Work Text:
“Auva, would you help me out with some reshelving in my room? I’ll let you borrow any book that catches your interest if you do.” Satan asks, just a few days before Diavolo’s party. He has found himself frustrated, because try as he might he can’t come up with a gift idea for her that he’s satisfied with!
However, he HAS come up with a plan for gathering information.
“Sure!” Auva agrees, following Satan into his room. It’s messy as always, with overflowing shelves and haphazard stacks, books open on various stands and side tables.
“Make some space on that table, we’ll make a pile there” he directs her, pointing at a table strewn with loose blank parchments and one thick book. He has placed it there purposefully, so she would pick it up and activate the spell, which would pull an illusion of whatever it is that she wants most out of her mind, projecting it around them to show him. There’s no way he won’t find the best gift idea using this!
Auva gathers up the parchment, then picks up the book.
The room flashes. Disappears. Her mind goes blurry…
_________
Messy, fragmented thoughts, projected fuzzy and half-rendered from her mind swirl around them in a dreamlike haze. There’s no images at first, but vivid impressions—some imagined, some memories. Voices, scents, and touches that Auva and Satan both recognize, against the backdrop of feeling… secure. Safe, loved, understood. Things start to come into focus…
First, there’s Mammon.
Sweet, chaotic Mammon, who is much gentler and kinder than he’s given credit for. There’s a flash of her memory of him returning her hug that one time after returning home in the wake of Belphie’s jailbreak in the first timeline… then the imagined sensation of him squeezing her in tight, loving hugs. There’s the feeling of a kiss pressed to the top of her head. Mammon’s hand, ruffling her hair, squishing her cheeks, wrapping around her own smaller hand, wiping tears off her face. Warm, trusted hands that have never hurt her, and never will.
Then, flashing impressions of chasing each other around the house, sliding across hardwood floors in socks, pouncing on him—ineffectively of course, but him allowing it—catching her, crumbling dramatically to the floor, laughing as he announces that she got him, and he’s never been so defeated. Tussling playfully on the floor like kids, just gently enough not to hurt his human.
Being tucked under his arm, wrapped in his jacket, listening to him chatter happily about his day. Receiving frequent hugs from him, melting against his chest, trusting him to hold her. Trusting that he genuinely wants to keep her so close to him. Him humming to her, his voice resonating through his chest, vibrating against her ear as he rocks her, swaying side to side. Jumping into his arms and being caught. Him cuddling her to sleep, just because he felt like it.
There’s Auva crying in his arms like a little kid without a hint of shame, because he can be trusted. He’ll never judge her. There’s flashes of Mammon’s voice, fragments of sentences fading in and out of the illusion, sounding more tender and sincere than usual: “…take good care of ya…” “…MY human, I gotcha…” “…n’t be scared, I’m here…” “…aww, buddy…” “…breathe, you’re okay…” “…love you, dummy…” “..won’t let no one hurt my baby…”
Mammon, dropping the tsundere act. Being openly sweet. Leaning into his guardian demon role without pretending he doesn’t want to. Acting like the very good big brother that he is at heart.
Then it’s Levi.
Levi, linking his arm with Auva’s. Levi, grabbing her hand and leading her somewhere, excited and comfortable and trusting. There’s memories of him happily chattering away about his games, his anime, his aquarium. There’s the memory of the one and only hug he’s ever given her, after the conversation about their pact in wake of Belphie’s first jailbreak in the first timeline. There’s the imagined feeling of being hugged by him again. Then of being curled up at his side, watching shows together with his arm around her shoulders and absolutely no guilt or fear in her mind of making him uncomfortable by being too close—because he put her there. Hearing “normie” and “weirdo” and such in his voice, but a softer tone than usual, so it sounds like terms of endearment.
There’s flashes of swimming together—duelling with pool noodles—throwing pillows at each other—singing loudly to anime themes and idol group songs—playing video games from the Devildom AND the human world together—hiding in his room when the others are too overwhelming—hiding in his shoulder when everything is too bright and loud—hiding in a corner at parties together, less overwhelmed and uncomfortable because they’re hiding together.
Levi, listening with sparkling eyes as she infodumps about her old favourite stories and games from the human world. Levi, trusting her and being patient with her and understanding her, seeing their similarities. Telling her what’s hurting him. Listening when something’s hurting her. Levi, being comfortable enough with her to be a bit less self-conscious, and to confide in her when he does. His voice, declaring “I love my player two!” with confidence and resolve. Levi, trusting his best friend enough to let her have his affection without hesitation.
Then, it’s Beel.
Kind, gentle, comforting Beel. There’s memories of Beel sharing his food with her, holding her hand, confiding in her, taking her with him on his walks. His giant, warm hand rubbing her back. Him hugging her softly, one hand kneading at the muscles in her neck to relieve tension as he holds her.
Then, the imagined feeling of him scooping her into his lap and holding her during a movie night. His hand gently stroking her hair. Him carrying her on his shoulders, lifting her up for frequent, enthusiastic hugs, kissing her forehead, patiently walking her through exercise basics. Cuddling her for no reason except that he wanted to hold someone or she wanted to be held. His voice, reassuringly blunt and earnest as always, telling her that she’s loved. Letting her be as clingy with him as she wants.
Confiding in Beel, trusting him with everything that hurts her, and him reacting with all the love and comfort in the world. Beel trusting Auva too, and soaking in the comfort she offers. Understanding each other. Protecting each other. Regular instances of approaching each other out of nowhere and asking for a hug, and receiving it without hesitation or questions every time. Running into each other in the kitchen at midnight, cooking together instead of gathering snacks and leftovers, talking until they’re full of food AND friendship, neither of them feeling empty or lonely anymore.
Two very similar bleeding heart softies with the same tendency to feel empty inside realizing they match, adopting each other, and no longer being as sad anymore.
Then there’s Asmo.
They feel Asmo brushing and braiding her hair. His fingers massaging her scalp. His arms wrapping around her, squeezing gently. His hand holding hers. His lips, pressing kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her eyelids, her hair. All with no sexual intent. Just platonic love, her intensity and his own matching.
Asmo, taking care of her the way he loves to as usual, with skincare and spa days and reminders to hydrate. Asmo, looking at her with open honesty, dropping his façade. Hanging out without his makeup on, in plain house clothes and messy hair, and still understanding that he’s loved just the same. Asmo, stroking her cheek and cooing over things about her that he finds cute—as Asmo does—but focusing on behaviours and personality traits over details of her appearance. Asmo, patiently pointing out the subtext in social situations when she catches none of it, explaining details she missed without judgement.
Asmo’s voice, insisting he wants to help her and take care of her. Saying that she’s his friend, and he loves her so much. Offering hugs, reassurance, comfort. Proving every day that she’s safe with him. Calling her “sweetheart” and “honey” and “lovely” like he does for everyone, but sounding like he really means it for her.
Then there’s Satan.
There’s the stuff they already have memories of. Discussing books, reading together, doing homework together, watching his crime shows and dramas, finding cats to pet. Then, there’s Auva’s imagined scenarios, which are the same things but just a little bit altered: Auva’s head resting on his shoulder, tracking the words on the page as he reads aloud. His hand in her hair, petting gently. Lying down, using his lap for a pillow, reaching up to push a strand of hair out of his face—and him catching her hand by the wrist to kiss her palm before releasing it. Her face resting in the crook of his neck as she lies across his chest half asleep, listening to him read aloud.
Curling into his side, cringing away from second hand embarrassment in his drama shows—he only laughs at her a little bit, before readjusting his arm to hold her tighter. Demonstrating remarkable patience when she struggles with schoolwork, never getting genuinely angry at her, even talking her down when SHE gets angry at the assignments. Validating her serious anger when it comes up, backing her up about it even when it’s everyone’s treatment of Mammon (his own included) that she’s pissed about. Talking very openly about rage. Ways to control it, to use it, to temper it, to defuse it. Helping each other. Wholehearted, reciprocated trust.
He’s offering her physical affection often. Hugging her regularly, ruffling her hair or rubbing her shoulder or tapping her head in greeting whenever he passes behind her. Holding her hand whenever they’re walking together. Just… treating her as softly as she treats him.
Then it’s Lucifer.
Fussing over Auva’s clothes like a parent. Plucking loose threads, adjusting where the seams fall, brushing dust off, tying the RAD uniform tie for her. His voice, sounding only performatively exasperated with her, never genuinely angry.
Letting her and Mammon hide behind him when someone chooses a horror movie during family movie nights, with minimal teasing. Not saying a thing when his pair of cowards curl into his side, duck under his arm, crawl into his lap.
Allowing her to hold his hand, not just when she’s scared but anytime. Letting her hug him, hugging her too, holding her in his arms and his wings. Explaining things to her instead of assuming she understands, or being mysterious on purpose. Allowing her to hang out with him in his office while he works sometimes. Treating her like his kid, or his baby sister. For Lucifer, that line is blurry. Referring to her as “little one” and “my dear” and “part of my family” and “one of mine”.
Lucifer, listening when she expressed frustration with him. Adjusting his behaviour to accommodate her when he’s too confusing. Explaining himself. Putting his pride aside for a moment to allow her to help him. Hanging out with her, with everyone, and relaxing for once. She imagines feeling comfortable enough to tell Lucifer outright that she loves him more when he’s not trying to be perfect—and Lucifer reacting well to that.
Lucifer, treating her softly. And Auva, trusting him enough to really lean into thinking of him as her family—as the head of HER family, not just the house she happens to be living in. Being happy to have him in charge of her, truly believing there’s no one better suited.
Lucifer’s voice, saying “well done, love” and “I’m proud of you” and “stay as long as you like” and “you will never be unwanted here”
Then finally, it’s Belphie.
They see the attic door opening, and Belphie offering Auva a hug… and it stays gentle. He doesn’t hurt her.
Then they see Belphie, in the aftermath of what really happened, looking painfully remorseful. Apologizing, talking about what happened and why and how his perspective changed, opening up to her and promising to never be even a little bit rough with her ever again. Starting to connect and make amends. He keeps his distance.
Then it’s Auva, after having made more progress in healing than she actually has at this point, approaching Belphie. His body language is open, relaxed, gentle. She gives him a hug. He doesn’t hurt her. He holds her so gently. He rubs her back and whispers reassurances as she trembles in his arms.
Then it’s Belphie, blinking awake and opening his arms in invitation to a much more confident Auva. He pulls her in for a cuddle. He tucks her head under his chin, planting soft kisses to the top of her head, rubbing gentle hands over her arms and her back, trailing carefully soft fingers through her hair, telling her that he loves her. She falls asleep on him without hesitation. He doesn’t hurt her.
Flashes of fantasies and wishes show up. Watching the stars with Belphie, bonding over a matching love for them. Sharing their passion for storytelling and performance arts too, eating sushi together after Belphie realizes they have the same favourite food, falling asleep between him and Beel, holding his hand, petting his tail, becoming the matched set of best friends with so much in common that Auva is convinced they should be, that they would already be if only he hadn’t hurt her.
Eventually getting comfortable enough to play with him like she plays with Mammon. Smacking each other with pillows, shoving each other and wrestling and squishing and tackling each other. Becoming completely comfortable with playing a little rough with him, trusting him with that because it never hurts.
He NEVER hurts her.
The visions of Auva’s wishes, the comfortable fantasies she imagines when she can’t sleep, what she wants most in the world… they fade into background, blending into the background radiation of feeling intensely safe and warm. A strong sense of belonging. It’s comfortable. Seven distinct, familiar scents, seven pairs of arms holding her. Seven overlapping voices, telling her that she’s loved…
Auva relaxes, enthralled and comfortable. Her hands open absentmindedly. She drops the book.
The vision shatters.
_________
Satan blinks hard, feeling a little emotional as he regards her. His heart melts.
“That’s… all you want? That’s it?”
Auva realizes what happened. She covers her face with a mortified groan. “You SAW that?!”
He laughs, overwhelmingly fond. He makes his way over to her, skirting towers of books and precariously balanced candles with practiced ease, to wrap her up in his arms. “I suppose I should apologize. I was hoping to learn about ITEMS you want, so I could get them for you. I’m sorry for intruding on you like that.”
She hides her face in his shoulder, grumbling indistinctly. Satan senses a distinct lack of anger in her. He supposes he’s forgiven.
“Seriously, we could give you ANYTHING, Auva. You really just want more hugs?” He asks, deliberately skirting the more delicate, difficult things they saw, like Asmo’s wholehearted trust, Lucifer opening up to her, and a fully repaired relationship with Belphie.
“…I am a simple creature.” Auva mumbles into Satan’s shoulder. He grins, amused. He kisses her head, then reaches one hand up to stroke her hair—copying what he saw in the vision. She melts.
“We can do that for you, love. Easily.”
Satan squeezes her gently. What a precious being their human is. He really does love her…
He pointedly keeps his focus on that, ignoring his temporarily muted frustration at STILL not having a good gift idea.