Discovery of Secrets

❤️ Possessive Lover ❤️

You glance at Lucifer curiously, smiling to yourself as he subconsciously furrows his eyebrows at his phone. In the back of your mind, you assume it's Diavolo giving him more work. The whole point of this day was to destress him, but it seems like it's not working. He quietly sighs and readjusts the bag of sweet breads the two of you bought at Madam Scream's.

"Is something wrong?" You finally ask.

"...No." He starts, sighs, and resigns himself, "None of the others are answering my messages."

"Oh. Um, I'll call Mammon." You blink, not expecting the response.

Pulling out your D.D.D, you dial Mammon's number and let it ring. Something uneasy stirs in your gut when he doesn't pick up. You tilt your head back to Lucifer, who sports a nervous look. Mammon never ignores your calls, never. The two of you noticeably speed up, trying to think of reasons why they wouldn't answer. Asmodeus can't put his phone down for a second, Leviathan never puts his phone on silent, Beelzebub typically leaves it on vibrate in his pocket, Satan always places it face-up wherever he is. Belphegor's the only one who actively ignores anything bothersome, and Mammon will ignore it if he's done something bad.

The fact that none of them have answered can't be good. Once both of you arrive at H.o.L, Lucifer clicks the door open. You freeze at the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is hurt, you register. Mammon, covered in wounds and blood, is lifeless in front of the door. You notice the gunshot looking injuries, feeling a faint trace of familiar magic. Lucifer's just as frozen by your side. You shakily look towards him and see the unexplainable horror etched throughout his body.

The drop of a heavy plastic bag breaks the silence.

He walks forward and leans down to hold Mammon, carefully putting him back down to walk upstairs. You can't find any words as the man walks in a trance-like state. Instead scalding tears drip off your cheeks as you crumble to the ground. Your hand trembles on Mammon's shin, pathetically gripping the wet fabric of his pants. Your magic activates, trying to heal the damage in hopes of somehow bringing him back to life.

His heart is gone, his magic is gone, you can't even feel his soul that's supposed to be bound to yours. How did you not notice it? Were you so caught up in spending time with Lucifer that you were blind to the tragedy of losing your lover? Your stomach twists and turns as you bury your face in the cold red of his chest. You hardly notice Lucifer leaving out the front door as you sob.

You don't know how long you're with Mammon, your face feels disgusting and crusty. Your stomach feels tense and sore, your back aches as you finally sit up. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, realizing you were in fact snoozing away your sorrow. You eventually stand up, numbly walking along imprints of footsteps. Your head dangles lowly, eyes following the pretty copper marks. Frustration rises in you when your tired brain informs you of the origin of the color.

It's dried blood.

You lazily study each mark, tilting your head up to see hand prints on the wall, artistic splashes designing them. It feels twisted, to see art in murder. Another batch of warm tears leave your stinging eyes. You stare at Beelzebub in the kitchen, holes littering his body. Utensils are scattered in the room, some lodged into the ginger's skin. Weakly, you sit on your knees and remove them while healing his body. He feels just like Mammon, empty.

You flinch when a hand squeezes your hip. Your eyes widen, expecting to meet the purple of Beelzebub's. They don't, instead chills run down your spine when you realize someone behind you is the one responsible for touching the curve of your side. You want to scream and hit, but you're just too drained. Belatedly, you register the use of soothing magic, and it makes you angry for a second before the emotion withers away.