#asmodeus angst

He’d done it again—used his charm on another demon, batting his lashes, letting his power wrap around them until they were dizzy and pliant. Not for survival. Not because he had to. Just because he could, and when you confronted him, he tried to laugh it off—tried to play cute.

You’d just finished watching him, again, leaning far too close to another demon, smile syrupy sweet, charm dripping like honey. It wasn’t survival. It wasn’t protection. It was ego. And the worst part? He knew you’d see it.

When you called him out later, he just laughed, head tilting with a practiced pout.

“Oh, darling, really? Are we going to do this again?” His lashes fluttered, the corner of his lips curling. “You know me. I can’t help it if people find me irresistible.”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t play dumb, Asmo.”

He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Dumb? Me? Babe, you wound me.”

Your glare didn’t falter.

His grin wavered, but only slightly. He scooted closer, voice dropping into a playful whine. “Come on, don’t be jealous. It wasn’t serious. Just harmless fun.”

“Harmless?” Your tone was sharp, cutting through his performance.

“Of course! You know I only want you, right?” He reached for your hand, trying to lace your fingers with his, still smiling like he could charm his way out. “Don’t tell me you’re mad over a little flirting. That’s just who I am, sugar.”

You yanked your hand back. “I don’t care who you are, Asmo. I told you where I drew the line. And you crossed it.”

The smile fell off his face in pieces.

“Asmo,” you said softly, arms crossed. “I don’t think I can deal with your shit anymore.”

His laugh came out too high, too nervous, but he tried to mask it with a grin. “Oh, come on, don’t say it like that. You know me—I get carried away sometimes. I can’t help it if people fall head over heels just looking at me.”

You didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink.

His grin twitched. He leaned in, voice dipping into that silky tone he usually used to melt you. “You’re not really mad at me, are you? I mean—sure, maybe I got a little too friendly, but it’s not like I meant anything by it. It’s all just play.”

“Play?” Your voice was cold. “You think lying and using people is just a game?”

The air left his lungs in a shaky little laugh. He tried again, this time reaching for your wrist, lashes batting desperately. “Sweetheart, don’t be cruel. You know you’re the only one I really want. Everyone else—pfft. Nothing.”

You pulled your arm back, hard. The sound of your sleeve slipping out of his grip was louder than the silence that followed.

Your eyes bored into him, unflinching. “How many times have we had this same conversation, Asmo?”

Something shifted in his face—like watching glass fracture. His lips parted, his usual lightness stuttering on his tongue. The mask slipped. You saw panic flicker in his eyes.

“No… no, wait. Don’t—don’t say you’re serious right now…” His voice broke mid-laugh, brittle, his smile faltering as he searched your face for some trace of softness.

But you didn’t give him any.

And that’s when his knees gave out beneath him, like his body realized before his mind did that charm wouldn’t save him this time.

He blinked, startled. Then his lips curled in that dazzling smile, practiced and perfect. “W-What? Darling, I haven’t done anything—”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice was sharp enough to cut. “How many times have we had this same conversation, Asmo? How many times have you sworn you’d stop pulling stunts like this?”

His smile wavered. “But… it wasn’t serious! It’s just how I am—you know I’d never—”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t you dare try to play that card with me again. I don’t care if it’s how you are.”

Something in your voice made him falter, like his act slipped right off him all at once. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again—before he dropped. Literally dropped, down onto his knees, hands pressed flat against the floor as if the world was crumbling under him.

“Please,” he choked, eyes already glassy. “Y/N, don’t say that. Don’t say you’re done with me.”

You scoffed. “You think getting on your knees is going to make me feel sorry for you?”

He looked up, desperate, trembling. “I’ll do anything! I’ll never—never use my charm like that again, I swear! I’ll prove it, I’ll—” His breath broke, words tumbling too fast. “I don’t need anyone else, just you. I only—I only wanted—”

“Wanted what? Attention?” Your tone was cruel, unforgiving. “You wanted to be adored so badly you’d throw away the one person who truly loves you?”

“Asmo…” You shook your head, bitter. “I can’t make this work.”

His eyes widened, tears spilling over his cheeks. His whole body shook, shoulders curling inward, like your words had split him open. “No… no, please. Please, don’t say that. Don’t—don’t give up on me.” His voice cracked in half, breaking into a sob. “How can I make this work?”

“You can’t.”

It was a knife to his heart. He made a noise—a puppy kicked away as though you’d actually struck him. His hands clenched against the floor. His mascara-stained tears ran down his chin, streaking his perfect face.

He looked destroyed. And still, he begged. “Please, don’t fuck with me. Darling… how can I make this work?”

The great Asmodeus. The one who thought he could charm his way through anything. On the floor, undone, sobbing like a child.

You stood there for a moment, watching him crumble. Your chest ached. For all his faults, for all the ways he had hurt you, he was still yours. Still, the demon who curled up next to you when nightmares clawed at your sleep. Still the one who’d paint your nails just to see you smile.

You crouched down, close enough that his tear-streaked eyes locked onto yours like he’d just been given salvation.

Your hand lifted, fingers sliding gently through his hair, moving it from his face. He whimpered at the touch, pressing his head into your palm like a starving thing. For one moment, you let him have it. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his temple. Soft. Loving.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Y/N…”

But you pulled back before he could say anything more. Your hand slipped from his hair, your voice low, steady, merciless.

“You’ll always look beautiful when you cry, Asmo. But I’m not gonna fall for it this time.”

Then you stood, turned, and walked away.

Behind you, the Avatar of Lust collapsed into his own sobs, clutching the floor like it might hold him together.

He led you to the spot, his soft hands covering your eyes while he giggles quietly behind you. You stumble once or twice but he catches you easily, taking the opportunity to land a sneaky peck on your cheek when he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you upright.

You blink as he removes his hands, your heart pounding as you take in the view. A sprawling garden of neverending flowers, a rainbow of delicate colors as far as you could see. Each branch of the tree twinkling with pale yellow lights, swaying in the breeze and a plush pink blanket spread across the ground with an exotic feast of everything your heart could desire.

He tugs you down, forcing you onto his lap as he nuzzles against your cheek “Mi Amor, this is all for you.” he whispers, pressing gently kisses across your jaw and neck “To show you how much you mean to me.” your eyes water “Oh Asmo…” you sniffle, turning to wrap your arms around him, overflowing with affection towards him.

“That’s not all,” he reaches into his pocket and you pull away to give him room. In his hand lays a pastel blue ring box, your breath hitches and he opens it. A gorgeous delicate ring with a peach colored gemstone that perfectly matches his eyes.

You slap your hands over your mouth to cover the choked sob that escapes “Will you bind yourself to me in another way? Our pact simply isn’t enough to fulfill me.” you can’t even speak, just nodding aggressively and he slips the ring on your finger. Confetti poppers explode around you and his brothers step out from behind the tree, both grinning and full of pride.

The wedding planning was hectic and stressful, but Asmodeus was your rock, giving his input on every single detail, as well as making most of the arrangements to lessen your load. Before you know it you’re walking down the aisle. Your outfit flowing and sparkling, picked out by your loving groom. The bouquet you clutch, meticulously chosen by your future husband. The shoes you wear, bought by the love of your life.

You can feel your makeup smudging as you cry, unable to reign in your emotions. Diavolo waits for you next to Asmodeus at the altar, a hefty book in his hand.

“My beloved family,” Diavolo begins as you clutch Asmodeus’s hands “We have gathered to celebrate and witness the union of our brother.” Mammon is already bawling in the front row and Simeon is hugging him with equally watery eyes.

“We have all watched as our favorite little sheep has explored our community, experienced our culture, learned our way of life, and now, fallen for a demon.” it's Satan's turn to start crying, leaning against Lucifer. You look out at the crowd, able to pick out each and every face of your loved ones.

“Not only has our sheep embraced our world, they are also embracing us. Though the marriage is to Asmodeus, they will also be bound to us as family. A choice not made lightly.” Diavolo’s voice cracks, but he clears his throat “As the Lord, I give my full support and blessing for this momentous decision.” a tear slips down his cheek and his composure finally cracks as he flings his arms around you and his brother “I am so incredibly proud to be a part of this next step of your life.” he clasps his hand on Asmodeus’s shoulder “You have the capability to be the best thing to happen to our little sheep,” Asmodeus straightens “You have a heavy burden to bare, the life of a husband requires more effort and care than that of a boyfriend. We all believe in you.” Asmodeus is the last to cry, flapping his hands in front of his face so he doesn’t ruin his own makeup.

The after party is equally smooth, full of delightful foods, drinks and music. Everything paired perfectly with your husband's expertise.

Things fall into a peaceful rhythm soon after you move in together. He helps with chores, tidies up after himself, never forgets to take out the garbage and always falls asleep holding you close.

For you it was bliss, each day calm and easy. Married life felt concrete and steady. You knew it was just the honeymoon phase, that things would surely crop up eventually but you stood firm in believing you could work anything out with your caring husband.

Until he comes home smelling like someone else’s perfume. It’s so subtle that you almost miss it.

He has his arms wound around your shoulders and your face is tucked against his chest. You’re slowly drifting off when you shift closer and your nose brushes his collarbone where the unmistakable scent of sandalwood and cinnamon linger, something you’ve never worn before. Asmodeus liked feminine scents but he rarely ever wore spiced scents, much preferring florals and softer notes. You take an experimental sniff, hoping your sleep addled brain was just confused.

“Asmo?” he lets out a soft hum, barely awake “Why do you smell different?” he doesn’t even open his eyes, just mumbling “Met with a demon girl earlier today.” you pull away, unsure of how to react “You didn’t tell me you were meeting with anyone.” you say softly, hoping he would catch the hint, he drapes his arm over his face and yawns “I didn’t plan it, just thought she was pretty so I chatted her up.” your heart drops to your stomach.

By the time you fully process what he’s said, your husband is already asleep. Pink lips parted and snoring softly.

You climb out of bed, dragging your pillow with you as you head to the spare room. You didn’t want to share a bed with him until you figured out what the hell was going on.

Unfortunately he was already gone by the time you woke up, a note left on the dining table for you.

I woke up cold :(

Meenie!

I’ll be back late!

-Asmo XoXo

You crumple the note unconsciously. Did he not even remember what he said last night?

Your hands are trembling when you pick up your phone, dialing Lucifer.

“Little sheep! It’s been so long!” you take a shaky breath “Hi Luci, I’m sorry I haven’t called lately.” he tuts “Nonsense, you should be enjoying your time alone with Asmodeus.” your stomach churns “Luci,” you hesitate “Can I ask you something without you judging me?” you hear shuffling on his end “Of course you can. I’m always happy to be your confidant.” he responds, voice more serious than before.

You spin your wedding band around your finger “Would Asmo ever cheat on me?” Lucifer is dead silent for far too long, making bile build up in your throat “What has he done?” he asks softly “He smelled like someone else's perfume and said he thought a demon girl was pretty so he talked to her and had drinks with her.” there’s a quiet clatter, probably him tossing his glasses on his desk.

“Are you sure?” you nod, before remembering he can’t see you “Yeah, I’m sure, he said so himself.” he sighs “Have a conversation with him, face to face. Talk it out, if you don’t like what you hear then you can call me back. But talk to him first.” you swallow “Are you hiding something from me Luci?” you’re scared of his response “Even if you are no longer a student here, your safety is still my priority. But your marriage is between you and my brother, so discussing it with him before making hasty accusations or decisions is the best option my dear.” Lucifer always knew exactly what to say to have you unclenching your jaw and easing the tension in your shoulders “Thank you Luci, I love you.” you can hear the smile in his voice when he responds “I love you too little lamb.” the line clicks, signaling he hung up.

The rest of the day passes slowly, anxiety itching at your nerves as you pace back and forth in your home, waiting for Asmodeus to get back.

It’s well past midnight when the front door opens, a messy haired and ruffled shirt decorating your husband. He seems surprised to see you, but a wide grin stretches across his face and he swoops you into his arms “My lovely spouse was waiting up for me? What a lucky man am I.” he leans in to kiss you but you jerk away, the same perfume reeking on his clothes.

He looks hurt as you pull away, dodging his affection “Did you meet with her again?” your hands are clenching and unclenching at your sides as you try to stay calm. He frowns and lifts the collar of his shirt to his nose “You figured that out by just the smell? My sweet spouse is so smart!” he reaches out, clearly aiming to pinch your cheeks “What the fuck?” you snap at him, slapping his hand away.

Asmodeus stares at you wide eyed “My love?” he takes a step towards you, pausing when you take two steps back “Why were you meeting with a complete stranger this late at night?” he frowns “I told you last night, I thought she was pretty so I wanted to talk to her.” he says, almost like you’re stupid for even asking.

“Do you not understand how fucked up that is? Hitting on someone while you’re married?” he combs his fingers through his hair and smiles ruefully “Not really.” you gape at him “So you’re fine with cheating on me?” he walks over to the mirror hanging next to the door “It’s barely even cheating,” he begins straightening his hair “all I did was flirt a little and kiss her a bit. Nothing serious.” you cover your mouth, gagging.

He turns towards you, genuine confusion playing across his features “My love? Are you feeling unwell?” you feel angry tears slip down your cheeks “I trusted you Asmodeus.” his hand twitches, you hadn’t called him anything other than Asmo since you two had begun dating.

“How long have you been doing this?” you hunch over “Doing what? Flirting with people?” you nod, not trusting your voice “My whole life?” he lets out a soft laugh, before going silent as you glare at him “Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t been loyal to me the entire time we’ve been together?” he shakes his head rapidly “Of course not!” you find yourself relaxing a bit, at least that was something, a tiny win for your peace of mind “I’ve only ever committed to you! I’d never dole myself out permanently to another person!” the tiny bit of ease is immediately ripped away.

“Have you slept with anyone else while we’ve been together?” you whisper, anger churning. He just shrugs “Yeah, pretty often while we were dating. But I stopped having sex with other people when we got married, though I have let a few demons give me head on occasion, but that doesn’t count as sex.” he laughs at that.

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you rush to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you and spilling your guts into the toilet. Asmodeus rattles the doorknob, frustrated that you had locked it “My love, let me in! I can help!” you vomit again, throat burning “Fuck off!” you scream, only aggravating your throat more.

You hit re-dial on your contacts list, retching as the phone rings and Asmodeus continues throwing a tantrum outside. The line connects and you manage to gasp out a weak “Help.” before heaving yet again.

Not even two minutes later you hear Lucifer shouting at Asmodeus, shoving him away from the door. You can faintly hear another person dragging your husband away before it’s finally quiet.

“Little lamb?” a soft knock follows and you stumble forward, unlocking the door. Lucifer steps in, shutting the door behind him “I am truly sorry. I should have trusted my intuition. I have failed you.” he cradles your sobbing form to his chest, reaching over to grab a facial wipe to clean the sweat off your face “The wh-whole time.” you wail, he tightens his grip “I am sorry.” he whispers as you cling to his suit jacket.

Another knock interrupts you and you jolt, afraid Asmodeus had returned “It’s Solomon, can I come in?” you rush to the door and fling yourself at your friend, both Lucifer and Solomon wrapping you in their shared embrace “I put a protection seal on the front door, he can’t get in unless you invite him in.” Solomon murmurs, gently petting your hair while Lucifer brushes his hand up and down your arms “I can teleport us all away from here if you don’t want to deal with this right now.” you nod, exhaustion seeping in.

“I’ll gather some clothing for you, do you still have the teddy bear I bought for you?” you nod again “In the closet, Asmodeus said it didn’t match the bedroom decor.” You mumble. Solomon’s grip tightens ever so slightly and Lucifer pulls away, pressing a light kiss to the back of your head “Fear not, your brave warrior will be returned to your embrace in no time.” you hear him head off down the hallway.

“Thank you for coming.” Solomon hushes you “Don’t bother with that. Any of us would’ve been by your side just as fast. You should have seen Lucifer when you called. He was like a tornado of terror,” he snorts “Came busting down my door and demanded I use a teleportation spell on him right then and there. He even dragged me along in case you didn’t want to be near another demon.” you sniffle “I’m sorry.” he pulls away slightly, tilting your chin up to look at him “No apologies. You are dear to all of us, we all love you.” tears start spilling again “But Asmodeus didn’t.” he tugs you back to his chest.

“Asmodeus doesn’t know how to love people the way we do. All of the other brothers have traits from their sins that drive them towards commitment. Mammon is greedy, he wants to keep his partner all to himself, Lucifer is too prideful to share, and honestly Belphegor is just too lazy to bother cheating. Asmodeus is the opposite, nothing is enough for him and he doesn’t fully understand why that’s wrong. He knew he hurt you but he didn’t know how he hurt you. To him, sex is his nature, lust is what fuels him. I’m sure he loved you in his own messy way, but his actions and choices had nothing to do with you, so don’t blame yourself.” Solomon continues petting your hair as you sob.

Lucifer returns and they swap, Solomon nudging you towards Lucifer while he takes the bags the demon packed for you “Lets go home, get some rest and figure things out in the morning.” they each grasp one of your hands and Solomon chants, a white light swirling around all three of you before you blip out of existence.

Suddenly you’re in your old room. The same tangled vines and beautiful greenery still drooping from the ceiling and your familiar bed tucked against the wall. You barely have a moment to process the quick trip when three familiar bodies slam into you, almost knocking you down.

Satan, Beelzebub and Mammon all talk over each other, fussing over you.

“Are you okay?” - “Did he hurt you?” - “Do I need to beat Asmodeus up?”

You let out a wobbly laugh, wrapping your arms around all three of them “I’ll be okay, but I’m definitely getting a divorce.” you try to joke, but it comes out weak and unsteady. They don’t push or tease, just letting you feel what you feel.

Over Mammon’s shoulder you can see Leviathan hanging back, fidgeting nervously, obviously not wanting to intrude in your moment. You carefully push through the group hug and open your arms, beckoning him in. Relief colors his face and he slams into you with equal enthusiasm, you can already feel him crying into your shoulder “I missed you, stupid normie.” he says quietly. Slowly, each of the brothers, including Solomon, crowd around you, all smushing you in the center of their hug.

Somehow the entire group ends up in a pile on the floor. Your head resting on Mammon’s stomach, Levi curled around your right leg and Beel clutching your left. Satan is holding onto your left arm while Lucifer holds your right hand and Solomon’s head rests on your thighs. Belphie had already been asleep, tucked under your bed, but he had crawled out to join the cuddle pile. Each of them finding some way to touch you and keep you grounded, making it easy to slip off into sleep. Your teddy bear tucked in the crook of your arm, where Lucifer had carefully placed it before settling into his own spot.

Lucifer's eyes gravitate to Barbatos' then, seeking confirmation or comfort, he doesn’t know. What he does know is he shouldn't, he really shouldn’t, but as the butler displays a breath of hesitation before firmly shaking his head, he can’t help but latch onto that brief moment of uncertainty.

The next day, having freshened up to the best of his abilities, he reaches out to Barbatos. A couple of hours of rephrasing his questions enough times irritates the butler into submission, and he receives the wretched answer he’d been so craving. The one and only timeline in which you’ll still be alive and breathing was the one where you never discovered Devildom, where he didn’t sign his approval on your application, where he didn’t live out all those blissful years with you at all. 

Lucifer feels his teetering balance tip. Did he possess enough strength to grant you life but watch you thrive from afar, blissfully unaware of his existence? Was he resilient enough to watch you fall in love with a stranger and hold himself back to allow you that simple shred of happiness? The answer is simple and yet the most impractical course to exist, so Lucifer accepts the soft hug he receives from Barbatos.

Later that night, back against his cool headboard, lower half cocooned in his blankets, he clasps in his fingers a polaroid of you. With the human realm’s sun shining directly in your face, your eyes were scrunched in this frozen piece of bliss, lips tilted in an amused grimace. Against the bright green backdrop of the vibrant grass and shadows spread at your feet—both his and yours—you were ethereal, the most candid he’ll ever experience you as. 

He cradles his shattering heart in the embrace of your warm memory then, forfeiting his being to the anguish knocking at the door of his soul. It bursts in, rushing through his veins with a frenzy, consuming his senses like liquid fire, and tumbling out of his lips in a bloody stream of misery.

How long he fists the sheets on his bed, Lucifer doesn’t know. Grief comes alive in his eyes, fades into anger, and then, sometime after, revisits again. Only this time, when pain sears his body apart, he doesn’t resist, doesn’t scream or sob or cry or even think. 

Muffled steps stop before his door at some point. The person doesn't knock though so Lucifer burrows deeper into his cave of exhaustion. As his body succumbs to slumber, he manages to catch sight of a crow settling on his windowsill. He doesn’t send it away.

The next morning, Lucifer pulls his cape over his shoulder with hollow movements, missing the hands that used to run over the lapels and loop around his nape. The breakfast table lacks its eighth set of cutlery, the sight of the vacant chair adjacent to him plucking ruthlessly at the strings of his heart. The first sip of his coffee is starkly normal on his tongue, no bitterness, no edge of cinnamon, no one to thank and appreciate.

Once upon a time, ‘normal’ had been an actuality that he had yearned for. Now, the same word is an incredibly sour thought to him, a harbinger of torment and darkness. You, who he had once considered ruthlessly far from normal, had captured his heart in a vice grip of adoration by that exact unpredictability of yours. You were the most strange, vivid, and beautiful thing to happen to him. The absence of you is, consequently, the most desolating occurence in his life.

The bottle of Demonus Lucifer touches to his lips is freezing, sweet poison popping across his tongue in bubbles of inebriation. Classical notes fade in and out of his hearing, the music a bit too loud to be considered appropriate for nighttime. He begs then, mind hazy with inconsolable longing, desperation solidifying in his eyes once again. His hands reach out, yearning, and graze over the seat you used to once occupy, the covered glass he kept for you to peruse is a bit askew atop his table, the dark skull in his office that you used to admire raking cold claws of uneasiness down his spine. 

What would you do if you saw him now? Would you chide him for the liquor that lingers on his lips or would you join in and raise a somber toast? Will your glass as it clinks with his bottle make any sound? Or will it, instead, be a faded ring of your laugh that loses its intensity every passing second? 

Lucifer raises the alcohol to his lips again. All that was warm is now cold. But the cold must wait before its descent, for he is not ready for battle yet.

LEVIATHAN, AVATAR OF ENVY

Levi is in disbelief.  An incessant buzz rings in his ears, denial bubbling out of his throat in a hurry. Nonsense! How could you be dead when he had talked with you just this morning? Diavolo assures him that they have double-checked—you were dead. Levi shoots out of his seat then. He’ll call you; you’ll pick up, laugh at how ridiculous Diavolo was being, and reassure him of your sentience by gently calling his name through the speakers. 

His heart thuds shakily in his chest when the line doesn’t connect. He persists through the agitating rings when finally, finally you pick up. The voice that greets him though, is vastly different than yours. Stumped, Levi tells them how he was hoping to contact you. The voice is slow as it informs him: you had a heart attack this afternoon. There was going to be a funeral soon, if he wished to attend, he was welcome. He thanks them softly, disconnecting the call and turning to avoid the concerned eyes trained on his skin.

You were dead...but how? How could you—fierce and strong, and so, so brave—die? Death didn’t seem to be a concept that rhymed with you, and yet, the grief streaked through the faces around in sharp waves. 

“How do you feel?” Mammon asks during a weekly gaming session. For once, Levi doesn’t shush him and tell him to focus; instead, he tries to come up with an answer.

How did he feel? Like his world had darkened at its edges, peace blurring out of existence. The clock in his room has become nothing but a showpiece; his days have started to replicate the journey of the needles, starting and ending the same way. He felt trivial in his existence, unimportant, insignificant; an ink smudge in a sea of pages bound together, nothing more than a drop in comparison. He feels too much. And yet, words fall short, drying on their journey to his lips. There’s so much to say, so Levi stays quiet.

He’s uncertain about the exact moment when he fully braced the full weight of your death. Maybe it was when he had blearily opened his closet one morning and the cosplay costume he had helped you stitch had spilled into his arms. Perhaps it happened when he had been searching for one of his noise-cancelling headphones and had instead found a bunch of pictures of you and him together from when you had dragged him to a carnival photo booth.

Levi has never experienced drowning; water is his main source of power after all. But now, it feels as if his lungs are on fire, ears throbbing in the sea of grief he can’t seem to reach the surface of. The breath he so desperately tries to hold onto soon bubbles into sour water that turns his skin translucent. The glass tank around him has shattered into a billion pieces, all reflecting his numb and broken face and they digdigdig into his heart, deeper and deeper until they pass through and he is left motionless with blood colouring his surroundings and seeping in through his clothes and his exhausted body and back into his heart. Levi thinks he’s screaming, or maybe there are screams in his ears, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

Where did you go? Levi wonders at night, the blink of his gaming console shading his face blue. Why did you go? Could you not have stayed with him for a day longer? He wanted to tell you how much he enjoyed the song you had sent him. The music video of it was so beautiful and ethereal. And he still hadn’t gotten around to watching that trilogy you had recommended. He wanted to watch it with you. He wanted you to tell him every little trivia you knew about it. He wanted to see you excitedly explain theories and try to swallow any spoilers for his benefit. He wanted to see you again, touch you again, and feel you trace his tail again. Where had you gone?

He’s crashing through walls of memories, screaming and aching and yearning for anything of you. There’s an unfurling seed of desperation in his chest that spreadsspreadsspreads through his veins, and sets his blood alight with the need to be close to you. You can no longer reserve your most wholesome smile for him, the twinkle in your eye as you call his name just before you pull a prank on him having gone missing. He can longer be close to you physically, but he still can feel you emotionally. 

And so Levi reaches out to you in his memories. He holds you in his arms and spins you around merrily. He remembers every tidbit of yourself you ever gifted him: phrases of songs you used to hum in the shower, show recommendations given to him over the breakfast table, brand names you had claimed to be your favourite and used. Everything that had brought a smile to your face starts to bring one on his as well. This is a part of you that he has found—many of which are parts you had endowed onto him and him alone.

There are so many things you had loved that he had been unable to, so many memories that he was supposed to have with you, but no more. He’ll live your share of the happiness too, for when he finally meets you again—in this lifetime or the one after—he will tell you all that you have missed. He will tell you how you are and will always be his Henry.

SATAN, AVATAR OF WRATH

Satan doesn’t know how to handle the emotions that rain down on him with Diavolo’s words. His mind feels stuffed with cotton, the tips of his fingers cold with disbelief, and the stark taste of blood on his tongue is fresh and raw. He thinks he says something to Diavolo then, but two days later he has no memory of the words. He has no remembrance of anything besides you.

Satan finds himself tracing the bookshelves in his room. His heart is subdued in his chest, quivering feelings caged inside. He fingers free a familiar book, flipping through the pages yearningly. The book is a most colorful sight, marked with an assortment of highlighters and the familiar imprints of your scent. There are tiny sentences nestled in between paragraphs, so much like words of love and reassurance you used to whisper in his hairline during the truly dark hours, and Satan wonders for the umpteenth time if this was your way of crawling inside his soul and immortalizing yourself. He traces a winky face etched at one of the corners, the full weight of your love cradled between his arms crashing through his being. His knees give way under him, body collapsing onto the ground as heaving sobs rip through his throat.

Forever; such a lie it was. All the soft flutters of it from your lips had fooled him; fooled him into grand delusions; fooled him into saying it back. He had believed that delusion to be reality, taken for granted the touch of your lips on his, and now forever had slipped from between his fingers. His hands had been emptied just like the other side of his bed.

Satan screams then, at the memories throbbing in him like spikes of hot emotion. He rages at the moon that had dulled without your warmth at his side, at the pulsing silence of the library that had become devoid of your breath, at death that had snatched your life away. The white hot pain is unfamiliar but it’s full of meaning, composed of nothing but you, so Satan reaches out to it. He savors the smoke that curls from his burning flesh, the needles that prick his body and draw out his life force. So what if you had lost yours? He’ll gladly share his own life with you. He’ll gladly surrender every second of his existence to you.

Satan knows it’s stupid, cradling the pain like it was you instead. But emotion had never been his forte, and by default, neither had been you. So for once Satan lets himself be stupid, lets his wrath and his pain accompany him as he ventures with you in memories.

The air of House of Lamentation has become charged with cautiousness ever since your demise. Everyone has started treading on eggshells, carefully phrasing their words when trying to initiate communication with the fifth born. Satan shouldn’t, but he feels a twisted satisfaction at their discomfort. The sight of their stuttering tongues and fidgety eyes brings him a pleasure compared to none. He had let loose of the frayed strings of control, had let them fall far, far beyond his reach. He had stopped pretending and everyone hated it. In moments when he feels other’s despair at his behavior, his thoughts of you renew with fervor. You, who had never looked at him differently for his wrath, who had always gripped his arm silently and offered comfort in trying times; you who had loved him and who he had loved in return. You, who had made even his wrath, fall in love with you.

Satan knows the right word for it: defense mechanism. He knows this is nothing but a way to cope with the loss he has endured and yet he can’t bring himself to care. Each passing day, the anchor to his emotions weakens in its hold as his actions blur into a façade and reshape themselves into another hastily conjured illusion. The clock ticking in his mind is consistent: someday he’ll run out of anger and all of his aching and bleeding flesh would tumble out of him. But fortunately for him, that is a long time to come. When that day does come, Satan will be ready. Ready to embrace the chaos inside of him the way you always had.

ASMODEUS, AVATAR OF LUST

Asmo’s immediate reaction is numbness. His mind stills, so does his physical body. Distantly he observes Levi shoot out of his seat but Asmo can’t conjure up any energy to mimic his brother. All of his energy seems to have seeped out of his body with the news of your demise. Upon returning to the House of Lamentation he immediately retreats into his room. Nobody catches sight of him for the next couple days. Mammon tries to get him to open the door after Asmo fails to show up for meals for a full day, but he gives up when it’s clear that his brother has no intention of picking the food he had left outside.

When Asmo does appear, a full five days later, everybody does a double check at the sight. When before Asmo had been soft pinks and tangy greens, he now had switched those colors with treacherous black and ruminating silver. His face had hardened into smooth marble with spikes circling his neck in beautiful constrictions, heels getting deadlier by the day. Your death had both awakened and subdued something in him.

One morning, when Satan casually brings up the change in aesthetics, Asmo pauses, twirls his fork around his fingers, and replies without glancing up, “I am mourning, of course.”

He is mourning, that much is true. However, as he sits in the dark of his room, Asmo wonders if his ways are healthy. There are so many feelings in his chest that he had never expressed to you. Everything around him: his room, his closet, the dining table, the garden, all of it so familiar was now painted with memories of you. A part of him yearns to run. Escape from the ghost of your hand that lingers on his cheek, the color of your eyes that haunts his mind, the taste of your lips, and the cozy fit of his face against your shoulder that never leaves him be.

Everything hurts. And some days, Asmo gives in to that yearning. Let the succubus’ clinging to him run their hands over his hips because did it really matter if those hands weren’t yours? At least this way he could pretend. Pretend that the voice moaning his name is yours, that the fingers that scrape against his scalp are familiar. At least this way he can pretend that you hadn’t scooped his soul hollow with your death, that he hadn’t lost all sense of direction when you had taken your last breath.

There’s another part of him too. A part that doesn’t want to let you go, that wants to cling to the shadow of your memory and carve your name on the insides of his soul. On days he succumbs to this part of his being, Asmo welcomes the phantom touch of your gaze on his. He goes to The Fall, a club you both had frequented and orders the drinks you had. He twirls in the spot you had liked, breathlessly sings along to the music like you had, and dances and dances.

Dances till his vision swims with vivid memories and pain becomes his enemy; it’s a constant company, a relentless reminder that he is alive and breathing while you aren’t. You weren’t dancing with him or holding hands or laughing or doing anything but lying dead somewhere so, so far away. He was so dumb for letting you return to that wretched human realm by yourself. He should have been there with you but he wasn’t.

Instead, he is here, wrecked and inebriated, trying to pretend that his world hasn’t slipped off his axis; trying to pretend that he isn’t completely and utterly shattered with you gone.

BEELZEBUB, AVATAR OF GLUTTONY

Beel is heartbroken. Two days ago when you had called him, you had sounded like you always did: excited, radiant and full of life. You had found a delicious velvet cake, you’d told him and had proceeded to describe the taste in such exquisite detail, Beel had to run to Madam Screams to satisfy his sudden craving. The news that you had succumbed to death barely forty-eight hours after he had talked with you was agonizing to hear.

The weight in his chest seems lighter when Belphie is beside him. His twin is calming, can voicelessly feel his turmoil, and always offers an unassuming reprieve to his raw and aching heart. In the familiar attic with the warmth of his brother beside him it’s easy to pretend of your inexistence. When Belphie’s eyes fall shut, however, is when the true weight of your demise dawns upon Beel. No longer sheltered within a façade, he finds himself stranded at the center of a storm, icy memories of your infectious laughter and the glide of your fingers along his flesh whipping his skin raw.

Beel is caught in a tornado of heartache, tumbling out of the past and into a future devoid of your light. The ache of the fall is eternal, thawing through his insides in strikes of relentless agony and sorrow. He tries to adhere to his routine to distract himself then, aiming to not miss any of his Fangol practices. It provides another reprieve: the adrenaline thrumming through his blood, the brief but welcome shot of happiness that accompanies their win.

When the match ends Beel changes out of his sweaty clothes and starts towards the bleachers, lips parted with a breathy grin and body flushed with excitement, but stills halfway, freezing realization creeping through his heart: You weren’t going to be there. Yet his feet pull him over to the benches, to the vacant seat you once occupied. Beel doesn’t know why he sits there, or how long. He just sits, hands resting on the metal arms and tries to see the Devildom moon the way you must have seen it. Maybe if he touches this seat long enough, he’ll be able to identify all the places your fingers had grazed it. Maybe if he thinks about you enough then he’ll have something more than just a past with you.

You were gone and had left your inevitable mark on Beel. His hunger which used to be a means to extinguish the ravenous fire in his stomach has now become a way to fill the chasm that has hollowed his soul neatly through the middle. It is the only healthy way for him to cope with the excruciating pain that throbs through his being every time a whisper of name stumbles upon him.

Guilt plagues his heart then, just like you haunt his soul. Isn’t this emptiness all he has left of you? Isn’t the hollow carving in his heart a sentient reminder of how much you had meant to him? He shouldn’t try to subdue this pain that makes him feel so alive; a pain that feels like his soul has merged with yours.