Asmodeus’s room in the House of Lamentation is a glittering shrine to beauty, awash in soft pinks and golds, mirrors lining every wall. The air hums with the sweet scent of his rose perfume, mingling with the faint vanilla of his candles. He’d called you over with that irresistible lilt in his voice, promising a night to remember. A truckload of Majolish’s finest clothes had arrived, and Asmo, the Avatar of Lust, was practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of transforming you into his perfect canvas. His amber eyes sparkled as he ushered you in, his slender fingers brushing your arm with a playful, “Oh, darling, you’re going to look divine!”
The floor is strewn with garment bags, each one bursting with vibrant silks, tailored suits, and flowing dresses, all handpicked by Asmo’s impeccable taste. He circles you like a painter studying a blank canvas, his light pink hair catching the light as he hums a pop tune. “Let’s start with this,” he purrs, holding up a sleek outfit that screams high fashion—bold colors, sharp cuts, perfectly suited to make heads turn. He guides you into it with gentle touches, his hands lingering just a moment too long as he adjusts the fabric. “Perfect,” he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work, though his gaze feels more like a caress.
Next comes the makeup. He sits you at his vanity, a dazzling array of palettes and brushes spread before you. His fingers are deft, almost reverent, as he sweeps foundation across your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. “Your skin is gorgeous,” he coos, blending blush with a featherlight touch. His long lashes flutter as he leans closer, painting your eyelids with shimmering shadow, his face inches from yours. “Look at those eyes… they’re stealing my spotlight!” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip. He finishes with a bold lip color, smirking as he declares it “absolutely you.”
Your hair is his final masterpiece. He runs his fingers through it, styling it with effortless grace—whether it’s sleek waves, a tousled updo, or something daring to match his own flair. “Oh, sweetie, you’re a vision,” he sighs, fluffing a strand just so. He steps back, letting you take in the full effect in the mirror. The outfit hugs your frame perfectly, the makeup enhances every feature, and your hair looks like it belongs on a runway. Asmo’s reflection appears behind you, his hands sliding to your hips, gripping them with a possessive edge. His voice drops, sultry and suggestive, as he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Actually… I might have a better idea to pass the time.”
His amber eyes lock onto yours in the mirror, a mischievous glint dancing in them. The fancy night out he’d planned—a glittering Devildom gala, no doubt—seems to fade from his mind. His fingers tighten slightly, pulling you closer, his body warm against yours. “Why go out when you look this stunning right here?” he whispers, his tone dripping with intent. The room feels smaller, the air charged with his charm, as Asmo’s plans shift to something far more intimate.