Solomon had been right. It’s not hard to separate them. Alphas are, generally speaking, the “dominant” gender. They’re easier to anger and natural born fighters. They experience ruts, can mate, and have knots. Most of the royal court are alphas.

Omegas are the “lower” gender - though according to Solomon, the idea that one is lower to the other is being more and more fought againts and discussed in the realms - they’re conflict solvers and are seem as sweeter and more fragile. They experince heats and self lubricate. Most of the common demons are omegas.

Betas are a middle ground. They don’t have scents as strong as alphas or omegas, and aren’t easily affected by ruts or heats. They can still mate, however, and are often seem as level-headed and good right hands for alpha leaders. They’re rare. Barbatos is one of them.

And then there’s the Apex, the “alpha of alphas” as Asmodeus described them. An alpha so powerful he stands above all others, in the top of the “food chain.” That’s the category that fits Diavolo.

“So… what are you then, Asmo?” You ask, folding your arms above the book Solomon had highlighted to you.

Asmodeus perks up, bright as ever. “I’m an alpha, of course! Can’t you tell?” He gestures to himself, manicured nails gleaming under the bad lighting. 

“What about you?” You turn to Solomon. He hadn’t mentioned anything about humans having sub genders, but you kinda wish that was possible, although you couldn’t tell why.

Asmodeus pulls Solomon closer by the arm and beams. “He’s my omega!”

Solomon shrugs him off with a low chuckle. “Don’t make me slap you.”

“Kinky,” Asmodeus points a finger to him, smiling wide. He pulls Solomon again, by the shoulders, and lowers his turtleneck, revealing a bite. “I didn’t lie, though.” 

Solomon pushes him off with a scowl, covering the mark with his hand. “Yeah, yeah.” He waves Asmodeus off, adjusting the clothing.

You chuckle at them but say nothing. It’s clear Solomon doesn’t want you to.

Asmodeus pays his scowl no mind, resting his head on Solomon’s neck. Solomon sighs. “I’m not anything. Humans don’t have sub genders. We didn’t evolve to them, so we end up in somewhat of a grayscale. The closest thing to us would be betas.”

“Then we… claiming and that stuff… we can’t do it?” Your eyes trail to Solomon’s neck, but the bite is covered. 

“Not really,” he sighs, “this was an exception.”

“And why’s that?” Asmodeus hums, leaning over Solomon. Their faces are almost touching. 

Solomon sighs again, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Because I’m a demon’s whore.”

Asmodeus smiles, so much that little dimples show up at the corners of his lips, and he claps. “I love you so much.” 

You roll your eyes, making a vomiting sound when they kiss. Lowering your gaze, you read over the title of one of the chapters. 

“Hey,” you look up again, catching their attention, “what about your brothers? Mammon has a different scent, is he an omega?”

Asmodeus splutters, looking exaggeratedly shocked. He chuckles, strained. “Of course not!” He waves hands in front of himself, almost hitting Solomon in the face, “We’re all alphas.”

“Oh,” you say. It doesn’t make sense. None of the others have a scent like Mammon’s. It’s a little sweet, but seems clouded, slightly sour in the corners. 

“I don’t get it,” Asmodeus muses, tapping a finger to his chin, “humans don’t really feel our scent, how can he be different?”

His gaze is closed off on you, analyzing a little too much. It makes you feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, “I uh… he just does.” 

Solomon stares at you but doesn’t comment on it, even if it looks like he wants to. 

Asmodeus hums in thought, gaze still sharp on your every movement. Then, he smiles, almost artificial in its wake, “Well, whatever!” He slaps a hand to the table. At this point, the librarian gave up on shushing you.

Solomon is still staring at you. You move a little. Being watched like this makes you feel kind of squeamish.

Asmodeus is staring at Solomon, and then at you, resting his head on a palm. He hums again, stretching his arms over his head, and then he’s up, pulling Solomon with him. “We should get going!I wonder who’s on dinner duty.”

You blink. Dinner was still far away. Your study session just got cut short, and while you have no idea why, it feels like it’s your fault.

As you close the book and gather your things alongside them, the word seems to call you again. “Being an omega sounds painful, though,” you close the book, “heats and all.” 

Solomon scoffs. He closes his notebook, sliding his bag over a shoulder. “That makes it more fun.”

Asmodeus tsks, waving Solomon off, “Don’t listen to him he doesn’t have a soul.” 

Solomon neither confirms nor denies this statement, instead only giving you an amused chuckle and a tilt of the head. 

The feeling that you did something wrong, crossed a barrier you weren’t supposed to, clings to you. But still, it makes no sense. 

There’s something different about Mammon. You have to figure out why. 

-

The first thing you notice is that you’re missing a pillow. You’re back from a week filled with classes, ready to drop in bed and sleep the entire weekend when you realize something seems off. You look everywhere, but the pillow is nowhere to be found. 

Then, a couple of days later, the thin blanket you keep for movie nights and long study sessions is gone. 

It progresses like that. The throw you use to warm your feet. Your favorite stuffed animal. A fluffy winter jacket. 

When you ask, fed up with this little prank, none of the brothers seem to know where your things went. 

Your pact with Mammon is still somewhat fresh, but you find yourself going to him, if not for a solution, maybe to complain. 

The door is open when you arrive, pushing it inside without ceremony. 

“Mammon, you’re not going to believe-” 

The words die on your throat. There, spread on top of his bed, twisted and fluffed together into a carefully crafted bundle - no, your mind provides, a nest. This is a nest - are all your missing items, and, sitting on top of them with a flushed face and big eyes, is Mammon. 

Oh. 

Turns out you were right. 

“MC, I, I…” Mammon fumbles upwards, all but stumbling in the mess of blankets and pillows he has apparently snatched not only from you but from his brothers as well. There are even some pillows you don’t recognize, cow patterns all over them. 

“Mammon…” it’s all you can say. You have never dealt with this before, but the answer to your question was clear as day, right in front of you. 

Omegas nest when stressed or needy. Came Solomon’s voice, a memory from the lecture just a week before. 

“You’re an omega.” You say, in a surprised whisper, cogs turning on your mind and finally fitting with each other. 

Mammon’s face falls and his breath hitches. “How do you know about that?”

“In class… we went over the basic biology of demons and…”

He gulps audibly, eyes darting to the floor. “Then you know.”

You can almost feel the question marks forming around your head. “Know what?”

“How disgusting this is,” he gestures to the nest. His face is still reddened, voice bordering on wet, “I took your things without telling and I… I used them, my scent is all over them and now… I’m sorry, MC.”

“Mammon…” you reach towards him, but he steps back.

“You probably want them back, right?” He chuckles dryly with no real humor. “It’s okay, I get it. People don’t like when omegas get all needy, I know that.” He scratches at the back of his neck, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes tugging at his lips. “You can take them, I’ll just…” he points to the door, “yeah.”

And then he’s gone, leaving behind the same smell you came to associate with him, only much sour in its wake. Your pact mark burns, glowing a faint yellow tone. You stand next to his bed, confused and feeling like you managed to fuck up even more.