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i.
The first time he’s ordered around, he’s conflicted, to say the least, because he kneels down to no one, Lucifer not included.
“Wh-What’s goin’ on?! I-I can’t move...!”
The humiliation that washes over him is different than the type he feels when he’s being told off by Lucifer, or when the brothers are forced to listen to him cry about getting scammed. His body feels heavy, a sinking feeling hitting hard in both his stomach and his feet.
His eyes dart to the human, who stares blankly at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Damn them, to think that he’d allow a lowly mortal to toy with him however they like. If not for the recovery of his beloved Goldie (the dependable love of his life; the only one yet to hurt him), he wouldn’t ever make a pact with a human in a million— no, a bazillion years! With a scowl, he mutters their name quietly, an upgrade from the nickname of “human” as per their request, but doesn’t cease his barking. They had the gall to tell him what to do. Once a free spirit, and always one he will be. After a few thousand years, his brothers no longer bat an eye at his impulsive spending habits, nor his gambling highs and nights of partying.
(As well as the desperate times where he’d bite his lips to prevent himself from crying, staring up at the ones who’d refuse to spare him any sympathy, because he was their incompetent, embarrassing, good for nothing brother.
Well, he had gotten used to that)
“Now you listen to me! You may control my body, but not my mind! I’m my own boss, and I always will be! Don’t you ever forget that!”
His voice booms in the spacious stairwell, unwavering and dominant, yet the human simply stands there. They’re unfazed, that brave one. For a mere human, they should respect him more! He could attack them at any time, dig his nails into their skin and just like how he noted before, eat them without hesitation.
A sharp look is shot his way. He shrinks back and quietly whimpers their name, adding the high title of “your majesty”. The human sets him free and he trails after them quietly with his tail between his legs, disgusted at his own mutt-like behaviour.
ii.
It’s so utterly agonizing, being forced to listen to an hour-long presentation about the history of the Devildom, and if not for Lucifer staring into the back of his head (while still jotting down notes, of course), he would’ve dipped long ago.
But of course, the eldest brother strongly insisted that he attends class to keep an eye on the human. Said student sits beside him, eyes darting between their notebook and the professor while they scribble long sentences with their pencil. Their hand freezes occasionally, a quiet huff escaping their lips soon after, in which Mammon eventually figures out that it‘s because 1) they’ve bumped into some unknown vocabulary, 2) they’ve spent too much time copying down useless things and now they’re behind, or 3) they don’t understand a damn thing.
“Mammon.”
Their voice is hushed, trying to reach him without alerting the professor. Turning around, he’s met with a confused look.
“Can I borrow your eraser?”
“No.”
He crosses his arms with a proud harrumph and looks back to the front of the class. So maybe he’s a bit petty, still not over the scene he caused at the staircase. With the loss of what little dignity he has left, he keeps a mental note to hold a grudge towards them until.... until forever! That’s right!
Yet when his gaze returns to them out of curiosity, they’re still staring at him with the same lost expression.
“Please.”
Something compels him to give in; that damn pact. He’s supposed to be angry at them, after all. Grumbling, his hands move on their own, digging into his pocket and handing them the eraser. He tries to ignore the way their face lights up and how their hands brush during the transaction. Geez, for them to be so easily pleased by the tiniest things. They really are just a lowly human.
“Thank you,” they whisper, smiling. It’s an expression they haven’t worn since the beginning of class, and maybe it’s dangerous because it seems to make Mammon feel queasy. Something like that.
“Keep it if it makes you that happy. Heh, what a kind person I am.” He speaks as if he wasn’t forced to do it. “You should be grateful — oi, what's with that expression.”
Their face shows disgust now, staring down at their paper as their hand stops halfway through erasing. Mammon has to sit up to see what’s making them cringe.
There’s a smear of ugly brown-yellow across their page now, the same colour as the stains on the eraser, which is no bigger than the size of a thumb. Perhaps in both worry and desperation, they had gone straight to using it without looking at it first, and now their face is plastered with noticeable regret.
“Uh.” He didn’t mean for that to sound so stupid. The human sighs before handing the eraser back.
“Keep it.”
Mammon doesn’t think that they’ll ask to borrow an eraser again anytime sooner. He scratches the back of his neck as he racks his brain for an excuse.
“Well, maybe if you brought your own eraser, you wouldn’t be all—!”
“Mammon.” Two voices ring out at once, and he (unfortunately) recognizes both of them. The professor stares at him, unamused, while he feels a familiar grip on his shoulders.
(Y/N) watches in wonder as he is forcibly escorted out by Lucifer.
iii.
“Seriously, could you be any more of a klutz?”
Mammon frowns as the gauze gets tangled within his fingers again, repositioning it against (Y/N)’s skin over and over again until he’s satisfied with it. He makes sure to be gentle, as today was just another reminder of how frail humans are. They’re much weaker, susceptible to both injury and death. Their blood spills easily to mundane tasks if they’re not too careful. It’s worrisome, not that he’d ever admit it. If the human dies, Lucifer will surely punish him for it, and Diavolo will surely stand there menacingly behind him, and his other brothers will surely look down on him. He couldn’t care less about their wellbeing, because he’s always been the avatar of greed, inconsiderate and dirty, right?
“You humans are way less physically capable than us demons. That’s because they don’t eat enough. And unlike us, they don’t eat the right things.”
Beelzebub speaks between bites of his pizza, words muffled by his attempts to chew and talk at the same time.
“Stop tying everything back to food, Beel! Actually, why’re you even here anyway? Seems to me that you’ve been spendin’ an awful lot of time here ever since the night of the DVD marathon!”
He glares at his brother accusingly, and (Y/N) takes it as a sign to place their hand on his arm in an attempt to keep him grounded.
“Well, so have you,” Beelzebub casually states, blinking down at both of them from a corner of the room. “I mean, you’ve even left a cell phone charger here. And a toothbrush, too. That’s how much you’re over here.”
Mammon flushes at his statement, unable to outright deny anything that he said. The next best thing is an excuse. “W-Well, that’s because, uh...you know...I’ve gotta look after this human, don’t I? It’s my job...” He pretends to focus his attention back on bandaging them, fingers fumbling with the gauze as he catches their soft grin.
“Mammon, you’re doing a terrible job with those bandages.”
“Hey, shut up! I’ve never had to wrap someone’s wrist before, okay? I don’t know how it works! If you think I’m doin’ such a bad job, then why don’t YOU do it, Beel!”
He wants to take it back, because the thought of his brother tending to *his* human makes him nervous. Luckily, the ginger doesn’t seem to hear, or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe it was a mix of both, but Mammon doesn’t have time to question it before Beelzebub slips out of the room, with his pizza, nonetheless.
“Seriously, does that guy ever stop eatin’?! You’d better keep a close eye on your pizza, or he’ll steal yours away next.”
(Y/N) only giggles in response and his chest starts to tighten again. Deciding that whatever progress he made was good enough, he finishes his work with the gauze and sets it aside. He peeks at them from the corner of his eye — despite the lackluster result, they’re smiling fondly at their wrist. Humans sure are weird.
“...Ah... um, by the way...there’s somethin’ I want you to know.”
He shuffles back over to them, legs crossed as he settles down. There might not be another time where he could say this without it being awkward, and he was a man of snatching opportunities, after all. The human stares at him with a serious expression, tilting their head in curiosity as they wait for him to speak up.
His throat feels dry. This is the worst.
“Listen. The next time your life’s in danger, I’m gonna be the one to save you, all right? Don’t you forget that...and if I can’t manage to save ya, then make sure you die, got it?! I don’t want no one else steppin’ in and saving you, all right?! It’s me or no one, understand?!”
By the end of his spiel, both his volume and pitch had doubled. He anxiously waits for them to respond — their face seems to morph into different expressions the longer he stares at them. He gulps.
“W-What? Say something, won’tcha—!”
He’s interrupted by the sound of giggling; their giggling, as they struggle to keep a straight face. Mammon panics, sputtering out noises but no coherent words. It’s not like he’s ever taken seriously by others, but it hurts coming from them. Can he really blame them, though, when he constantly overhears others telling them not to trust him? To be wary and smart?
“All right, got it.”
“.......Huh?”
“I said,” they start, leaning forwards with a toothy grin. His heart rate increases alarmingly again. “I said I got it. If Mammon isn’t there to save me, then I’ll simply drop dead.”
Struggling to maintain eye contact, he abruptly looks away.
“G-good... Jeez, you should always just agree with me like that.”
iv.
Mammon distinctively remembers their face as he roared at them once last time. Their eyes were full of genuine fear for once, fists clenched and mouth agape, and perhaps he fled not because of the circumstances, but because he couldn’t bear to look at their expression anymore
Without them by his side, the Devildom feels darker than it normally is. It’s cold and eerie and sends chills down his spine.
There isn’t a problem regarding finding a place to sleep for the night. He supposes that he could stay in a hotel for a bit. If worse comes to worst, it wouldn’t be the first time that he calls an alleyway his temporary home. He can throw away his pride and return home to beg tomorrow. He can apologize to (Y/N) for lashing out at them and hope that they’ll give him yet another chance. For now, he leans against the side of a closed store, watching as the occasional car drives by at such a dreadful hour.
He doesn’t know why he bothers to look for people passing by. Maybe a tiny part of himself wants to believe that the others would go out looking for him, but he knows that it won’t happen. It never happens whenever he announces that he’s leaving and never coming back, because they know that he’ll return the next day. They know that he’s weak like that, but he, himself, knows it more than anyone else.
It’s ass o'clock at night, and even if demons like him don’t need as much sleep to function, all the yelling from earlier had drained the energy from his body. He watches a figure run by, alone and anxious as they constantly peek behind themselves only to realize that it’s just their shadow following them. They pause every now and then, looking around as if they’re lost. Mammon can’t bear to watch this anymore. He pushes himself away from the wall and treads up to them.
“Hey, are you lost or something— huh?! (Y/N)?!”
He’s met with all-too-familiar eyes, and just the sight of them makes him want to cry. First comes shock, and then relief, but then the feeling of anger dominates the rest
“Mammon.”
“W-Why are you alone at night?! You could’ve gotten attacked by somethin’! You remember that there are other demons in the Devildom, right?!”
“Mammon,” they repeat, and he doesn’t realize that they’re crying until he hears their voice wavering.
“...Sorry.” He finally mumbles. Their pitiful expression hurts him more than anything, the right side of their face illuminated by the faint glow of a streetlight while the left hides in the shadows. For them to run out into the dark by themselves, vulnerable and lost, just to look for him... He feels a pang of guilt hit him. They were worried about him, weren’t they?
“A-Ah, hey now. Don’t cry.” He extends an arm out, resting his palm against their cheek and using his thumb to gingerly wipe away their tears. They’re warm, and they seem to seek comfort in him too, because they only further nuzzle their face into his hand. “You found me, right? And you’re safe now that I’m here with ya! So there’s no need to be worried—“
“— Worried! You really are a Stupidmammon! I was so worried about you!”
Another period of uncomfortable silence, save for the sound of sniffling.
(It’s not like he’s ever been in a situation like this before. He knows to apologize and beg — not to respond to concern)
Mammon’s at a loss for words, so he speaks with his actions. His other hand mirrors the first, both now pressed against (Y/N)’s face and actively drying any tears that dare to fall. He feels pressure against his waist; two arms wrapped around him and pulling him closer. His face is overheating, but for once, he doesn’t look away.
“I thought you’d never come back,” they finally admit. “Satan said you would, b-but I got scared, so...”
“As if I’d ever leave for good, especially... uh... especially when you’re there, so...”
When the crying stops, he carefully retracts his hands only for (Y/N) to lace theirs with his. He gives them a tight squeeze back, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to let go even if he wanted to.
“You’re still stupid for doing this just ‘cause Lucifer wouldn’t let you keep the dog.”
They’re both at their most vulnerable point, finding solace in each other and no one else.
Mammon never realized how much he needed this.
v.
Insomnia curses not just one of them, because both of them manage to bump into each other at the dead of night despite their strict curfews imposed by you-know-who. (Y/N) wears a neat set of pyjamas, which makes Mammon feel a bit stupid with his shorts and inside-out T-shirt, panda plushie tucked safely under his armpit.
“Something keeping you up?” they ask, voice languid. His heart leaps in his chest — they’re cute, too cute, and he secretly wishes that no one else ever finds them in this state.
“I was thinking,” he answer, in which they arch an eyebrow.
“You don’t do that often.”
He opens his mouth and then closes it, opting to check the fridge for any leftovers. As expected, it was raided by Beelzebub prior to bedtime, with only a sad onion left.
“So, why’re you up? Were you too busy thinking about the great Mammon that you couldn’t sleep, hmm?” He hums, reaching for the fridge handle.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said no.”
He slams the fridge door shut.
“O-O-Of course you were! ‘Cause who wouldn’t be?! After all, this rockin’ bod would keep anyone awake, right?!”
“You’ll keep Lucifer awake if you keep yelling,” they point out, and he shuts up immediately, taking a seat with them on one of the kitchen counters. “Anyways, I was thinking about how we never got to dance.”
“At Diavolo’s place?”
“Yeah,” they muse, resting their head in Mammon’s shoulder. It’s casual, but still enough for him to tense up at first. “Lucifer called for me, so I ended up sharing my first dance with him.”
“That was months ago,” he recalls, sleepily snaking his arm around their shoulders. They don’t seem to react. “Why’re you thinkin’ about that all of a sudden?”
“It‘s a shame that I wasn’t able to dance with you.”
“I-I said that I was only gonna do it ‘cause no one else was asking you.”
Mammon looks away. (Y/N) laughs.
“Then, if the Mammon of the past didn’t want to dance... would the Mammon here want to?”
They remove their head from his shoulder, sitting upright with the intention of looking at him face-to-face. It never happens.
“...Maybe.”
“In that case,” they effortlessly slide off the counter, slippers lightly slapping against the floor as they hand. The demon stares at them, tilting his head in confusion.
“Let’s do it now.”
“You... want to dance in the kitchen? In the dark? With no music?”
“Why not?” They tug at his arm, prompting him to get off and proving that they weren’t joking. “Please, Mammon.”
“Gh... fine... if it makes you happy.”
Taking their hand, he’s lead to an empty space between the counters. He’s a bit at a loss, and maybe it‘s just that obvious even in the dark, because (Y/N) makes the first move by placing their arms around his shoulders. His hands awkwardly find their way to their waist, and they stay there awkwardly for a moment.
“We can’t dance without music.” He states the obvious. His partner laughs in response.
“We don’t need music. I’ll lead.”
They take the first step forward, and he takes the first one back. For the past few months, he had followed them regardless of the situation. It was obligatory at first, sticking around them purely because it was his duty. He would’ve gladly left them alone.
The second phase was fueled by curiosity— he didn’t understand how a mere human could captivate his attention like that. He learned that they were much braver than he had originally thought, daring to challenge even Lucifer. At other times, they were sensitive, gripping onto Manmon’s shirt whenever they felt scared. After that was when he followed them around like a puppy, barking at anyone who dared to steal their attention away. At the end of the day, though, they’d always remind him of how he’s their “first man”.
The last phase... well, it felt less like following at this point. They‘re equals, partners in crime even. The stuffy boundaries of their pact were long forgotten along with layers of miscommunication and awkwardness.
They finally break the silence. “Dancing with you... feels different than how it did with Lucifer.”
“How?” He says it too quickly without thinking. (Y/N) blinks at his quick response, but smiles regardless.
“Because this time, it’s with someone I love.”
His breath involuntarily hitches. (Y/N) takes this as a chance to dip him. The moonlight slipping through the windows illuminates his face, nervous and glowing red. He gulps when their noses brush, both pairs of half-lidded eyes staring each other down. Mammon uses his free hand to cup their face.
“(Y/N)... can I...”
“Mammon,” they breathe, and he feels the world spinning at the sound of his name. “Kiss me.”
So he does, without hesitation, and not because of the pact.