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GUYS READ ALL OF THIS PLEASE PLEASE PL–

gojo looking like a bastard: the collection

tee do you ever think about how telling rich boy gojo you’re proud of him makes him caught off guard a bit? everyone just brushes off his achievements because they’re to be expected so the first time he hears it from you it makes him do a double take :(

[ PROUD ] GOJO SATORU.

you say it off handedly the first time, just a casual statement as gojo playfully boasts about acing a quiz he didn’t even study for. his head’s on your lap and you’re scrolling through your phone with one hand while absentmindedly playing with his hair with the other, and it catches him by surprise.

“guess how much of a genius your boyfriend is,” he grins, “i got an A on that quiz i forgot to study for. pure genius, huh?”

because that’s gojo, praising his own accomplishments for himself so no one has to—filling the void alone because no one will. you chuckle quietly as your nails rake over his scalp, moving your hand to gently pinch his cheek as you nod.

“very genius,” you agree, and he grins gleefully—because that’s enough. it’s a small acknowledgment, but he doesn’t dare hope for more. and then your next words make him pause, make him wonder if he heard you correctly. “i’m proud of you, toru.”

proud.

and in all honesty, it’s a casual statement. it’s almost like you said it without even fully thinking about it, but it sounds so sincere—so painfully sincere—that his breath hitches in his throat. it’s the way the words are so easy to slip from your tongue, gliding off like they don’t need a second thought, like being proud of him is normal, like it’s as involuntary as the beat of your heart.

you seem to notice his reaction too—because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t soften your face like that, or cup his cheeks like this right now, leaning down to press gentle kiss after the other across his face. it’s like you’re making up for years worth of moments that have been brushed aside, like you’re making up for the hurt parts of him that yearn for just one time that someone really looks at him. you press a kiss to the tip of his nose, across his forehead, along the angle of his cheekbone until one final press of your lips meets his own.

“‘m very proud of you,” you hum, rubbing a thumb over the soft flesh of his cheek, “always am. even if it was just luck this time,” you add teasingly, pinching his nose.

he grins, let’s the feeling bubble up his chest and spread until they reach his fingertips, let’s the warmth tuck itself under his skin and knit into his muscles as he relaxes against your hold. because here, when it’s just you, when the world’s not looking for gojo and he gets to just be satoru, you appreciate the small things no matter how trivial they seem to be.

even just doing well on a quiz.

“hey,” he defends, “it was a hard quiz.”

“it was over the first chapter. the easiest one, satoru.”

“but you’re still proud,” he winks, but you know it’s just to hear you say again, just to grant him one more opportunity to listen to the foreign words so he can really engrave them in his brain.

and maybe he thinks it’s the last time he’ll hear them, that it was just an accident and you’ll never repeat them again—because why would you be proud of him? why be proud of things that are expected?

but it doesn’t stop you from whispering them against his forehead once more. “yes, i’m very proud,” you murmur before pecking the skin.

“lots to be proud of when you’re dating me, sweetheart,” he says smugly—but if his voice is a bit strained and his lips are a little wobbly, you don’t mention it, and he’s grateful. “i’m a real catch, huh?”

“oh yes, i’ve won the lottery,” you nod, playfully flicking his forehead. and then your eyes turn tender, and your smile is sweeter, and the way you hold his face is as delicate as the love on your expression. “i love you, toru.”

“love you too, you sap,” he teases, but the look on his face is content, hopeful even, that maybe he has something to be proud of besides himself for once.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

your honor i luv him :( he’s my baby :(

me when me n my faves aren’t astrologically compatible

alhaitham’s always investigating this, investigating that, how about he investigate my insides

in a week

pairing: lucifer x gn!reader

summary: where lucifer wrestles with grief after your death, and you try your best to help as a ghost. ~7k

note: obviously beware of the angst even though there is a bit of comfort in the end. this was probably one of the most interesting fic i’ve written and it’s essentially just my own interpretation of grief and moving on etc etc. hope yall enjoy :)

[Monday]

Lucifer felt like he was going to faint.

He had been standing outside the morgue with one hand on the doorknob for what felt like hours, yet he still couldn't bring himself to enter. His fingers were shaking slightly, and his legs were numb. Any moment now, they might just give up on him.

There were sniffles and whispers coming from the other side of the door. It was a reality that he had to face sooner or later. But maybe if he never opened the door, he wouldn't have to face it. He could hide away in a world where Asmodeus had never texted him those few ghastly words.

It was a stupid thought. A deep inhale later, he twisted the doorknob and dragged himself inside, despite the fact that his brain was still screaming no . The door closed behind him with a soft click, as if making sure that he would be locked in this space forever.

A few pairs of eyes darted toward him. The twins were holding each other up against the white wall. Mammon had his head buried between his knees, and his shoulders were so still that he didn't even seem to be breathing. The rest were standing on the far side of the room. None of them said a word, only returned to their own grieving.

And then there you were, under a white cover. He only allowed himself a brief moment of pleading before he removed the cloth. There was serenity written on your face. You looked like you were just taking a nap. A morgue is a weird place to be taking a nap in , he thought. Perhaps a shake on the shoulder would wake you up. And then you would open your eyes, and smile at the sight of him, as always.

But he knew you weren't asleep. He knew because something inside him was trembling, and there were chills running down his back even though he had his coat on. 

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to touch you, but couldn't decide on where to start. At last, he chose your hand, for the sake of familiarity. The shape of it was so ingrained in his mind that it could never be forgotten. 

Your fingers were cold to the touch. Instinctively, he gave them a little squeeze to give warmth, and checked your face for signs. Any sign.

"Hey," The word slipped past his lips with a quiver. "Love?"

Of course you didn't answer, but he bargained nonetheless. He let go of your hand and moved to feel your heart. The only thing he could make out was his own racing heartbeat, stuck painfully in his tightened throat. 

Mammon shifted. He was watching Lucifer's hand, hoping with him. When the latter lifted it up, his face twisted in pain, and he abruptly stood up. No one was able to catch him as he rushed out of the room.

"Mammon!" Levi called before following him out. Then it was Satan. Picking up the hint, the others promptly exited, leaving Lucifer to himself.

The room was silent, but his mind was not. A war was raging on in his head, thoughts and emotions battling each other. The only thing he could make out from the incoherent chaos was this– they're dead, they're dead. And it's my fault. 

"I'm sorry," he let himself drop onto his knees, still clenching your hand, and eased into a constrained sob. "I'm sorry."

Among the voices, he also heard these : It's too soon. I could've changed this. I'm not ready to go through this again. Please. Enough. He tightened his grip around you, as if the force of his regrets and sorrow alone could bring you back. Don't leave me alone here . 

It did nothing to change the fact that you were gone.

If you'd ever imagined death to be peaceful, you were completely wrong. It was, in fact, torture.

It had been Asmodeus who'd found you. He bent over your limp body and wept. The sound coming out of him stabbed at your heart like daggers. Then you watched in fear as he typed on his phone with his shaky thumbs, because you knew what was coming, and you didn't want to face it.

The guilt rising from deep within you was so real that it almost felt as though you still had a body. You would've believed so had you not been staring directly at it– unmoving, empty, a vessel. One by one, the brothers rushed in with disbelief in their eyes. You saw the exact moment the knowledge rushed up to them, and how their faces fell.

It was all because of you.

No amount of bracing could've stopped the world from crashing down when the door was opened one last time. Unlike the others, Lucifer didn't fight. He surrendered to your death like it was an old friend, like it was all that he'd ever known.

"Lucifer," you called, reaching out to touch his shoulder. There was a fogginess to your voice, and your hands hovered upon contact before it went right through him. You seemed to be underwater. "Lucifer, I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," there was a crack in his voice that you'd never heard before. The tears that escaped you were involuntary– no one could stand watching their lover cry alone. He was being torn apart before your eyes, and there was nothing you could do. Even when you're right behind him, there was a distance you didn't know how to recover from.

The space between the living and the dead, you realized, was an impossible canyon. 

[Tuesday]

There was a saying that the deceased only became ghosts if they had unsettled business with the living. Mostly it was revenge, a desperate need for justice, other times it was just some undone wishes.

For you, it was a worry. You couldn't just go and leave everything behind. That's why you were roaming the halls now, hardly existing. The house was eerily quiet, the hallways choking with sadness. Every corner you turned, there was sorrow. Either that, or an emptiness that made you shiver. 

Asmodeus came into the dining room for breakfast, but only Lucifer was in here. The others were still holed up in their rooms.

"What do we do now?" He asked in a small voice, face puffy and eyes swollen from the crying. It'd filled the corridors for the entire night, and wouldn't stop even as you sat next to him, leaning in just enough that you could imagine pressing your shoulders against him.

"They said before that they'd prefer home burial, so we'll do that." Lucifer said.

"Okay," Asmodeus took a broken breath. He was on the brink of tears again. "They really are gone, aren't they?"

Lucifer put down the glass he'd been holding and stood up, the chair shrieking against the floor. He wouldn't meet his brother's eyes. "Enjoy your breakfast." 

You watched as he retreated to his room. On the table was a half-eaten meal.

The room was mute when Lucifer returned. The bed was unmade, retaining the state you'd left it in the previous day. When he ran his hand over the bedsheet, he could almost feel your warmth radiating off your body that took up the space next to him every night. 

But your body was somewhere else now, and you would never be close to him again.

How cruel of you to have left traces of yourself everywhere. You couldn't have just gone, you had to turn this house into a history museum, a frozen time zone. Your earphones were on the nightstand next to the box of tissues. He'd put it there because you would get a runny nose in the morning. Your shoes were clustered among others by the main door, your miscellaneous items laid out in rooms. On the sofa was your jacket, in the kitchen your favorite packet of snacks, here and there, you, you, you. 

He sat down at his desk and found a tiny memo in the corner. You'd surprised him with it last month as a small gesture of motivation, and he hadn't removed it since. It was your handwriting on the paper. Your handwriting, which he would never get to see again.

What did it even mean for someone to be gone? How could someone just– not exist, as if everything had simply been a pleasant dream? He thought he'd already got it figured out, but he was wrong. He didn't know anything at all.

There were tears pushing at the back of his throat. He had yet to experience the full force of the devastation, and he wasn't going to. The hurt that he was supposed to feel when one lost someone precious had been clawing at him for hours now, demanding his attention, thrashing around like a little kid. It wanted to break out, but he couldn't let it happen, because it would bring down everything with it. He didn't want to feel the fall, didn't want to hit the ground.

So he pressed down the flood and sank into work.

It was weird watching someone plan your funeral.

Lucifer had been sitting in front of the computer for hours, scrolling and jotting notes. Every now and then, his eyes would get blurry, but he blinked the water away. Nothing could beat his determination, not even grief.

The silence was so great that you couldn't wrap your head around how he could stand it. You hopped down from the desk on which you'd been occupying, desperate for something to change.

You felt your arm brush against a paper on the desk, and watched with parted lips as it floated in the air before settling. Lucifer sighed through his nose and moved to pick it up, his arm passing your invisible form.

It can't be .

Your hands were trembling slightly when you looked at the same stack of documents, contemplating. You swiped at it. The corner of the top sheet fluttered. You did another sweep, and it rolled over.

Cursing under his breath, Lucifer bent down and snatched it with obvious annoyance.

You looked down on your hands for a solid moment before the realization hit. If it had really been you who'd moved the paper, maybe you could touch other things, like–

Turning to the demon frowning at the screen, you reached for his hand, only to freeze when you caught the sole teardrop landing on the keyboard. Lucifer continued to read the words despite the fact that his eyes were clouded. When the second one came, his jaw was quivering with the sheer effort he needed to keep the sound in. Before more could be shed, he slouched forward and propped his elbows on the desk, letting only his hands hold his head up.

Within minutes, he'd managed to regulate his breathing again, and resumed the task on hand. He had always been good with facades, something that you'd always condemned. It'd taken him some time to feel comfortable enough to be completely vulnerable around you, yet here he was, once again putting on masks after masks to shield himself from the world, and himself.

Because of you. You could feel blood rushing away from your head at the familiar words. It was all because of you .

What good would it be that he knew of your existence? So that he could suffer more, knowing that you would forever be worlds apart? It wouldn't unwrite the fact that you were dead. His heart would still be wounded, stabbed, bled out.

Perhaps being a ghost was a punishment as well. The person wielding the knife had no right to comfort the casualty.

[Wednesday]

Lucifer had fallen asleep on the desk, eyes closed, lips drawing in air in a way that you almost envied. His chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm, as if it was just another day with no burdens or cruel realities waiting for him. You would've believed so if not for the slight shudder in his limbs. The coat had slipped off his shoulders, and the cold was penetrating him.

" Luci, " you tried for the nth time to wake your demon, but he was too far gone in the land of nod. Sighing, you removed your cheek from the cold desk and moved behind him. If you could move the paper, maybe you could try and drape the coat over him.

The first attempt was unsuccessful. Your fingers slipped right through. The second was an improvement: you could faintly feel the density, but were too frail to grasp it. 

" Okay, I've got this ," you stretched your arms and narrowed your eyes at the coat as if that would enchant it somehow. This time, you could feel the weight as it was, though not the fabric itself. You gasped in surprise, and proceeded to drag it over Lucifer's shoulder. It was roughly done and accumulated on one side, but it was better than nothing.

You stood up to inspect your work, but your knees almost gave out beneath you, and for a moment it was like floating in air. Within a moment, you regained your balance, and let out a relieved huff. What you didn't miss was the way your hand shimmered and blended into the colors in front of you.

Maybe this ghost business wasn't free of charge after all.

Gathering everyone proved to be more taxing than Lucifer had expected, but most of them listened. The keyword was most. He walked into the dining room with the delivered food to find Belphie's seat vacant.

The demon in question was in the adjacent room, curled up on the massive couch. Lucifer thought for a second that he was a kid again, small and innocent.

"Belphie," He shook his shoulder. "Come on, you have to eat."

Belphie inched away from his hand. "I can't," he whispered. "I'm sick."

"I know, but you have to at least take a bite," when he didn't respond, Lucifer touched his shoulder again. "Everyone's waiting. We have to talk about the funeral."

A strangled sob came out of Belphie's throat, followed by a slight trembling in his shoulders, but he nodded nonetheless. Lucifer let him be then, knowing that he would show up once he'd collected himself.

You didn't know which was more saddening, the quietness echoing in the room, or the size of Beel's meal. Everyone was so full with grief that they could barely eat, as if their stomachs' sole purpose was to carry around a colossal anguish. 

"Are we going to plan the funeral?" Satan looked in Lucifer's direction, though not directly meeting his eyes. 

"Right," Lucifer said, and dug his hand into his pocket. "I've listed out what we have to prepare. I would like to hold it as soon as possible, preferably within this week."

When his hand came up empty, he searched the other, but to no avail. It wasn't tucked under the plates, or beneath his chair, or in the plastic bag that'd come with the food. Mammon put down his fork, and it rang a clear and deafening sound. The list wasn't behind Lucifer's glass. The air was suddenly burning. He fussed around, brows knitted and impatient, as the others watched, holding their breaths. 

"Did you leave it in your room?" Levi's voice quavered.

Lucifer snapped. There was frustration on the verge of his tone. "No, I'm sure I brought it with me."

"Okay." The discomfort on Levi's face was apparent.

"Look, maybe we don't need–"

"Just," Lucifer interrupted Satan's sentence, shooting up from his seat. "Give me a minute."

The latter sighed and began tapping his finger on the tablecloth.

As Lucifer excused himself to look around the room, your eyes darted to the far end of the table, where the piece of paper was hiding near Beel's seat, out of sight. You doubted that he was ever going to find it, not when he was too busy trying to stay calm and level-headed. It was the first time after viewing your body for the family to come together and talk, and he just wanted to get it over with. It was in his instinct; to hide himself away even when his emotions were written on his face like an open book.

Right now, it would only take a tiny nudge for them to topple over.

You couldn't have that.

A piece of paper was certainly easier to move than a chunky coat. You just had to pay attention to the object of desire. This time, you could feel the energy swimming from your head to your fingers. You slid it out from under the table and waited for Lucifer to come close enough to see it.

The same lightheadedness returned briefly, almost like a tease, a reminder that there's a price tag on everything you did to help.

When Lucifer walked past you, the breeze made your teeth chatter. He returned to his seat and dived into the planning, then concealed himself in his room for the rest of the day.

[Thursday]

The ear-splitting ringtone was what woke him up. He scanned the room through a haze, as if he hadn't the memory of falling asleep by the fireplace. Whatever tranquility that had adorned his rest was now gone. It was as though something gloomy and dispiriting had been lurking in the corners all night long, crouching and shuffling, and at the first sign of consciousness, they latched onto him and wouldn't let go.

How long would this go on for? You knew that grief wasn't something that would expire. It would simply grow numb with time, until it was just a residue at the bottom of the heart, only to be awakened if one stirred it with carelessness. It was a job that no one could break free of. 

You didn't want to become a burden to him. 

"This is Lucifer." He picked up the call, eyelids still drooping in protest. As the caller spoke, the gears in his head started to move one by one. "That's right. I made a registration."

He walked over to his desk and traced his finger on the calendar. "When's your earliest time slot?" A brief pause. "I'll take that. No, it's fine. I'll send you the details by tomorrow."

After ending the call, he picked up a pen and underlined the upcoming Sunday. You knew instantly what it meant.

Your funeral. In three days. It seemed hasty, but given that death wasn't that much of a common occurrence in the Devildom, perhaps it wasn't so strange after all.

Lucifer was still on his phone, scrolling through missed calls and texts. His thumbs tapped out some shallow responses– I'm fine , it's alright , the funeral is on Sunday . He was definitely not fooling anyone, but he had to clear the notifications.

His hands froze as he reached the bottom of the mailbox. 

You have one voicemail from : MC✩ 

The silly symbol stared back at him. It was one of the inside jokes he had with you, and it inspired him to decorate your contact name. Something about stars and moons and brightening up the sky. You fought not to dwell on it.

He was only stationary for a few seconds, but there was a millennium packed in each one. Finally, he pressed down on the button, and sank into his seat.

" Hey Luci ," your voice came out of the speaker, a little breathless from excitement. " I know you're having a meeting right now, but I had to call and tell you this. You're not going to believe it: I just found the cursed record you've been looking for! It was a little bit expensive, but I bought it anyway, so you better treat me to something nice, okay?" 

There was a semblance of a smile on Lucifer's lips when he heard your playful chuckle. The message was then interrupted by someone speaking in the background. A second later, you returned. " Alright, that's actually all I wanted to say. Don't forget to take breaks. Love you. "

He grabbed at his phone the moment the voicemail ended. Once again, a thick silence stretched around the living room, etching itself to the corners of your mind. 

There it was again– that slight pout and the gradually ragged breathing, the telltale signs of incoming tears. You watched him swallow it down. It had become a reflex.

Once composed, he typed on a few things on the screen before pressing it to his ear.

Across the room, your phone rang from inside your now abandoned bag. It went on and on and on before finally dying down. Next to you, Lucifer heaved a deep sigh before speaking into the microphone.

"Hey," he cleared his throat to dismiss the rasp in his voice. "I'm… sorry for missing your call,"

His other hand fiddled with a pen. "I'm also sorry for not having been there for you. And for a lot of other things, so many that I don't even know where to start. I don't even know why I'm leaving this voicemail. You're not going to hear it. But just… indulge me for a while, will you?"

You lowered yourself onto the ground next to him, resting your head against the desk.

"It's dead silent everywhere. Everyone is coping in their own ways, but it'll get easier with time. I just thought I'd let you know. It still feels unreal. I don't think it has fully sank in yet, the fact that you're just gone. And I'm trying to dodge it, or delay it, anything that can get it out of my face. It feels like a really big slap from the universe. I–" he pushed his hair back, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't even know what I'm saying right now. Everything's so muddled in my head. It's all chaos up here, and my chest is throbbing so much I can barely take it. I don't know what it is that's inside me, but it's not just sadness, I don't think. Maybe it's all the things that I suddenly want to tell you now, or all that love that I forgot to show you. I guess at the end of the day, I just–"

His voice cracked, and he almost looked ashamed of it. "I just wanted to let you know that I'd do anything to have you back."

" I know," you answered, reaching out for his hand. Of course it didn't affect him in the tiniest bit.

"If I could just have one more day with you, I would make it right," his throat had failed to hold the wobble in his voice. "Or a minute, anything. I just really miss you."

" I miss you too, " Your own was thick with tears you could not shed.

"But that doesn't change a single thing, does it? It's unfair like that. I don't even know who to get angry at. Father, maybe?" 

The bitter laugh he forced out sounded more like a hiccup. "But it'll get better. I'll make sure of it. Because I don't know what'll happen if it doesn't." 

Before he could finish his sentence, he slammed his phone on the desk and threw his arm over his eyes, willing himself to calm down. It took you double the time to chase the pain away.

That night, you used all the strength you could muster to move the strands of hair out of his sleeping face. You didn't know what else you could do.

[Friday]

There was quite a number of things Lucifer had to pick up for the funeral, which were mostly flowers. He knew that white was the color most commonly seen in funerals up in the human world, but he had a feeling that you'd prefer something more colorful. 

He was shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat when Mammon came in without knocking, unsurprisingly.

"Hey," his face was tear-stricken, his hair tousled and sticking out in all directions from the amount of turning in his sleep. "I just wanted to see how you're doin', since you weren't at breakfast just now."

"I'm fine. What about you?"

"As fine as I can be, I guess," he scratched the back of his head, causing more destruction to his white locks. "Look, the others are kind of worried about you. I kind of do too, cause… Nah, screw that, we are all worried, especially about the funeral."

"What about it?"

"Don't you think it's a bit too early? I mean, we barely got enough time to order things,"

"I don't see the problem. Wouldn't you rather have everything done as soon as possible than to drag it out?"

Mammon grumbled, "That's fair. Well, if you're okay with it, then we're fine too. Also, the eulogy–"

"I'll prepare it."

"Sure." He nodded with obvious hesitation. "Do you want me to come with you? I promise not to get lost."

The hope glistening in Mammon's eyes was not hard to miss. His question hung in the air, like a silent pleading, a wish for some kind of connection with his brother.

"No, I can carry the flowers by myself." Lucifer said instead, which could be translated to: I don't know how to talk to you about your grief when I can hardly face mine .

It was bizarre living in a world that wouldn't share your grief. Despite the fact that Lucifer's life had turned into a total trainwreck, everyone else was still going by without a worry, without a frown, without so much as a dent in their mood. It was almost brutal.

Not a lot of people took notice of his presence, but for those who did, the glances they casted on him were those of pity. It made him shiver all over.

When he arrived at the shop, the florist gave him his regards, but he knew that they were only out of courtesy. Your death didn't matter to these people on the streets. The demons were still giggling at each other, the dogs still barking at each other, the sky was still intact. His house was unbearably quiet, yet the outdoors was clamorous. Was there nowhere he could go?

"Hey, can I get a bouquet of roses please?" A younger demon came inside, the slight hop in his steps indicating that he was in a hurry. Lucifer was left to count the orders on his own, but he still couldn't help eavesdropping on the panting demon.

"What's the rush?" The florist asked.

"Just grabbing something for my girlfriend. It's her birthday today," Lucifer froze as the cheerful voice went on, stinging his ears. "Man, does she love roses. She talks about them all the time."

"It's good that you remember her favorite, but you better not be late in the future, yea? Or else–"

"The numbers are correct, thank you." Lucifer cut in, placing the Grimms in front of the florist. As if realizing himself, the latter stuttered an apology only for it to go unanswered.

Carrying everything in his arms, Lucifer stepped out onto the road. He had never felt as lonely as he did in this moment.

"Where do you want the headstone to be?" The worker from the funeral home came by in the afternoon to make some prior arrangements. 

"What about there?" Satan walked over to a flat piece of land in the backyard. It was an open area, so it wouldn't be overcasted by tree branches.

"Looks good to me. And the flowers?"

"Over here," Lucifer led the two away. You stayed behind, circling the plot of land. After some contemplation, you lay down there, legs straightened, one hand clasping another on your sternum, and closed your eyes.

The soil touched your back vaguely, just dense enough to hold you. There was shuffling and talking in the distance, but mostly it was harmonious– the scarce grass, the wind, the bald trees. The world felt as though it was revolving around you. 

If this was what awaited you at the end of the line, you could make peace with that– given that you've finished everything you had to do here, that was. In truth, you were nowhere near done. You couldn't go without being absolutely sure that everyone would be fine. 

Yet with every contact you made with the living, you could feel your existence wavering like a struggling flame. It wouldn't be long until your final farewell, so you did whatever you could do– from tidying Asmodeus' tissues by the rubbish bin to turning off the tap in Levi's bathroom. They were small gestures that meant nothing at all, but were still better than standing around.

"You good?" The worker asked, his voice suddenly closer now. You opened your eyes and saw him and Satan looking at Lucifer with a frown. The latter waved them off, his left hand leaning against the wall for support.

"You should go get some rest. I'll take care of the loose ends," Satan said.

"I don't–"

"Just go." The sternness in Satan's voice had Lucifer retrieving his retort.

His shoulders slumped the moment he was out of sight, and he proceeded to drag himself back to his room. You followed closely behind, keeping a considerable distance between your steps.

Instead of taking a break, he began tidying and categorizing the documents on his desk. The bed had been neglected for days now, and he hadn't been getting nearly enough rest. He wouldn't even allow himself to sit on the bed, as if it was some kind of disease.

He put the piles of paper on the side, not noticing that the photo frame was being pushed further and further out.

You'd seen the look on his face before, as well as the uncertainty in his movements, and the rapid blinking of his eyes. He was pushing himself to the edge. It wouldn't be long before he–

He slammed the paper down, and the force sent the frame tumbling. You all but threw yourself towards it, and caught it with your arms before it could shatter on the floor.

Your color dimmed, a sudden sleepiness washing over you. I can't go yet , you persisted.

Lucifer picked up the frame and caught a glimpse of the photo inside. The eight of you were smiling brightly at the camera. Even he was looking particularly carefree that day. On the table was a birthday cake, on your head a slanted glittery hat. 

Almost with urgency, he disassembled the frame and took the photo out. His grip was strong enough that it wrinkled it, yet his eyes held no hostility towards this token of remembrance, only tender regret.

In the evening, he passed out on the couch with the photo close to his heart. When it slipped through his fingers and went under the seat, you leaned down and moved it somewhere he would see when he woke up. 

[Saturday]

The paper on the desk was as blank as snow. Lucifer had been drafting his eulogy for the entire morning, surrounded by crumpled failures on the floor. Nothing he wrote was right. They were too soulless and empty, inadequate in conveying what you truly meant to him. Either that, or they sounded awkward and evasive.

"Just write from your heart" was what Belphie had told him that morning, which was something Lucifer had already known, obviously. He simply had to shove his hand inside his raw heart and grab whatever he could amidst that vicious current. 

He just didn't want to take down the fences and barricades he'd built around it.

For the next hour, he drafted some more and balled up more paper, until he accepted that it wasn't going anywhere. 

Perhaps taking a short trip down memory lane would jumpstart his inspiration. 

He soon found himself outside your occupied room, staring down at the doorknob in his hand. It was eerily similar to when he'd stood on the other side of the morgue, bracing himself… he didn't allow himself to finish that thought. He pushed open the door, and repeated in his head:  just a short, brief look .

Someone had been here before him. One of Belphie's many pillows was on your bed, Levi's hoodie forgotten on the desk. The entire room was haunted with your absence.

He took a slow tour, looking through random trinkets and items that sparked memories. A few books took up the space next to the desk, most of which you'd bought while hanging out with Satan. There were some irrelevant stickers on the bookshelf. When you'd said that you had no idea where to keep them, he'd given you a tiny wooden box. But you'd reinvented it and used it to store pieces of paper, like the receipt you got from a late night shopping, or the torn ticket from the concert you'd watched with him. 

In the wardrobe was a long, crimson scarf. It had been an especially cold day, and you were shivering all over. He'd taken off the scarf and thrown it over your neck, spinning the remaining length around you while nagging about the importance of wearing enough layers. When he was done, you had a cheeky grin on your face.

"What?" He'd asked, slightly peeved that you hadn't been listening.

"Nothing," You tip-toed and stole a kiss from him before rushing away as if nothing'd happened. It took him a few seconds to untangle his head and chase after you.

In the drawer was a bundle of polaroid photos, most of which were sceneries of the Devildom. Something about capturing the moment and savoring it forever. You'd been aware of your comparatively flitting lifespan all along. Maybe that's why you were so adamant that you kept memorabilia.

He found your favorite ink pen next, then your pot of plant that hadn't been watered for days. The corner of the poster on the wall drooped and dangled, no longer held up by adhesive. There were hidden cans of dog food under the bed. You had taken it upon yourself to feed Cerberus whenever he was too busy to. There were activities planned for the upcoming week in your schedule book, complemented by doodles. The fact that you wouldn't be around to enjoy any of them tightened his throat.

He only realized the wetness streaming down his face when he saw the darkened spots on the paper. Sinking onto the side of your bed, he dug his fingers into his hair and trapped the sadness in a little white room at the back of his mind. 

He was still clueless about grief, but in this moment, he knew that it was a tatoo on his heart that weighed tons. He also knew that death was a thief that stole your future.

It was the only thing that could bring an end to his love. He wasn't so sure what to do with it now that it'd succeeded.

Lucifer's breaths were shallow as he leaned forward, mumbling stop crying, stop crying on his lips like a mantra. Even when you kneeled in front of him and begged for him to let it out, he still wouldn't unclench his fists. 

" How am I supposed to leave you in this state ?" You held his face with your hands– they were almost crystal clear now– and bowed your head.

[Sunday]

There were more people at your funeral than you'd expected, which shouldn't have come off as a surprise given that you were a social magnet. Some of the demons you had only talked to in passing, but they must've thought you important enough to bother coming. You were at least thankful for that.

Lucifer sure didn't go light on the flowers. As long as it was an area opened to the guests, there was guaranteed to be bouquets.

Everyone was dressed in black and talking in low whispers, sharing words of condolences. You stood by the open slot in the yard, eyes glued to your name on the headstone. 

In a few, your casket would be lowered.

In a few, your body would be buried forever.

In a few, even your specter would fade. 

Then you would be truly, undeniably, gone.

The crowd started shifting towards you, and you saw the casket being carried out from the funeral home's van. Levi was nearby to give them directions. Not far away, Mammon and Asmo were at the reception, murmuring to each other with seriousness. Beel and Belphie were just coming out from the house, fixing each other's outfits as they walked, and Satan was standing next to Solomon in silence.

There was only one missing.

"Where's Lucifer?" Levi asked Satan once he's done with his duty, eyes darting from demon to demon. 

"I haven't seen him in a while. I think he went–"

"Ah, there he is," Mammon jutted his jaw. The rest followed the direction to find him making his way through the guests, tweaking the details in his outfit. "Man, he looks worn."

"Did he sleep at all in the past week?" Beel asked.

"No idea. It's not like he would tell us about it," Asmo sighed. "I get it though. It's already so hard for us, I can't even imagine how he must be feeling."

Beel gave his back a firm pat. "You have us."

"I do," Asmo gave him a brief smile before they headed to the very front of the crowd.

The officiant started the ceremony with the same speech he'd used in the past hundreds of funerals. Everything went on smoothly. There were rituals, readings, steady music that sounded hopeful enough to lift the mood, but not too upbeat that it would be disrespectful. The sharings were mostly uplifting memories of you, a lot of which you could recall clearly. Simeon did his best putting a few light-hearted comments in between and chased some of the gloom away. 

"And now, for the eulogy," the officiant nodded at Lucifer encouragingly. He walked up to the front and nodded at everyone he could see in one brief glance.

The tremble in his hands was not hard to miss, nor was the immense effort in regulating his breath. He looked at the words he'd written, and began.

It was straight-forward. He concluded your life with perfection– your passion, your dreams, your achievements, no matter big or small. The traces you left on everyone's heart, your legacy that would live on. You rested your hands on the headstone and leaned your head against it, taking in every word that came out of him. 

It went smoothly at first, but a few sentences in, you noticed the prolonged pauses between the sentences, the struggle on his face as he swallowed, the desperate attempts at concealing his tears. Mammon shot concerned glances at the others, who shook their heads at him. 

Of course, Lucifer managed to hold back the flood and finished the eulogy without a problem. The guests clapped with looks of appreciation on their countenance, and the officiant moved on with the funeral.

You would never admit it, for you'd seen Lucifer working all night for the speech, but there was something amiss in his words. They were all about you, but none of them were about him. 

" Lucifer, what are you feeling ?" You said under your breath. Understanding him had never been so hard.

The soil finally covered your casket, along with the many white orchids and a few keepsakes. Some of the guests stayed behind to talk. One of the demons came up to Lucifer and offered him a pat on the shoulder. "That was a flawless funeral, Lucifer. You've outdone yourself."

He smiled, and did not say a word.

Hours after the ceremony had ended, after everyone had left, Lucifer was still sitting by your grave. Night had fallen, and Mammon was peeking through the window and talking to someone else in the room. He shook his head and walked away.

"I guess this is where I can find you from now on," he mumbled groggily, head lolling slightly to the side. "It's still too far away for me."

" I'll always be– "

"Still… too far away." He repeated before finally letting his eyes close.

The backyard was no place to sleep in. You moved from your spot on the other side of the stone and touched his shoulder. " You can't sleep here, Luci. Come on ."

He didn't respond. You sighed, and closed your eyes, focusing solely on your hand until it felt heavy enough. You shook him lightly.

" Wake up, Luci ."

His eyes snapped open. You slumped forward on the ground, feeling death take hold of you again. No, not yet. Please. 

Lucifer slowly got up and returned into the house, his slouched back growing smaller and smaller until it was out of sight.

He finally gave up to the protest of his body. The first thing he did after returning to his room was to toss himself onto the bed. Then he proceeded to stare at the muted wall for some more time, too weary to block the thoughts in his head.

His hand stretched out in the space next to him. It was cold to the touch. Everything was screaming at him about how you weren't here with him. The funeral was over. He couldn't prolong it any more than he could prolong his indifference. The grief was banging on the door now. It had reached a crescendo and would not stand to be concealed.

There was a burning in his nose. He could hear when the first tear struck the mattress, could feel the fortress around his heart being torn down piece by piece. There was nowhere to hide. You're gone, you're gone, you're gone .

The three words stabbed at his chest, so much that he had to clutch his shirt to distract himself of the pain. The tears fell uncontrollably. There was nothing he could do to stop his pounding head and aching face. Something inside him was fossilizing into stone. It lodged in his throat, and sounded ugly when it came out.

"I love you," he said between sobs, which meant I loathe you for leaving me. 

"I love you," which meant I only want to be where you are. 

"I love you," which meant I know it doesn't mean anything now, but I do love you. I just wish I could've said it more often.  

"I love you." which meant I just want this grieving to be over. 

He could barely make out the words coming out of him with how his body was trembling, as if in pain. He mumbled the familiar words on his lips again, and let the animal claw at his insides until he could only weep and weep and weep.

It hit him now, that try as he might, there was nothing graceful or dignified about grief. 

There was something monstrous inside you. The tears were welling up and making you sick, but nothing would come out of you. You wrapped an arm around Lucifer's side and buried your face into his shoulder, desperate.

"It's okay ," you choked out. "It's okay. Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Luci– "

You let your hand hover atop his trembling one, and shook your head. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say that could reach him. His heart-wrenching sobs drowned your voice out. You could barely look at his face, contorted with sorrow.

And then you prayed, as a ghost tethered to this gruesome world. Dear God, if it matters to you at all, spare him of this pain. Bring me back to life, or wipe his memories of me, anything. Just don't make him cry anymore .

God only watched on in silence.

Lucifer was alone.

But that wasn't the truth.  

You inched away from him, your arm passing through his torso effortlessly. Ignoring the dizziness rushing to your head as you got on your feet, you rushed out of the room. 

Maybe there is something you can do.

By the time the brothers peeked in through the door and found Lucifer, you were already out of breath, barely able to lift yourself up from the floor by the bed. Your hands were completely invisible at this point, and you couldn't feel them anymore.

It had taken you more effort than necessary to wake them from their slumbers, and to find ways to alert them of the sobs coming from down the hallway, but you managed.

While you could never hope to comfort Lucifer, his brothers could. His brothers, who were suffering as he did, who saw him hide himself away and didn't know how to approach him.

They had known Lucifer since time immemorial, yet this was the first time they had seen him like this– trembling in the bed, face buried into the mattress, fist around his shirt like it could lessen the pain. They had always seen him as an invincible figure, a pillar that would not fall even in the darkest storm. But of course, it was impossible for him not to feel broken by your death.

"Oh, Lucifer," Asmodeus was the first to rush in, tears already spilling from his eyes. Lucifer flinched when he heard him, but didn't pull away when Asmodeus latched onto him. He couldn't. His shoulders were still shaking, and he could still taste the salty tears on his tongue.

"It's alright," Asmodeus said, his watery eyes following Belphie and Beel as they approached. 

"Come on, you're soaking the bed," Belphie slipped his hand under Lucifer's arm and held him up, then wrapped his arms around his neck, tickling his neck with his bedhair.

Something akin to objections came out of Lucifer as choked sobs, but when Mammon patted him on the shoulder, he leaned against his arm and let his tears say what he couldn't.

"Just let it out, okay?" Levi took the tissue box from Satan's hand and put it on the bed, his face upturned, lips quivering. They weren't quite sure how to fit into this situation. Beel pulled the two of them into his arm, and used the other to embrace the rest. 

For the first time since your death, the brothers came and grieved together. Because grief wasn't something that was meant to be carried alone. It wasn't a feeling they could just turn off. But when they were together, perhaps the bed would feel less empty.

Lucifer's breaths were thready and short. When he fell into a coughing fit, Belphie ran his hand up and down on his back. "We'll work through it. Just breathe in, and breathe out,"

The room was full of sniffles and sobs and Belphie's wavering whispers. And though all of it was because of you, it comforted you knowing that none of them was going to be alone.

With the remaining bit of your strength, you squeezed yourself into their tangled arms, and planted a kiss on Lucifer's forehead. He wouldn't feel it, but it was okay. He was going to be okay. And so were you.

"I love you ," you leaned into him, feeling the faint rhythm from his heart. It's the last thing you heard as you closed your eyes and drifted off into the gentle current.

[Monday]

Lucifer wakes up with his brothers' arms around him.

*chaos ensues*

instagram ✦ twitter ✦ patreon

experimenting with a second art style 🎨

ATLA ladies in filipinianas 🇵🇭 ✨ 💖 

five letters and my prof's still butchering my name :')

Mari loved you…

THIS DUDE BETTER STFU AND STOP SAYING INFO I DONT WANT TO KNOW 😭😭😭 I FEEL LIKE IM BEING FORCED INTO BECOMING AN ACCOMPLICE OR SMTH

NYAGEVWGAHHSHAHSHAVHAAVHAHVA IMDONE I QUIT

this world hates me sm it cursed me w this horrendous luck 🤮

AND ISTFG MY CALCULATOR DIED RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE IM—

NO BUT THIS IS SO UNFAIR I AM GOING TO RIOT I HOPE HE KNOWS THAT NOT EVERYONE CAN AFFORD TO USE THREE DIFFERENT DEVICES IN ONE SITTING

i am this close to losing it 👌

Self shipping is such a genuinely healing experience like. It's very hard for me to be nice to myself sometimes but thinking about nice things coming from a fictional character is Easier and Feels Nice & like,,,,, baby steps am I right

Basically. If you can't make your own self love store bought is fine

It turned out that up to this point I had never seen the real infinity.

Happy Valentine's day!🤍

*Mutual reblogs something you posted*

Me: They still like me. Thank God.

🍜🍜🍜