Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I hate and I love. Why I do this, perhaps you ask.

I know not, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.”

• Catullus 85

The emotion Belphegor felt most after he fell was hatred. 

Fear and despair were close seconds. But coloring them both was hatred. 

Hatred for humans. For the angels. For Father. For every domino that fell leading to Lilith’s death. He even felt hatred for his brothers, all except his twin, for forgetting about her.

He hated you.

But most of all, he hated himself. 

He hated the way he loved. The way he loved humans, the way he had to share his love of humans with every angel in the Celestial Realm, hated the way that his love led to Lilith’s death–the death of someone he loved. He hated himself for his weakness and naivete, for not doing anything to stop Lilith the moment she told him she was in love with a human. 

It could be said that Belphegor hated love. 

Sloth was the sin of apathy, an antithesis of sorts to love–and maybe even hate. But, as many human scholars (how silly they were, he thought, trying to make sense of demons) believed, misanthropy slotted itself directly under the wing of Sloth. 

As the Avatar of Sloth, he accepted that. Humanity had been ruined for him, so he spent his days manipulating humans from afar, pulling them into the throes of misanthropy and scorn for all life and ruining humanity for them. Doing so was always incredibly easy, so weak-willed the humans were, and he was no otaku nor was he an avid Internet user but he had it to thank for making his job that much more easier. The irony of the human world becoming more connected than ever before only leading to despair and hatred for life was not lost on him, in fact, it was nothing short of delicious. 

So, when he heard that Diavolo was planning an exchange with humans, his first reaction was to act out on his hatred.

(Truthfully, as he would realize later, what he felt was fear.)

He fought. He fought hard for his voice to be heard. He just couldn’t allow this.

But Lucifer wouldn’t listen.

He hated Lucifer, Belphegor decided. 

Lucifer, whom he once loved with all his heart. His idol, his shining star, his dependable older brother who was not only loved by his family but all of the Celestial Realm. 

It stung. It hurt. But it would only fuel the fire beginning to burn inside Belphegor.

So, even as being locked away reopened centuries-old wounds, he knew that, in spite of his sin, he couldn’t sit around and do nothing about it. 

For the first time since he became a demon, the Avatar of Sloth was going to take action. 

Lucifer had, perhaps stupidly, told him about the exchange students who had been chosen, maybe because he thought that Belphegor should at least be kept in the loop. Simeon, he knew him and cringed at the thought of seeing an angel for the first time in thousands of years, Luke, another angel who had been born after the war (and therefore didn’t know him), Solomon, the (in)famous human sorcerer who also made Belphegor cringe (he still couldn’t quite believe that Solomon had managed to ensnare his haughty brother into a pact).

And then, you. 

Just an ordinary human.

Maybe this, when he heard your name for the first time, was when his obsession began. 

Just an ordinary human. He had to stifle back a laugh. Bringing a human with no magic into the Devildom? Really? It was like the punchline to a mean-spirited joke.

The three other names faded into the background as he turned over your name in his head over and over again. The rest of them didn’t matter. Belphegor already had his sights set on you.

He began to formulate a plan. 

The only issue was getting you up the stairs without any of his brothers–especially Lucifer–noticing. Though, it was quite simple. His dream manipulation powers would be subdued due to the nature of the spell cast on the attic, but he could still manage. Just some well-timed words is all he needed. 

The nature of his powers only allowed him to manipulate the dreams of low-level demons and humans, being the weakest of his brothers he couldn’t see into or manipulate any of their dreams so he still couldn’t get any of them to help him, not even Beel. He knew that because of the spell on the attic, he wouldn’t be able to visit your dreams and tell you outright to come up the stairs. But he could still tell when you were awake, when you were asleep, and when you were about to fall asleep. 

So, as you drifted off, he struck. 

Help.

Please, help me. 

And it worked. 

But only for a short while, because then someone, probably Lucifer he speculated, had caught you. 

It made him grit his teeth in anger. But his tactics were always, without fail, irresistible to humans. Sloth demons stick themselves in the minds of unassuming humans, and obviously as the Avatar, no other was greater at that than Belphegor. 

Now that he had planted the seed, all he had to do was wait. 

The wait, however, was by no means easy. 

Ironically, though he lorded over nightmares, he was subject to them himself. It was true that every member of his family was prone to nightmares, and even if he couldn’t see his brother’s dreams for himself, he still knew. 

A mess of blood, stained feathers, and viscera. Violence that was said that only demons were capable of. Broken halos that were lodged into his and his brother’s heads, not quite having finished the bloody process of becoming horns. Screams of anger and despair. 

Father’s unfaltering, emotionless gaze. 

Bloodthirsty angels he once considered brethren shooting at and stabbing him and his family. 

Being with Beel and Lilith, realizing an arrow had been shot at him, Beel quickly, frantically pulling him out of the way for it to strike Lilith perfectly, cleanly through the heart. (he wonders who it was that shot that arrow, from time to time)

Lilith sputtering, the horrific sound of blood gurgling in her throat. His heart leaping in his chest, trying to get as close to her as possible not caring that it would put him in the line of fire, but being stopped by Beelzebub. 

The dawning realization that someone he had loved was reduced to a bloodied, battered corpse. 

The scream that came from Belphegor was involuntary. It rang throughout every one of his nightmares. He didn’t think it was even possible for such a noise to come from him. 

Passing out in his twin’s arms. Then the falling, falling from the sky. The excruciating pain of not only changing on the outside but on the inside, knowing you have been stripped of all that is holy. 

The memories of the fall permeated every single aspect of his nightmares. Forget dreams. He didn’t have those anymore. 

He would always wake up shivering from his nightmares, tears streaking down his face before he even woke up. 

To calm himself down, he reminded himself of his goal. His goal that he couldn’t give up no matter what.

He fantasized about the things he was going to do to you once he got out. He debated which method of killing you would cause you the most suffering. He relished in the betrayal that you would feel. The reactions of his brothers– Lucifer –the looks on their faces. It didn’t matter if they hated him momentarily. They would be thanking him soon enough. 

It was funny. He couldn’t wait to see you. 

When he heard the distinct sounds of human footsteps coming up the stairs, he felt excitement for the first time in thousands of years. Of course, he would have to keep it under wraps, which would be easy for him. 

You inspired all sorts of emotions in him. Contempt, hate, spite. 

It gave him a rush. He hadn’t had any strong emotions in such a long time. 

Then those feelings began to evolve into something else. 

Confusion.

Confusion at why you were now appearing in his dreams, yes, dreams, not nightmares. Confusion at the fact that you knew he lied to you but you kept your promise of freeing him. At the way he looked forward to your visits, not out of a mean-spirited sense of schadenfreude, but because he actually wanted to talk to you. 

He denied it at first. That he was warming up to a human. 

He began to entertain thoughts of what he would do with you if he weren’t locked up. Going shopping, watching movies, playing games–it didn’t seem so unpleasant. You weren’t that unpleasant. In spite of this, he dismissed it as just that–mere fantasies. They wouldn’t distract him from his goal. It was a shame that you had to die, but that was just how it had to be, and besides, you were a human. It wasn’t unlike having to put a beloved pet down. Sad, but ultimately necessary, and he would get over it. 

Right?

Soon you started visiting him not to report on your progress, but just to talk. Belphegor didn’t know what to think of it. Was it because you were stupid? Why would you want to talk to him? It didn’t make much sense to him. 

(He appreciated it.)

You would tell him random things, and there wasn’t much else to do but listen. He first thought it might be fun to laugh about to himself later, at the silly things that humans concerned themselves with, and he did at first, but…

In the initial days, you talked of how his brothers were “so mean” to you, which earned a chuckle from him, but you also talked of how incredibly lonely and out of place you felt, that you didn’t even want to be here and had no idea how or why you were chosen, that you missed your friends and family and all the familiar things about the human world.

He didn’t care, at first, but your feeling of being out of place and lonely stuck in his mind. 

Belphegor was something of a black sheep in his family, ever since the fall. He felt misunderstood by those around him. Beelzebub, who understood him the most and was really the only one who tried including him, still fell short of that understanding in many aspects. 

He couldn’t help but empathize with your feelings of otherness and loneliness. But he buried those feelings. It was silly, it was the pity one would feel watching a bird eat a worm. 

So he kept burying his feelings, until he had an entire graveyard. Unlike corpses, feelings are very much alive and constantly clawed their way to the surface, only to be beaten down back into their graves. It was a constant fight. Who knew that sticking to a goal was so hard? It wasn’t something Belphegor was used to, this much effort. But he pressed on. 

Until that day.

The door swung open. 

You stood there, abject bewilderment coloring your features. 

“Did you do that? Did you open it?”

“I…I don’t know…”

It didn’t matter, Belphegor decided, who opened the door. 

All that mattered was that he had been set free, and now his goal was in reach.

It was standing there right in front of him. 

You.

With every ounce of energy and willpower in his body, he brought forth millenia of anger, trauma, hatred to pour down onto you until there was absolutely nothing left of it. 

…

He had known that killing a human would be easy, especially for a demon of his caliber. But he still didn’t expect so much resistance. 

You kept fighting, clawing at his back, even managing to break skin and draw blood. He didn’t know what was sillier: you fighting back so hard against a demon, or if you didn’t fight back at all. Once you seemed to realize that scratching at his back was useless, you tried to pry his fingers off your throat. 

To no avail. 

It was all over when a claw pierced your jugular, the force of him pushing his fingers into your throat was so hard it also snapped your neck. Belphegor didn’t typically use his claws, but he deemed it necessary this time. Blood spurted from the wound in your neck, the sounds of you sputtering, coughing, gurgling blood as it filled your throat and poured from your lips, gasping for breath. 

…

It was just like how Lilith died.

He remembered now–how could he forget?--the blood, the sound of her trying to breathe only to spit up and vomit blood. 

He dropped your corpse to the attic floor. His hands shook violently as he looked at the blood– your blood. Your neck was twisted at a weird angle, a wide, open gash still spurting blood. He was sure if he reached in it wouldn’t take him long to feel bone. 

He felt thrilled. He felt disgusted. He felt terrified. He felt hatred. He felt sick to his stomach. Without even realizing it, tears streamed down his face. 

Belphegor kicked your corpse down the stairs for his brothers to deal with. He couldn’t stand looking at you anymore. 

You had served your purpose. 

And you had served it well. 

…

When everything was all said and done, when it was revealed that you were a distant relative of the human Lilith, when Belphegor had his breakdown in front of everyone as the last vestiges of pain and trauma came bubbling forth to exact its revenge on him for burying it so deep, he fell into one of the deepest sleeps of his entire life. 

And he dreamed. 

It was in this dream he realized,

this entire time, 

he loved you. 

Maybe even ‘love’ didn’t cover it. It was much more than that–he had to be with you no matter what. Hate and love, he came to realize, weren’t opposites. Hate could so easily evolve into something else. 

The barrage of emotions had, at first, confused him. Back in the attic, he had no idea how to parse them. Everything was just confusing, because he hadn’t felt anything in so long, especially since he had come to hate the way he loved things, the way his love had led to destruction of someone else he loved. 

Maybe it didn’t have to be like that anymore. 

Belphegor didn’t expect you to forgive him. Not initially, at least. You rejected him at every turn, every instance of him finding a way for you to be alone together never ended well for him, especially since his brothers were on high alert. The injury he had inflicted upon you had settled into a particularly nasty bruise, a menagerie of gross, muddy colors that didn’t suit you at all. Asmo seemed to agree, because he had gotten Diavolo to agree to him redesigning your uniform so that the collar was high enough to hide your bruises. 

Belphegor thought that your skin was beautiful. It was a shame. 

If you would let him, he could have found a spell to heal the bruise. He didn’t know why any of his brothers hadn’t tried that yet. 

(It’s because you didn’t want anyone near your neck, but Belphegor pushed that thought aside for an explanation more favorable to him.)

He figured that it was because he was the only one who loved you enough to consider finding a way to heal you. It was likely that he had even loved you longer than any of his brothers did, even if it took him longer than them to realize it. He knew what they were like. Most of them had too many hang ups to ever admit to loving you. 

It was a shame that you couldn’t see that he really and truly loved you.

You called it an “obsession”, one that he needed to get over expeditiously. 

The constant barrage of rejection from you didn’t faze Belphegor, however. It was only natural that you should feel this way. If hating him helped you get over your fear, then so be it. He could wait. 

You had a special connection. It was just taking a little while for you to realize that. 

And he wouldn’t let anyone get in the way of that. 

Not even–no, especially –his brothers. 

When you elected to spend time with them, go on dates and whatever, something inside Belphegor ate at him. He knew he had to be patient, that nothing could come in the way of your special connection , you would come to realize that in a matter of time, but it was still, so, so, infuriating. Envy was not Belphegor’s domain, but it was an emotion that he was familiar with nonetheless. 

He had to have you. No matter what. 

So he entered your dreams. He tried to recreate something that would comfort you, but it wasn’t like he could see into your memories, so he settled for something more generic: a sprawling green field lit by a bright, warm sun. It seemed to work at first, you basked in the sunlight. 

Until you realized he was there. 

You froze, your head turning when he commanded your attention. He nudged you down on your back, laying in the grass. He laid over you, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The last time he laid over you, he…

You squirmed. You kept squirming, resisting his touch even though he wasn’t doing anything to you, and he wouldn’t do anything to you. Belphegor frowned, but realizing this might scare you, formed a soft smile on his face in a feeble attempt to soothe your fears. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

You stopped moving, but was still clearly on edge. 

“Listen…I love you.”

You resumed your fighting, now trying desperately to do all you can to get away from Belphegor. This was his domain, however, and he wasn’t going to let you go unless he decided to.

Which, he did. 

You broke away from him and tried your best to get far, far away. He decided to let you run. You would soon realize that there was nowhere to go. 

Belphegor’s tail swished behind him. 

“There’s nowhere for you to go here, and there’s no one who can come between us either.”

His voice echoed. 

“It’s only you and me here.”

Panic morphed your features.

“What are you–”

“I’m not going to do anything to you. I need you to know I love you.”

“Wh…”

Panic was replaced with shock, with a hint of anger. 

“You don’t l… love me.” 

You forced the words out of your mouth.

“You have an obsession.”

“Obsession or not, it doesn’t change the way I feel toward you.”

“You’re insane. This is insane–!”

He ignored your comment. 

“You haven’t realized it yet, but you will. We have a special connection. My brothers could never love you the way I do, and neither can anyone else, especially not some pathetic human. I need you. And you need me.”

Any response you could have had to that was cut short by Belphegor ending the dream. 

The following morning, you seemed downtrodden. You barely ate any of your breakfast, and you didn’t talk much. When you were asked what was wrong, you said you had a nightmare.

A nightmare, huh?

So that’s what you thought. You didn’t seem to realize that the dream was his, not yours. 

Belphegor neglected to comment on your ‘nightmare’ in front of everybody else, and resumed eating. 

(A twinge of guilt makes itself known inside him.

Deep down he wonders if he really should have told you he loved you.)

He observed you throughout the day. You seemed unable to focus, making careless mistakes at school,not realizing when you had been called on, bumping into chagrined students and muttering apologies under your breath, overall very disoriented. He kept his distance, of course. He didn’t want his brothers to suspect anything, with them being so wary when it came to you and him. 

Back at the House, he found you trying to read in the surprisingly Satan-less library. 

“You seem like you’ve been having a hard time.”

“...what do you want?”

Of course I’ve been having a hard time, ever since you killed me, you thought to yourself. 

He took a seat in the chair opposite of yours, crossing his legs. 

“I’m just here to check on you.”

“...”

“I heard about your nightmare.”

A beat of silence. 

“...It was you, wasn’t it? It was you in my dream.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Instead of getting angry, or storming out of the room, you buried your head in your knees.

“Belphie…please stop…”

“...”

“I’m so tired. All the time. I want to go home. I can’t fight you. No matter what, I can’t win.”

…

His heart dropped at your words.

“…I just can’t imagine living without you anymore. I can’t allow you to be with some stupid, pathetic human who could never understand or relate to you. You’ll never be able to relate to them either.”

“And you can? You’re incredibly selfish, you know.”

“Maybe I am. But I can promise you no one here or in any of the three worlds loves you the way I do. Not even my brothers. Especially not them.”

“You don’t even love me.”

“Then why is this the most feeling I’ve had about anyone or anything in millenia? No one else here has said they love you.” 

“...”

“No one here understands you the way I do.”

“...”

A sniffle, then a sob.

He crept over to you, making sure not to make any sudden movements, and kneeled down in front of you. He reached for your wrist and held it gently. You didn’t resist. 

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. I’ll always be here for you.”

You cried a little harder, sobs echoing down the hall, as your tormentor held you gently, gentler than anyone has ever held you before.