#EFP Fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raisoramizu · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 4: Stockholm Syndrome

NOTE: (NSFW) This is the fourth chapter of my fan fiction, "Heaven is not Forever." I'm Italian, and I've translated the story into English, so if you come across any mistakes or nonsense, don't hesitate to point them out!

You can find the rest of the story on my blog, and I'll be posting a chapter every couple of days. It's a Radioapple/Guitarspear with some of my own headcanons.

I'd love to hear what you think! Even the negative stuff vv Happy reading!

< If I decided to listen to you, it's only because of Charlie. Don't think you have any value to me > Lucifer continued, his bored gaze shifting away from Adam, who was sitting on the ground. He stepped over Adam's leg to bypass him, turning his back as he moved deeper into the room without any apparent direction. < ...After all > he went on without looking at him < that's what we've always been to Heaven, right? Nobodies. Voices to be silenced, souls to be annihilated... But now, I'm sure even you are beginning to see the shades, because I know... > He paused, stopping in front of his workbench. < ...I know how you feel > he added with a half-amused smile, turning back toward Adam, who hadn't moved from the ground and still had the same astonished expression.

That smile made the First Man snap again. Using his hands, he stood up, towering over the smaller figure of the Devil. < You don't know a damn thing. I'm not like you > he muttered. < You fell; I was ripped from my place > he added, raising his chin with pride, his red eyes narrowing as he stared Lucifer down.

< Yes... and where did Divine Judgment send you? To be under my rule, in Hell—the place where souls who abuse their free will end up > Lucifer replied wearily, adjusting his shirt sleeves before turning to face him again. With a soft movement of his dark fingers—where his wedding ring still shone—he forced Adam back to the ground.

This time, Adam felt himself pulled down by his chest and fell face-first to the floor. He quickly tried to rise, planting both hands on the ground and scraping his knees, but something immovable pressed down on his back. He started cursing, puffing his cheeks with the effort, his expression twisting with frustration. As he struggled in vain, his eyes turned black, and horns curved over his head. < Oh... I didn't think you were so cruel and vindictive > he sneered, still thrashing about. < Damn... you've really become an asshole. Let me go! > He strained every muscle, elbows flaring as his boots scraped noisily against the ground. But he froze when he looked up slightly and saw Lucifer's hooves just a palm away from his forehead.

He pushed his red pupils upward, finding Lucifer standing with the back of both hands on his hips, his back bent towards Adam so that a few blond locks hung down. On his face, a smile that looked like a snarl; his completely red eyes with golden pupils showed only irritation.

< You tried to kill my daughter. My dear daughter, who allowed you, right now, not to become fertilizer for Hell and talk to me > Lucifer hissed. < You. Have. No. Idea > his tone grew deeper and more grave, sending a chill down Adam's spine, his eyes widening with dread, < ...of how cruel I can become > he hissed again, a serpentine tongue slithering from his mouth.

In a sudden move, Adam managed to extend an arm and violently grabbed Lucifer's ankle. < I want to talk to Lute! > he shouted, his voice more desperate than he intended. < You can contact her or Sera—tell her I'm here! >

< And what makes you think I would do that...? > Lucifer asked, not budging an inch despite the tightening grip of Adam's claws. It wasn't a random question; it was sincere, marked by the arching of his eyebrows in vivid—though weary—curiosity: Adam had mentioned Lilith, and that detail hadn't escaped him at all.

Clenching his jaw in anger, Adam spat, < I'll tell your 'dear daughter' why her mother has been in Heaven for seven years! > The Sinner's growl froze the Seraph in place; it was a gamble—he wasn't sure Charlie knew about it—but he had hit the mark. < I'll tell her what her bitch of a mother wants to do, that she's driven by no love for her—ugh! > he mimicked a disgusted gagging sound. < Vile people, only lusting for dominance at the expense of every soul! >

As Adam continued, Lucifer was filled with panic. A dread so overwhelming he couldn't feel his muscles, a dizziness taking over; his heart began to race frantically, his breath growing shallow and rapid. < You... you know everything...? >

At Lucifer's stuttering question, Adam felt the invisible force pinning him down weaken, and he took advantage of that moment of vulnerability to leap at the Seraph.

In one swift move, the First Man stood up, grabbed Lucifer's shirt collar with both hands, and slammed him against the workbench with such force that the wood shook, sending half the objects on it flying. < Of course I know everything! Who do you think your fucking wife has been screwing all these years...? > he shouted again, his face just inches from Lucifer's terrified expression. But this time, there was a hint of desperate amusement behind his rage.

Though he had already pinned Lucifer against the wall, Adam kept pressing him with such force that the stones behind the Devil cracked under the relentless pressure, forming fractures that spread up to the ceiling. < Well, well! After trying what you had to offer, she went back to the fold. Apparently, you really do have a limp dick! > Adam ranted on, continuing to provoke and insult him, stabbing him with words. The Angel, however, seemed incapable of responding; his breathing was labored, and his wide eyes stared blankly at Adam's chest as he remained pinned.

< ...Or is it you who likes getting fucked in the ass? >This last taunt came out of Adam in such a strained tone that it lost much of its intended sting—at least, if anyone other than Lucifer, now entirely gripped by panic, had heard it.

Finally registering Lucifer's state and realizing how absurd his own words had become, Adam recoiled from him like a spring. He released Lucifer, who collapsed back onto the desk, sending a few more objects clattering to the floor. Adam staggered backward, panting heavily. He wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand and turned toward the room's entrance, avoiding looking directly at the angel.

< I wonder what the Princess of Rainbows and Hearts would say if she knew her mother is a selfish whore with nothing but ambitions for power. That she loves getting screwed by angels while still married to her father, > he sneered. < That she wants to overthrow the order of Hell and Heaven to take control of everything... and rule, with no regard for the innocent souls she has sacrificed and will sacrifice. > He added in a less confident tone, not looking at Lucifer, swallowing a lump in his throat. < I wonder what she'd think, finding out her father knew everything and never told her... > He continued, < I'll give you time to think about it. Not too much, you pathetic failure, > he finished, moving toward the exit. He stepped on a couple of rubber ducks, kicking some away in frustration as he left the room.

Once outside Lucifer's room, Adam headed down the corridor toward his own, forgetting to close the door behind him. As he walked away, turning his back to the West Wing, Alastor's ghostly gaze watched him from the shadowy intersection between corridors.

The Radio Demon shifted his sharp attention from the First Man to the Seraph's room. Then, he allowed himself to be swallowed by his own shadows and dissolved into them to make his entrance.

Meanwhile, Lucifer had curled up on the floor at the foot of his own bed. His six white wings, tinged with red, wrapped around him like a protective cocoon, trying to quell the ache of loneliness tearing at his chest. The isolation was breaking him, and he thought this was the lowest he could sink. But he was wrong—he could still descend further into the abyss.

He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, hunched over, lost in his own tangled blonde hair, damp from cold sweat that made him shiver.

< What did you talk about? > Alastor's crackling, curious voice broke the silence, freezing Lucifer in place.

The Half-Stag was lying on his side on the bed, one elbow propped on a pillow—where his cane was also lodged—and his cheek resting on his hand. One knee was bent while the other leg was stretched out, and his face, despite the smile, radiated boredom. His nails were covered by black and red leather gloves.

< Now is not... not the time > Lucifer muttered, making his wings disappear as he stood up. He turned his back to the bed, and therefore to the demon, trying to hide his face while wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands and attempting to calm his racing heart.

< Oh, but this is the perfect time > Alastor replied in a honeyed tone, gently turning the palm of his hand upward. < You see, I woke up in a good mood this morning... because of our last conversation, I mean. > He continued, < And, thanks to Charlie's sadomasochism, which she just adores ~ > —he emphasized the word musically—< bringing destruction to the Hotel, even hurting and killing her beloved friends, has made the day quite annoying.~ > He narrowed his eyes, his voice tinged with a slight radio distortion. < So yes, this is the perfect time to take advantage of our pact and relax together. >

In Alastor's palm, an acid-green chain appeared, which he gripped tightly with his claws, yanking it back with a sharp clang that came directly from Lucifer's neck, where a collar had suddenly formed.

Lucifer's eyes widened, the whites still bloodshot, and he gasped, caught off guard by the violent tug backward. His hands flew to the collar as he stumbled a few steps, only to be yanked back and slammed, stomach-first, against the edge of the bed, his face ending up right in front of Alastor's feet.

He dug his claws into the mattress, his body rigid with fear and anger. His teeth clenched, and his swollen, tear-filled eyes rose to meet the demon's curious gaze.

< You're quite tense, my King. Why don't you undress while you tell me what happened...? > Alastor suggested, his red ears twitching. He retracted his legs, sitting up on the bed before standing and taking his cane with him. His steps echoed on the floor in the silent room, shrouded in a reddish twilight. Lucifer's anxiety began to rise again; he swallowed hard a couple of times and reluctantly obeyed. He started to undress, first removing his vest, loosening the laces around his sleeves, and then unbuttoning his shirt... button by button.

He could hear Alastor continuing to circle the bed leisurely until he stopped behind him, likely leaning against the workbench—Lucifer could tell from the noises, the rustling, and his vibrant breathing. He didn't dare turn around, keeping his back to him as he slipped off his shirt, remaining bare-chested. He was thin, his musculature stark against his frame, and along either side of his spine, the slits from which his six wings emerged began to open—pale like his skin, glowing as if countless eyes were watching the Radio Demon behind him.

Lucifer blushed, feeling the heat of embarrassment and something else creeping up his face as he laid his shirt on the bed and began unbuttoning his pants.

< How good you are > Alastor teased, a satisfied smile on his lips, leaning with his back and one hand on the desk's edge, the other resting on the microphone atop his cane. < But you're not answering me. I've asked the same question twice. >

< The pact doesn't require me to answer your questions > Lucifer replied firmly, pulling down his pants and standing completely naked. This prompted a distorted groan of disapproval from the demon.

< You're right > Alastor admitted calmly.

At the exact moment Lucifer placed his bare hoof on the floor, stepping over his crumpled white pants, a black tentacle swiftly wrapped around his leg, coiling up to seize his waist.

< Let's see if I can convince you this way > Alastor added as Lucifer barely had time to register the presence of the tentacle before jolting, his eyes widening. A myriad of other tentacles, generated from dark shadows on the floor, grabbed him all over: wrapping around his wrists, forcing his arms above his head; around his other leg, forcing his thighs apart; and around his chest...

< Uh! > One tentacle snapped loudly against his right buttock, making it tremble.

< Like this? > Alastor asked, still leaning motionless against the desk, enjoying the view from behind. The angel began to twitch, arching his body and contracting his muscles as a second, third, and fourth sharp crack landed against his skin, releasing choked moans from his throat.

Each strike sent waves of pleasure and pain up the Seraph's spine, electrifying it and shooting straight to his brain, causing his member to swell, harden, and grow to a size befitting the Devil. He could feel it rubbing, its increasingly moist tip against his abdomen, in spasms that matched perfectly with the rhythm of the lashes.

< Or maybe like this...? > the Radio Demon continued, his voice sizzling, as a tentacle wrapped around Lucifer's neck, pulling him against the creaking edge of the bed.

The Seraph found himself bent over at a perfect ninety-degree angle, obscenely exposed, with his chest and abdomen pressed against the mattress, his hooves planted on the floor, legs spread wide. Tentacles slid over him, quickly re-knotting with hissing snaps against his body. His wrists were pulled back and tied together at the small of his back, where the tentacles continued to whip his flesh, leaving golden welts and abrasions.

The tentacles grew increasingly oppressive, and he couldn't tell how many were on him. They wrapped around his legs, sinking into the flesh of his thighs to keep them spread apart; they coiled around his waist and crawled up his chest, overcoming the friction of the bed where he was pinned, to reach his nipples and pinch them like painful clamps. He began to drool.

He moaned sharply, hoarsely, rubbing his face against the bed, drooling onto the sheets, which wrinkled under his jerky movements that matched the sound of the blows.

< This naughty little angel likes being punished... I see > smiled the Half-Stag, biting his lower lip. He cast a thoughtful glance toward the canopy ceiling. < You are all such simple beings... Prey to your base instincts, > he said, lowering his gaze back to the angel, who was trembling, his skin becoming increasingly damp with sweat that plastered his hair to his forehead. Lucifer was flushed and languid, his serpentine tongue exposed, saliva stringing between his sharp teeth. He felt... free. Finally. Finally!

Alastor was there, admiring his work, watching with feigned detachment as the tentacles made Lucifer jump every time they dangerously threatened to strike his swollen testicles. The angel's erection was stiff, bobbing in the air, covered in pleasure, pulsating with the same intensity as the wounds the demon inflicted on his thighs. His heart pounded against the tentacle gripping his neck tightly, pressing on his arteries. Alastor could feel it perfectly. He was alive; every blow made him feel alive. And how did he feel?

Why was he asking himself how he felt? He liked it, didn't he? Tormenting him like this. How pathetic Lucifer was... look at the Devil, bent over in front of a Sinner. Alastor had his power, his life, his dignity, and his pride in his hands. He was devouring them.

Alastor's thoughts exploded like a bubble when he, in turn, flinched at another blow that landed squarely on Lucifer's testicles, wrenching a groan of pain from the angel. What? He pierced the wood of the desk's edge with his red claws, creating a distorted, annoyed radio effect.

< Al... Alastor... more. >

Any other thought the Half-Stag had was shattered by those simple, pleading words from the Seraph. He was begging him. He was asking for more. Alastor's smile froze. He could break him, tear him apart, and Lucifer wouldn't complain. Did he want to die?

< I don't hear any storytelling, Your Majesty. > Alastor wasn't even sure how he managed to speak so calmly, but he chose to stand up, taking his cane with him. He began moving slowly around the room, circling the bed again until he passed the canopy post, positioning himself beside the angel, who was convulsing. He looked down at him, his red eyes narrowing to his lower eyelids... he was so fragile. The slits on Lucifer's back seethed with a dark gloom, rippling with red dots like countless frenzied, flickering pupils.

< Don't make me... please > the angel begged, panting, scraping his lower lip with his sharp teeth. His brow twisted into a languid, pained expression; the sheets were soaked with his saliva and tears streaming down his face, irritating his cheeks.

Lucifer felt the blows cease and the tentacles crawl over his sore skin in rough caresses, squeezing his buttocks and spreading them, while another tentacle slid around his testicles and up the length of his hardened member, making him shudder in another spasm of pleasure.

He felt the bed bounce slightly and shifted his swollen gaze. Alastor had sat down next to him; he faced away but was looking in his direction, his feet resting on the floor beyond the edge of the bed. He observed Lucifer with a strange curiosity, a different expression from the detached one he had at the beginning.

He saw the demon's hand pinch the air, commanding the tentacles to change Lucifer's position. They lifted him slightly off the mattress, turning him like a puppet to place him on his back, his arms still bound behind him and his knees bent high, his hooves dangling in the air. From that position, he could do nothing but stare at Alastor, whose face held an inscrutable expression.

He paused to watch the dark tips of Alastor's hair sway, but also his ears twitch as if they could catch every sound, every rustle, imperceptible to humans. He was like an animal on high alert, studying the situation to gauge how dangerous it might be. Yes, he was a predator as a demon, but the stag is prey. His gaze was curious and uneasy—was he studying him? Was he trying to understand him? What was he doing? What...

Lucifer suddenly felt the tentacles invade his insides; a searing pain that choked his breath in his throat and slammed into his lower back, forcing a moan out of him. Without giving him a moment to breathe or adjust to the penetration, the dark coil gripping his shaft began to rub against his taut, now slick skin in a rapid motion, sliding up too far. It hooked itself like a thin tendril and plunged into his urethra. At this further invasion, Lucifer's jaw dropped open, his eyes rolled back, and his mouth overflowed with saliva that his serpentine tongue, obscenely protruding, dragged along with it.

What the hell was he watching?

Adam stood at the doorway, his dark claws digging into the door, keeping it open just enough to see inside while remaining difficult to spot himself. From that angle, he could glimpse the foot of the king-sized bed in the suite's bedroom. There were Lucifer's spread legs, held up by the tentacles of... the Radio Demon. It was him. Adam could see his legs, recognize his red suit, and hear that damn distorted voice. The First Man was tense, feeling the heat and the sweat trickling down his forehead; fucking hell, Lucifer was being ravaged by that demon's tentacles. So he hadn't been far off at all; he had hit the mark completely.

Alastor's tentacles began to penetrate Lucifer greedily; the angel was completely lost, stripped of all self-control, unrecognizable compared to how he usually appeared. He was being observed at his most vulnerable, his most intimate point—his pleasure and pain were being devoured... and he wanted it. He wanted Alastor to continue; he was begging him with his desperate eyes, with every contraction of his muscles, with his spasms, with every drop of sweat trickling down his tense ribcage, arched so much that it formed a gap between his lower back and the bed. Even his tail had emerged, snaking through the air as he moaned, drenched in saliva, crying with tears running down his temples due to his supine position, his shaft throbbing, gripped in the rough stimulation and invaded deep inside his urethra.

He was losing golden blood; it dripped from the backs of his legs, his buttocks, and even his mouth—likely because he had bitten his own tongue. Alastor penetrated him faster and more violently; the tentacles slid through his insides, and he had to be seriously careful because they had no stopping point; they could easily impale him. And Adam? What was he doing? He was petrified.

Suddenly, an electric shock coursed through Alastor's spine, striking into his skull. He blinked a few times, jerking his head back, snapping out of it as he realized his jaw was slightly open and he was... drooling. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, nervously averting his gaze from the angel. < Touch me... Alastor... You too... > the Seraph implored, moaning. Fuck.

The Half-Stag turned sharply toward Lucifer, so quickly that his hair bounced. < Ah... please... Alastor > the Angel continued, arching even more as the pleasure grew, shaking him with the spasms of an imminent orgasm. The demon's gaze turned sharp behind a distorted crackle; he dug his claws deeper into the bed, scraping the blanket violently as a strange, indefinable sensation grew in his chest. Was he feeling anxious? What was this sense of oppression? Was it... a need? His heart started beating faster and faster, and he stiffened, continuing to stare down at the small figure of the angel who was writhing, disheveled, begging him for a real touch.

< Alas—Mpfg! > Lucifer tried to call him again, but this time a tentacle gagged him violently, covering his mouth and intensifying his gasps, his need for air now coming only through his nose. His cheeks turned bright red, and his eyes filled with tears that continued to stream down.

With a grimace of annoyance, the Half-Stag lifted his hand from the bed, placed his cane between his legs, and began removing a glove, freeing the red claws that made up the second part of his phalanges. He flexed his fingers in the air, making them softly crack, and, with a particularly cautious hesitation, cupped Lucifer's cheek, wiping away some of the tears with his thumb and cleaning the saliva and sweat that stained his skin under his right eye. A light caress, but enough for the angel to smile languidly with his gaze, causing a flush of heat to rise on Alastor's face.

It was at that exact moment that the Seraph reached his climax, starting to moan more sharply, squeezing his eyes shut, arching completely, stiff, breathing from his belly, and beginning to shake every single muscle under the instinctive, uncontrollable spasms of ecstasy—ecstasy that pressed impatiently against the tentacle lodged in his urethra.

The Demon withdrew the dark coil, which, like a cork, released Lucifer's pleasure in a sudden burst—along with some golden blood—spraying hot across his own chest and staining the tentacle that the demon had been using to masturbate him.

Suddenly, behind a deep, unsettling sound, a shadow appeared right behind Alastor. It spread its arms and grabbed him, dragging him into the darkness of the bed, dissolving him into it. With him vanished every single tentacle that had filled the room and restrained Lucifer up to that point, leaving the angel free to collapse onto the bed.

Adam had seen it all.

Had Alastor gone away? Yes, he had gone away. Adam quickly looked around, his eyes darting from side to side in terror. Alastor hadn't appeared behind him; he wasn't in the hallway. And Lucifer was still there, lying supine on the mattress—Adam could see his bent knees just beyond the edge of the bed, and he could still hear him panting. Then he saw Lucifer's legs retract and disappear from view.

Adam swallowed hard and furrowed his brow, steeling himself. This was the right moment. He suddenly flung the door open, making it slam loudly against the wall, and then shut it behind him. < LUCIFER! > he thundered, running toward the bedroom. Damn rubber ducks—he stomped on a couple, kicked away a bunch, nearly slipping, and then burst through the doorway, panting with tension.

< AH, there it is! So it's true—you like getting your ass wrecked... and by that fucking red demon, no less! > he snarled, baring his teeth in an aggressive grin. < Does your 'dear daughter' know? Does she know that—that—? >

He choked on his words, unable to finish, his face lighting up with shock. The Seraph was curled up in the middle of the bed, completely naked and wrapped in his six wings. They almost hid his face, which was pressed against his knees, held tightly by his hands. He was crying. Sobbing like a child and trembling terribly. Were his teeth chattering? That clicking noise, something Adam could never replicate intentionally, sent goosebumps down his spine.

< ...Lucifer... > he repeated softly, incredulous and confused. "Shit..." He felt a strange anguish envelop him—was it guilt? Sorrow? What kind of fucking hell was this?

< I will help you, Adam... But... if you want to break me again, please... just kill me now. >

...

4 notes · View notes