Chapter Text
Honestly? He deserves this. Ever since you spent a very interesting--and by no means tame--night with the Avatar of Pride on the last day of your first exchange program, it's been all but radio silence from him. Months of nearly nothing while you were back in the human realm could have been forgiven if he'd said something, anything, once you returned.
But no, his greeting upon your unexpected arrival was cordial at best, and he's barely asked more than how your classes are going ever since. No warmth, no acknowledgment of what transpired in his bed, no hint that he's been thinking of you at all in the time you've been away. So he's going to pretend like nothing happened? Fine. Two can play at that game.
You've been back in the Devildom for a few weeks when Asmo suggests a night on the town. You need to let off steam badly, and a night of dancing and debauchery sounds like the perfect remedy.
Getting ready with Asmo always took you back to your early college days of doing your makeup with your floormates before a frat party. There was booze, music, and an air of possibility that was nothing short of thrilling. Anything could happen once you get to the club, and you hate to admit that you're even more willing to go with the flow of the night than you would usually be.
Your head is already swimming as much from the mixture of perfumes and hairspray filling his little room as it is from the mortal realm wine Asmo managed to get his hands on for you. That's probably why you spaced out so much while curling your hair. It certainly wasn't anything else, you tell yourself, just the atmosphere and the excitement. You break out of it quickly, however, when you feel the hot bite of the curling wand's rod as it presses to your skin.
"EEP!" you yelp, quickly tossing the scalding offender onto the vanity in Asmo's room. You pull your hair back and see the small red mark just below your jaw.
"Oh dear, we can't have that!" Asmo sings, lightly caressing the burn to make sure it's not too serious. It isn't, nothing a little salve and concealer won't fix, both of which Asmo has in abundance. A few more swigs of Cabernet, a kiss "to make it all better" from the Avatar of Lust, and it's all but forgotten.
The club is a blast, and you manage to drown out your worries for a few hours as you dance with abandon. You manage to bribe a bartender to give you a bit of tequila from his stock, dance on stage with Asmo, and even sneak off to a dark corner with the succubus you had been doing body shots with for a few minutes of much-needed distraction while Asmo gets refills on your drinks. The whole night is exactly what you've been needing to bring your spirits up after a long, exhausting couple of weeks back in the House of Lamentation.
When you finally stumble home, it's well past 3:00am, and as much as Asmodeus seems to be up for more fun, you're ready to collapse. Your stilettos get discarded unceremoniously by the front door to the House of Lamentation, your jacket disappearing somewhere between the entryway and your own bedroom. You barely manage to wipe off what's left of your make-up and wiggle out of the slinky red dress your partner in crime picked out for you before crashing on the bed, content to sleep in until lunch if possible.
You finally roll out of bed shortly before noon. You toss your mess of hair up into a top knot and throw on a tank top and some comfy sweats before downing a bottle of water and some aspirin and shuffling your way down to the dining room. Last night was definitely worth this morning's hangover, you just pray to any god that may be listening that the brothers manage to keep the volume to a dull roar while you nurse your coffee and bagel in silence.
Of course, there's no deity in heaven or hell that'll grant that particular request.
It doesn't take long for the conversation to make its way to your night out, but you don't really perk up until the words "succubus" and "body shots" filter into your addled brain from across the table.
"Isn't that right, MC?" Asmo says with a sly wink.
You're not entirely sure of what was just said, but the deep red blush on Mammon's face, the way Belphie's jaw looks like it's about to dislocate from how far it's dropped, and Satan's very dignified spit take say more than enough.
"Oh," you start, trying to piece the conversation together from the snippets you did catch, blushing lightly, "yeah, it was a fun night."
"I really wish you had gotten her number," Asmo says, pouting as always, "we could have had even more fun together."
It takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to choke on your coffee at the squeak that comes out of Levi's mouth. The chatter starts up again in earnest, probably probing for more details that you really have no interest in sharing, but you barely register what's being said once you feel a pair of eyes set directly on you from the head of the table.
You let your gaze slide over to Lucifer from the corner of your eyes, hoping it's not obvious where your attention has been drawn. He's openly staring at you, his eyes locked onto a spot just below your jaw. You fight the urge to reach your hand up to feel what he's looking at, certain that you hadn't let your very brief paramour get too aggressive. It was only a couple of minutes of admittedly intense making out, but it was over before anything more could begin.
That's when you remember the curling iron, and your lips twist into a ruthless smirk.
By now, the burn must look absolutely scandalous to the untrained eye, even without the sprinkling of details from your evening encouraging the idea. It's clear that Lucifer's mind went exactly where you thought it had when he clears his throat lightly and shifts in his seat. You turn to look at him openly at this and see that the usually steely expression on the eldest brother has been replaced by a crinkled brow and a faint pink flush from the tips of his ears to the collar of his black button-down. His eyes dart away almost instantly when you turn, shooting to his D.D.D. in what you assume is meant to be a casual gesture of nonchalance.
Is the Avatar of Pride... jealous?
You shake your head a bit in an attempt to clear the thought. Of course he's not. Not after all these months. To say that he was dancing around the subject of your one-night fling would suggest that he even acknowledged that the fling happened to begin with, and nothing about his actions to this point have even hinted at that acknowledgment. There must be something else annoying him. It's probably Mammon. That's an explanation that actually makes sense.
But now the crinkle in his brow has deepened into a scowl, and the grip on the D.D.D. looks like it could crush the thing if it tightens any further. Under his customary black leather gloves, you're certain that his knuckles are bone white from the effort. Every other breath comes out in a huff, and you think even his coffee cup is trembling slightly as it rises to his lips. You even catch him as he darts another look directly to you, lingering on the mark on your neck, before huffing again and going back to his phone.
Well. That's more than enough of that.
"Asmo," you say, polishing off your own coffee and rising from your seat, "do you mind if I swing by your room and grab my stuff?"
"Of course, darling!" he says, taking a dainty bite of the puff pastry he's been trying not to devour too quickly. "You left so quickly last night, I almost thought you'd forgotten!"
You hear the D.D.D. slam back onto the table across the room. Every eye in the room snaps to the poor, innocent phone's abuser, his face caught somewhere between a grimace and a smirk.
In the moment between heartbeats, something inside of you snaps.
"You know I can never stay away from you for too long, handsome," you respond to Asmo with a wink and a smile that is probably turning downright cruel at this point. He just giggles and waves as you sweep out of the dining room without another look back to the head of the table.
It's not until you're safely back in your own room that you let the anger out, nearly screaming as the door slams behind you. The bag of cosmetics you retrieved from Asmo's room tinkles dangerously as it's discarded on your desk a bit more forcefully than intended. Your desk chair gets tossed over with a sweep of your arm, thankfully the only piece of furniture standing between you and the bed. You plop onto your plush mattress and hurl a pillow across the room before pressing your face into the bedding to let out another frustrated howl.
Because really, how fucking dare he?
Sure he's a demon, and sure he's world-renown for his pride, but what gives him the right to be jealous of you after ignoring you for months? He knew you wanted him, he even taunted you with it before practically fireman-carrying you to his bed that night. He knew what he was doing when he made the pact, even got off on making you tell him you were his over and over while he used each and every method he could imagine to make you fall apart beneath him. And he absolutely knew that, for you, it was more than just sex. The things he whispered to you as you finally drifted to sleep in his arms made you think that maybe, just maybe, the feelings weren't entirely one-sided.
You spent months in the human realm disabusing yourself of that hope. Sure you wanted to make excuses for him at first. He's very busy, he has so many responsibilities, communication between realms isn't always the easiest, blah blah blah. But then you heard from his brothers almost every day, one way or another. Not one of them made it seem like it was a burden to get in touch with you. In fact, it seemed more like they were being intentionally limited in the amount they were allowed to "bother" you. As if you would ever be bothered by a single one of them, even if they were only calling to say hello or to tell you about their day. It was a comfort, especially while you readjusted to being surrounded by humans again, a feat you found significantly more difficult than you thought you ever would.
The one demon you wanted to hear from more than any of them though, the one who made your knees weak and your mouth dry, who could create a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach with nothing more than a smile, remained silent. But, eventually, the pain faded. Slowly, with every day away, the cracks in your heart put themselves back together, and you were fine, really, completely fine without him. You could move on because if he didn't want you, you weren't going to waste your time hoping and dreaming that he'd change his mind. Better to just get over it and keep going. You spent one night together, and that was all it would ever be.
And you were fine.
When you ended up in the Devildom for a second time, you tried not to let the hope back in. But seeing him again, especially without time to prepare yourself, brought it all back. Of course it did, how could it not?
So when he continued to be distant, you weren't surprised. But that doesn't mean it didn't feel like a slap in the face.
He had every opportunity to say something. He could have pulled you aside and you could have talked it out, even if it was just to say that that was it, nothing more was going to happen, he didn't see you that way, let's be friends. But a day turned into a week, one week into two, and now you've been back for almost a month with nothing but cordial smiles and professional curiosity. So you went out and had some fun for once, and now, what, he's jealous? He's angry that you didn't spend months and months waiting for him to get his act together? Did he expect you to just 'be his' indefinitely without any hint that he even wanted you? You knew he was a sadist, but he didn't have to be so cruel.
But then, why does he get to be the only one who's cruel?
There's no law that states that Lucifer, The Avatar of Pride, First Born of the Seven Rulers of Hell, gets to have a monopoly on sadism. No, if he's going to dish it out, he had better know how to take it. And you are going to serve it to him on a big steaming hot platter.
The pieces of a plan start falling into place faster than you can even keep up with them. You may be a human, but there's nothing stopping you from bringing one of the most powerful demons in all the realms to his knees. If a tiny mark on your neck and the hint of a forbidden tryst with a faceless demon in a club is enough to get him to nearly smash his D.D.D., then maybe there's enough lingering possessiveness for you to exploit for your own amusement. It won't be easy, of course. And truly, you're not even entirely certain that he'll care either way. But the thought that maybe, just maybe, you could put him through a little hell of his own?
Now that's just too delicious a temptation to pass up.
You're going to need some help though. Facilitators for the evil plan, if you will. This could get complicated, and you don't want to risk performing for no audience, after all.
Luckily, you know exactly who it is you need to call in a time like this.