Reolia Xyfori

LUCIFER

Lucifer glances at the clock on his desk and sighs wearily, rubbing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

He already knows it’s going to be another long night of forcing himself to focus on filling out paperwork, on preparing student council memos and the countless other tasks he’s taken upon himself since you disappeared.

A cursed record plays quietly and the fire in the hearth crackles each time a log shifts or splinters. 

A nearly-empty glass of Demonus leaves a rim of condensation on the dark wood desk. He used to keep track of the days that have passed in your absence, but now he counts the empty bottles of that bittersweet amber drink instead.

It’s not only his own vices that weigh heavily on his mind; his brothers aren’t faring any better without you. Their behaviour swings wildly from bored indifference to reckless abandon. He’s not sure what’s worse: forcing them from their rooms when some of them refuse to go to class or work (or eat and bathe or shower), or dealing with their chaos when they decide to replace grief and misery with the wicked temptations and misdeeds of their sins.

You would be disappointed in them, he thinks. You would be disappointed in them all.

But what else can they possibly do while they wait for some glimmer of hope that you’ll come home again?

He remembers the tense conversation he had with Diavolo about your situation after you disappeared with barely a hint of warning. All he had were Solomon’s vague assurances of your eventual return to comfort him.

Lucifer listened to Diavolo’s insufficient apologies and condolences, but he couldn’t help but glance at Barbatos whose sharp gaze was at odds with the neutral expression on his face. He wondered how much the butler knew about your misfortune, and he’s wondered since then if he should’ve fought harder to force him to bring you back from wherever you were.

Now he passes his time with busywork because he has no one to remind him not to work. He drinks too much to dull the pain in his head and his heart. He sleeps on the couch in his office, or sometimes he slumps on his desk when exhaustion consumes him, because it’s better than lying in his large, empty bed alone.

It shouldn’t have surprised Lucifer that Cerberus eventually realized you were gone too. He went to the family tomb one evening, startled awake by three mournful howls that shook the foundations of the house. He used the bit of magic that gave Cerberus a manageable house-friendly size and without warning, the dog ran past him up the stairs. When Lucifer found him again, the three-headed dog was whining pitifully and pawing at your bedroom door. 

Lucifer hadn’t entered your room since you left, but he had to prove that you weren’t there. That didn’t stop his hound from searching the rest of the house before returning to Lucifer’s side, ears drooping and each head whining in confusion as they bumped against his legs.

Cerberus has barely left his side since, trailing after him and sleeping in front of the fire while Lucifer’s pen scratches quietly across the papers on his desk.

Lucifer contemplates giving up on his work for the night and resting on the sofa, but he frowns when Cerberus stands up suddenly and trots across the room. The door must not have been closed tight because he nudges the door open with one of his snouts. All three heads tilt curiously and he sniffs noisily. Lucifer rises from his chair with a curse when the hound bolts out of the room, howling as he runs out of the library and into the dark hallway past.

Lucifer’s steps are slow and clumsy at first as he shakes off his desperate need for sleep, but he needs to catch the noisy creature first. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is his brothers waking up in the middle of the night in foul moods and causing even more of a ruckus.

The dog’s strange howling stops somewhere near the front of the house, and Lucifer freezes when he turns the corner just in time to see Cerberus knock someone to the floor.

You.

He knocked you to the floor so each of his heads could yip excitedly and lick at your face. When you laugh and try to push the animal away, Cerberus plops down on your legs and seems content to keep you trapped there.

Lucifer, staring wide-eyed and speechless, takes a hesitant step, and then another, before breaking into a run.

It’s not long after that when each of his brothers each stumble drowsily into the hallway, grumbling and snarling and glaring because of the loud disturbance that woke them from their sleep.

Their tempers die down and it's utter chaos when they process the sight in front of them: Lucifer chuckling while you hold each other in the middle of the hallway floor near your bedroom, the Avatar of Pride wearing a rare smile and with even rarer tears shining in his eyes, and Cerberus panting happily nearby as if he was the one who brought you home for his grumpy master to find.

MAMMON

Mammon spins in a slow circle where he dangles from the dining room ceiling. The rope binding his hands behind his back doesn't budge no matter how hard he tries to rip it apart and set himself free.

"Yo, someone get me down from here, will ya? All this spinning's makin' me dizzy!"

But he knows it's useless. None of his brothers will test Lucifer's short fuse by setting Mammon free, and there aren't any brave humans around to help him anymore.

"It wasn't even that bad. I swear I was gonna return it..." Mammon grumbles to himself. So what if he's gotten a little reckless lately? He's no worse than his brothers are, but that arrogant prat Lucifer doesn't tie them up like this.

He braces himself for a long, boring day, spinning for hell knows how long, until Lucifer remembers to set him free.

"Oh no. Mammon. What did you do to upset him this time?"

His body jerks when he hears—thinks he hears a familiar voice. He recognizes the silhouette of the shadow that stands in the doorway briefly before stepping towards him, but he shakes his head like it’ll make the illusion fade away.

That's gotta be his imagination, right?

"You son of a—this is a cheap shot, even for you," Mammon snarls, cursing Lucifer for teasing him with an illusion of all things. Why else would you suddenly appear before him like a dream - or a nightmare - except to taunt him?

Isn't suffering without you punishment enough?

“Here, let me help you…” The voice is quieter now, but close. Gentle hands tug uselessly at the cursed rope holding him in place and he clenches his eyes shut tight and reminds himself that you’re not here.

But then he recognizes the sound of a tongue clicking in frustration, the barely-audible murmurs about Lucifer needing to loosen up, and he crumples in a heap on the floor when a spell he doesn’t recognize causes the ropes to vanish without a trace.

He bumps into someone’s legs when he rolls over, but he doesn’t get up. He throws an arm over his eyes instead.

It's not you, it's not you, it's not you—

But he grunts when a heavy weight suddenly plops down on top of him and he can’t help but breathe deep when a familiar scent tickles his nose. It makes him shiver, gives him hope, and he whimpers.

You nudge his arm aside so you can cup his cheeks in your palms and force him to look at you. Your thumbs swipe away the tears that slip from the corner of his eyes; you're not sure if the sound that rips from his throat is a sob or a laugh.

He stares at you for a long time before he speaks again, and for the first time in ages, he feels something other than pain.

"Don't you dare think of leavin' me behind the next time you decide to disappear like that," he threatens. There's no heat in his voice, only slow acceptance and relief that you're finally back where you belong—with him.

He crushes you against his chest in a tight hug while you whisper apologies into the crook of his neck, and you stay that way - curled together in the middle of the dining room floor - until the others find you later.

LEVIATHAN

Thump-thump-thump.

Levi's TV across the room drones on quietly, a random anime DVD playing on repeat for the dozenth time, but he doesn't pay attention to it.

Thump-thump-thump.

Levi's computer pings faintly, barely audible over the hum of Henry's aquarium. He hasn't sat at his desk in ages, he hasn't logged in for any of his gaming events or guild raids and he stopped keeping track of what his favourite idols are up to. Notifications on his social media accounts and emails are ignored and left unread.

Thump-thump-thump.

His D.D.D. vibrates somewhere in the tangled mess of blankets and pillows underneath him but he ignores that too. It's probably Lucifer reminding him that he needs to go to class sometime this week.

Unlike his brothers, Levi's not going to pretend he's fine.

He hasn't been fine for a long time.

Thump-thump-

A knock on his door startles him and his tail stops thrumming against the side of his porcelain tub. He pokes his head out from the nest of blankets he buried himself in and glares at the door across the room. The orange of his irises flare in a menacing glow from underneath the hood pulled over his head, the drawstrings chewed and frayed ages ago.

Everyone knows not to bother him. It was a very simple request.

Are they stupid?

He pulls himself out of the tub with his teeth bared. Maybe a little scuffle with one of his nosy siblings will make him feel better—will make him feel something.

He yanks the door open but freezes when he recognizes you, standing in front of him as if you didn't vanish from his life without a trace. Your knuckles are raised like you were about to knock again, and you rock back and forth on your heels as you lower your hand in embarrassment.

Levi's mouth flaps open and shut, but before you can say anything, he lets out a high-pitched squeak and slams the door shut in your face.

That's not the worst reaction you imagined, so you consider it a win.

You press your ear against the door. There's shuffling inside his room, the faint sounds of something hitting the sides of his tub. You knock again softly to warn him before you push the door open and let yourself inside.

Aside from the glow from the aquarium, his room is dark and suffocating. You step gingerly over the piles of books and movies strewn haphazardly across the floor; he never used to be so careless with his collections. An empty food wrapper crinkles under your foot and you hope he hasn't been surviving only on his private stash of imported candy.

There's a familiar lumpy shape laying across the bottom of the tub when you peer over the edge. His sniffles are muffled by the blankets and pillows he's hiding under. The only part of him you can see is his tail that dangles limply over the side.

You sit down next to his tail, careful not to touch it in case he doesn't want you to. It was always a sensitive part of himself and he didn't like others touching it so freely; you're not sure he'll grant you that privilege again anytime soon.

"Levi?"

His tail twitches at the sound of your voice. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes peer out from a gap in his little hideaway. There's a lot of emotion swirling in the gaze that narrows at you suspiciously: pain, confusion, anger—all tempered with the tiniest bit of hope.

You lean forward and press your hand against him where you think the curve of his shoulder is. You're gentle enough that he can ignore it or shake you off if he wants. His body deflates under your hesitant touch like he finally let go of the breath he's been holding for so long. He blinks at you, eyes widening as he dares himself to believe you're actually there. More of his face peeks out at you when he slowly peels the blanket away.

"I'm back." The words croak out of you, and your voice is watery like the tears that sting your eyes. His only response is a wounded noise he makes at the back of his throat. You recognize it instantly—you made sounds just like it when you were first torn away from here. Away from him.

You know you have so much to explain and apologize for, and you don't even know where to start, but before you can say anything else, his tail coils around your wrist. You tumble forward when he pulls you down into the tub with him. His arms and legs and tail curl themselves around you, and if you didn't miss him as much as you did, you might complain about how uncomfortable it is.

He mumbles apologies into your chest because he was convinced that whatever happened to you was his fault somehow.

You spend a long time trying to reassure him it wasn't his fault at all.

SATAN

As soon as you get your bearings, stumbling in your room where the portal suddenly dropped you, you want to see Satan. You need to see him.

You love him. You missed him. You worried about him, and you worried for him. He might not always show his rage or act on his violent impulses with you anymore, but you can only imagine what he must've felt when you disappeared.

You saw what he was like before—young, lost, bewildered and so unspeakably angry—and you need to see for yourself what's happened since your untimely absence.

It's disorienting trying to make your way out of your bedroom. It's dark and a bit dusty, and the furniture isn't quite where you left it. You bump your knee and trip more than once making your way to the door. The knob sticks as if it hasn't been opened in ages.

Part of you pushes down the sting that maybe the brothers abandoned your room completely and tried to pretend you didn't exist since you’ve been gone.

(If you could see better in the near darkness, you'd know that most of your bookshelves and drawers are almost empty, picked clean by each of the siblings who took your belongings to keep in their rooms instead.)

Nothing can prepare you for what you find when you head up the stairs to the second floor and stop in front of Satan’s door, or what's left of it. There's giant gashes in the wood and you're careful not to scratch your arm on the sharp splinters where claws (or perhaps his tail) broke through it.

You used to tease Satan about the stacks of books he kept on the floor, organized chaos to anyone but him because he could tell you exactly where each and every book was kept. There's no wobbly piles of books on the floor to stumble into now. Broken book spines and torn pages litter the ground beneath your feet, and you can feel the crunch of glass that you assume are the remains of his old lanterns. Even his bed is barely recognizable—the mattress is ripped to shreds and the frame is bent and disjointed.

His bedroom is the embodiment of the fury deep inside him when he realized you were gone. Missing. Taken. And for all his power and his intelligence and wit, even he couldn't find a way to bring you back.

It wasn't your fault either, but faced with the evidence of his misery, you can't help but feel guilty.

You leave his room and in your daze, your feet lead you to the library next. There's a small part of you that fears Satan might've laid waste to another precious room in the house, but there's a flickering light underneath the doorway and you're hopeful it might be intact after all.

Like your room, the library's not quite the same as it was before. The shelves aren't as orderly, as if whoever's been reading the books and ancient tomes couldn't be bothered to put them back properly. There's a small stack of dishes piled on the table near the sofa—a strange sight because everyone knows it bothers Satan if they eat or drink in here. He hated the idea of spills or greasy fingerprints ruining the books by accident. Next to the sofa, a pile of books catches your eye because they're yours, taken from the bookshelves in your room. The spines are creased as if they've been read over and over again, acting as a poor replacement for your company.

There's a soft groan and you suddenly notice the figure laid back on the sofa. A familiar tuft of Satan's blonde hair rests on your pillow and your blanket spills over his legs and waist and onto the floor. The library is his temporary room, the sofa a makeshift bed where he keeps reminders of you close by, and he breathes deeply while he sleeps. His brow is creased as if he's unhappy even in his dreams.

You take a step forward and debate whether you should wake him up or not when the air shifts around you.

He moves faster than you can track with your eyes, launching himself off the couch and pinning you to the floor before you can even stutter out his name. His emerald gaze flickers with fiery rage, his hot breath fanning across your face, and his chest rumbles with a deep, predatory warning. His tail rises menacingly behind him and your throat runs dry at the very real threat hovering over you.

"S-Satan..."

It's almost comical, the way his eyes widen with recognition when you stutter out his name. He drinks in your appearance and by the time he scrambles off you and his demon form is gone. When he was confident in his anger moments ago, now he hesitates when he reaches out to you. He's not sure if you're really there or simply a mirage, the remnants of a dream he wishes he didn't have to wake up from.

As soon as you open your arms to him, he's in your embrace and nearly topples you both over in his haste to be close to you. His hands smooth up your arms and he cradles your jaw, tilting your head slowly as he checks for any sign of injury. He bumps his nose against yours when he's satisfied that you're unharmed, whether by his own hand or from someone else's, and he smiles a bit sheepishly when you do.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm sorry I left you."

He seems content holding you on the library floor, nuzzling against your temple and inhaling the familiar scent of your skin. It's such a simple thing, but he enjoys it.

He hasn't felt this relaxed in ages.

"I saw your room." You're not sure why you blurt that out of all the things you could talk about instead. "I went there first to find you."

He clears his throat and turns away as pink dusts his cheeks. "Ah, well...I might've gone overboard." He's quiet for a moment before he looks at you, feigning a look of innocence that poorly masks the amusement underneath. "If I told you it was Lucifer's fault, would you believe me?"

Laughter bubbles out of you and he chuckles too. "Not a chance! But I'll help you no matter whose fault it was. There's nothing we can't fix together, right?"

"I'd like that," he murmurs against your cheek. 

ASMODEUS

Asmo was heading to the kitchen when he crashed into someone coming out of your bedroom. His arms flailed wildly at his sides while he tried to keep his balance and stop himself from toppling over. He ran his fingers through the curtain of hair that fell into his eyes, and the venomous anger pouring from his mouth came to a screeching halt when he realized the person he bumped into was you.

Your eyes were wide with shock, but you couldn't decide what surprised you more: colliding with your beloved demon after so many dreary days forced apart, or the anger that poured from him in waves.

"I'm back," you explained dumbly. Obviously. But he blinked his eyes rapidly like he wouldn't believe it.

"How?! I mean, when did you—?"

Whatever he was going to say next caught in his throat as his eyes flitted over your appearance. His gaze was critical, honing in on the smallest little details, the things that are different from the way you looked when he last saw you. Something about your hands gets his attention, and he holds them both gently in his palms.

"Oh, hon, who's been helping you with your nails? The polish is chipped."

His mood shifts so rapidly that it gives you whiplash, and you glance down at your fingers. Maybe it has been a few days, and sure, they might look a little worse for wear, but you're baffled that he noticed that of all things.

"Well, technically, you've been doing them for me." You smile gently at the joke because his past self was just as attentive to your needs and loved taking care of you in the simplest ways.

It might be the wrong thing to admit out loud, though. The guarded look Asmo gives you is so cold, so detached that the amusement fades from your expression.

"The least I can do is help clean these up for you now that you're back, hmm?" His voice is loud and a bit shrill, cracking on some of the words. He spins on his heel and tugs on your hand as he heads towards the staircase.

He doesn't notice - or maybe he just doesn't care - that the commotion reached the dining room. His brothers stumble into the hallway and you can't make out anything they're saying as they all rush towards you and try to talk over each other.

A terrifying growl rips through the hallway and startles them all into silence. it makes your skin crawl because you know the sound came from Asmo. His brothers don't seem impressed by him attempting to keep you to himself when you've just returned, but his aura crackles with something menacing and even Lucifer thinks twice about trying to stop him.

"We'll talk to you after you've had a moment to catch up in private," he suggests loudly. Asmo huffs in annoyance but his pace doesn't falter. He holds your hand tightly in his grip and you have little choice but to follow him up the steps towards his room. You shoot Lucifer and his brothers an apologetic glance before they disappear from view.

You're nearly at the top of the steps when a flurry of movement on the ground startles you. Familiar black shapes weave between your legs and snap teasingly at your ankles. You curl against Asmo's back with a nervous little yelp.

"They won't hurt you, you know that," he reminds you with a coo, and there's a gentle cadence to his voice that reminds you so much of the demon you missed all this time. He winks at you over his shoulder before he looks down at the scorpion familiars skittering on the floor, each of them radiating the faint pink glow of his power. "They'll make sure my brothers don't bother us."

As soon as Asmo ushers you into his room, he steers you gently towards his bed. The smile curling his lips looks strained. "Wait for a moment, darling, I'm going to—"

You reach for the sleeve of his dressing gown and stop him from leaving to do whatever he had planned. "Asmo, wait." You pat the bed. "I don't care about that right now. My nails can wait until later."

He bites his lip and his eyes are glassy as they fill with tears. He sniffles a little under his breath and wipes his face with his sleeve. "But I'm the one who's supposed to take care of you, not—" he looks away as his cheeks turn splotchy. "It's not fair that he was there for you when you belong here with me." He bites his bottom lip when it starts to quiver and he chokes out a sob. "I missed you so much."

You glance around his bedroom and his strange behaviour starts to make sense when you notice all the small things he's changed while you've been gone.

His vanity and closets are cluttered and not organized flawlessly like usual.

Your eyes pause on a strange, heart-shaped stain on his vanity mirror that you’re too nervous to ask about right now.

(In a moment of frustration, he smashed his fist into the glass the first night you disappeared. He repaired it with magic but smears of blood remained even when the cracks in the mirror vanished. He drew the little heart with his fingertip while he whispered your name like he thought it might summon you back to him, and he cried when it didn’t.)

His bed smells like the fragrance you normally wear, something you brought with you from the human world and he claimed he didn't like very much.

He removed his pillow cases and slipped some of your shirts over his pillows instead.

You wonder how you didn't realize sooner that the dressing gown he's wearing is yours, one of many gifts he gave you after you started dating.

His room is filled with your belongings, things he clung desperately to while he hoped and begged for you to come back to him.

"I think tonight we should take care of each other then, don't you?"

You hold your hand out to him, and it only takes a moment for him to stumble over to the bed. He gathers you in his arms and holds you so tightly that it's hard to breathe, like he's scared to let you go. You tangle your fingers in his clothes because you're just as needy as he is.

He whimpers your name against your neck,  interspersed with little kisses that are featherlight but still enough to make your head spin; your tears roll down your cheeks and mix with his, and they're wet and salty on his lips. He murmurs an inaudible mantra as he drags his mouth over your jaw so he can kiss you properly, and it leaves you both breathless.

—I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

The others aren't surprised at all when you and Asmo lock yourselves away in his room 'til morning. 

BEELZEBUB

The joy of returning home turns bitter in your heart when you realize Beel isn't there. His brothers are in the dining room and hear the noise when the portal unceremoniously drops you in the middle of your bedroom floor. They hear a thump and a soft oof! and by the time they scramble out of their seats and into the hall, you're already stumbling through the door and rubbing the soreness from your back.

The weight of six demons attempting to hug you drags you back down to the floor, but this time you're cushioned in someone's lap and suddenly the floor doesn't seem all that bad. Even though you're being squeezed within an inch of your life and they're all talking (and crying and stuttering) over each other, their voices are similar yet so different from the ones you heard in the past, you can't bring yourself to care.

By the time they quiet down to give you a chance to get a word in, you're hugged and warmed and loved like you haven't been in a long time.

The only thing that's bittersweet about your long-awaited reunion is Beel's absence.

"He's at Fangol practice," Belphie says. His voice is slightly muffled since he can't seem to stop nuzzling your shoulder. "He should be home soon."

Asmo's fingers are already tapping quickly across his D.D.D. "I tried calling already but he didn't answer. He'll want to know you're back."

"He might not see the message in the middle of practice," Lucifer warns him from somewhere at your back. "Perhaps one of us should go get him?"

There's a tinkling ping not long after and Asmo waves his phone in your face, but you can't possibly read it.

"Ha! And you thought it would be a waste of time, hmm? Well, I'll have you know that Beel said...'ok'? Huh." Asmo winces when disappointment flickers across your face at Beel's lack-of response. "I'm sure he's excited to see you! You know he's not very fond of texting."

"I think I'll wait for him in his room." The brothers slowly detangle themselves from you and return to the dining room to give you some privacy. They might not like it, but they know that something happened between you and Beel before you disappeared.

You turn around at the sound of footsteps jogging behind you and see Belphie trying to catch up. "I didn't want to say anything with the others around," he says quietly, "but you don't have anything to worry about. I already know he's rushing home to see you even if he didn't say he was."

"How can you be so sure?" You sniffle quietly and stare at your feet. "We had the worst fight before I—before what happened, and he was so angry."

Belphie glances at you over his shoulder as he pushes open the door to the bedroom he shares with his twin. “Trust me when I say that he’s not angry anymore, alright?”

You step into the room behind Belphie and instantly glance at the side of the room where Beel sleeps. You didn’t realize that your bed was stripped before but your pillows and blankets ended up on his bed. There are framed photos of you and Beel on his bedside table, and the sign you made for his last Fangol game - the one you missed when you disappeared - is hanging on the wall. 

“I can’t believe he kept that,” you whisper. The bright, sparkly paint spells out Beel’s name and jersey number in large, bubbly writing. The edges of the poster board are frayed and bent, but it’s obvious he tried to preserve it.

Maybe he missed you as much as you missed him after all.

Thundering steps outside catch your attention and you turn around in time to see Beel lean against the doorway like he sprinted home.

There are bags from Hell’s Kitchen hanging from Beel’s arm but Belphie hops off his bed and plucks the bags from his brother with a hum. “I’ll put these in the kitchen for later.” He pauses and gives his brother a pointed look, nodding not-too-discreetly in your direction, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

You’re not sure how long you stare at each other. His eyes take greedily over your face and body and he frowns like he’s scrutinizing your appearance, trying to see how—if—you’ve changed, searching out any potential injuries you might be hiding and how he can punish those responsible.

Likewise, you take in his field-worn appearance, the grass stains and dirt that clings to his uniform and skin. His hair is matted down and he smells strongly of evening dew and sweat. 

He’s filthy and grimy but you’ve never wanted him more in your life.

He grunts when you nearly launch yourself into his arms. Maybe later he’ll feel guilty about ruining your clothes with mud from the Fangol pitch, but when he breathes in deep and soaks in the familiar scent of your skin, all those insignificant problems melt away.

“I brought dinner for us,” he murmurs quietly as his cheek nuzzles against you. “If you don’t mind putting up with seeing me like this a little bit longer, I’d like to eat with you before I shower.” His chapped lips brush over your brow. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You cup his cheek and offer him a bright and teary-eyed smile. “And you know what? I think I’m starving.”

It’s not long after that containers of your favorite takeout are spread out on the dining room table. The others have vanished, probably at Belphie’s insistence, and you’re grateful to have this quiet time together.

If you end up in his lap while he practically feeds you, sneaking little tastes for himself with lingering kisses he presses gently to your mouth, that’s no one else’s business but yours and his.

BELPHEGOR

Belphie can't remember the last time he's gone this long without a proper night's sleep. When his brothers have trouble sleeping, plagued by haunted memories and their most insidious fears, he can put their minds at ease.

He tells himself it's a selfish gesture, because if his brothers' dreams are too vivid or too disturbing or too terrible for him to ignore, he can't sleep either.

The truth is, he doesn't want them to suffer.

Unfortunately, the Avatar of Sloth has no such saviour to save him from his own bad dreams. He can't call them nightmares because that's not what they are. They're fragments of memory and echoes of his deepest desires that plague him every time he closes his eyes.

More often than not, his brothers’ dreams are haunted by the ghost of you that disappeared without a trace. Every night when someone dreams of you, Belphie dreams of you too.

It reminds him of the cold, slippery sensation the night that your consciousness was dragged away into the unknown. The place in his dreamscape where your little pond of dreams and nightmares used to be is a black void in his subconscious, a gaping wound in his mind that rivals the empty spot in his bed where you used to sleep. Your warmth is gone and it leaves his sheets and heart bitter-cold.

Today, Belphie wakes up from a rowdy disturbance coming from somewhere else in the house.

His brothers can be so loud sometimes.

The voices downstairs that wake him quiet into an excited hush when they notice his arrival.

"Belphie!" Asmo cries happily when he reaches the bottom of the attic stairs and steps out into the hallway. "We were about to come wake you—look who's finally come back to us!"

Whatever his brother yammers on about next is drowned out by the static ringing in his ears; Belphie stares at the awkward group hug on the floor in front of him and has no idea what to say.

You looked a little embarrassed sitting in Lucifer's lap while Mammon clings to one arm and Levi holds the other. Your eyes are bright and watery with tears and a wobbly smile tugging at the corner of your lips when you realize he was there.

A trembling hand reaches out to him, uncertain but inviting. A hopeful gesture.

Countless times, Belphie imagined what he might do or say if–when–you finally came home. He was ready to spill his guts at your feet and beg you not to leave him like that ever again. He would apologize over and over again for all the terrible things he’s said and done before because he couldn't help thinking this was somehow his fault.

For reasons he can’t explain, unexplainable anger rises inside him and smothers the impulse to celebrate your return. The desperate urge to crawl into your lap and cling to you fizzles into nothing the longer he stares at you.

You know how badly he sleeps when you're not cuddled in bed next to him. It’s your fault he feels so awful, isn’t it?

He can only imagine what he looks like now, with his bedhead hair and pouty lips and the flaky crust of dried tears still clinging to the corners of his eyes. He rubs his face to wipe away the remnants with sleep, but he feels the familiar sting of hot tears building up instead.

Your love has made a terrible mess of him, and he’s not ready for this after all.

Someone shouts after him when he turns on his heel and heads back up the attic stairs without a word. He keeps walking and ignores the soft, wounded noise behind him; his brothers were quick to try and comfort you where he cannot.

"Let's give him a bit of space," someone suggests quietly. 

Slamming the attic door doesn’t feel as satisfying as Belphie hoped it would. He collapses back onto the bed and throws the blanket over his head. He tosses and turns and by the time he falls into another restless sleep, he still can't decide whether he's relieved or devastated that you didn't follow him.

It's deep in the twilight hours when Belphie senses a familiar dip of the mattress when someone slips into bed beside him. He tries to stay submerged in the weightless realm of sleep, but the sudden warmth of a hand resting hesitantly on his back ruins that plan.

"Isn't there someone else you can bother?" he grumbles into the pillow. He fell asleep face down and he stubbornly refuses to look at you. “Go away.”

"I’m sorry.” A heavy pause. “I couldn't sleep." Your voice is quiet but it shakes with something vulnerable that catches Belphie's attention.

With an indignant huff, he turns his head and pries an eye open and glances your way. The attic is shrouded in darkness but he can still see the downturned frown of your lips. When he rolls onto his side and leans closer, he looks past the watery film that makes your eyes shimmer and notices the dark shadows underneath them that he didn’t notice before.

Exhaustion radiates off you and he can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since you had a proper night’s sleep too.

He doesn’t ask about the things you did while you were gone or the things you saw. He remembers well enough what his own heart was like back then in that murky stretch of time when he clung to rage and hatred to soothe his own despair.

He doesn’t ask if you still have bad dreams about death or monsters that wear his face and sneer as you struggle against the bruising grip around your throat. He feels guilty that maybe he wasn’t there to save you from the version of himself that lurks in your memory.

The stiffness in his bones deflates as the chill from the attic subsides, replaced by the warmth of your body lying close to his. He places his hand tentatively on your waist and when you don’t flinch or move away, he urges you closer.

"I can help if you want," he offers hesitantly, a feeble apology to start to make amends.

But you understand the meaning behind the gesture for what it is: a peace offering for now until you can talk properly later. Considering his reaction earlier, this is more than you could've hoped for.

“I was scared to ask for help at first," you admit quietly when you rest your ear over his heart and sigh as the soft, familiar rhythm thumps deep in his chest. “You were angry earlier and I didn’t want to upset you even more if you weren’t ready to see me yet.”

Belphie ducks his head low and rubs your back as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck. The vibration of his noncommittal hum tickles your skin. “I’ll help you sleep tonight so you can make it up to me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that–

Convinced that he isn’t going to push you away and judging the coy grip of his tail that’s suddenly found itself wrapped around one of your legs, you let yourself lean against him fully with a long, weary sigh. It doesn't take long for your eyes to slip closed or for your breathing to sync with his as he lulls you gently into a peaceful state of rest.

Belphie feels his eyes grow heavy once he’s certain that you’re dreaming peacefully. He does sleep better when you’re here, after all. He’s held you in his arms like this before, far too many times for him to count, but it feels different than he remembers.

Has holding you like this always felt this satisfying, or did he take for granted all those times he dragged you to bed and assumed you'd still be there when he woke up?

He won’t make that mistake again.

"I missed this, you know," he whispers against the soft spot on your throat where your heart beat is strongest, pressing lazy kisses against your skin. He closes his eyes with a satisfied smile even though you don’t respond; the way your body melts against his is proof enough that you missed him too.

“When Pride Chose to Kneel” [Lucifer]

A king without a crown, baring devotion in the language only the fallen understand. For once, not duty — but desire.

Lucifer would never propose on a whim. Every moment of his confession would be deliberate — a blend of ancient tradition and personal meaning. He’s waited too long, lived too long, and finally loved too deeply to treat this lightly. The proposal would be steeped in Devildom lore and royal elegance, but its heartbeat would be entirely human: his vulnerability.

Lucifer doesn't announce his feelings with fireworks. Instead, he whispers them through detail — a rare midnight bloom that only opens when fed by truth, a ring forged from obsidian mined from the same cavern as Diavolo’s crown, and music composed over centuries that tells the story of his love in every note. He doesn’t propose as a demon or an avatar — he proposes as a man who has finally found a reason to let down his guard.

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You’d known something was coming — Lucifer had been quiet lately, but not in his usual cold, aloof way. This was different. He looked at you longer. His touch lingered. And once, you’d caught him staring at the sky with a softness in his eyes that scared you. As if he’d made a decision he could never go back from. Tonight, he led you to the royal gardens at the top of the castle. Not the public one where nobles drank demon wine and whispered gossip — this one was sacred, tucked away beyond enchanted gates that only opened for blood and vow. You felt the magic curl around your skin as you entered, the air thick with ancient energy. The sky stretched wide above, dark and endless, and beneath it, the garden bloomed in silence. Midnight flowers — Nocturnis Lux, they were called — shimmered under the moonlight. Lucifer once told you they only bloomed when someone spoke their deepest truth. Now, they opened in waves around you. A string quartet played nearby, hidden behind a curtain of ivy and illusion. The music was haunting — slow, melancholic, composed in a minor key. You didn’t recognize it until halfway through the melody. It was his. You remembered the pages he'd once tucked away in his study, scribbled with passion and pain. He had turned your story into a symphony. Lucifer said nothing at first. He walked beside you, gloved hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable. When he finally stopped, it was beside an obsidian pedestal glowing faintly with enchanted fire — the kind used only for royal rites. He turned to face you, and his expression shifted. The mask cracked. “I had this ring forged from the same obsidian Diavolo’s crown was born from,” he said quietly, slipping the glove from his hand. “It’s imbued with an oath spell — not because I need it to mean something… but because I need you to know that it means everything.” He lowered himself to one knee — not in submission, not in performance, but in honor. His wings shimmered faintly behind him, half-unfurled, as if caught between instinct and emotion. “I once thought eternity was enough,” he said, voice raw. “That pride would sustain me. That duty would fulfill me. But then you came, and I realized… eternity means nothing without someone to make it feel like home.” He opened the ring box. It sparkled like starlight trapped in volcanic stone — elegant, dark, timeless. “I am Lucifer, First of the Fallen. I have rebelled, ruled, and been broken more times than I’ll ever admit. But tonight, I offer you the only part of myself I’ve never given away. My heart. My future. My eternity. Will you marry me, MC?” You didn’t speak at first — you couldn’t. Tears blurred your vision, but you nodded, stepping forward and taking his hand. It trembled. “Yes,” you whispered. The garden responded — flowers blooming wildly around your feet, music rising into crescendo. Lucifer stood, cradled your cheek with his bare hand, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips — reverent, slow, full of every vow he didn’t need words for. In that moment, pride ceased to be a sin. It became devotion.

“Worth More Than Gold” [Mammon]

The selfish devil who never believed he deserved love — until you showed him what treasure really means.

Mammon’s proposal is chaotic in theory, but pure heart in execution. He doesn't plan it like Lucifer, nor calculate it like Satan. For him, the idea takes root during a random moment — probably while watching you laugh at one of his dumb jokes or defend him when no one else does. That’s when he realizes: he could spend eternity proving he’s worthy of you. When Mammon proposes, it’s not about grandeur. It’s about truth. Raw, unfiltered, trembling truth. The ring may not be enchanted or royal, but it’s real. Bought with savings he never touched, chosen not for cost but for meaning. He’d risk everything — his pride, his fear of rejection, his future — just to ask the question. Because for once, he’s not gambling for riches. He’s betting everything on love.

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It started like any other ridiculous Mammon plan. He told you to dress up — not fancy, just warm — and meet him outside Devildom’s old carnival grounds at sunset. You expected a half-baked scheme involving cursed games or rare demon snacks. What you didn’t expect was this: The lights of the long-abandoned fairground flickered to life the moment you stepped through the gate. Strings of golden lanterns lit the cobblestone paths. The once-broken Ferris wheel creaked to motion, restored by magic that felt distinctly Mammon-esque — patchy but passionate. “I… uh, borrowed some spell cards,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck when you turned to look at him. “Don’t worry, I returned ‘em. Mostly.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. Just grabbed your hand like it was the last lifeline he had and pulled you toward the center of the grounds. There, he’d set up a table — crooked, with uneven legs, but decorated with your favorite snacks, old photos of you both, and a little plush version of Goldie wearing a bowtie. “I know it ain't perfect,” he said quickly. “It’s not like Luce’s royal garden or nothin’. But it’s mine. Every light you see? I fixed it. Every charm holding this place together? I cast it. And I did it all for this one thing.” You blinked, stunned. Mammon — who once panicked when you complimented his cooking — was shaking. “I ain’t good with words, okay? I mess stuff up. I run when I’m scared. But not this time. Not with you.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a tiny black box. It wasn’t velvet, but it had a tiny golden sticker of a crow on it. Inside was a ring — silver, engraved with a tiny star and your initials. “I ain’t proposin’ ‘cause I think I’m good enough for ya,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m proposin’ ‘cause I wanna try for the rest of my damn life to be.” He dropped to one knee, fumbling the box a little. You heard a whisper from the shadows — probably Beel and Levi, hiding badly. Mammon didn’t notice. His eyes were locked on yours, wild and terrified and beautiful. “MC… Will you marry me?” You knelt down too, cupping his face in your hands. He flinched like he didn’t deserve it, but you kissed him anyway — slow, sure, grounding. “Yes,” you said. “You already won the bet, Mammon. I’m yours.” And behind you, the Ferris wheel lights shimmered into a heart-shaped glow.

“In Pixels and Promises” [Leviathan]

The shut-in demon who found his greatest adventure in loving you — beyond screens, beyond worlds.

Leviathan doesn’t believe he’s the kind of person someone proposes to, let alone the one who gets to propose. Love, to him, was always behind a screen — safe in fiction, predictable in games. But falling for you was a glitch in his system, a patch he never wanted to fix.

He plans the proposal like he’s crafting the perfect final boss sequence — every line of code, every moment, balanced between awe and intimacy. His biggest fear isn’t rejection — it’s you not realizing how serious this is. That you might think this is just another one of his fantasies.

So he crafts a digital world for you — one only you two can enter. A realm coded with memories, quests reflecting your journey together, and at its center, the truth he’s never been able to say out loud without a screen between him and the world: you’ve changed him. You’ve made him believe he’s worthy of love, not as an avatar, but as Levi — awkward, obsessive, vulnerable.

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He invited you to his room one night, sheepishly texting ahead: "come over pls. new game. v. limited release. u get to beta test lol." You expected a fun co-op adventure. Maybe a dungeon crawler or another otome parody. What you didn’t expect was the way the lights dimmed the second you entered, or how the screen pulsed with ethereal code in violet and gold — his colors. The title screen shimmered: "Player Two: The Game I Can’t Play Without You" "Okay, okay, I know it sounds cringe!" he said immediately, pacing like a trapped sea serpent. "But just — just try it! Please? I worked on this for, like… forever. I even stayed up three nights in a row and drank real coffee. Beel was worried." You took the controller, and the screen dissolved into pixels and stars. The game opened on a digital version of his aquarium, but more surreal — like you’d been submerged in a dream. 8-bit coral glowed. Fish with tiny anime faces swam by, and every level represented a piece of your time together: The first time he let you touch his figurines. That Deviltendo competition you both entered. The night he cried when you said you liked him just the way he was. And then… the final level. A throne room beneath the ocean, lit by moonlight through rippling water. At the center: a lone character — Levi’s avatar, cloak shimmering, holding something small in his pixelated hand. A text box appeared: “I never thought I’d get a second player.” “I always thought I’d be a background character.” “But then you came.” The avatar kneeled. “MC. Will you… stay in my party forever?” The game paused. Then Levi’s hand touched yours — real, trembling. He was holding something. Not a pixel sprite. A real box. Inside was a ring — ocean-blue gem, set in silver that looked like rippling waves. The design was unmistakably his — subtly anime, undeniably heartfelt. "I know I’m not a real hero," he said, barely above a whisper. "I’m not suave like Asmo or noble like Lucifer. But I’ll level up for you. Every day. I’ll protect you. I’ll— I’ll love you until my HP hits zero." Your voice caught in your throat. You pressed your forehead to his. "Yes," you breathed. "I want to be your Player Two. Forever." He blinked fast — once, twice — then let out a laugh that was half-sob, half-joy. And behind you, the screen exploded into golden fireworks and a new achievement badge: “♥ TRUE ENDING UNLOCKED ♥”

"A Quiet Flame for You" [Satan]

Behind his scholarly calm burns a fierce devotion — a love whispered between pages and shadows.

Satan’s proposal is a rebellion — not against rules or Lucifer this time, but against every lie he once believed about himself. That he was only anger. That love was too volatile, too human, too fragile. But loving you? It was the first time he didn’t feel like a vessel for wrath. He felt like a man.

He doesn’t stage his proposal like a dramatic scene — he curates it, like a rare book. Every element steeped in meaning. The location? A hidden sanctuary where ancient knowledge and rare magic converge. The ring? Forged from the metal of a fallen star once written about in a forbidden grimoire — beauty born of what once threatened to destroy.

Satan doesn’t declare love in loud ways. He proves it — in well-thumbed poetry, in books annotated just for you, in spells that keep nightmares away. When he proposes, it’s not the anger in him that trembles — it’s the part that hopes.

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It wasn’t a place most people knew. Tucked behind a shifting wall of the oldest library in the Devildom, there was a room sealed by a spell written in forgotten tongues. You once asked if it was real. He only smiled. Tonight, he brought you there. Satan walked ahead of you, fingers tracing the ridges of the wall until the enchantment responded — books shifting, bricks rearranging, like the building itself bowed to his will. With a low rumble, the entrance appeared. “Only opens for truth,” he said softly, stepping aside for you to enter first. The room was unlike anything you’d seen. High ceilings arched above, lined with floating shelves and glowing glyphs. Books hovered like stars in low orbit, their pages whispering softly as if exhaling secrets. And in the center, a circle of warm light, enclosing two chairs and a table set with tea… and a single book, wrapped in velvet. “I wrote this,” he murmured, voice oddly fragile. “It’s not a grimoire or a spellbook. It’s… our story.” He handed it to you, and as you opened it, you realized — each chapter detailed your moments together. Your laughter, your arguments, your silences. Your impact. The final chapter was unwritten. Just a title: “The Beginning of Always.” When you looked up, he was already kneeling. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, were full of raw light. “I’ve studied love,” he said, fingers curled around a small box. “I’ve dissected it in literature, tracked it in history, even tried to summon it. But nothing — nothing — prepared me for you.” He opened the box. The ring inside pulsed with a soft, celestial glow. Not flashy. Timeless. “I am not perfect. I still burn. But you…” His voice broke, and he swallowed. “You make the fire something holy.” He lowered his head, golden hair falling forward. “Will you marry me, MC? Will you help me write a life worth living?” The tears in your eyes blurred everything — the books, the walls, even the stars. But his face was clear. Honest. Yours. “Yes,” you whispered. The glyphs around you flared to life — not in warning, but in celebration. Books rustled like applause. And as you embraced him, Satan exhaled against your neck. “For the first time,” he said quietly, “I’m glad I exist.”

“The Heart Beneath the Glitter” [Asmodeus]

When the world only sees a mask of charm, he dares to show the fragile truth beneath — and finds love that stays.

To the world, Asmodeus is temptation incarnate — the Avatar of Lust, always smiling, always admired, always wanted. But when it comes to you, he doesn’t want to be adored. He wants to be chosen — not for his beauty or his charm, but for who he is beneath the sparkle: the loneliness, the hunger, the soft, scared heart that learned to seduce before it could speak its own needs.

Asmo’s proposal is neither grand nor scandalous. It is sacred — a vow not of possession, but of devotion. He crafts a moment where all masks fall away. No performance. No glitter. Just him. And you. And the unbearable, beautiful truth that he has never loved like this before.

When he proposes, it’s not the Avatar of Lust asking for your hand. It’s the boy who once fell from heaven, craving love in every mirror. And for the first time, he sees his reflection in your eyes — and finds it worthy.

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The invitation came in pink parchment, sealed with a kiss. Typical Asmo, you thought — until you opened it. “Meet me where we first danced. Midnight. Wear something that makes you feel like your favorite self.” The ballroom was abandoned, long since closed off for repairs. But when you arrived, the door opened for you as if pulled by invisible hands. Candlelight flickered within — soft, golden, warm. He was already there. Not in sequins. Not in silk. Just a simple black suit, his curls loose, his face untouched by glamour. No spell shimmered on his skin. No perfume clung to the air. He was radiant anyway. “You came,” he said, smiling gently. “Even after everything, you still choose me.” You reached for him, but he took your hand instead and pulled you toward the center of the floor. There was no music, yet your bodies swayed — a slow, silent dance in a world reduced to candlelight and breath. “I’ve had lovers,” he whispered into your ear. “Fans. Followers. But they all wanted the idea of me. The fantasy. You… you saw me. Even when I was ugly. Even when I cried. Even when I tried to push you away so you wouldn't see how much I needed you.” He spun you gently, then guided you to a tall, full-length mirror propped at the far end of the ballroom. You stared at your reflection — and gasped. It wasn’t enchanted. But somehow, it showed something more: every moment you’d shared with him flickered through its surface like memories — laughter, tears, kisses. The time he held your hand in silence. The time you stayed by his side after a breakdown no one else saw. “It’s not magic,” he said. “It’s just you. And me. And what we’ve built.” He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Then slowly — reverently — he knelt, arms still wrapped around you, cheek pressed to your back. “I’m not asking you to love me forever,” he said. “I’m asking you to let me love you. Forever. Not because I’m perfect. But because with you… I want to be real.” He opened a small pink box. Inside was a ring shaped like a blooming rose, the petals formed from soft pink diamonds and warm gold — beautiful, but not overwhelming. Like him, stripped bare. “Will you marry me, MC?” You turned in his arms, kneeling to face him. Tears slipped from his lashes before yours could fall. “Yes,” you whispered. “You’ve always been real to me.” And in the mirror behind you, two reflections glowed softly — not idealized, not filtered. Just true.

“More Than an Appetite” [Beelzebub]

The gluttonous giant who hungered for something deeper — a soul to fill the emptiness inside.

Beelzebub’s love is simple, but never small. He feels things deeply, but speaks sparingly. To him, love isn’t about poetry or performance — it’s about being there. Carrying your weight when you’re tired. Sharing the last bite. Catching your hand when you trip — even if it means falling with you.

So when Beel decides to propose, it’s not because he’s worked up courage or found the perfect ring. It’s because he’s known, deep in his bones, for longer than he can remember. Loving you fills something he thought would always be hollow. A hunger that had nothing to do with food.

His proposal is quiet, but cosmic — a promise whispered in between breaths and bites, a vow baked into something homemade, something shared. Because to Beel, love is nourishment. And asking you to marry him is his way of saying: let me feed your soul for the rest of your life.

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It started with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Not a typical Beel dish — you’d expected meat, maybe something savory — but instead, your kitchen had been transformed. Counters dusted with flour. Dough rising quietly in the warmth. Spices in delicate balance.

Beel stood at the center, apron dusted, hair tied back. He looked up as you entered, and smiled that slow, gentle smile that could undo the world.

“I made something,” he said, lifting a tray with careful hands. “It’s a dessert from the Celestial Realm. We used to make it when… when things felt too heavy. It reminded us we were still alive.”

He placed a slice on a plate, set it before you. It glowed faintly — like light had been baked into it. The first bite was warm, tender. It tasted like comfort, like childhood memories you didn’t know you had.

“It’s missing something,” he murmured. “One last thing.”

He stepped away, rummaging through a nearby container. When he returned, he wasn’t holding a garnish.

He held a ring.

Simple. Handmade. A braided band of gold and copper, inset with a single orange gemstone that looked like crystallized sunlight. It pulsed faintly — the magic in it not showy, but steady. Alive.

He didn’t kneel. He didn’t need to.

He sat across from you, elbows resting on the table, eyes softer than candlelight.

“I didn’t think I could ever feel full,” he said quietly. “Not just my stomach. My heart. But when I’m with you… it’s not hunger anymore. It’s something else. Peace. Joy. Hope.”

He reached across the table and took your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I want to share every meal with you. Every quiet moment. Every sunrise and every ache. I want to protect you — not just from danger, but from loneliness. From emptiness. Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t speak. Not right away. You squeezed his hand, hard, and nodded through the tears.

“Yes, Beel. Always.”

He slipped the ring on your finger, and something settled between you — like the last puzzle piece sliding into place. He leaned forward, kissed the corner of your mouth, and smiled.

And for the first time in his long, aching existence, Beelzebub felt completely full.

“A Light in Eternal Twilight” [Belphegor]

Lost in shadows and sleep, he finds a spark that refuses to fade — a promise of love beyond the night.

Belphegor doesn’t trust happiness. Not because he’s incapable of it, but because it’s always been something fleeting — a soft thing that crumbles in his hands before he can savor it. Death has left fingerprints on everything he touches, and love… love felt like a dream meant for someone else.

But then came you. Not a dream. Not a delusion. Real. And terrifying.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to drown it in apathy, in sleep, in sarcastic deflections. But love snuck in — soft as twilight, steady as moonrise. You didn’t wake him from the darkness. You joined him in it. Sat beside his grief, held hands with his ghosts, and whispered, “You don’t scare me.”

So when Belphie proposes, it isn’t dramatic or well-rehearsed. It’s hesitant. Shaky. Real. Because this is the first future he’s ever dared to believe in — and he’s still afraid he’ll lose it.

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He asked you to meet him in the planetarium. Not the grand one open to the Devildom’s elite — but the abandoned one tucked inside the observatory near the edge of the Devildom sky cliffs, where forgotten stars still flickered on mechanical orbits, and the air smelled of dust and old dreams. You found him lying in the center of the domed floor, arms behind his head, eyes open — watching galaxies spin above. He didn’t look up when you entered. He just patted the floor beside him. You laid down. The silence stretched — not uncomfortable, but heavy. Sacred. Time passed like breath. Then, his fingers brushed yours. “I used to come here after Lilith died,” he said, voice low, almost inaudible. “I’d watch the stars and pretend she’d become one. That maybe, if I stared long enough, I could follow her.” You turned your head to face him. His lashes were wet. “I never thought I’d want to stay,” he whispered. “Not really. Even after the war, even after I forgave everyone. I thought I’d just drift until my body gave out.” He paused. Swallowed. “Then you came. And for the first time in eons… I didn’t want to follow the stars. I wanted to build something beneath them.” He sat up slowly, then stood — and reached into the pocket of his hoodie. “I don’t have a box,” he muttered. “Or a speech. But I have this.” He held out a ring — small, dark silver with tiny, faint constellations etched along the inside. At its center was a polished moonstone that shimmered like sleep. “I had it made from starstone. Same kind they use for grave markers in the Celestial Realm. It’s a stone for rest. For endings.” His voice trembled. “But I want this to be a beginning.” He knelt beside you. Not formal. Not poised. Just a boy who once hated the world, daring to love it through you. “I’m not easy to love. I know that. But you make me want to try. So… will you marry me?” You sat up and reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hoodie as you pulled him close. “Yes,” you breathed. “Even if we sleep under the stars for the rest of time — it’ll be enough. You’re enough.” His forehead rested against yours. His breathing hitched. And high above, the planetarium stars paused — as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath for you.

• Levi Lore: celebrating publication of debut novel, Demons Live, full title Even If God Abandons Demons, I Still Want To Live With My Oshi. Won the Devildom's Fantasy Literary Excellence Award. Is overjoyed Lucifer read it. MC took a lot of his firsts... Talks to Henry when alone. Has an interview in a magazine. Accepts wrongdoing before confrontation.

• Lucifer Lore: recognises something is wrong. Has retired and enjoys playing golf. Spotted books missing in the HoL library regarding love. Is concerned an unstable Levi could result in war against the human world. In demon form manages to calm an irate Cerberus, and teleports him back underground. Satan keeps him up to date afterwards.

• Mammon Lore: Levi claims his work is in a legal grey area. Describes his work as a boxing gym, Levi says it isn't just that. Reported odd happenings to Lucifer. Yells to Lucifer to watch out for Cerberus. Knows MC is glum before he sees them.

• Satan Lore: is First Consul. Dismisses Asmo and Belphie's concerns about Levi. Is amused that Cerberus wanted to attack Lucifer. Tempts Levi by saying he saw a Rena figurine from Dora Mayo in Mammon's room.

• Asmo Lore: wants to star as witch Mirelle in any live-action adaptation of Levi's book. Likes Bloody Kiss Tint No 5, a maledictum lip balm. Is currently filming.

• Beel Lore: is working at Hell's Kitchen. Goes to look after Cerberus and keep an eye on him.

• Belphie Lore: a previous fortune telling technique he tried required sacrifices. Can be woken with Last Breath Wake. His foretold lucky object of the day is a notebook - the clue to the happenings in HoL.

• MC Lore: burns the notebook.

• Magic Lore: a notebook that writes thoughts without a pen, and makes those events come true - Levi knowingly manipulates all demon brothers including Lucifer (to an extent), and summons Cerberus.

• Magical Creatures: Lotan mentioned; Cerberus magicked into library in a rage but calmed by Lucifer.

• Book Titles: Lovers Who Dreamed Too Much, Song For Those Who Wait, Silver Script: Love Chron...

~

🦄 Satan

• Satan Lore: established as First Consul on Lucifer's recommendation (see Lucifer's route). Every word he speaks is entwined with his love for MC.

• Lucifer Lore: although retired, he attends private dinner with Diavolo and the lords. Calls out Satan for not calling him to help in the first place. Points out that Satan now only answers to Diavolo and that he, Lucifer, is Satan's to command along with everyone else. Restores Satan's lost words to MCs memories as a gift.

• Mammon Lore: protective of MC. Information gatherer. Is trusted as Lucifer's second.

• Levi Lore: not as sensitive to magic as Satan or MC.

• Asmo Lore: established as Press Secretary, formerly Icon of the Devildom.

• Beel Lore: in charge of coronation carriage and Vaermere.

• Belphie Lore: established as bestselling fortune teller in the Devildom.

• Diavolo Lore: many lords in House of Lords are anti-Diavolo. Unrelated uproar over the shape of Diavolo's horns. Diavolo knows or suspects of Valk's feelings which is why he requests his attendance, to hear of the version of his father that Valk loved. Empathises with Valk who refers to him as a petty demon. But for hurting Satan, Diavolo gets angry, and Lucifer has everyone move back. Diavolo wins, entire area of the castle is destroyed in the process.

• Barbatos Lore: "Barbatos used to express his discontent though. You could tell he really hated doing all that stuff." - Belphie.

• Simeon Lore: Satan thinks Simeon would be a fan of Valk's writings.

• Mephisto Lore: is possessed by the ghost of Lord Valk. Levi confirms he survives Diavolo's smackdown.

• MC Lore: loses ability to hear Satan due to Valk's spell. Can command Satan to "stay!"

• Magic Lore: a sacrificial spell to seize someone's heart is possible. It steals much of MCs magic, and the result is almost too powerful for Diavolo and Lucifer combined to overcome. Lucifer swears with the effort, "damn!"

• Merfolk Lore: have own ancient language, (noble) demons can rarely have merfolk lineage.

• Language Masters: Lucifer and Satan.

• Vaermere Lore: "Vaermere reacts to strong emotions. Especially feelings of love or loyalty. Its coat shines when it senses them." - Beel. (see Lucifer's Route)

• First Consul: standing in for His Highness at meetings, amending laws, and mediating the domain. Everything Barbatos did.

• Castle Locations: Blue Hall, Hall of Starlight.

• Former Traditions: coronation sacrifice ritual.

• Background Characters: Lord Grave, Lady Melteor, cellist Andalis Vaughn.

• Major Background Character: Lord Valk, the essayist with penname El-Valk Nemesis, former name Agares, Grand Duke of Hell. Author of Blessings and Death to Those Who Know Love! - his only book. First edition is banned, rumours it makes people fall in love or break up. Mix of poetry, prose, philosophic essays, epistles, and dramatic forms. Once known as the avatar of language and knowledge, and hailed as the Devildom's finest linguist. The subject of his book was his secret unrequited love for the Demon King.

Demonology Notes: Agares the demon is mentioned in many a grimoire and is amongst Solomon's 72 demons. Valk is Dutch for "hawk", the bird that this demon carries.

"The first duke under the power of the east, is named Agares, he cometh up mildly in the likenes of a faire old man, riding upon a crocodile, and carrieng a hawke on his fist; hee teacheth presentlie all manner of tongues, he fetcheth back all such as runaway, and maketh them run that stand still; he overthroweth all dignities, supernatural and temporal, he maketh earthquakes, and is of the order of virtues, having under his regiment thirty one legions." - Pseudomonarchia Dæmonum (1577)

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💖 Asmo

• Asmo Lore: has been working in human world. Has been on the front page of Devil's Style many times, is on TV every day, and in various fashion shows. He's given an interview for an upcoming action scene. His posters are on display by Hell's Burger and Uncle Demon. He has a photo collection for sale. Has human world exclusive Asmo collab merch - the mascot is a character from a "super popular human world brand" based on Asmo, "Esmo from Hesmes". Has created his own body cream. Has major fashion show and commercials to shoot after coronation. Scouted by Midhell - he turns it down. Livestreams himself singing and a concert announcement on date with MC. Accidentally livestreams his plans to retire immediately after. Is swiftly made Press Secretary, Satan assumes Diavolo scouted him.

• Lucifer Lore: calls MC with concern. Appears with all brothers to reveal they have hired the entirety of Devil's Coast for MC and Asmo's privacy.

• Mammon Lore: Tours Moryo town with Satan. Information gatherer. Expresses concern for MC's safety. Displeased Asmo leaves MC for fans.

• Levi Lore: Levi's book is for sale. Requests Magical Girl Rika merch and Closia-tan stickers. Warns MC their photos have gone viral.

• Satan Lore: Not First Consul yet. Touring Moryo town with Mammon ahead of new job. Expresses concern for MC's safety. Displeased Asmo leaves MC for fans.

• Beel Lore: buys both Levi's book and the magazine with Asmo's interview.

• Belphie Lore: Gives MC a good luck charm, this saves them from fans at Devil's Coast.

• Devildom Companies: Hell's Burger, Uncle Demon, Devil's Style magazine, theatre troupe Midhell.

• Devildom Locations: Devil's Coast reappears with usual attractions, Moryo Town (previously known), Moryo River, Moryo Hill.

• Background Characters: Oberson the playwright.

• Other Notes: Esmo from Hesmes is perhaps a reference to Eros of Hades - not a character shown in game but one with a great deal of fanart that is very Asmo-coded. Eros is ofc the Greek god of love and sex.

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🍔 Beel

• Beel Lore: working part-time at Hell's Kitchen. MC summoning him creates holes through nearby walls. Can talk down giant hellhound. Sea monsters retreat on his request. Recognises lab is for the study and protection of rescued magical creatures. Reveals he can't speak animal languages, but he can feel what they feel. Dragon understands him after MC power boost. Sees the animals as a family in need of protection, and becomes the new researcher. Turns down Lucifer's funding.

• Mammon Lore: warns MC of rampaging hellhound and is protecting others from it. Turns up at set location to make money from magical creatures until they're revealed to be rescues. Finds the lab. Reveals dragon is too strong for him, Beel, and MC to handle.

• Lucifer Lore: has dog dad knowledge. Offers Beel funding for the research lab.

• Levi Lore: is a fan of small hellhound. Researches hellhound and finds species information.

• Satan Lore: is a fan of small hellhound. Investigates hellhound and uncovers smuggling operation, announces he is joining Beel and MC at set location as First Consul. During the dragon attack, states he is responsible for protecting the Devildom. Captures all smugglers.

• Asmo Lore: is a fan of small hellhound. Filming tv show. Notices Beel's love for magical creatures and requests he and MC come to set with him to the flower location. Invites Levi and Lucifer as future extras as both felt left out.

• Belphie Lore: gave Beel a flower that helped calm the hellhound. Is a fan of the small hellhound. Reveals flower is from "super far away" via Asmo.

• MC Lore: has unknown job to begin with. Can shrink creatures. Recognises lab equipment is from the human world. Will run research lab with Beel.

• Magical Creatures: hellhound type Valgrym (fur boosts magic, super rare), Salvator (giant water monster), dragon (giant, fire-breathing), palm-sized dragon.

• Devildom Foods: fried frog, Ultra Mega Sweet Chocolate donuts, headless dragon jerky, marinated Hellfire Jellyfish, Brutal Chips.

• Devildom Locations: Magical Creatures Research Lab (a ship's journey from home location).

• Mythology Notes: Valgrym could be interpreted as meaning "cruel choice", while the church grim or kirkegrim is a guardian dog spirit of British and Scandinavian folklore that protects graveyards from harm and evil (a parallel perhaps with this hellhound seeking help for their home). Salvator is perhaps a monster version of the water monitor, the second largest lizard in the world, latin name Varanus salvator - it is seen as an omen of bad luck in some cultures.

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💤 Belphie

• Belphie Lore: is established fortune-teller. Picked a job he could do from home. Misunderstands a reading he does for MC. Tries to scare off a mugger with his power but he and MC have to run. Belphie has a minor injury from the mugger. Doesn't understand why someone angry at one of his readings would be angry at him. Traps MC and himself in a dream. (Attic incident not addressed.) Imprisons other self in attic. Fears causing harm and not making others happy. Belphie and MC talk Belphie around. Commits to studying fortune-telling. Gets Asmo to teach him how to speak in a way that accurately conveys his readings without causing trouble.

• Lucifer Lore: supports Belphie's proposal after the others protest at the suddeness.

• Mammon Lore: saves MC and Belphie by scaring the mugger off with his presence. Brings them home to get Belphie treatment.

• Levi Lore: is who MC goes to for help.

• Satan Lore: is First Consul in Lucifer's place (see Lucifer's route). Investigates muggers, who were hired by a noble upset by Belphie's reading.

• Asmo Lore: is Press Secretary. Worries about Belphie. Gives Belphie a special class in How To Talk to Impress!

• Beel Lore: working at Hell's Kitchen.

• Barbatos Lore: surprise appearance in Belphie's dream trap. MC can only reject his help.

• Solomon Lore: surprise appearance once dream is exited. Reveals Belphie's readings are popular where he is.

• Mephisto Lore: has taken over duties from RAD.

• MC Lore: is assisting Mephisto at work. If kept in Belphie's dream world, would never have awoken again. Can tell Belphie to "stay!".

Devildom Foods: fresh headless dragon, blue rose crystal syrup, magma mushroom soup.

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As always canon is canon, and headcanons are headcanons. You do not have to abide by any canon you dislike!

Personally I consider OM as having three seperate canons: original Obey Me; Nightbringer; Ido.

You can use canon from one, two, or three, and pick and choose as you please for your own headcanons.