#hazbin hotel lucifer x you

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,�� almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold.

alastor, lucifer, rosie, husk

⌇alastor

you looked the radio demon up and down, thinking that doing so from the farthest corner of the bar would ensure he didn’t see you. it’s not like you could help it though. alastor had switched out his normal suit for a gorgeous red velvet, his hair pulled up with what looked like braids in it, no doubt nifty’s doing. you took a sip of your drink and looked down, seeing him look up at your area of the bar.

you had been doing this since you had sat down at the bar. watching him interact with patrons and royalty, who were there to have their pocket books pried open for some funding as well as support for the hotel. it wasn’t an easy task by any means even with lucifer in support of the idea and here tonight. you were supposed to be chatting people up as well, but after the first guy you spoke to kept his hand on your arm for a little too long, you decided you were too sober for all of this.

you saw alastor’s attention be pulled else where, giving you your cue to look back up. he was angled away from you and you gulped audibly. the way the jacket fit his frame, his hair style complimented his long neck, and how his waist looked so deliciously tiny made your stomach warm and your face heat. you had zoned out, your mind taking you to an alternate reality where you had a chance of slipping off that coat of his… you shook your head and your eyes locked with alastor’s. you’re not sure how it was possible but your face heated even more, almost burning with the blush you had at being caught. you couldn’t look away though, even as he smirked at you.

you swallowed heavily and shakily took a sip of your drink as you saw him depart from whoever he was talking to, walk up to the bar and stand close next you.

“just a few fingers of that old rye you have back there.” alastor requested, and husk nodded turning away. giving alastor a chance to look down at you. you felt yourself shrink under his gaze as he smiled again, almost like a smirk. he grabbed the glass husk handed to him and you watched intently as he brought the glass up to his lips and sipped his drink, glancing at his neck and the way it moved. flickering your eyes back up to his as his grin widened. he bent down at his waist, you both face to face now.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’ll catch a cold darling.” he murmured to you, as your eyes widened and you looked down ashamed. alastor chuckled and you felt his finger draw your face up to look at you again.

“cat got your tongue?” he asks, smirking. you try and speak but no words come out and you feel your face and now arms burning. you take your cool hands and place them on your cheeks. he draws them away, holding them.

“don’t do that. i like the red color. red as blood.” he says, kissing your right cheek, then straightening up and taking his drink and himself back into the middle of the party, shooting glances at you from time to time as you still just watched him charm the crowd.

⌇lucifer

there were many benefits to being with the king of hell. you practically never had to worry about anything, be that financial or even emotional or physical. you knew lucifer had you covered. he was in your corner. once word got around that you were dating the king of hell, the perks increased. you’d walk into a shop and the attendants wouldn’t let you buy anything. there was just a small ask to post it on sinstagram or voxtube and review it. which you never minded, but then that oddly started an influencing career in hell. that definitely was not something on your bingo card for when you died.

right now though, you were faced with the biggest detractor of dating the king of hell. he had to attend this gathering. very boring, and you felt your eyes glaze over as you sipped lucifer’s appletini he left. you watched him converse with this group of royalty and business people, you being the only one left at the table. not that you minded and no, you didn’t want to go make conversation over there. you sighed and decided to use this opportunity to really admire lucifer.

he was dressed in his suit but instead of the white base he wore around normally, the suit was gold with red accents. and it just brought out his eyes so well. he looked ethereal standing there, talking to those people. you gave him a once over and all you could think about was getting him out of that damn suit that fit him so well. just imagining him underneath you, panting and sobbing for-

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i might just catch a cold.” you hear lucifer’s voice in your ear. your gasp sounding more like a moan when he grabs the appletini in your hand and throws it back in one drink.

“undressing you? you were already undressed in my mind. already on the bed if i’m honest.” you murmur to him and watch the blush take his cheeks.

“this boring you?” he asks smiling.

“desperately.” you look at him. “we should go back home. we can pick up where i left off envisioning you on our bed underneath me… begging for more.” you grin wickedly as lucifer gulps. he quickly makes his way over to the group, explaining something and you see them all nod. he quickly makes his way back to you and takes your hand, waiting for you to get up. then he all but drags you out of the venue.

“let’s go home.”

⌇rosie

you had told rosie she should wear her new dress. and damn it she was so excited about it, that of course you said yes. now… a part of you regretted saying she should as one of the gentleman in cannibal town kept talking rosie up while she was checking out a long line of patrons. you tried to breathe as you just watched rosie. you knew she was capable of taking care of herself. you watched how she nimbly packed up different items, wrapping them all while charming all around her. her figure was so graceful and the dress hugged her just right, accentuating her waist. you bit your lip watching her. both of your eyes widening as you caught each others gaze.

you blushed deeply while she smirked at you and checked out the last guest in line. finally she took a second to come over to you.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold darling.” she purred as she strode up to you. you saw behind her the same gentleman watching the both of you, his gaze hungry. you glared at him as you grabbed a bit of rosie’s skirt possessively, but not wanting to make a show. she chuckled.

“he’s really got you worked up, don’t he?” she asked.

“he keeps flirting with you. it’s disgusting.” you comment, looking at rosie. she hums and pulls you up so you were standing. she still towered over you, as she gently maneuvered you face to look up at her. she smiled again, licking her lips and she bends down and kisses you. your eyes widen as you throw your arms around her neck, reaching up on your tip toes to get closer.

you hum into the kiss, gently weaving your fingers in rosie’s hair and pulling at her nape. you feel the growl that comes from her, slightly panting as she break.

“get a fuckin’ room! absolutely disgusting. there are children!” you hear susan yell and you sigh. you hands at rosie’s waist, absentmindedly rubbing over the boning in the dress.

“i think you need to get back to the shop.” you sigh and rosie nods. “anything i can help with?”

“sit there and look pretty for me?” she asks and you laugh, nodding. you turn to the check out area and smile even brighter.

“he’s gone!” you exclaim. happy the guy from before wasn’t in the store.

“oh, yeah. he left right when i kissed you.” she laughed, patting down some of the fizz in your hair. “needed to make sure that everyone else knew who i was with though.” she winks and walks back up to the front counter as you sit back down and sigh. you wondered how you got so lucky.

⌇husk

watching husk talk to other patrons and quickly whip up drinks was a past time of yours that you greatly favored. it was sort of relaxing seeing him in an element that he excelled in, but honestly, just watching him and how good he was with his hands made you blush.

you were currently off, deep in thought, but husk caught your glance. your eyes widen as you try and look away, attempting to save whatever shred of dignity you had by playing it cool. you knew husk wasn’t dumb though. he had seen you staring.

he went back to work quickly enough and you waiting for a few more moments before looking out of the corner of your eye at him, watching him rim a glass with salt. he poured two liquors in at the same time topping off with some red liquid and a lime wedge, pushing it towards a demon who giggled as their hands touched being passed the drink.

you rolled your eyes and as soon as husk’s back was turned you took your opportunity to really look at him. he wore his usual suspenders and pants, but he had slicked back his hair tonight and had on a white button down shirt with suit themed cufflinks. it was an incredibly dapper look and you couldn’t help imagine taking off the damn shirt he was wearing. loosing your grip on reality again, you didn’t notice a drink being slid to you. you hear the drink before seeing it in front of you, looking up, you meet husk’s eyes. a smirk almost tattooed on his face. you blink a few times, trying to understand, when he chuckles.

“if ya keep starin’ at me sweetheart, and undressin’ me with those eyes of yours, i’m gonna catch a cold.” he takes back your old glass and leaves you sitting there bewildered as he helps the next guest. you take a sip and see a slip of paper from under the glass. you squint to read the scrawled handwriting.

“meet me at 1. party should be wrapped up then. you can stare all ya want.”

you placed your hand over the paper and felt your cheeks grow warm. he was going to be the death of you.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Teaching Him A Lesson (Lucifer x Reader) (Cucked Alastor x reader)

CW: Drunk sex, Dub con due to drinking, cream pie, breakup rebound sex, noncon cucking, fem receiving oral, bondage for Alastor Rated: Adult Summary: After being dumped by Alastor, you soothe your heart at the hotel bar. Lucifer is more than willing to listen to your sorrows and even indulge you when you take Angel Dust's advice of fucking your way over Alastor. Unfortunately, when Alastor sees you slip into your room with someone else, he regrets his choice and Lucifer decides to teach him a lesson.

AN: We finished it! It's a week and a half late but we fuckin finished it!! Thank you everyone who's cheered me on as I've explored characters, pairings, kinks and situations I would otherwise never have written and stay tuned for what @redvexillum and I have planned for December!

Lucifer prided himself on being the bigger man, even when he wasn’t. He was weak to temptation, in reality, though he wasn’t fond of admitting it. That’s how he became the king of Hell, banished from his heavenly home for daring to think he knew better than his divine father. 

It was that same weakness to temptation that had him following you through the halls, hand tucked into his after spending a few hours and too many drinks listening to your sorrows at the hotel bar. Your hair moved with your eager pace, tear-stained face smiling back at him as you pulled him along. 

This wasn’t right. Lucifer knew that, but he had always had a soft spot for you and oh, you were so eager. 

Your heart lay shattered in your chest. What did you expect, falling for the Radio Demon? The two of you had given it a good run, all things considered. That was more than most people could ever dare to hope to get with him. For a short year, you had stood by his side and, oh, how you had loved it. 

You thought he loved you. 

That’s why it had come as such a surprise when he had sat you down and told you he was done, that it was over this morning. You were a distraction. The benefits you brought to his life weren’t worth the weakness you created. He didn’t want you anymore. 

Cast aside. 

It hurt and you begged. It did no good, though. 

Angel Dust was sure what you needed to move on was a good fuck. Maybe he was right? Probably not, it had only been a few hours, but the more drinks you had, the better of an idea it sounded. 

Who better than the King of Hell to fuck away the memory of Alastor’s touch? Lucifer had been so kind too, listening to you ramble and cry. He didn’t get on well with your ex, but that didn’t seem to impact his kindness at all. 

“This is my old room,” you said, stopping in front of a door you hadn’t opened in six months. 

“Are you going to open it?” Lucifer asked, hand still held in yours. “If you’ve changed your mind, that’s-” 

“Are you going to kiss me?” You asked, reaching behind you and turning the knob, letting the door click open. 

Red eyes shrouded in shadows watched from the end of the hall as Lucifer enveloped you in his arms. Anger rolled through the static that surrounded him as he watched your body melt in the King’s, lips moving against his. 

Until this morning, you had allowed Alastor to hold you like that. Until this morning, you allowed Alastor to slip his tongue between your parted lips, drinking up the sweet sounds of your pleasure.

Alastor had been at peace with his decision when you ran from your shared bedroom this morning. He had been at peace with it as he watched you drink your sorrows away. There was hardly more than a twinge of jealousy as you sat with Lucifer at the bar. 

But now, as Lucifer walked you into what had been your bedroom. 

Warm lips moved against yours, soft and longing as Lucifer’s kiss stole your breath away. Your mind swam, wrapped up in the idea of him and floating on a sea of apple-flavored drinks. 

His arms wrapped around you as he walked you into the room you had thought you would never be in again. His body was hard against yours as he struggled between wanting to hold you and let his coat fall down to the ground, urged off his shoulders by your hands. 

Nimble fingers worked at the buttons of his vest, working it open one button at a time as he kissed your neck. Soft sweet words were whispered, unclear and unable to be made out as they mixed into one soft sound spoken against your neck. 

Lucifer pulled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the side as you worked through the buttons of his shirt. His hands replaced yours, yanking at the fabric. Buttons went flying, ripped from the stitching. 

Hot skin was against skin in a matter of moments. Lucifer’s warm chest pressed into you. The warm skin of his chest pressed your breasts flat. There was an eagerness to feel you that you hadn’t realized you missed. 

When had Alastor last held you like this? Kissed you like this? It wasn’t that intimacy was lacking with him; it was just that he was sparing with it. There was a passion and need to Lucifer’s hands, unclasping your bra and sending it flying off into the room that you had missed. 

It felt good to feel wanted. It made you feel powerful to have a man wanting you, eager for you. There was no taking your time. He wasn’t taking his time with you. The way Lucifer’s hands moved over your curves, it felt like he would die if he couldn’t take in the feeling of your skin enough. 

“I want you,” Lucifer said, lips working over the swell of your breast as the backs of your knees hit the bed you hadn’t slept in in months. 

“I need you,” you moaned as Lucifer worked the fly of your pants open, sinking to his knees as he worked the pants down your legs. 

It was fine, Alastor told himself as the door clicked closed. This was what he had wanted, you to no longer be a distraction. Yet as he paced the hall, Alastor had found himself to be even more distracted. 

You were not supposed to move on so quick. He devastated you this morning. You shouldn’t have been taking another man to your bed the same night. There was something wrong. 

Lucifer had to be influencing you. 

Alastor needed to stop this. You belonged to him. 

“Troublesome woman,” Alastor said, walking to the door. The shadow moving along the wall next to him wore a bitter frown, anger clear in the spikes of his hair and clothes over the situation you had put them in. 

Lucifer knelt in front of your knees as you lounged back on the bed, hands supporting your weight as you lifted your hips for him. He peeled your soaked panties from your core as the door to your room opened. 

“Get away from her!” Alastor stormed into the room as if it was his. 

“Alastor!” You sat up, arms crossing to cover yourself. “Get out of here.” 

“You belong to me,” His voice rose as Alastor stepped closer, “Stop this nonsense and we’ll talk.” 

“She doesn’t,” Lucifer said, still kneeling with his cock straining against the front of his pants. “You left her.” 

“Leave, Alastor.” Your voice was thick with emotion, anger and sadness fighting for dominance. 

“You do not need a half sized king to satisfy you,” Alastor continued telling you what to do, what you needed. 

“Please,” you whimpered. 

“Angel, look at me?” Your eyes flickered down to Lucifer, thumbs rubbing soothing circlers of comfort on your thighs. “Do you want this still?” 

“I do,” you sounded less sure than he would have liked but that’s alright, Lucifer would work with it. 

“Then ignore him, pay attention to me.” Lucifer ignored Alastor, who was putting off waves of radio static behind him. 

“Get your hands off her,” Alastor snarled as your panties went lower and lower down your legs. He couldn’t see the core that rightfully belonged to him. Lucifer’s body was blocking his view. “I will rip you limb from fucking limb.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Lucifer said, licking his lips as he leaned in, kissing your thighs as he spread your legs wider. “Shall we help Alastor learn his place?” 

“What do you mean?” You trembled, struggling to hold your arms over your chest and not fall back as Lucifer’s tongue made a quick pass up your spread folds. 

“I mean, let me show him how powerless he is.” Lucifer placed a soft kiss on your clit. “Let me show him how well I can satisfy you.” 

“Oh,” your eyes flicked to Alastor, standing frozen in place with his smile straining. 

“Look at me.” Lucifer’s lips moved against your clit as he spoke. “Pay attention to me. Don’t worry about him.” 

Between the drinks still humming through your bloodstream and the allure of Lucifer, you failed to see the shimmering of golden chains wrapping around Alastor and rooting him in place. The way Lucifer wrapped his lips around your clit distracting you from Alastor’s struggles against the chains, or the way his voice seemed to be muffled by the air. 

“Oh, my.” Your back arched, arms falling from your breasts as the wet muscle of Lucifer’s tongue worked into you. 

He wasted no time in playing your body like an instrument. Fingers pressed inside your weeping core, sinking deeper and deeper as he pulled waves of pleasure from you. Lucifer was skilled with both his tongue and his hands, driving you closer to the edge with little effort at all. 

Your breasts were shamelessly on display as you gasped for air. Alastor pulled against the chains, bitter threats failing to travel far in the thick air of the room. He watched as your breasts rose and fell with each gasping breath. 

He watched as your body grew tighter and tighter. He knew your body like the back of his hand. You were close. 

Alastor had no choice but to watch as your first orgasm washed over you. Each moan was music to his ears, but he should have been the musician. 

Lucifer drank you your slick, eagerly taking in everything you had to offer as your body wracked through the waves of pleasure. Only once you stilled did he rise, tongue running over his lips as he freed his cock. 

You were spread out, shameless now as Lucifer looked over his shoulder. He made bold eye contact with the man restrained in the back of the room. The positioning wasn’t the best, he decided. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alastor snapped as chains pulled him around the room, letting him see the couple from the side. 

“Making sure you have the best seat in the house,” Lucifer said, stroking his cock as your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. If he waited much longer, the drinks and soft afterglow of your orgasm would have you asleep before he had really taught Alastor a lesson. 

“Stop me if you can,” he said, chuckling as he turned his attention back to you. “Ready baby?” 

“Please,” you spread your thighs for him, showing him your needy core and begging him to fill it. 

“Let’s show him how it’s done.” Lucifer pulled you to the edge of the bed by your thighs. Your ass hung slightly over now, supported by his clawed hands. The soft head of his cock lined up with your opening.

Alastor couldn’t look away as the King of Hell sank his cock slowly into the woman he realized he loved. You were so hurt that you’d let Lucifer use you for his petty game just to hurt him back. 

Chains dug into his body as he thrashed and fought, struggling for even a centimeter of progress toward the man he wanted to rip apart. He would bath himself and you in the man’s golden blood, then remind you who you really belonged to. 

“I just need to,” each word was a struggle to grind out against the tightening hold of the chains, “Get free.” 

He couldn’t. There was nothing Alastor could do against the power of Lucifer himself. All he could do was watch as another man’s cock slowly pushed inside the body that belonged to him. 

Alastor stilled, watching as your mouth fell open as the king filled you. Your fingers bunched into the bedding, dust floating up from where the fabric pulled. 

Lucifer pushed into you until his body nestled tightly against you. Each aftershock of your orgasm caressed his straining cock, urging him to hurry. For a moment, he simply bathed in the feeling of being inside a beautiful partner once again, after so many years without his wife. 

Ex wife. 

“Pay attention now,” Lucifer said, pulling out from you only to slide back into place. “And I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

Your body rocked with each thrust into you. Your breasts bounced and moved, nipples putting on a dance for just the three of you as he worked into you. The pace was slow and steady, giving and taking pleasure with each lazy thrust. 

“More,” you begged, reaching out for Lucifer. Fingers wrapped around his wrists as you struggled to meet his thrusts in the position. “Harder,” 

“Already?” Lucifer asked, chucking at the needy whine. “You’re so responsive and he sent you away?” 

“Please,” you begged, “Please, just fuck me.” 

“He really is missing out,” Lucifer said, pulling from your body. The cold air rushed around his wet cock as he motioned for you to roll over. “Hands and knees.” 

Alastor protested, voice a muffled buzz in your ears as the man you had loved for the last year was pulled in front of you. Your eyes ran up his red clad body, taking in the way his cock strained against his pants. 

The bed shifted as Lucifer climbed up on it, positioning himself behind you. You looked into Alastor’s eyes as Lucifer’s cock sank into you. 

The pace was as you had begged for, harder and faster. He gave you more and more, high moans falling from your lips serving to encourage him.

“Good girl,” Lucifer said, pulling your torso up to rest against his chest. The long, whip-like tail that extended out behind the devil wrapped around your thighs. The spade tip caressed your clit as he continued to thrust up into you. 

Alastor’s hand fell to his crotch, palm absently caressing the bulge even as he spewed words of anger. 

Lucifer palmed your breast as his horns extended up. Red and yellow eyes inverted, burning over your shoulder as he gave you the harsh fucking you had been begging for. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he pushed you closer and closer to your finish. The coil within you was quickly winding, tightening as the breath was knocked from your lungs with every brutal thrust in a moan that made him want to hear it again and again. 

You screamed as you came, the spade of your lover’s tail slapping your clit softly as you shook in his arms. The men in the room with you would never agree on if the name you screamed was the correct one, but that didn’t matter to you now. All that mattered was the way Lucifer’s cock felt pushing through your quivering walls.

As your body grew weak, he let you fall to the bed. Folding himself over you, Lucifer pounded into you as he chased his own release. It didn’t take long at all for him to shoot hot ropes of semen into you, painting your twitching walls with everything he had. The throbbing feeling of his release had you moaning again, slitted eyes on Alastor while you rode the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

You hated him. 

You loved him. 

Tears ran from your cheeks as the King of Hell’s cock twitched inside you, shooting the last spurts of his seed against your cervix. You struggled to breathe as a sea of emotions crashed over the shores of your heart. 

Your spent body sank into the mattress as Lucifer carefully lowered your hips down. The alcohol and post orgasmic bliss called to you, telling you stories of how you could deal with the aftermath of your actions in the morning. 

It would all be easier in the morning. It would all make sense in the morning. 

In the morning. 

You slipped off to sleep, Lucifer’s hand still on your hip as darkness claimed your relaxed mind. 

Lucifer walked, cock still in the process of softening and standing in front of him, to get a warm towel to run over sore skin. He had to compromise the quality of his clean up in favor of not waking you. 

Alastor screamed, voice unable to reach your ears as Lucifer scooped you up in his arms and nestled you into the bed. It was the wrong bed. You shouldn’t be sleeping in this bed. 

With a snap, the King was dressed again.

“Come along,” Lucifer said, pulling Alastor out of the room and down the hall by chains. 

“I will make you pay for this,” Alastor roared, voice hardly carrying down the dark hall. The surrounding chains slacked, but still prevented him from moving freely. 

“I won’t,” Lucifer said easily, eyes making a point of running down Alastor’s body, taking in the dark patch blooming at the end of the bulge in his lap. “But I do hope you’ve learned your lesson.” 

“Who are you to teach me-” Lucifer cut him off.

“Do not throw away people who love you,” Lucifer spoke simply, voice thick with emotion as he caught sight of the wedding ring he still wore on his finger. “And don’t put the people you love last. You never know when they’ll walk away and not come back.” 

“You know this from experience, your highness?” Alastor’s tone was mocking, a shallow attempt to make up for his lack of ability to generate volume at the moment. 

“I do,” Lucifer said simply. “Maybe you can fix things with her in the morning, if you want to. If you don’t, let her go.” 

Alastor stood, frozen in place even as the chains around him disappeared, watching Lucifer walk down the hall. His shadow split from him as he turned toward his door. As he entered his room, the part of him that expressed emotion far easier entered your room. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - Lucifer Kink Headcanons

Personal kink headcanons for the ducky boy Lucifer. Not doing the more obvious/universally accepted kinks. Instead I'm writing about some of my more... niche takes.

The other Lucifer kink posts (and my other work) can be found on my masterlist >>HERE<<

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader, but is AFAB for the last section; all the kinky shit obviously; discussion of Lucifer and Lilith's past relationship; self hatred and self punishment because Lucifer desperately needs therapy (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Exhibitionism/Public Sex ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

I have it imbedded in my head that Lucifer has a hardcore exhibition/public-sex kink that he tries desperately to keep under wraps. Especially now that Charlie and him are talking again.

He isnt... exactly good at hiding it however. The biggest tell is how he seems to have no shame with how horny he is for you. Lucifer will playfully smack your ass as you walk by each other or invite you to come sit on his lap in front of others. I'm not kidding when I say he has no shame.

What does catch you off guard however is how easily it is to convince the King of Hell of all people to have sex in places he is at risk of getting caught. Once you two have been dating awhile Lucifer may even start to suggest such things himself.

Its not that he wants to be seen fucking you, oh no; he wants to get caught bent in half with you fucking him senseless. He wants desperately to have his head buried between your legs, worshipping you, while your in the middle of work or even a meeting...

Lucifer will have you pinned against a wall, both of your lips desperate from teasing. Then Lucifer will just drop to his knees in front of you. You panic a bit, asking what he is doing. You both are in a hallway that anyone can walk into after all. Lucifer just smiles up at you and tells you to trust him; let him be a good boy and make you feel good.

An aspect of it is definitely a sense of self degradation/self hatred after everything that has happened to him; seeing himself as a pathetic cockslut, a whore who corrupted both of the first women. The other part is he wants to show the entire world just how good he is for you. How good he can make you feel. How much of a good boy he is for you. Only for you...

On that note...

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Humiliation ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

This might seem counterintuitive at first as the sin of Pride. But hear me out here. Like any kink, its a spectrum. For Lucifer, its not about actually disgracing the guy, no. Its about taunting him. Teasing, mocking; riling him up until he snaps and shows you just how good he can fuck.

As implied before, Lucifer is kind of a horndog when it comes to you. Especially when it comes to you. An easy way to rile him up is to start reciprocating his touches then pull back. This pairs wonderfully with his whole exhibitionism kink. True, he doesn't want to actually get caught, but he is more then willing to risk it.

Run your hand up his thigh under the table when you two are at dinner, position yourself just right so he gets an eyefull when you bend over, or start eating something a little too provocatively. Lucifer will be hard as a rock and eyefucking you immediately.

Then when Lucifer starts getting handsy, pull away. Whisper in his ear that he needs to be a good boy and wait until you get home as he whimpers in protest. Rinse and repeat.

By the time you two get home, Lucifer cant even wait until the door is closed before pouncing you. He had been waiting for so long it felt like. Now he wants to make both of you cum again and again, until neither of you can say anything but the other's name, and you never, ever, want to tease him like that again. (You always do of course.)

While Lucifer may be all about being a good boy, he can also be an absolute brat. Not even in the sexual sense, Lucifer just is snobbish without meaning to be. Like think when he first went to the Hotel and was struggling not to insult it then called Charlie's friends losers. Guy is just snooty.

This provides many wonderful opportunities to put him in his place. Quietly warn Lucifer that he needs to stop what he is doing or tone it down. Then if he continues, oohh will he regret it later. He had fair warning after all...

Later you'll have him bent over your knee, his hands bound and whole body jolting with every violent smack you give his ass. Lucifer's moans and sobs bleed into eachother as he promises not to do it again. Promises to do better.

Or you can edge him. Edge him until he is a sobbing, pleading mess. You tell him only good boys get to cum as you sit back and masturbate over his bound body. Lucifer writhes desperately begging to let him taste you, touch you, anything, as he ruts up into the empty air.

You can take pity on him. Finally letting the devil cum with you as he deliriously babbles praises and thank yous. Or. You can be the brat for once. See how far you can push him. Bringing him to the edge, over and over for hours. Every muscle in his body trembling uncontrollably, his eyes glazed and unfocused, bloodshot from all the tears. You finally let him cum when you hear him mumble pleads to heaven. Lucifer resorting to begging the place and people that had forsaken him long ago in his unhinged state.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Panty Sniffing₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Look. We all know Luci is a pussy devourer. The man loves it and can't get enough of it. But that's been discussed to death and not why we are here.

He...isnt exactly sure when this started. Lucifer just knows that it happened at some point when Lilith and him were growing apart. Sex had become nonexistent between them; and Lucifer, not wanting to pressure or bother Lilith, started taking her used undergarments to help him fulfill his... needs.

Now that Lilith is out of the picture, Lucifer has been left with the aftermath of a mean panty sniffing kink. Oooo boy has she created a monster without realizing it.

Its the first thing on Lucifer's mind as soon as he takes an interest in someone. What kind of underwear are they wearing? What color? How long have they been wearing them? How wet are they?

This man has now been cursed with the knowledge of how well he can smell and taste the individual pussy that wore the underwear. Its like every pair has been embalmed with the essence of the person that wore it.

Lucifer doesn't like to think of himself as greedy, he will take what he can get. If that means swiping a pair of underwear from your laundry or even your room if he gets the chance, he will.

Lucifer will push the underwear into his face and inhale as deep as he can, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. God, you smell amazing. Now he is just even more desperate to taste you...

So he tries. Lucifer kitten licks at the inside, where your cunt would sit, deliriously trying to get a taste of you. Lucifer moans when he manages to get a hint of your essence. You taste even better then he imagined.

Lucifer feverishly shoves your panties into his mouth, using it as a makeshift gag. Both of his hands rush to his cock; rock hard and aching just from the small taste he got of you. No time is wasted.

Lucifer throws his head back, arching upwards, his hands almost violently working at his shaft. The normally obscene moans he would be letting out are now muffled whimpers.

Lucifer franticly sucks the fabric in his mouth, playing and swirling at it with his tongue. Pretending its actually you he is playing with, your beautiful pussy in his mouth. Lucifer's ministrations completely saturate the garment with his saliva. Rewarding him with every bit of your taste that could possibly be wringed out of the fabric.

If/when Lucifer does finally manage to bed you, he 100% nicks your panties. You might think its a trophy thing; and while that might be true in the tiniest percent, its actually because Lucifer wants them as a memento of the night with you. He wants them so he can relive that mindblowing night.

Lucifer will have the underwear wrapped around his hard-on, using it as a cocksleeve while he desperately fists his weeping member. His eyes are glazed over as his mind goes back to that night. God. He wants you. He wishes so bad you were his.

But he will take what he can get.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

AN: This was supposed to go up like almost a full week ago but TUMBLR HAD TO BREAK ALL THEIR TAGS YAY

FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

There is a really nice brat!Lucifer, overstimulation, and kinda-exhibition drabble >>HERE<< by @ratskinsuit

Ooorrr if you just want to hear a bunch of dirty talk, you can go to >>THIS POST<< that has a bunch of things Lucifer might say to you during sex by @gluttonybiscuits

[klttn]

— 𝜗𝜚 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐔𝐓 - lucifer worships you. every inch, every curve, every flaw and impurity is perfection in his eyes. and that includes your pussy. the man is whipped, for you, for your body. hopelessly pathetic when it comes to you, void of all real control other than to make you feel good. from buying you flowers to sweet simple kisses stolen between hidden moments when no one could see. but most importantly when he has his face pressed so deep between your thighs and his tongue lapping so fluently on your cunt it had you screaming.

it was lucifers favourite thing in the world. your taste flowing to his tongue whilst he greedily hungers for more, forcing your thighs to spread impossibly wide just so he could gauge more of your pretty pussy. “you taste so good, baby,” he’d mumble hungrily against your lips, drinking you in like you would be taken away from him.

your moans sound loudly through his head, edging him on more and more the longer his mouth is on you. “keep making those pretty sounds, don’t stop, fuck, please don’t stop.” he’d sound so desperate, so needy in you although it would be you laying helplessly, letting him give you whatever he pleased. he’d notice every hitch in your breath and every slight twitch your thighs would make around his head, sensing your orgasm before even you could. relishing in it, thrusting his tongue into you, moving one of his hands to circle your clit, eager to have you spilling all over his tongue. “you better not be trying not to cum,” he’d growl, pulling his tongue from your cunt momentarily to utter the words, becoming even more frustrated with desire. “come on baby, give it to me, no holding back.” a loud shout and panting leaving your lips, “please, fuck, i need it.” and with that, you’d explode on his tongue. letting him feel all the pulsing and gushing of your release flooding his tastebuds and senses. and he’d moan. he would fucking moan.

lucifer would never stop there. how could he when he’s only just tasting your cum? how could he when he could make you cum again and again so this would never have to end, your taste the only thing on his tongue? his hand on your clit would slip back to keeping your spasming thighs spread, pinning you and forcing your pussy to take more. pants of ‘its too much’, and ‘please luci’, staining the air but he doesn’t care. his tongue swirling your clit, lapping all your slick and focusing on nothing but that and your adorable sensitive cries. “one more baby, please just one more, i know you can pretty thing, please- shit, please.” your head lolling and thighs losing their fight meant he won, succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure he, too, was losing himself in.

turning feral, grip turning rough and primal, strength overpowering you with an ease you loved. two of his fingers finding themselves fucking deep into you, pushing on that cute bundle of nerves to have your head spinning, his tongue cat licking your clit in perfect flicks to match the aching thrust of his hand. and it wasn’t long til you were there, teetering on the edge ready to let go and with a perfect suck of his lips over your bud, you did. lucifer quick to move his fingers and fuck into where they left with his tongue, milking every ounce of cum you had left in you, moaning and growling against you.

pulling back, panting, messy and lovingly looking at his little girl, lucifer would let his fingers that were once inside you drag up to your lips, pushing past the soft flesh to make you taste yourself too. “look at you, feeling how good you taste, so cute.” and when you’d let your eyes fall down, you’d see it wasn’t just you that enjoyed yourself. the king of hell himself, standing over you, having just cum in his pants like a teenager from eating you out and tongue fucking your cunt.

[shapard]

A Man in Love🩷

[1-helluva-hazbin]

Always Something Underneath

Chapter 1 - Hints of Vanilla

Lucifer x Fem!reader (prostitute character w/ accent)

Content warning: heavy flirting, slow burn, smoking, writing the accent

Summary: A curious answer during one of Charlie's groups from a new resident stokes Lucifer's interest. Him choosing to pursue a brief conversation with the new resident sparks the beginnings of something new.

Thank you for all the love and support you choose to give!

Word Count: 2476

Chapter 1 (You are Here) 𖤐 Chapter 2 𖤐 Chapter 3 𖤐 Chapter 4 𖤐 Chapter 5 (WIP)

“Good job everyone! Thank you for all the awesome participation today!” Charlie said as she clapped her hands, ending the last session of the day.

You stood up stretching. Just a quick shift of your shoulders and twist of your body had it popping and crunching from having sat for the last 45ish minutes. You made it fast though as you didn’t want to get caught up in conversation with anyone. You needed to get some nicotine in your system before you headed off to work. You ducked from the room before anyone could notice you dipped and briskly headed off.

It hadn’t been long since you had come to the hotel. Only a month if that. You had quickly made yourself at home though. Eagerly participating in the group sessions, partaking in the lobby bar with some fun drunken shenanigans, and taking advantage of the hotel amenities such as the many balconies to indulge your nicotine addiction. As you made your way up to the left wing balcony on the second floor, you put a cigarillo in your cigarette holder and prepped your lighter. Approaching the door, you turned pushing it open with your rear enabling you to simultaneously light up. You took a quick puff twirling out the opened door, that quickly swung shut with a slam behind you, and sighed as the smoke invaded your lungs teasing your addiction. 

You made your way over to the banister on the far side of the large balcony to lean on it, your plush bosom getting a lift. You brought the holder to your lips and slowly took a long slow drag. You had gotten vanilla cigarillos this time which was just the taste you wanted as it brought about a light buzz fully quelling the craving that had been gnawing at you. “Mmm…just what this gurl needs.” you hummed to yourself. Your free hand snagged your phone from its tucked position in the waist of your skirt bringing up one of the various social media sites you frequented. Your finger speedily flicking through the vast amounts of meaningless content people spammed the site with looking for anything remotely entertaining.

To your surprise, you hear the door behind you open and close. You perked a brow and glanced over your shoulder to see none other than Lucifer making his way over. His hands behind his back holding his cane as he confidently strode over. “Good afta’noon your majesty.” you coo, giving a half wave with the hand holding your cigarillo. 

“Good afternoon.” he politely responded, taking up a spot to your right leaving ample room between the two of you. “Very good session this afternoon. You gave a very,” he paused thinking about how he wanted to phrase it, “honest answer.”

“Well,” you laugh softly, “Chawlie’s always goin’ on about honesty bein’ important. An’ I figya, I ain’t got nothin’ to hide so I ain’t got no reason not’a be.” You took another slow drag watching him as he gazed out towards the city. He seemed a little nervous; his fingers drumming along the shaft of his cane and he shifted his weight from his heels to the front of his feet and back. That tickled you a bit. You tucked your phone back into the waist of the skirt and turned towards him. “Alright, what’s goin’ on. You don’t just stawt conversations with anybawdy.”

A devious smirk slid onto your lips as you decided to mess with him. You leaned towards him, bending at the waist so your cleavage was in full view for the king. “You lookin’ for a little fun ta’night? Bold of you I gotta say but, I’m game. I got werk but… I could stop by your room afta.” 

Lucifer blanched and he immediately put both hands up, as if he would push you away should you dare to get too close, while stepping back. “ABSOLUTELY NOT. Nooooooo. No, no, and NO.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from unabashedly laughing at his reaction. The satisfaction of freaking him out feeding your desire to tease him further. He looked like he might launch into an asthma attack, if he had asthma, from the shock though. You knew you couldn’t push too far considering how good you had it here and the fact you had JUST gotten here. “Sorry, sorry. I gotta mean streak don’ I.” The smile lingering on your lips as you lean away from him easing his anxiety. “But really. What’s up?”

A quick flick of your fingers sent ashes to the air before you brought it back to his lips, giving him a moment to recover and answer you. As you waited, you looked over the eye candy before you. You really wouldn’t have minded if he wanted a private session with you. He was far easier on the eyes than most of the clients you saw at the brothel. Damn if you weren’t really curious about how long that serpent tongue was as well. 

“I wanted to talk about your answer in the group.” he said after having collected himself, not having missed the fact he was being visually eaten alive. “About how one of your reasons for wanting to get into heaven is to find love. You know there isn’t a guarantee you’ll find that up there right? Plus Heaven… has it’s own challenges. Let alone who knows what the winners will think of prior sinners joining their ranks.”

You took a moment, processing what he had said. “Hmm… I mean, your not wrong. There isn’t.” you paused, lightly tapping your cigarette holder on the banister as you pondered, “If ya’ think about it though, most’a the people down heya, don’t have a reason to be betta. Like, there’s no reason to improve. Most people prob’ly get worse actually since, ya know, they can’t get inna heaven. It is what it is kinda mentality.”

You purse your lips, looking out towards the city. “It’s pretty hawd findin’ somebody who wants’ta commit when everythin’ around’ja encourages ya to just do whateva you want. I’ve had my faya shara of cheats and use’as. Then when they aw decent, usually cause they fresh ta hell, the extermination gets’em. ” You turn back to Lucifer taking another puff of your cigarello.

“People in heaven though…” you look at your hand as you twirled the cigarette holder making designs in the air with the smoke while looking out at the city as you talked, “obviously they did sommin’ right. Probably werked on themselves. Read those self improvement books or saw’a shrink. Actually tried to fix their issues. Ya’know? Decen’ people who wanna be good. For themselves an’ their foreva person.”

A sigh slipped from your lips as you thought about it before you glanced back at him. His face was neutral, though you figured gears were turning. “I got’ta give myself some’in to look forward to. THOUGH,” you added with an omph, “If I don got’ta werk up there. Love dos’nt matta. That’s gold. Sign me up. I’ll werk on me while baskin’ in the joys’a Heaven and if love comes along I’ll giv’it a try.”

He laughed out lightly. He shook his head clearly bemused by your monologue. While looking out just as the sound of gunshots sounded just a couple of blocks away, his smile fell slightly. “You’re not wrong about people not trying down here…” 

“Good thing we gawt Chawlie. Keep us awll in line.” You let out a single laugh drinking him in. “Does our resident angel think it’s pawsable? Redemption?”

He side eyed you looking down towards the ground and shrugged. “I can’t say. It hasn’t been done before as far as I’m aware.”

A hum of acknowledgement leaves your lips before you suck in the last bit of your ciargello in one long drag. You hold it, before slowly breathing it out, “Shucks. Well, guess awll we can do is try.”

He perked a brow at you glancing over. You smile at him. He hesitates before returning your smile and nodding. “Yup.”

You bend down, putting out the cigarello nub on the ground standing back up with a huff. You take the burnt down bit from the holder and flick it off the balcony, not missing the disgusted look from Lucifer. “Well, I don’t really wanna cut this shwort but, I gotta stawt gettin’ ready for werk.”

His brows furrowed, his expressions were just the cutest. He had heard you mention it previously but he had been so focused on shutting down your advances it hadn’t registered. “Why are you still working? You’re supplied everything you need at the hotel aren’t you?”

“Well, a gurls gawtta’ protect herself.” You gave him a lopsided smile paired with one raised eyebrow as if it should be obvious. “Since we dun know if it’s gunna werk I can’ bank on it. If I quit the brothel and it don’t, I hav’ta restawt building’ my reputation awll ova. Jus’ cuttin’ my ow’as to a couple nights, protects me from fully restawtin’.”

You waggle a finger at him, “AWLSO, it actually has been helpin’ me too. Supply an’ demand kinda thing. The less ow’as I have ta offa, means the clients who rreaaally want me, ah willin’ ta pay little more. They awlso have been bookin’ mora head’a time. Full books, less ow’as, with a little more comin’ in has been SOOO nice. I actually havn’ lost as much money as I thawt I would by comin’ here.”

Lucifer was staring at you with a clearly bewildered or overwhelmed look in his eyes. He hadn’t expected such an extensive, practical answer. He had just sort of assumed you enjoyed the sex from the way he had seen you act. You laughed seeing the look on his face, “It’ jus’ makes sense don’it?”

“I suppose you’re right. That was… certainly… a different answer than I expected.” 

“So diplomatic.” you roll your eyes playfully. “You're not gonna hurt my feelin’s none by saying what you actually think.” You pull your phone from your waist, groaning seeing the time. “I do gotta head out. Werk ‘n that.”

“Oh of course.” he said before pausing. “Since you entertained my questions, would you like a portal to your door?”

You gasped out at the offer, genuinely surprised. You then smile at him, trying to act a little sheepish though you were far too excited to successfully play it off. “You don’ gotta if you dun wanna BUT I. Would. Love that.”

He let out a soft laugh at your attempt to hide your excitement and with a quick motion of his cane a portal materialized before you. You watched completely mesmerized. You then whipped your head towards him, “If I could travel first class like this alla time, I would. I do, greatly appreciate it ya highness.”

“Please, Lucifer is just fine.” His cane rested in front of him with both hands on the apple top. His chest puffed just slightly, his ego bolstered by your reaction.

“Oooo,” you purred, “first name basis. You jus’ open a can-a-worms. You bet I’ma call you every nickname in the book now.”

He laughed nervously, his eyes shifting off to the side and then back, not certain what kind of teasing he had just incidentally unleashed upon himself, “Lucifer’s fine.”

The playful smirk climbed onto your lips, pleased with his reaction. “Thanks again for the portal dwoll.”

As you started to walk through the portal to your bedroom door you hesitated, suddenly turning around and walking over towards Lucifer again. You saw him tense slightly as you made your way back to him.

“You know…” you allow your voice to take a sultry tone, to feed into the uncertainty he was feeling, stopping right in front of him. Using a finger up to lightly push his hat up a smidge so you could see his face a little easier, since you were just slightly taller than him with your heels, you give him a real smile, “you seem like your one’a the good ones. A real decin’ persin.”

“A lil rough aroun’ the edges. But, considerin’ ur age and all the bullshit you’ve see along with, ya know, where we aw. You’re pretty swell. It’s not really a mystery where Chawlie gets it and why she makes me wanna be betta persin.” Your smile grew seeing him blink in surprise before a thought crossed your mind that made your face deadpan.

“Most’a the time. I still have days where I wanna commit mass homicide but~,” you said quickly waving your hand as if to dismiss the comment as if it was a sidenote, “I’m gettin’ betta. More good days than bad days. It’sa stawt.”

Lucifer didn’t let the comment pass though as his face twisted into one of alarm and question before he attempted to mask it with a plastered fake smile that was pulled too tight and didn’t reach his eyes. “Hahaha..yeah…that's totally normal!” he looked away with wide eyes real quick before putting a gleeful facade back on, “Well you better run along! Can’t be late for work!”

“Ah, shoot! You're right!” you spun on your heels and quickly made your way towards the portal waving at him from over your shoulder. “Thanks for the portal, Luci babe! Lets do this again soon~!” 

The moment you walked through the portal, it closed with a resolute ‘whish’. The smile immediately fell from Lucifer’s face as he sighed out, emotionally spent. He fixed his hat before turning to lean on the banister collecting himself as he played through the conversation with you. You certainly were quite the character, like most of the hotel guests, but overall you had seemed…pleasant. Minus the homicide comment. Also minus your sexually charged teasing.

He looked out towards the city as he thought about what you said before the homicide comment. Him being a decent person which is where Charlie got it. That made his heart swell. While Lilith had certainly taken up the role of primary parent, he liked hearing there were still parts of him in Charlie; especially good parts. He might have fucked up most of the things in his life but, hopefully Charlie would never be one of them. She was too good and he would do everything in his power to make sure she stayed that way.

The image of your smiling face as you pushed his hat up popped into his head. He hoped you were a decent person. It had truly seemed as though you had said all of that in earnest. Your eyes had been soft with a kind smile. A small glimpse of a potentially good being.

“What a whirlwind…” He laughed softly, running a hand down his face, mentally preparing for more social interactions, before he made a portal for himself back to the lobby.

[devilfemdom]

Hazbin Hotel Lucifer x gn!reader

suggestive snippet

*Lucifer talks about his duckies* "and this one, ah" Lucifer moans and closes his eyes. You bite his neck lightly as a warning. He yelps. "it, um, can create ligh, ah"

"Keep going Luci, I am listening" you encourage him, while licking the bite mark you left behind on his neck, before peppering kisses around it.

His breaths are laboured, his chest rising and falling quickly, "it creates lightning and it-t, ah, looks like Vox."

You stop and look at the duck closer, inspecting it. "Hahaha, youre right, it does look like him. What a cute thing" you nudge its head. Lucifer catches his breath and looks at you with a smile, your joy for his creation makes his heart flutter all the more.

You turn to look at Lucifer with hooded eyes, "but you are cuter, because youre mine" your hand trails down his abdomen, while you pull him into a kiss.

[mygoldtears]

Queen of Darkness

Prologue

(Bad grammar my first time writing a fanfic)

“This is an outrage!”

“Monster Lover!”

“Monster!”

“She is just like Lucifer..”

“Eclipsa…” said a voice shaking a bit before they could say anything she interrupted them “it’s alright my friend.” Her back facing them, watching the horizon before her it will be her last,it’s almost as she knew what would be in store for her “I have tried my best but it appears my best wasn’t enough..”

Before facing them with a gentle smile still on her face even though of the hate and pain that is happening around them she is still smiling through it all..

With a gentle smile still on her face, despite what is happening, she remained resilient. "Just remember what I taught you. Promise me that you and Lilith will take care of each other once..." She trailed off, hesitating for a moment before continuing,

“Once I’m gone”

She observed as they try to stop what will happen to her, but they weren’t able to reach her as they were force back where they once came from, she then turned to face the angels. Wand in hand, eyes filled with determination, her face neutral yet courageous. She was not going down without a fight. A purple light glow began to emanate from her wand, as while her cheek marks shaped like spades..

She makes the first move…

“You are here by c̵̢̛̦̤͎̼̦̳͕͋͂́̿̈́͛̄̈́̆̉̏̀͐͆̿̄̓͋͠ͅͅͅr̸̟̥̦̬̠̼̩̘̰̲̟̼̿͌̀y̶̧̡̛̙̬̠̟͈̘̹̻̳̙͕̜̯̳͎̩̳͚̰̱̟̖̹̘̦̬̘͔̖͎͔̔̈͛̆̃̊͆̇̃̈́̑͂͑̓̈́̔̄̉͌̀̄̏̈́͊̌̅̚͘̕͜ͅș̶̪̯̞͍̹͕͎̜̲͎͚̳͕̲̥̝̗͗̉̓͌̎̀̑̀̀͛̈́̂͊͂͜͠t̵̫̱̞̫͉̰͍͙͙͋͗̆̅̏̎̅̂͂̋͗͐̎̌̋̑̔̽͊̊͌̍̍̊͆̈́̍̎̋̍̚͜͝͝͠͝ͅă̷̢̨̦̬̥̲̞̦͖̩͓̦̜͎͕͚̭͉̣̺͈͇̳̥͉̞̦͈̫̗͍̥͆͊̈́͂̋͂̌̃͂͗̐̾͆̀͜͝ͅḽ̴̻͎̝̮͔̼̮̥̺̇̓͆͂͑̽́͜l̵̢̢̧͕͕̬̻̥̺̯͈̹͓͙̟͎̤̬̣̜͉̝̮̳̘̥̓̿̈́̐͆̂̆̀̂́̔̿̕̚͠ͅͅi̶̢̧̗͉̱̲͔͓͈͙͕̠̥̗̝͎̩̻͖̦̝̝͍̤̟͖̫̜̊̾̓̉̐͌͋͑̋̀͗̓̔̽̈́͑̌̅̒̌̄̅̈́͂́͗͑͠͠ͅz̷̡̢̧͉̥̲͍̟̠̤̤͎̼̤̯̳̩̳͇̳̃̄͋͐̈́̏̓̈́̄̋̋̃̑͆̊̆͆̃̚͝ͅȩ̷̧̧̧͎͔͚͈̻͓̯̟̺̙͉̺͓͓͈͍͓̺̳͓͇̜̩̥̩̜̩͉̍̆̈͗̇̈́̿̉͜͠͝ͅ as punishment”

“for your actions this will prevent you from causing further harm or chaos”

Soo what do you guys think? 😅

English is not my first language and my grammar needs some work

[redvexillum]

A/N: Big Smoll Sad.

SUMMARY: You are a once-celebrated painter, your glory long faded and your passion for art extinguished. That is, until you meet an enigmatic man named Luci, who sparks something inside you that you thought was lost forever.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human reader, devil!lucifer, lucifer is still hung up on lilith, lucifer in the human world, emotional smut, p in v, implied suicide, reader is an artist, this is still smutmas cuz the banner says so uwu

These days, the world blurs into an indistinct haze, a cacophony of shapes and sounds dissolving into the murky canvas of your mind. Faces, once vivid and meaningful, bleed away like rain washing over a forgotten oil painting—its vibrant hues smeared into lifeless swirls of muddy browns and bruised blacks, spiralling endlessly until only the void remains. The warmth and colour of life have long fled, leaving you adrift in a landscape of shadows, a ghost wandering streets that no longer seem to belong to you. You search, desperate, for that elusive spark—the incandescent flame that once ignited your soul and commanded the awe of countless spectators. 

But the spark never comes. It’s as though some divine hand had once granted you a finite wellspring of brilliance, only to cruelly empty it when you needed it most. You are hollow now, an artist reduced to a shell of their former self, withering under the weight of your own irrelevance. Your fingers tremble as they trace lines meant to evoke wonder, but every stroke feels misplaced, every attempt an abomination. The canvas mocks you with its lifelessness, each brushstroke a reminder of what you once were and can never be again. You clutch at fragments of your past triumphs, their glow dimmed by time, yet even their memory cuts deeper than any blade. A prodigy no longer; you are forgotten, decaying in the shadow of the glory that has long since turned to ash. 

The familiar bell jingled as you stumbled into the card shop once again, your movements robotic, rehearsed. The shopkeeper glanced up briefly, his expression blank before he returned to sorting inventory, dismissing you as just another nuisance. He didn’t need to say it aloud—you were the unpaying regular, an unremarkable ghost haunting his space. Without fail, you gravitated to the same display rack: rows of garish cards depicting ducks in absurd costumes. 

There they were—pirate ducks, wizard ducks, detective ducks—all locked in cartoonish battles for supremacy. Duck Battle. The game that bore your fingerprints, your long nights, your fleeting dreams. It was a runaway success, a pop-culture juggernaut that earned you enough royalties to live comfortably. 

And yet, the thought of it felt like swallowing acid. 

Your gaze settled on one card, the cheerful caricature of a duck in a jester’s hat. Its painted eyes stared back, unblinking, its crooked smile warped into cruel mockery. A sudden tightness seized your throat, invisible hands wrapping around your neck with the weight of unspoken expectations. Your parents’ faces surfaced in your mind, their quiet disappointment etched into every wrinkle, their smiles brittle under the strain of politeness. 

Breathe. You reminded yourself. 

But the air felt paper-thin, each inhalation shallow, scraping against the walls of your lungs. Tears prickled at the edges of your vision, hot and traitorous, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stand still. No one could see this weakness—not here, not anywhere. 

Your fingernails dug into your forearms, the sting sharp and grounding, a desperate tether to the present. Slowly, the world sharpened, the dull haze retreating just enough to let you see. But the ache remained, burrowing deep. 

Masahiro Yokotani’s words drifted through your mind like an unwelcome whisper: “When you’re ten, they call you a prodigy. When you’re fifteen, they call you a genius. But once you hit twenty, you’re just a normal person.” 

A normal person. 

Being ordinary wasn’t inherently wrong. It wasn’t a curse, not for most. But for you, it was a sentence, a punishment for daring to matter once, for daring to believe you were special. Your success was the only currency you had ever known—the only thing that earned you love, admiration, or even the illusion of belonging. 

Without it, who were you?

Your fists clenched, trembling with suppressed anger as the jester duck continued to grin, mocking you. For a fleeting moment, you wanted to rip the cards from the rack, scatter them across the floor, destroy them one by one until they were nothing but shreds of paper and ink. You wanted to scream, to rage against the machine that had turned your passion into a product. 

But what good would it do? 

Somewhere along the way, the success you’d once celebrated had become a cage. The art you’d poured your soul into was no longer yours. It was a commodity, stripped of meaning, stripped of you. People didn’t see the blood, the sleepless nights, the fleeting moments of joy. 

All they saw was a game. 

A product to consume. 

To discard. 

To forget. 

If you couldn’t amaze them, if you couldn’t create the next masterpiece, you were nothing. 

And if you couldn’t meet their expectations, fulfill their demands... 

You were less than nothing. 

The thought wrapped around your mind like frost, numbing, relentless. 

You weren’t talented. 

You were just lucky. 

You weren’t creative. 

You had connections. 

You weren’t special. 

You were nothing worth keeping. Nothing worth loving. 

Your breath came slower now, shallow and cold. A shiver coursed through you, though you weren’t sure if it was from the temperature or the weight pressing down on your chest.  

Like clockwork, you turned to leave, your movements mechanical, resigned. But just as your hand brushed the door, a figure caught your eye—a man stepping past you with an air of quiet purpose. His hair was a cascade of gold, catching the pale shop light like threads of sunlight, and his eyes were startlingly blue, the kind of vivid sapphire that seemed to hold secrets of oceans untold. 

He moved straight to the duck cards. 

It was almost comical, the way he held a cloth basket with casual confidence, scooping up deck after deck as though stocking for an army of duck enthusiasts. He plucked every box of booster packs from the display, piling them into his basket without a second thought. You blinked, stunned, your lips parting as you struggled to process the absurdity of the scene before you. 

“Hey, leave some for the others,” the shopkeeper grumbled, his voice gruff with annoyance. 

The interruption jolted you into noticing the man behind the counter for the first time in months. His wiry frame and sallow complexion struck you in their starkness, his dark, greasy hair hanging limp around his face. It was strange—how had you been coming here for years without ever truly seeing him? 

“Oh, r-right,” the blonde man stammered, a sheepish smile curving his lips. His attire was... peculiar. He wore a pristine white three-piece suit, his vest adorned with red and white stripes that ended in a dramatic two-tailed flourish. He stood out like a figure from a different world, but it was his eyes that mesmerized you most—jewel-like and shimmering, their hues shifting like sunlight on rippling water. 

Your fingers twitched. That long-dead ember inside you flickered, faint but undeniable. 

The man’s lips pursed as if in thought, and with exaggerated care, he removed a single booster pack from his basket and placed it back on the counter. Not a box, but one lone pack. The absurdity of the gesture bubbled up in your chest, breaking free as a soft, unguarded laugh. 

The sound startled you—it felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. But it also startled him. His head snapped in your direction, his cheeks flushing as his eyes dropped, uncharacteristically shy. 

Something shifted in you then, fragile yet profound, like the crack of ice revealing the flowing river beneath. 

Summoning a hesitant smile, you stepped forward, reaching for the lone booster pack. Your hand brushed the tin foil wrapper, and for the first time in months, you held it without bitterness. “I’d like to buy this,” you said, your voice rasping from disuse. 

The shopkeeper raised a brow but said nothing, punching the numbers into the register. 

“$6.21,” he said flatly. 

You handed him the money, feeling the booster pack’s weight in your hands—and for once, the bitter feeling of wanting to rip it to shred was absent within you.

As you stepped outside, the winter air nipped at your skin, sharp and biting. You lingered near the door, the booster pack clutched tightly in your hands, its glossy surface catching the faint sunlight. The art you had poured countless agonizing hours began to surface in your mind, the colours dulling as memories of your efforts melted away like candle wax under flame. 

Then, the sharp chime of the shop’s bell rang out, pulling you from your spiral. The man stepped out, his bag stuffed to the brim with his purchases. 

“Uhm,” you called, the word catching in your throat. 

He turned, his expression open and curious. When his gaze met yours, his lips curved into a gentle smile. “What’s up,kiddo?” 

You faltered, your brows furrowing. He didn’t look much older than you, so the greeting felt oddly misplaced. Still, you thrust the booster pack toward him, your fingers trembling slightly. “H-here,” you stammered, your gaze skittering from his eyes to the scuffed tips of his black boots, then down to the icy ground. “Y-you’d probably enjoy this m-more than me.” 

His expression softened, surprise flickering across his features. “A-are you sure?” he asked, hesitant. 

You could only nod, your throat too tight for words. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking the pack with a reverence that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely painful. 

You felt it—the fleeting warmth of his fingers brushing yours as he took the pack. It was barely a second, but it left an impression, highlighting the chill that seeped into your bones on this cold winter day. “W-well, I-I hope you enjoy,” you murmured, your voice faltering as you prepared to turn away, to retreat as you always did. 

But his voice stopped you. 

“W-wait.” 

Your body stiffened, your breath catching. Slowly, you turned back, your gaze lifting cautiously. His smile was gentle, inviting, radiating a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes. “D-do you want to open them together?” he asked, his grin broadening, something so bright in his expression that it reminded you of the sun breaking through storm clouds. 

It had been so long since anyone had asked to spend time with you. 

And your time—your energy—always felt so fleeting. 

Still, with a shaky smile and a flutter of nerves in your chest, you nodded. Heat crept up your cheeks, embarrassing in its intensity. You worried—panicked, even. Would he find you dull? Would he regret inviting someone like you, someone who had nothing to offer except the remnants of a fading career? 

You hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t. 

You walked side by side with the stranger, whose name you now knew as Luci. His voice was light, brimming with enthusiasm as he shared bits of himself—his love for ducks, his daughter, his wife. You listened, half-focused, half-distracted by the echo of warnings ingrained in your mind: don’t follow strangers; it’s dangerous.

Yet, you wondered. If he were to hurt you, would it even matter? 

You brushed the thought aside as his warmth began to melt your trepidation, his words weaving a strange sense of comfort around you. His anecdotes were simple, endearing, and as he spoke about his family, an ache blossomed deep in your chest. 

Jealousy, sharp and bitter, coiled through you. What would it feel like to be loved like that? To be cherished so completely, so unconditionally? 

Your thoughts strayed to your own parents, and you felt it again—the invisible noose tightening around your throat. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to yield. You forced a bright smile onto your face, desperate to focus on him, on his words, his expressive gestures, the way his eyes gleamed like cut gemstones catching the light. 

Then he laughed, a sound so rich with joy that it seemed to chase away the cold clinging to you. He launched into a story about a duck-shaped toy that blew bath bubbles, one he had designed with his daughter. His animated retelling painted the chaotic scene vividly: bubbles everywhere, a floor turned slick, his wife caught between frustration and uncontrollable laughter as they all slipped and slid around like fools. 

The genuine delight in his voice made something inside you stir, fragile but real. You clung to it, that warmth. It spread, tentative, but enough to pull a soft giggle from your lips. 

Luci stopped mid-step, his eyes widening slightly before a wide, toothy grin overtook his face. “You have a beautiful laugh,” he said simply, with honesty that caught you off guard. 

The compliment was unexpected, and you coughed, your cheeks igniting with heat. Your mind raced, urging you to say thank you, or anything at all to fill the awkward silence. But your lips refused to cooperate, frozen in uncertainty. 

Before you could stumble over a response, Luci stopped in front of a small building—a café, its soft glow spilling out onto the street like a promise of warmth. Luci’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Ah, we’re here! I’ve heard they make the best banana nut muffin, so I wanted to try it before I go back!” He held the door open, the light catching his golden hair and the shimmer of his grin. 

As he pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell rang out—a gentle, almost musical sound, like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you, rich and warm, inviting you to linger. The walls were painted a soft pastel yellow, their brightness tempered by dim, cozy lighting that gave the café a feeling of safety, of comfort. 

The space was intimate, and aside from you and Luci, it was empty. From the back emerged a stout woman with a radiant smile, her long black curls bouncing slightly as she walked. Her green apron was worn but clean, a testament to her work here. “Welcome!” she greeted warmly, her voice carrying the cheer of someone genuinely glad to see you. “What can I get ya folks?” 

Luci turned to you, and with a grin, he asked, “Want a banana nut muffin?” 

Your throat constricted slightly as you struggled to respond. A simple yes or no would have been enough, but your isolation had left you fumbling for basic social graces. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you could hear the sharp voice of your mother, her criticisms cutting deep. How unbecoming, her voice whispered in a memory you couldn’t quite escape. 

You reached into your pocket for your wallet, your fingers clumsy with nerves. “L-let me p-pay,” you stammered, your voice cracking into something embarrassingly high-pitched. 

Luci chuckled, a soft, disarming sound that somehow made the tension in your chest ease. He patted your shoulder, his touch brief but grounding. “It’ll be my treat, sport,” he said with a playful grin. “For the pack,” he added, waggling his brows in exaggerated humour. 

Before you could protest further, he ordered two muffins and herded you to a table with two chairs in the corner. The space felt smaller as you followed, the warmth of the café suddenly claustrophobic under the weight of your thoughts. 

Sitting across from him, you watched as he rummaged through his bag, his energy infectious. He pulled out a small stack of booster packs, his expression bright with unfiltered glee. 

“These are my favourites,” he said as he held up a pack, his excitement as radiant as a child opening a long-awaited gift on Christmas morning. “I have all the cards from the first wave of Duck Battle releases!” His voice was filled with pride, his fingers already tearing into the foil wrapping. “I just had to come up here when I heard they released the second wave after two years!” 

His words swirled in your mind, dissonant against the memories rising like a tide. Your hands, hidden under the table, clenched into fists. Your fingers dug into your palms, grounding you against the maelstrom of emotions. 

You had drawn those silly ducks in their costumes, poured hours into creating gadgets, props, and absurd scenarios. Two hundred and fifty illustrations, each more uninspired than the last. You remembered the exhaustion, the growing sense of emptiness that swallowed you whole. 

“What do you like about them?” you asked softly, your voice fragile. You cleared your throat, trying to sound steady as you felt an unwelcome wave of bitterness threatening to rise. 

Luci’s blue eyes lit up as he looked up from the cards, his smile unguarded. “Oh, where do I even start!” he exclaimed, holding up a card to show you. “Aside from the fact that they’re ducks, just look at them! The costumes, the gadgets—they’re so clever, so fun!” 

He turned the card in his hand, his admiration genuine, his joy untainted. And as he spoke, your chest tightened, caught between envy and a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of pride. 

Luci held up a card, its surface shimmering with the golden foil that marked it as rare. Your eyes fell on the image—a duck in swimming trunks and sunglasses, wielding a sword alive with swirling water. The memory of creating it surged forward, unwelcome and sharp. 

You remembered the day you drew that card. The day everything inside you cracked open. You had screamed into the hollow silence of your room, pages of drafts torn apart and scattered around you like confetti from some cruel, mocking parade. Your voice had grown raw as you told yourself, over and over, that you were done. 

That you’d quit. 

But quitting was a lie you couldn’t tell yourself for long. 

The words of self-loathing had been relentless: 

Everything you create is garbage. 

This opportunity only exists because of your parents. 

You’re a shadow, fading and inconsequential compared to their brilliance. 

And yet, like some twisted masochist, you’d dragged yourself back to your desk the next morning. 

There had been no joy in it—only pain. The siren call to create, once your solace, had become a piercing scream you couldn’t silence. The pencil in your hand had felt like a blade, its grip carving into you as you pushed yourself to the brink. Your fingers had cramped, the skin blistering until it split and bled. 

You hadn’t stopped. 

You couldn't.

Because drawing wasn’t just something you did—it was a part of you. An integral piece of your existence, impossible to sever, no matter how much you might have wanted to. 

Now, that duck—a creation born from your anguish—stared back at you in Luci’s hands, a mirror of a piece of yourself you hated. His voice broke through the haze, brimming with enthusiasm as he babbled about the card, his words high with praise. 

You should have felt pride. Gratitude. Joy, even. But you didn’t. 

Instead, his praise slid over you, leaving nothing behind but the familiar ache of inadequacy. Why can’t I accept this?you thought bitterly. It was as if his words belonged to someone else, someone who deserved them. 

Someone you were not. 

So you smiled. Nodded. Pretended.

When the plate of banana nut muffin arrived, the scent of warm cinnamon wafting up, you glanced down at it. A dollop of whipped cream sat artfully on the side, dusted with cinnamon. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day, yet the hunger that should have gnawed at you was absent, swallowed by a numbness you couldn’t quite shake. 

Luci took a bite and moaned in delight, rolling his eyes dramatically. “This is absolutely delicious! Charlie would love this!” he said with a grin, taking another hearty bite. His joy was infectious, yet it stayed just out of reach for you. 

He paused mid-bite, his expression sheepish as he pushed a booster pack across the table toward you. “Oh, golly! I should’ve had you open some with me,” he said with a laugh, gesturing to the small pile of torn foil and neatly stacked cards already in front of him. 

You ran your thumb along the seam of the unopened pack, the texture sharp against your skin. “I don’t mind you opening them all,” you murmured softly, your gaze fixed on the faint silver glint of the packaging. 

“Nonsense!” Luci declared, his grin bright and unwavering. “You might pull the ultra-rare Count Duckula! Come on, it’s all in the fun.” 

He dragged his chair closer, the legs scraping lightly against the tiled floor. His knees bounced with childlike anticipation, a rhythm of barely contained excitement. 

You forced a small smile, though your hands betrayed you, trembling as they fumbled with the pack’s edge. The foil tore with a soft rip, the sound somehow louder in the quiet café. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d opened one of these. The promotional box they’d sent you months ago sat untouched in some forgotten corner of your home, buried under stacks of other projects. 

Carefully, you drew out the stack of six cards and flipped through them, revealing each one in turn. 

All common - trash - cards. 

How painfully typical. 

“S-sorry,” you murmured, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. “It looks like I don’t have good luck. Maybe you should open the rest?” 

“Nonsense,” Luci said again, his voice gentler this time. He reached out and took the cards from your hand with surprising care, as if each one were a delicate treasure. His expression softened as he studied them, pausing on a trio of ducks huddled together. 

“I like this one the best,” he said, turning the card so you could see it more clearly. 

The illustration stared back at you, the familiar design almost mocking in its simplicity. The card was called Duck Gang, but when you’d drawn it… you thought of...

“It’s like a family,” Luci murmured, his tone thoughtful as he turned the card back toward himself. “I already have forty-five of these, but I can’t help collecting them. They’re one of my favourites.” 

Your chest tightened. The smile on your lips sharpened into something brittle, edged with bitterness. “T-that’s a lot,” you said, your voice cold, a contrast to the warmth in his. “You should consider selling them. They’re common, after all. Trash cards, really. Probably won’t get much for them.” 

You picked up your fork and poked at the muffin on your plate, the sweetness of it utterly unappealing. The bitterness inside you, however, only grew, swelling like a tide threatening to pull you under. Your eyes flicked back to the card, the garish trio of ducks resembling parents and a child more than any sort of gang. 

“I-I could get you all the rares,” you added, the words spilling out with a sharp edge. “If you'd like.” 

Luci paused, his expression unchanging as he looked up at you. His ever-enigmatic demeanour shifted, and then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a warm, easy sound. A few golden strands slipped loose from his carefully styled hair, brushing against his cheek. 

“The fun of it is in opening the packs and seeing what you get!” he said, reaching for another booster pack. He tore it open with practised ease, glancing through the cards until his face lit up like the sun breaking through a heavy storm. 

“No way!” he gasped, holding up a foil-covered card with both hands. His blue eyes shimmered with delight, his toothy grin nearly splitting his face as he revealed the ultra-rare Count Duckula. 

His reaction was so dramatic, so comically over-the-top, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something unexpected. In the small space of that quiet café, amidst the warmth of yellow walls and the scent of coffee, you felt something stir inside you. 

Something warm. 

Something… meaningful.

It wasn’t like the cold, impersonal emails you received from your agency, filled with spreadsheets and data points. Those soulless reports quantified your work with meticulous precision—what cards sold best, which ones fetched high prices, which ones were deemed worthless. 

None of it ever reflected the time, the effort, or the pieces of yourself you poured into every illustration. 

At some point, you’d begun to wonder: if you couldn’t draw, if you couldn’t find joy in creation, had you already reached your expiration date? 

It was a morbid thought—one that clung to you like a shadow. But now, hilariously, pathetically, sitting across from Luci, a stranger you’d known for less than an hour, a flicker of something stirred. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to draw. Not for a paycheck, not for numbers on a spreadsheet, but simply because it might make someone else happy. 

Because it might make him happy. 

You almost laughed as you reached into your purse, finding the small drawing notepad you still carried. Half its pages were filled with scribbles—angry, chaotic lines etched so deeply they scarred the next page. Proof of countless attempts to destroy your own work, to obliterate the things you hated about yourself. 

Flipping to the back, you grabbed a pen and hesitated. 

“I, uh… if y-you don’t mind,” you stammered, your heart racing in your chest, “I-I could draw that trio of ducks for you?” 

The words were out before you could stop them, and regret hit you like a wave. Why had you offered to draw something so… mundane? Why not Count Duckula, the ultra-rare? Why would a stranger even want your scribbles? Heat rose in your cheeks, and you forced a trembling smile as you flipped the notepad shut, shrinking into yourself. 

You should take the muffin to go, you thought bitterly. Make your excuses and return to the solitude of your home where no one could see your failures. 

Before you could muster the courage to leave, Luci slapped his hands to his cheeks, his eyes widening with delight. “Oh, are you an artist?” he asked, his voice brimming with wonder. He leaned forward, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of pain, perhaps, or maybe it was just the light. 

“I… guess I’m somewhat of an artist,” you mumbled, the words faltering as they left your lips. 

He squealed like a delighted child, his feet tapping against the floor. Clasping his hands together, he grinned. “Can you draw a trio of ducks, but it’s Lucifer, Lilith, and their daughter?” 

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

“That’s… an interesting request,” you murmured, tilting your head. Was he serious? Perhaps he was a Satanist? Would drawing demons as ducks count as blasphemy? And did Lucifer and Lilith even have a daughter? 

“Uhm…” you hesitated, glancing up at his expectant face. His excitement was so genuine, so infectious, that you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. “Do you, uh, have a specific idea for how they should look, or…?” 

“Oh no,” Luci waved a hand dismissively. “I’m more interested in how you envision them!” 

Drawing from the dry well of your creativity felt like squeezing water from a stone. You started with the horns—predictable—and then added wings and a smattering of devilish details. The lines felt shaky, the proportions wrong, the designs uninspired. 

The pen trembled in your hand as doubt crept in. This isn’t good enough, the voice in your head hissed. The shapes are off. The lines are wonky. The urge to scribble over the drawing, to obliterate it into oblivion, burned in your chest. You needed to start over. 

Again and again. 

Again. Until it was perfect. 

Again. Until it was worthy. 

You simply had to get better, do better, be better. 

But Luci’s voice broke through the storm in your mind. “I love it!” he exclaimed, leaning so close you thought he might fall into the table. His eyes sparkled as he admired the doodle. “Oh, gosh, this is wonderful!” 

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. Why? Why did he like it? Couldn’t he see the flaws, the imperfections? 

“Can I keep it?” he asked, his voice soft with a childlike eagerness. 

You couldn’t speak. The words refused to come, so you gave him a faint nod, you tore the sheet of paper from your notepad, the sound sharp and final, and handed it to him with trembling fingers. Luci accepted it like it was the most precious thing in the world, holding it gently as if it might crumble in his hands. He studied your drawing with a small, wistful smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“I really do… love it when humans create,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. The words seemed to carry more weight than they should, as though they held the remnants of a truth too fragile to speak aloud. 

“Truly,” he added, his lower lip quivering. He cleared his throat quickly, blinking rapidly before replacing the moment of vulnerability with a wide, goofy grin. 

Luci was an enigma. There was something off about him—an air, a presence—that felt out of place in your ordinary, grey world. It was as if he didn’t belong here, as if he were a splash of colour painted into a monochrome existence. 

Perhaps...

...that was why you were drawn to him. 

To the warmth he seemed to radiate so effortlessly. It was gentle, inviting, and for the first time in a long time, the relentless voices in your mind—the ones that berated you for every perceived failure—began to dim. Their harsh accusations softened to murmurs, then to silence. 

Time blurred. The two of you sat there in the café, opening booster packs side by side. Cups of coffee were ordered and refilled, their rich aroma mingling with the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon. The banana nut muffin you’d shared lingered on your tongue, a surprising comfort. The bell above the door tinkled softly as customers came and went, yet the world beyond your table felt distant, unimportant. 

It was... odd. 

But it wasn’t unpleasant. 

Luci’s laughter, clear and joyful, broke through your defences. Each genuine compliment he gave, each silly comment, seemed to chip away at the invisible weight pressing down on you. By the time you reached the last booster pack, you felt lighter—like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you believed. 

“You should open it,” Luci said, handing you the final pack. His grin was as bright as ever. 

“I… don’t think I should,” you hesitated, glancing at the disappointing stack of cards you’d already opened. Your luck had been abysmal—nearly all duplicates, with the best being a single uncommon card. 

“Oh, don't be a silly goose!” Luci declared, snapping his fingers with dramatic flair before pointing at the foil-wrapped pack in your hand. “I have a feeling you’re going to pull the ultra-super-rare card!” He nodded to himself, then added a playful wink that made you giggle despite yourself. 

“Really?” you asked, your voice coloured with disbelief but softened by his contagious enthusiasm. 

“Really,” he said with the conviction of someone who had already seen the future. 

His persistence left you with little choice. “Alright,” you sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. You opened the pack, shuffling through the cards one by one until you froze. 

Your breath caught in your throat. 

There, in your hands, was the card. 

The Angelic Duck. 

Its pastel sky shimmered under the café’s light, the holographic wings moving as you tilted the card back and forth. You remembered the company mentioning this card—a one-in-a-million rarity, with only two released in the entire wave. It was surreal, almost impossible. 

“See!” Luci beamed, his eyes sparkling with triumph. “You’re not unlucky, sweetie.” His voice softened, and his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. “Trust me.” 

For a second, you felt his words meant something more than they seemed. That he wasn’t just talking about the card but about you. About the parts of yourself you couldn’t see, the worth you struggled to believe in. 

But the feeling slipped away, ephemeral as sand through your fingers. It was wishful thinking. 

Nothing more. 

You wet your lips, hesitating, the words caught in your throat. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat deafening in your ears. Finally, you managed to whisper, “W-Will... could I see you again?” 

His eyes flickered with surprise, and heat flooded your cheeks. You pressed on, stumbling over your words. “I-I could sh-show you around. If… if you’re not leaving right away.” 

Your voice wavered, trembling under the weight of your certainty that he would say no. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To ask something so personal of a stranger? Your body tensed, bracing for rejection, for the polite but distant smile, for the inevitable goodbye that would leave you sitting alone with nothing but your thoughts. 

Luci paused, his brows knitting together, the cheerful light in his expression dimming ever so slightly. For the first time, his bright, untroubled smile faltered, casting a shadow on the radiance you had marvelled at moments ago. 

You panicked, stumbling over your words. “I-it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice trembling with embarrassment. “I-if you’re busy, it’s...” You laughed softly, awkwardly, trying to ease the tension you felt growing between you. “It’s alright, really.” 

But he shook his head almost immediately, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “N-no, no,” he said, his tone hesitant but earnest. “I… I’m sure I can extend my stay a little bit.” 

You blinked, the breath catching in your throat as his words sank in. Then, slowly, you smiled. Not the kind of smile you had grown so accustomed to—a mask to hide the tumult of insecurities and self-loathing inside—but a real, unguarded smile. 

It was a smile born from something tender and fragile, a memory of warmth long buried beneath years of disappointment. 

It reminded you of the joy you felt when your parents had first framed one of your paintings, proudly displaying it for all to see. 

It reminded you of painting freely as a child, the way you used to let your imagination spill onto the canvas without fear or doubt. 

It reminded you of the times when creating wasn’t a burden but a blessing, a purpose you held close to your heart. 

It was a smile you thought you had lost forever. 

When you returned home after bidding Luci farewell at the café—his phone number now scrawled in your notepad—you immediately shivered. The icy chill of the wooden floors seeped into your bare feet, the house as unwelcoming as ever. 

The space was barren, devoid of life or personality. Discarded papers littered the floor, mingling with pencil shavings and eraser bits. It wasn’t a home. It was a prison—a hollow shell where the bare necessities existed, but nothing more. 

Your eyes caught the calendar hanging crookedly on the wall. A bold red X marked a date two days away, stark against the empty squares around it. 

You stared at it, your stomach twisting. That day had been carefully planned. It was supposed to be the day. 

But then you thought of Luci. Of his warmth, his light, and the promise you made to show him around. The thought of breaking that promise filled you with an unfamiliar pang of guilt. 

Surely, a week longer would be fine… right? 

Your fingers closed around a red marker that had laid lifelessly on the floor. Emotionlessly, mechanically, your hand hovered over December 26, a week from now, then moved with deliberate finality, slashing a thick red X over the date. 

The pen clattered back to the floor as you dropped it, its sound echoing in the silence. 

You turned to the cluttered table in the corner, the surface buried under half-finished sketches of ducks and crumpled ideas. With a heavy sigh, you sank into the chair, your head bowing as you stared at the blank page in front of you. 

The company had asked for designs for their third wave of cards—450 different ones. An impossible task, but one you had taken on regardless. 

Your hand hovered over the paper, but the creative well inside you was dry. Empty. Still, you pushed forward, forcing your pencil to move, if only to keep the ghosts at bay. 

Because if you stopped—if you allowed yourself to pause—the memories would come rushing back. Memories of your parents and their loss. 

Every stroke of the pencil felt like punishment, every failed attempt a reminder of the guilt you carried. 

You weren’t creating. You were clawing at the past, trying to hold on to something that had long since slipped through your fingers. 

It was torture. 

It was hell. 

But it was atonement. 

Wasn't it?

The pencil felt heavier in your hand than it should have, its faded, rusted-red stains—a macabre memory of past desperation—serving as a quiet reminder of the nights you'd forced yourself, body and soul, into the art that held no meaning. You dragged its lead across the paper, each stroke tightening the invisible noose around your neck, suffocating and relentless, as though you were walking the gallows with your head bowed low, awaiting the final drop. 

But then, something shifted. A tiny ember deep inside you flickered to life. It wasn’t much—just a faint warmth, a whisper of desire that whispered of blank canvases and fingers slick with the lush texture of oil paint. 

That ember refused to extinguish, no matter how much you tried to snuff it out. Instead, it smouldered and grew, stubborn and unrelenting. With each passing moment, it began to consume you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving in its place a yearning you couldn’t fully understand, a desire to create again—not for the world, but for yourself.

The next day, you met Luci at the café, your tentative hope hidden beneath layers of polite conversation and practised smiles. You found yourself embellishing the truth as you spoke of your life, weaving together a tapestry of glamour and artistic success. He listened, nodding and laughing in all the right places, but his openness soon made you feel small for your half-truths. 

Luci, in contrast, spoke of his family with a palpable fondness. He described his daughter Charlie - or Char Char - with a wry chuckle and a hint of exasperation, as only a loving father could. 

But then your eyes caught the glint of his wedding ring, and the question slipped out before you could stop yourself. “How come your daughter and wife aren’t here with you?” 

Luci froze, the piece of fruit crêpe halfway to his mouth. His cheeks flushed, and his gaze dropped, suddenly unable to meet yours. 

“S-sorry,” you stammered, shrinking into yourself. “Forget I asked.” 

“No, no, it’s okay.” He cleared his throat, forcing a shaky smile. “Char Char and I are… going through a rough patch. Teenagers, you know?” He nudged your shoulder lightly with his elbow, attempting a laugh that fell flat. 

You gave him a weak smile in return, unsure how to respond. 

“And Lili…” His voice faltered, his forced smile fading as his gaze fixed on some distant point on the ground. “Lili and I… we’re in a complicated situation, I guess.” 

His shoulders slumped, and the crêpe in his hand tilted, sending a dollop of whipped cream tumbling to the pavement. 

The sight of his sadness twisted something inside you. Acting on instinct, you reached out, placing your hand over his. “T-there’s a Duck Battle tournament today,” you blurted, your voice trembling. “Sh-shall we go see that?” 

You didn’t know how to comfort someone. No one had ever taught you how. Love and admiration in your life had always been conditional, tied to your ability to produce something extraordinary. You had learned early on that when the art stopped, so too did the affection. 

But as Luci blinked back unshed tears and gave you a small, grateful smile, nodding in agreement, you hoped—desperately—that this gesture, clumsy as it was, might bring him some solace. 

The days passed, bringing you ever closer to December 26, the ominous red X on your calendar looming larger with each tick of the clock. In that time, you learned more about Luci. 

Like you, he was an artist, his creativity moulded by the same soil of yearning and expression. But while you painted, he built—strange contraptions and devices, all themed around ducks. When he discovered you were the artist behind Duck Battle, his praise came in a flood, each word more sincere than any compliment you had ever received. 

For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his admiration felt different. 

It felt… real. 

You spent hours talking, sharing sweets, laughing over shared struggles. His presence warmed you in ways you hadn’t felt in years, filling an emptiness you hadn’t even realized was there. Perhaps it was loneliness that made every smile and fleeting touch so precious to you, but whatever the reason, you treasured those moments fiercely. 

Three days before December 26, you did something you never imagined you would do. 

You went to an art supply store. 

You purchased a blank canvas, crisp and new. You unearthed your old easel from the depths of your supply closet, wiping away years of dust with trembling hands. And then, you bought a fresh set of oil paints, their vivid colours gleaming like precious jewels in their pristine tubes. 

As you carried the supplies home, the ember within you flared, its warmth spreading through your chest. You weren’t sure what had changed, or why. 

But for the first time in years, you felt… alive.

Every night, as if driven by some unseen force, you painted. Your hands moved with a desperate urgency, scraping vibrant colours across the canvas, colours that seemed so alive, so full of life—colours that you had once believed were lost to you. But now, as if the very act of creation had summoned them back, they flowed freely once again. You painted him—Luci—the way his golden silk hair had caught the light the first time you saw him, the way his sapphire eyes gleamed with kindness and warmth, the way his smile had made everything else fade into insignificance. 

A smile tugged at your lips, mimicking his. The sound of the metal brush on canvas filled the room, a steady rhythm that echoed in the silence. You painted him not just as he appeared, but as the warmth he had ignited within you. Every stroke, every layer of colour, felt like a piece of your soul reawakening, a fragment of the person you thought you had lost forever. You wanted to give this to him—before he had to leave, before the days ran out. 

As the colours blended and blossomed on the canvas, joy bubbled up within you, filling you with a warmth so sweet and intoxicating that it seemed to take over your very being. You wondered if he would be shocked, if he would be surprised by the depth of feeling you poured into the painting. 

Would he cry? 

Would he understand? 

But you didn’t care. All you wanted, above all else, was for him to be happy with what you had created, for him to cherish it as something that came from the deepest part of you. You poured your heart, shattered and broken as it was, into each stroke, creating something beautiful out of the pieces that had once felt irreparably lost. 

Perhaps it was inevitable, this warmth that had bloomed between you—this connection that had grown from the simplest of beginnings. Christmas day seemed to be the turning point, when you walked with Luci through the park, the air crisp and cold around you. The Christmas lights twinkled in all their colours, casting a soft glow across the snow-covered landscape, and the world felt like a dream. The snowflakes drifted down gently, catching the light like tiny stars, and everything seemed perfect—peaceful. You laughed at his silly stories, your voice mingling with the soft rustle of the falling snow. 

But when the laughter subsided, when you found yourselves walking side by side, fingers brushing in the cold, something shifted. Something deep within you, something you hadn’t expected, bloomed like a flower in the quiet night. It was a palpable change, a feeling that went beyond friendship, beyond the strange bond that had formed over Duck Battle cards. 

His hand brushed yours, and without thinking, you curled your fingers around his, tightening your grip, clinging to the warmth he offered. His hand squeezed back.

You didn’t realize how desperately you had needed this connection until it was there, alive and pulsing between the two of you. 

Even when you reached your door, when the moment to say goodbye loomed, neither of you let go. Your fingers remained intertwined, stubbornly, as if neither of you was ready to let the moment end. 

“It’s cold outside,” you murmured shyly, your voice soft, almost timid, as you tugged him closer to you, stepping back until your back was pressed against the door. 

“Yea, i-it is,” Luci whispered, his breath visible in the frigid air. His presence seemed to fill the space between you, his warmth a contrast to the chill that surrounded you both. 

Despite the coldness of his wedding ring pressing against your skin, despite the knowledge that this was wrong, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You didn’t want to. There was something undeniable between you, something that drew you both together, like the pull of gravity itself. 

And then, as the door creaked open, Luci’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you down to him. His kiss was firm, urgent, and it burned with a fierce need, a desire that neither of you could ignore. It was quick, instinctual, the rush of bodies and breath as you both succumbed to the moment, letting go of everything—of doubts, of fears, of the consequences that would come after. 

In that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours, there was no more space for regret, for hesitation. You both indulged, fully and without restraint. 

And in that moment, you...

...and him... 

His lips, warm and insistent, traced the curve of your jaw, the soft, heated pressure sending shivers down your spine. The world felt suspended in time as he moved lower, his mouth gliding over the delicate skin of your neck, his breath a soft, intoxicating warmth. The surrounding space was filled with discarded clothes, the remnants of passion now tainted with the weight of guilt—of something that could never be, yet you both gravitated toward it nonetheless. Your back pressed against the cold wooden floor, contrasting the heat building between your legs. Your hands lay helplessly on your chest, not knowing where to place them, unsure how to ground yourself in a moment that felt so wrong and yet, so deeply, desperately right. 

His lips continued their descent, a slow, deliberate path toward the apex of your thighs, each touch igniting a fire deep within you. There were no words—none spoken, none needed—because any utterance would break the fragile illusion between you, the delicate balance of a sin too dangerous to acknowledge. 

He has a daughter.The thought was distant, almost unreal, a fleeting notion as his tongue traced a slow, agonizing path between your folds. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, the sound of it muffled by the overwhelming sensation of him, of the way his mouth and tongue moved against your skin. 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, heavy, desperate, as the cold moonlight spilled through the half-circle window above the door, casting an ethereal glow on the scene below. Dust motes danced in the beams, swirling lazily, like snowflakes drifting in the still air. They mocked you, a silent reminder of the falsity of this moment, a moment so desperately wrong—and yet... 

He has a wife, you thought in sudden dismay, as the reality of the situation crashed in once more. His head lifted, eyes half-lidded, the remnants of your taste lingering on his lips. His wedding ring gleamed, cold and out of place, as he slipped two fingers inside you, the fourth finger encased in the cool metal pressing against your heated skin. The dichotomy of it all—of this stolen moment and the life he had outside this room, outside of you—twisted something inside you. His fingers moved slowly, deeply, each thrust deliberate, drawing lewd, wet noises that mingled with your breath, filling the room with the unmistakable sounds of desire. 

You gasped again, your hand instinctively covering your lips, the pressure of it barely able to contain the sounds of pleasure that slipped through. The way his fingers found the perfect rhythm, the way his touch coaxed you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. Every touch, every press, felt like it was drawing you to a peak too quickly, too easily. 

"A-ah..." The sound was barely a whisper, your breath catching as his lips descended again, his mouth on your clit now, ravaging, relentless. His tongue flicked and teased, making your body tremble, your breath quickened with a desperation you couldn't control. His moan was low, guttural, and it only spurred you on, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo. 

One last, powerful suck before he withdrew. Your vision blurred as you were dangerously on the precipice of falling. He stood over you, his cock hard and gleaming with pre-cum, the moonlight catching it just so, marking it as the final sin in this forbidden encounter. 

You hadn’t even made it past the foyer—the door still unlocked, the peephole an unblinking eye, silently condemning you. It was too much to bear, too much to reconcile with the reality of it all, yet you couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop yourself from tracing his bare chest with your eyes. His skin, smooth and flawless, seemed almost sculpted from marble, a perfection that should never have been so close to you. The thought flitted through your mind, If I were to paint this..., how would I capture the colour of him? 

But then, in the depths of your gaze, his blue eyes flashed—just for a moment—blurring into two crimson rubies, gleaming with something darker, something possessive. It was gone before you could make sense of it, just an illusion, a trick of the light, or maybe of your own spiralling mind. 

Luci hovered over you, his body trembling with restraint as the tip of his cock, weeping with need, pressed against the raw, desperate part of you. His lips brushed against yours, gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the storm building between you. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, as your legs curled around his waist, aching for the connection that only this moment of raw vulnerability could offer. 

You needed him—needed this closeness that was both comforting and terrifying, the warmth of his skin against yours, the desperate push for something deeper, something more than just physical. 

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch, thick with hesitation. His gaze was distant, clouded with something you couldn't quite read. But then, with a quiet breath, you pressed your heels into his lower back, urging him forward, urging him to bridge the gap between you. To finally give in. His eyes fluttered shut, and in that instant, he took the plunge. 

The feeling of him filling you—filling you completely—was overwhelming, a rush of sensation so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp escaped you, and tears sprang to your eyes, the sting of both pleasure and the emptiness that came with it. You searched for him, for his eyes, for the depth of connection that had drawn you to him in the first place. His blue eyes, vast and endless like the sky and sea, should have been there to anchor you, but they were gone, hidden behind the veil of his closed lids. 

His face dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath uneven, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that bordered on frantic. His hips rocked into you with a steady, punishing pace. The feeling of his skin against yours, the heat building between you, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, each one more intense than the last. But it wasn't enough—not enough to fill the emptiness that gnawed inside you, not enough to keep the bond you thought you'd found from slipping away. 

The front of his hips slapped against your sensitive clit, pulling strangled cries from your throat, but as each thrust drove deeper, the warmth you had so desperately craved began to cool. The connection you thought you'd felt—the intimacy, the closeness—seemed to flicker and fade, slipping between your fingers like sand. You grit your teeth, your chest tight with the panic of losing something so fragile, and you willed it to stay, to drown you, to anchor you in this moment, in this feeling. 

With everything you had, you opened yourself up, all of it—the vulnerability, the insecurities, the need for more, for him, for this. Open, open, open... 

"L-Luci," you whispered, your voice thick and hoarse, a near sob caught in your throat. "Luci..." The words, laced with want, with desperate need, tangled in your chest, lodged there like barbed wire. All you could do was cry out his name, over and over, until it became a broken prayer. 

His hips moved faster, harder, each thrust sending you sliding across the floor beneath him, your hair a tangled mess as his fingers wrapped around your strands, pulling you closer, deeper into the frenzied heat. But even then, his eyes never opened. He never responded to your cries, never acknowledged the way your body trembled beneath him, the way you shattered, piece by piece, beneath the weight of your desire and disappointment. 

He never looked at you when you broke. 

And when he finally shattered above you, his body collapsing against yours, it was as though the connection you had so desperately wanted, the bond you had yearned for, never existed beyond your mind. It was never real. Just a fleeting moment, a whisper in the dark. A hope unfulfilled, a dream never meant to be. 

Like the countless paintings you had created, destroyed, and burned. 

Your breath and his were sharp, uneven, a discordant rhythm echoing in the silence between you. Your hands, once gripping him with desperate need, slipped away, falling limply to your sides as though they no longer knew their place. Luci pulled away from you slowly, his body trembling, his seed spilling from you, staining the space between you both. He knelt in the mess of discarded clothes, panting, his eyes distant and hollow, as if he had lost something vital in the moment. His lips quivered, but no words came. 

There was nothing but the heavy silence, thick and suffocating. 

You stared at him, eyes wide, searching for something—anything—in his expression, but all you found was an emptiness, a vastness that seemed to stretch endlessly. He stared upward, his gaze unfocused, as though trying to see beyond you, beyond this moment, beyond everything that had just transpired. 

“Lu—” Your voice cracked on his name, raw and trembling. You could barely speak, the words suffocated by the weight of everything you felt. Your body, exposed and bare, felt fragile, as if the barest breath would shatter you. Your heart felt like it was lying open before him, brittle and vulnerable, delicate as glass. 

“Oh God.” Luci’s voice was broken, strained with something you couldn’t name. His hands dropped to his face, the yellow band on his wedding finger blinking erratically—mocking the turmoil in his mind. “Oh God,” he whispered again, his voice trembling, thick with pain. It was a pain that mirrored your own, something raw, something impossible to put into words. 

You couldn’t look away. You glanced around the room, eyes falling to the discarded clothing that lay strewn about, evidence of what had happened, the evidence of what you had done. His seed pooled beneath you, mixing with your own body, your own shame. The sight burned in your chest, a raw, aching grief that gnawed at you from the inside. Slowly, you pulled yourself upright, curling your knees to your chest, your arms wrapping around your body as though you could protect yourself from the brokenness of it all. 

You had slept with a married man. 

A father. 

A man who had a life—who had a family. 

That bond you thought you felt? 

It wasn’t real, was it? 

It was a lie. Empty. Hollow. Just like his praises. Just like the smiles that never reached his eyes. 

Your vision blurred with tears, and the weight of everything—the regret, the loss, the crushing shame—became too much. You blinked, trying to push the pain back, but it was impossible. With shaky hands, you began to collect his clothes, each article a weight added to the burden of your guilt. The silence in the room was oppressive, heavy with the unspoken truth. Regret hung in the air like a cloud, suffocating you both. 

“L-Luci,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse from unshed tears. You looked at the pile of his discarded clothes, waiting in the silence between you. “I—I’m s-sorry.” The words tasted like ash in your mouth, but they were all you had. “I... I still want to...” Your lips parted, but the words caught, tangled in the emotion that flooded you. You searched his face, your eyes desperate for any sign that he was still there, that you hadn’t lost him completely. You didn’t want him to leave you. 

Loneliness crushed you in a way you had never known. It was suffocating, cold, all-encompassing. And the warmth of another, even one that was so fleeting, only made the emptiness in your chest worse. 

"I... I should go," Luci muttered, his voice strained, almost detached. He rushed to pull on his clothes, fumbling with the buttons, his usually pristine attire now a wrinkled mess. His hair, once neatly styled, now fell haphazardly across his face, a chaotic reflection of the scene that had just unfolded. He looked so different from the man who had once seemed so certain, so confident. 

"Wi... Will I see you again?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, fragile, unsure. 

He stopped for a moment, his body tense, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Then, with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he answered, "I... maybe, kiddo." The nickname he used when you were nothing more than strangers, back when you hadn’t known the depths of each other. 

Or maybe, you thought, we were always just strangers.

You had never reached his heart. 

"Okay," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion, still raw, still exposed, your bare body aching in the emptiness he left behind. 

Without another word, without a second glance, he left you there. The door clicked shut softly, the sound echoing in the hollow space between you, sealing the finality of it all. 

A suffocating silence filled the room. You sat there, numb, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and hurt, unsure of what to do next. The isolation crept in, slowly at first, then all at once. It filled you with disgust, with shame, and worst of all, with self-hatred. 

It grew. 

It grew, like a poisonous vine wrapping around your chest, tightening with each breath, until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The weight of it became unbearable. Your heart pounded, each beat louder, more frantic than the last. Your hands gripped your hair, yanking at the strands, pulling, anything to escape the suffocating feelings. You pressed your lips together tightly, stifling the screams, the sobs that fought to escape. 

"A-ah..." your voice cracked, trembling as the floodgates finally opened, hot tears spilling down your face, mingling with the remnants of what had happened. 

You ruined it. 

You ruined everything. 

Once again. 

You ruined it. 

Everything you touched, everything you let yourself believe in, it was worthless. Everything you were... it was all for nothing. 

Do better. 

Get better. 

Be better. 

And if you couldn’t? 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, the passage of time lost in the haze of your broken thoughts. Long enough for the evidence of your mistake, of your sin, to cool against your skin, to harden like the guilt inside you. Slowly, numbly, you stood, your body heavy with shame, and began to dress yourself. Each piece of clothing felt like another layer of self-loathing being added, an attempt to cover up the truth that had been laid bare. 

But no matter how many layers you put on, you couldn’t hide the emptiness inside. 

You wandered aimlessly through your house, your feet carrying you without purpose until your gaze landed on the painting of him. His blue eyes stared back at you, gleaming with an intensity that seemed to hold you captive. The clothes he wore when you first met—the ones from that day at the café—were captured so perfectly, so vividly. His smile was gentle, warm, as though it could melt away every bit of the coldness inside you. But as you stared, the painting felt like nothing more than a pale imitation of him, a sad mockery of the person you thought you knew. 

Hot tears welled in your eyes, then spilled over, trickling down your face like a silent confession. You could almost hear it, distant and fading—his voice praising you, his words of encouragement when you drew the silly ducks for him. The memory was a soft echo, a reminder of something you thought was real. 

A part of you, a pathetic, desperate part, still clung to the hope that maybe—just maybe—you could make things right. You grabbed the portrait, cradling it like a fragile lifeline, and dashed toward your car. You didn’t know what you were hoping for, what you thought you could fix, but you were sure, naive in your belief, that there was still a chance. 

Once inside the car, your hands gripped the steering wheel, and the engine hummed to life, the vibration beneath you a stark contrast to the numbness that had settled in your chest. But as you shifted in the seat, you paused. 

You hadn’t even asked where he was staying. Every time you met, it was somewhere public, somewhere neutral—a park, a café, a random point of interest. Your gaze drifted to the passenger seat, where the painting sat.

It was incomplete. 

It was imperfect. 

It was worthless. 

Would he even want it? 

Would he even want you? 

No. You had to believe he did. He told you he liked your work. He said it with that genuine smile, that warmth in his voice. Before he knew your name, before he knew you were the artist behind the silly card game—he liked you. He was kind to you. You clung to that truth like a lifeline, like it could save you from the crushing weight of the doubt beginning to swallow you whole. 

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you dialed his number, hoping for something—anything—that would make sense of this mess. Your heart pounded, your breath shallow, as the phone rang. 

But then, the words came. The voice on the other end was cold, indifferent, and robotic. "I’m sorry, the number you are trying to dial is not available..." 

Confusion bloomed in your chest. Maybe you’d dialed it wrong. So you tried again. And again. Each time, the same dispassionate voice greeted you, the same unfeeling message cutting through your fragile hope. 

It couldn’t be real. 

It couldn’t. 

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen, hearing the repetitive, cold message before it faded into the silence of your car. The hum of the engine, the quiet drip of your tears, it all felt distant—unnerving. 

You didn’t turn off the ignition. The weight of everything felt too heavy to move, to even breathe. 

And then you saw it—the clock on your phone, a cruel reminder that it was December 26th. Midnight had passed. 

Your hand hovered near the keys for a moment, but it fell limp, back into your lap, like your body was too exhausted to hold on. The air in the car grew thick, suffocating, as you opened the window, and the smell of gasoline filled your nostrils. 

You didn’t look away. Your eyes never left the phone, not even as it dimmed, not even as it reflected the face of a girl—broken, bruised by her own thoughts, who had given up too much. 

“Did you really think he would like your painting?” The voice echoed in your mind, louder now, sharper than before. It wasn’t a thought—it was a command, a judgment. 

You closed your eyes, tears slipping from beneath your lids as the air grew heavier, thicker with every breath you took. 

“Did you really think any of this was real?” the voice asked again, a question, an accusation. 

“No…” you whispered, your voice breaking, your hands covering your ears in a futile attempt to shut out the truth. But it didn’t work. The voice was clearer than ever, its presence suffocating you from all sides. 

Tears flowed freely now, your body wracked with silent sobs as you clung to the empty hope that you could somehow make things right. But you knew, deep down, that you were only fooling yourself. 

“You’re nothing without your parents,” the voice whispered cruelly, slicing through the silence like a blade. 

“They shouldn’t have ever given birth to you,” it continued, each word dripping with venom. 

“A worthless investment,” it droned on, the words echoing, growing louder, more suffocating. 

The voice, harsh and mocking, grated against your ears, each syllable sharp and jagged. Your body trembled, your breath shallow and erratic as tears spilled down your face, your chest heaving in desperate gasps. The pain was raw, like a wound that would never heal, and still, the voice mocked you, relentless. 

When you finally opened your eyes, the sight that greeted you was more than you could bear. The shadows of your parents stood before your car, looming figures bathed in the dim light, their forms indistinct, yet painfully familiar. 

Your father’s voice rang out, his laughter echoing in the hollow air. “Look at my girl, look how talented she is!” The words were coated with a false warmth, but the undertone was sharp, a mocking cruelty that only deepened the ache inside you. 

Your mother joined in, her voice a saccharine hum that made your insides twist. “I knew her artistic talent ran in the family. We’re so proud of you, winning first prize again!” Her praise, once a balm, now felt like a blade, each word a reminder of everything you couldn’t be. 

“M-mom… d-dad,” you croaked, your voice weak, barely a whisper. Another cough wracked your lungs, the pain seizing them as the car’s engine continued to rumble beneath you, as if it, too, was trapped in the crushing weight of this moment. 

Your father’s tone shifted, turning cold and distant. “What happened? Why aren’t you working harder?” His disappointment was palpable, the sharp edge of his words digging into you. “It’s like you don’t care.” He turned away from you, his back a final, unforgiving gesture. 

“N-no, d-dad,” you pleaded, your voice breaking, raw and desperate. “I’ll try harder. I’ll be first always, always. Just… just don’t leave me.” Tears streamed down your face, an unstoppable flood of regret and shame. “I’m sorry, I’m so-sorry…” The words spilled from your lips, but they felt hollow, like they could never be enough. 

“Where did I go wrong?” Your mother’s voice cracked, her sorrow sharp, cutting through you like a jagged edge. “I gave you the best tutors, the best supplies, and you lost—lost to that… that no-name kid?” Her voice shook with guilt, her sobs breaking the air. “It was my fault, my fault.” 

Your own voice climbed, a shrill, desperate scream that tore at your throat. “It’s not—" you gasped, choking on the words, "It’s not your fault! I’ll do better, I’ll get better, I’ll be better,” you begged, your body convulsing with the force of your sobs. “Just don’t—don’t leave me!” Your voice cracked as the tears continued to pour, your breath ragged, your heart screaming for salvation, for release. 

Your memories, each one a fractured shard of your past, flashed before your eyes like ruined paintings—each one marred by angry, black streaks, defiled, violated. Your art, your passion, each one shattered beyond repair. One by one, they fell apart, until… 

Until Luci’s face appeared, burned into your mind with a cruel, unrelenting clarity. His eyes were wide, filled with pure agony, regret, disappointment, and sadness—emotions that mirrored your parents’ gazes, emotions that haunted you endlessly. 

You saw it.  

You felt it.  

Over and over again, the repetition of regret, of loss, of failure. It all crashed down on you like a tidal wave, drowning you in its weight. 

“Ah… ah…” you gasped, your words strangled in your throat, each breath a labour, each sob a crude edge of a dagger. The overwhelming wave of emotions consumed you, suffocated you, until… 

The void you had poured over your art, the darkness that had swallowed every ounce of your soul, finally consumed you. It was an endless abyss, engulfing everything whole—your thoughts, your dreams, your very existence. 

Ah... 

There was beauty in darkness, wasn’t there? A beauty so pure, so suffocating, that it consumes every breath, every thought, every ounce of life you had once clung to. 

You had been told it over and over again, like a cruel promise whispered into your soul. And now, here you are, standing at the edge of it all. You have finally reached the pinnacle of your existence. 

The word settles over you like a heavy shroud, cold and unforgiving, a final verdict on everything you have ever been. All that you were, all you had hoped to become, is swallowed by the abyss. There is no turning back now. There is no room left for redemption, no space for regret, no lingering chance for salvation. 

It is over. 

The truth cuts deeper than you ever imagined. The ache in your chest is not just sorrow—it is the emptiness of everything finally falling away, leaving you hollow, unimportant. A fleeting, insignificant speck in a universe that does not care, that will not remember. 

You feel the last of your strength slipping away, the slow, inevitable pull of nothingness dragging you under.  

No more struggles. No more cries for help. No more hopes.  

Just... nothing. 

And in that stillness, you are gone, as if you had never existed at all. 

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: i’m a good look on you

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: M / NSFW

genre: angstish… romance

pairing: lucifer x reader

summary: with lilith back in the picture you tried very hard to keep the small, jealous voices away. but as she, charlie and lucifer all laugh at something at a party and he hand holds his shoulder, it’s hard to keep the green eyed monster away today.

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT. MINORS DNI.

Smut under the keep reading, Minors DNI.

as you sipped your martini from the couch, you watched as lucifer and charlie were talking animatedly about something that tickled their fancy. a content smile stretching across your face, seeing your partner finally get along with his child, like you knew they would. charlie needed him, he needed charlie. what they didn’t need was her.

the woman who was gliding up to them, put her hands on both their shoulders and bent down, saying something that made both charlie and lucifer laugh. it was true, when lilith returned, she had explained that she had been gone for seven years and effectively, her and lucifer were divorced. you were amicable, polite and kind consistently to the woman, as you knew how much she meant to charlie. but there was an ugly feeling that reared its ugly head as you watched her grasp lucifer’s shoulder and he laughed so gleefully with them. 

you diverted your attention, sipping your drink again and watching husk put on what looked like a magic show for angel. as you got lost in thought, you were yanked back down to reality as lucifer came over and sat on the arm of your chair. 

“whatcha lookin’ at darlin’?” he asked, his cheeks tinged red.

“just watching husk and angel, they’re cute together.” you respond back with an easy smile, your hand lifting and resting high on lucifer’s thigh. his eyes widening at your brazen display.

“h-honey?” he asks, bewildered.

“hmmmmm?” you hum, slowly looking up at him and taking a sip of your drink.

“what’re…” his voice trailed off. 

“making sure everyone here knows what’s mine, love.” you say easily, pressing a kiss against his neck while you tightened the grasp on his thigh. “could i pull you away from this party for just a moment, my king?” you ask lowly. you see him gulp as he tries to appear fine to everyone.

“yes.” he exhales out, relaxing when you lean away and take your hand off his thigh. “yes, you may.” he responds as you stand up, finish your drink and hold out your hand waiting for him. he takes your hand and you lead him quickly upstairs, hearing angel whistle after both of you, you shake your head. quickly heading to the bed room, you open the door for lucifer as he walks in looking at you questioningly. 

“did i do something? you look upset.” he says coming toward you.

“you didn’t do anything to upset me luce. i just…” you sigh as you drag your hand through your hair, stress peeling off you now that you weren't the the middle of a party. you look in his citrine eyes and smile. “it seems so silly when you’re staring at me the way you are now.” you close the distance between you both and cup his face. his eyes widen in understanding.

“darling, you know…” he starts and you cut him off.

“i know. i know. i do know. it’s just hard, to look at you three and see how well you fit together and not feel like i’m the extra puzzle piece.” your voice comes out like a whisper as you tilt your head down, not wanting to actually look in his eyes.

“you’re not an extra puzzle piece. we weren't a puzzle that fit well either. maybe in some aspects, but not in the ones that end up counting for a relationship." lucifer shakes his head, "i mean, you’re the one who put me back together. i’m whole because of you. because of your love. i’m yours darling. nothin’ can change that.” lucifer easily lifts your head, looking into your eyes with a suave smile. you grin at him.

“you’re mine?” you ask, your voice an octave lower.

“all yours. however you want me.” he leans into you. “however you need me.” his voice is whispered past your ear and you shiver when his tongue traces the outer cartilage of your ear. your arms wrap around him easily as his name is growled out from your lips and he chuckles.

“how do you want me? hmmm, my love?” he asks, looking at you with half lidded eyes, your breathing fast against his face. you whine, barely containing yourself as you lift him straight up and fling yourself sitting on the bed. you situate him so he’s straddling you, giving him a height advantage as your hands settle on his hips. you quickly draw him into a kiss, feeling his tongue dart out asking for access. you allow him as your right hand trails from his hip to his ass, up his back and anchors in his hair, giving a slight pull. his cry engulfed by your kiss as you tug once more, your hands going back to his hips, guiding his rocking against your thigh.

you pull back, taking a breath as he bites his lip, trying to stay quiet. you stop his rocking and he looks at you upset and bewildered. 

“don’t silence yourself. i want everyone in this hotel to know who’s making you feel like this.” you rock his hips against you punctuating the sentence. “who takes care of you.” you rock his hips against your thigh again, applying more pressure. “who put you back together…” you whisper against his ear as he cries out, your hands guiding his pliant hips relentlessly against your thigh.

“oh-oh-i-it’s too much. please! i-“ he cuts himself off with a moan. 

“it’s not too much. or else you would have used your safe word.” you grin as his pretty eyes shine with shed tears. 

“i-i’m going to… oh-please!” he cries out.

“you’re going to cum? hmmmm, luci? tell everyone who’s making you feel like this. say it. scream my name.” you growl against him, quickening his rutting against you. he screams your name as his release is confined in his clothes and he collapses into you, breathing heavily.

you smile and pet his head, pushing back his hair and dragging your fingers against his scalp. him almost purring in your lap. you were about to speak, breaking the silence, when suddenly a knock interrupted you.

“ummm, hey, dad?” you hear charlie ask. your eyes widen.

“um, yeah-“ lucifer clears his throat as his voice came out much higher than intended. “yea-yeah, charlie?” 

“people are wanting to talk to you and have asked for you. so, you need to come back to the party!” charlie exclaims.

“i’ll be right there sweetie!” lucifer yells and you both wait until you can no longer hear footsteps any more. you sigh as lucifer gets off your lap and snaps his fingers looking strikingly put together. not at all like he had been begging to get off on your thigh moments before. you get up, smoothing out your dress when he snaps his fingers and your outfit is neatly put together too. you look at him and smile. 

“i owe you later.” he looks you up and down, his eyes settling on yours.

“c’mon, party awaits for you, my king.” you tease him walking out as you shake your head, his cheeks turn bright red at the title you casually use to address him. “i’ll be holding you to what you said too.” you raise your eye brows a few times. he rolls his eyes and grabs your hand.

“stay by my side, okay?” he asks, before you both go down stairs. you beam at him and nod, both of you making a re-entrance to the party.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Lost FLowers (Lucifer x Human!Reader)

CW: Sex pollen, compromised consent, smut, oral sex, fingering Rating: Adult Summary: Imps doing whatever the fuck they did dropped a sex flower in the human world and it's Lucifer's problem as the king of Hell to find it. When he finds it, picked up by you, he has a obligation to help you ride out the effects.

You walked through the streets, kicking rocks down the sidewalk. Anger seethed under your skin, making you feel like an ass. You were not mad at him. It wasn’t his fault he stood you up on your date. He couldn’t help getting murdered. 

Or maybe he could.

You didn’t know; it was too early to know for sure. 

All you knew was once again, the universe fucked you over. It had been months since your last date and you were excited. Fuck, you spent money to have your hair done up nice. You got your nails done, spending more money.

Just one night, that’s all you wanted. One night out on the town with someone to make you feel pretty, even for a little while. It had been so long. 

Just some affection, some flirting. Was that too much to ask? 

Clearly. 

“Fucking bullshit,” you snapped under your breath, kicking the rock down the sidewalk again. At least home wasn’t terribly far away. “I even shaved everything.” 

It was silly. Not only had you shaved everything you could, you spent money on a cute white and gold bra and panties set on the off chance that your multi month long dry spell would come to an end. 

“So much for that,” you continued, turning the corner. Home was just a block away. So close and yet so far away. 

On the ground, nearly crushed by your stomping heels, was a strange purple flower. Reaching down, you plucked it up, wrapping your fingers around the dark green steam. The petals were a shade of purple you’d only seen in fiction. It didn’t smell particularly strong when you brought it to your nose, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Well, at least the sidewalk can give me a flower today,” you sighed, tucking the unique bloom behind your ear as you marched home. 

Lucifer stomped his black boots as he pinched the bridge of his slight nose. “I can’t believe you dropped a sex flower in the living world.” 

“Look,” the small red imp had no right to be as sassy as he was being. “It’s one flower. I was on a time crunch. The fuck you want from me?”

“I want you to not be making my life harder with whatever it is you do.” 

“We’re assassins, Your Majesty.” Lucifer’s eyes only glanced at the other imp. 

“I don’t care,” he said while making a mental note to figure out why the fuck there were hell assassins coming to the human world.

“It wasn’t a fresh one,” the imp said again, waving his hand as if to brush the issue away. “There wasn’t enough pollen on it to kill a human. Whoever picked it up will be fine.” 

“They’ll be out of their mind with lust,” Lucifer corrected, shoulders sagging. “Fine. Fine. Get out of here. Don’t make your business my problem again or I will fuck you.” He paused for a moment before more words rushed out of his mouth. “I’ll fuck you up.” 

“Right, Your Majesty.” The imps all bowed, leaving him with the task of finding the flower while they ran off, tails between their legs. 

“‘Make imps!’ she said,” Lucifer grumbled to himself as he walked, trying to catch a hint of the magic he used to create everything in hell. It would feel different from the lingering traces of what he had expelled in the earth’s creation and all upon it. Then he was working with a pure divine power. After his fall, the threads of his magic felt different. They were tainted. 

“‘They’ll be fun!’ she said. Now where the fuck is she?” Lucifer was well onto a rant as he walked down the sidewalks. 

“Nice suit!” someone yelled from a passing car. 

Perking up, Lucifer smiled and turned, “Thank-” 

“Loser!” the voice added, the truck speeding away as Lucifer’s smile fell.

“Figures.” He kicked a rock as he made his way down the sidewalk, mentally reaching out for a sense of what was his. “That’s why you all end up down there, with me. Who’s fault is it, anyway? Hey, hey, hey! It’s mine.” 

You looked at the flower sitting in the medicine bottle turned tiny vase. It was dumb; you knew that. It was the only flower anyone had given you in over a year and it came from the streets. 

“Just like me,” you whispered. “Fuck, I’m losing it.” 

You flopped back on the bed, trying to put your wasted night out of your mind. It wasn’t fair. Loneliness clawed at you. 

Maybe you should get up, go out and get a few drinks. Someone would pay attention to you for a little while. Maybe someone would kiss you. Fuck, maybe someone would touch you. 

You rubbed your thighs together, skirt bunching as you laid back. You didn’t want some random man to spend some time fucking you. It would probably be unsatisfying. Deep down though, you knew Buzzy the vibrator or Cocky the dildo couldn’t scratch this lonely itch.

Your hand ran up your thigh as you gave in, pushing your skirt higher and higher. 

Lucifer paced on the landing between the apartment doors. He knew he needed to knock, go in and get the flower before it could cause too much trouble. If the imps- what the fuck was their names? He needed to remember so he could put them out of business or bury them in rubber ducks. 

If they were right, maybe the flower would hold no power. Maybe it wouldn’t be able to influence the living. 

“Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?” Lucifer pulled the hat from his head, running his hand through his hair as he looked at the door. “It’s going to have some pollen on it still.” 

He reached up and rapped his knuckles against the dented metal door. Hopefully, no one would be inside. If whoever had found the flower left, he could just let himself inside and take it. He waited before knocking again. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You ripped your hand from under your skirt as someone knocked on your door again. Fucking again. Was it not obvious enough that you didn’t want to be bothered when you didn’t answer the first fucking time?

Stomping over to the door, you threw open the door, “What the fuck do you want?” 

You blinked at the man, hardly taller than you wearing a rather comical white suit that looked to be more at place in a circus than on the city streets.

“Well,” the man chuckled lightly. “You have a purple flower in there. I- a friend of mine actually dropped it.”

“You’re here for a shitty flower?” You looked to the side, eyeing the make shift vase with the weird flower inside. “How do you know I have it?” 

“I do,” Lucifer smiled, “Don’t lie to me, I’m the first lier.” 

Saying the words stung. He hadn’t intended to corrupt the truth. He hadn’t lied to anyone, as far as he intended, yet that was one of the many crimes he had been accused of. 

Fine, they wanted to brand him a lier- he would embrace it. He embraced everything they charged him with. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You looked at the unnaturally pale man, his eyes looking yellow, jaundiced, felt unnatural. The high flush on his face stood in contrast to the near paper white of his skin. 

There was something wrong about the man standing in your doorway and yet you couldn’t stop your eyes from running over his body. You needed to get laid, you realized, as your eyes greedily took in the way his comically striped vest spread over his chest. 

“You have something that doesn’t belong here,” he said, stepping forward. Though he lacked anything resembling impressive height, his presence was powerful and you stepped back. “It’ll be better for you if we get rid of it.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” you asked as he crossed the threshold into your apartment. The door swung closed behind him, though he didn’t move a muscle to touch it. “What are you?”

“It’s a sex flower,” Lucifer answered, walking directly to the little purple flower. “I made them for my wife… ex-wife, I guess.”

“Sex flower?” You rubbed your thighs together under your skirt, sure you had lost your mind. 

“Yep,” He popped the p as he twitched his hand, fire sparking in the flower and spreading, quickly turning the bloom into ash. “My wife,” he sighed, “Ex-wife wanted something to spice things up.”

“What are you?” You asked again.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning to you. “The flower has some rather unique effects- works as an aphrodisiac but amped up through the roof. Hellborn tolerances are much higher than humans.”

“I’m sorry- what the fuck is going on?” 

“You’re horny,” Lucifer observed, eyeing the way you rubbed your thighs together. “That- that was rude, I’m sorry. The flower will influence you for the next eight to twelve hours. You should… you should call your boyfriend to ride it out with you.”

“I don’t have one,” you screamed at him, face ablaze.

“Oh!” He looked at you with wide eyes. “Girlfriend works too. You just need a partner- someone, not something.” 

“I don’t-” you realized he still hadn’t said who he was. Fear and arousal ran through you as you reached out, smacking the comical top hat off the man’s head. “You haven’t told me who the fuck you are.” 

“Was that- that was childish.” 

“So is not answering my question or calling someone horny,” you countered. 

“But you are,” He sighed, running his hand through his bright blond hair. “But you’re right. I’m sorry. My name is Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? Like the devil?” 

“The one, the only.” He said as if it was nothing. To him, it was no big deal. It was just who he was. 

“Lucifer, the devil.” You blinked. “Let me get this straight. I found Lucifer’s lost sex flower while walking home from getting stood up for a blind date I hoped would end my massive dry spell. Not really stood up- he got murdered on his way- and now the flower is going to make me horny as fuck and I’m doomed to suffer unless I have someone to fuck it out with?” 

“Well,” Lucifer started, surprised only to have you cut him off. 

“You’re serious?” You laughed, running your hands through your hair as you stepped away, turning your back to him only to round and face him again. “This is a fucked up dream.”

“You… you should call someone.” Lucifer watched as he questioned if your sanity could hold up to the information. 

“I don’t have someone to call,” you snapped. “If I did, I wouldn’t be in a six-month dry spell!” 

“Well, ah- have fun with that.” Lucifer picked up his at and stepped back.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Hell?” Lucifer answered, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m horny,” you said, unashamed and deciding it was a dream. “And your stupid flower caused it. Shouldn’t you do something about it? You’re the fucking devil. Tempt me or something. You convinced Eve to eat the appl, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Lucifer set his hat down, stepping up to you. “Sit down and let me show you how I tempted her.” 

You did, everything feeling too real when he ran his forked tongue from between his lips. Lucifer watched as you sat stone still. He leaned forward, running his nearly nonexistent nose along your neck. 

“You do smell lovely,” he whispered, hands reaching out to touch you for the first time. 

You hadn’t been prepared for the way your body reacted to his touch. It was feather light and yet it had you sighing. Though he hardly touched you, it set your nerves alight. His hands reached up, resting on your shoulders and pulling a moan from your lips.

“What are you doing to me?” 

“Nothing,” he sighed, “It’s the flower.” 

The sound of the zipper gliding down your back was impossibly loud. Shudders racked through your body as his hands slipped under your dress, pushing the back open and guiding it to fall from your shoulders. 

“This… this isn’t a dream, is it?” Your voice came out breathy as he pulled you to stand slightly, letting the dress pool around your ankles before sitting you down again as he sank down to his knees. 

Looking up at you, you realized his eyes were red, “No, dear. No dreams.” His eyes left yours, roaming over your curves, white silk and red accents hugging your curves. It was as if you dressed just for him. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you trembled as you watched his eyes settle on your panties, sharp tipped black gloves running up your thighs. No, those were not gloves. It was his hands. “Are you going to take my soul? Take me to hell?” 

“No,” he laughed softly, “I’d like nothing more for you to never join the ranks of hell.” 

Fingers wrapped around the band of your underwear and guided them down your hips. Shamefully, you realized you were wet. Not a little wet, but body ready to slip over a cock without hesitation or resistance wet. 

“Red and white are my favorite colors,” Lucifer said as his eyes ran over you greedily. “You have a lovely apple. Nice and ready for me to take a bite.” 

There was no chance for you to second guess what you were doing or to back down, not that you could anyway. Need and desire ran through you as the flower’s influence took root. You had been sexually frustrated before but now there was no going back. 

“Are you, are you going to fuck me?” Terror and arousal were both thick in your voice. 

Lucifer pushed your thighs apart, forked tongue once again running over his lips as he glanced up at you one last time. “I’ll take care of you like this, give you some relief. You should be okay, then.” 

Long, thin tongue ran from his mouth, slithering up your soaked folds as you gasped loudly. Each pass of his tongue ended with a flick against your clit. He moaned as he leaned forward, focusing more intently on his work. The pointed tongue caught in your opening, slipping inside of you. 

It twisted, turned and caressed your walls as his face nudged your clit, pushing you closer and closer. Each touch felt like fire. Your chest rose and fell, breasts held perfectly in place by your new bra as he looked up at you with those dangerous, beautiful eyes. 

He let his tongue slip from your opening again, shifting on his knees. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking and nibbling on it. Your back arched as you moaned. 

Lucifer moaned with you, the taste of you coating his tongue. It had been years since he had tasted anyone. He forgot how good it had felt to give pleasure. It made him feel good to know he caused your thighs trembling under his touch, not from fear but from how good he was at what he did. 

He loved pleasure. He prided himself on his ability to give it.

It had been too long. 

“You taste divine,” Lucifer moaned into your folds as he ran a palm up your thigh. Your body jumped as he pressed a finger into your tight opening. Your walls twitched and tensed around him, so ready to send you over the edge. All you needed was a push. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as he added a second finger. Sweat rolled down your back as he worked the long digits in and out of your tense walls. “I’m so close.” 

He hummed in response, hips rocking on instinct against nothing, seeking friction. “Come on, angel,” Lucifer whispered, licking his lips as he took a moment to adjust his jaw. “You’ll sing for me, won’t you?” 

A second finger pushed into you as your body tightened around him. He matched each curl of his fingers with a harsh suck on your clit that had your hips bucking. A surprisingly strong hand pushed your hip down, pressure on your inner thigh. As his fingers pulled out from you, he ran his tongue over your clit just to suck hard on it again, fingers pushing and curling inside. 

“Fuck,” you cried out as he worked his fingers into and out of you, wet squelching highlighting the pace his fingers fucked into you with. It had been so long since anyone had touched you. 

“Fuck,” you said again, body wound tight. It had been so long since you had anyone had been inside you. “Oh, fuck. Please,” you begged. “Please, please.”

 Shudders ripped through your body as your orgasm crashed into you. Fingers reached down, tangled in the devil’s hair. You gripped him as you rode out your orgasm. He moaned as your grip pulled strands taught. 

“Better?” Lucifer asked as he pulled his slick face from your twitch cunt. 

“Worse,” you answered, realizing you were pulling the devil’s hair. “Sorry,” you let your grip go slack.

“Don’t need to be,” Lucifer said as he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on your sensitive clit. “I’ll head out now,” 

“No,” you whined, leaning forward until you slipped off the couch. Arms wrapped around him as your knees landed between his. 

“Oh,” Lucifer held his hands out as you pressed your nearly naked body to his. The warmth of you soaked into his clothes. The soft mounds of your breasts, still held ever so nicely in position by the white and red bra pressed into his chest and hell, he forgot how good it felt to be held. 

“Please,” you whispered into the ear of the devil, tempting the tempter. “I feel like… like I haven’t been touched in a lifetime. I need you,” 

“S-sit back on the couch,” Lucifer’s hands hovered over your sides, a groan fighting its way out of his throat as you rubbed your thigh against the hardness he had been ignoring in his pants. “I’ll keep going. I’ll give you another.”

“No,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “It’s not enough.” 

“What?” He swallowed hard. “What do you need?”

He knew, of course. He had attended plenty of parties featuring the flowers, hosted by his own wife. Ex-wife. He knew how they worked, what it took to scratch the itch the flowers birthed. Orgasms would help, but it wouldn’t be enough, really, to buy you more than a few moments of peace. 

“Please, I need you,” you said, hands running up his chest and over his shoulders, slowly pushing his jacket from his sounders. “It’s been so long.”

“Has it?” Lucifer asked as he indulged in the feeling of your hands running over his arms. 

“Over six months,” you cooed, hands moving to run over his chest. “Please, I can’t stand it. I want more. I need more.” 

“Are you sure?” Lucifer asked, knowing full and well that you could not be sure, even if you thought you were. The power of the pollen clouded your mind, influenced what you wanted. He knew that, but he also knew how much he missed being wanted, the feeling of hands running over his body. “I’m the devil.”

“Who better?” you purred, hand moving down his abdomen. He groaned as your hand wrapped around his cock, caressing him through his pants. “Who better than the devil to break my dry spell?” 

“You want me?” Lucifer asked, face ever so close to yours. You could feel his breath, smell yourself on him. 

“I want you, Lucifer.” 

Lucifer was never a strong man. His heart and mind were weak, fickle things. That’s why he fell, ultimatum. He was too weak to resist the temptation of humanity. In turn, he tempted them. 

He wrapped his arms around you and stood, taking you with him. Once you were on your feet in front of him, he reached down and hooked his hands behind your knees. You jumped, trusting him to hold you. Legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing your naked, soaked core against his abdomen. 

He carried you through the small apartment, not needing directions to identify the one closed door that led to your bedroom. While he walked, you ground yourself against his body, seeking any stimulation against your sensitive core you could get. Trembling fingers worked at the buttons of his vest and shirt. 

He groaned as your fingers slipped under his shirt. Warm touches smoothed over firm muscles as he set you down on the bed. Hands left you as he pulled his vest and shirt up and off, throwing it to the side. 

He had hidden strong, lean muscles under the clothes. He was the devil. You should have expected that he would be well built. The suit, though it clung to his frame, obscured it. 

“Please,” you were whimpering now, watching as he worked his belt free.

A cock too long or thick for the size of the man it belonged to sprang free, slapping his stomach. Shamelessly, needily, your eyes ran over the vast amounts of exposed flesh. It was like you were looking at a marble statue.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting next to you on the bed. 

“Why don’t you look very devilish?” 

He could almost believe you were functioning without the influence of the flower, if not for the way you ran your hand over him. Need burned in your eyes as you explored his chest and shoulders. 

“Have to tone it down,” Lucifer sighed into the touch, gathering you into his lap only for you to straddle him eagerly. Wet heat soaked his cock as you ground yourself against him. 

“How?” 

“Magic,” he could feel his face flush golden.

“Wanna see it,” you whined, “Wanna see you before you go.” 

“We’ll see,” Lucifer said as you rose up, sliding his thick cock into your opening with ease. “Oh, hell,” he moaned, head falling back.

Leaning forward, you kissed his neck. Was it too much? Too forward? Too soft to do with the devil? You didn’t care. Your body needed what it needed. Using his shoulders as leverage, you worked yourself up and down his shaft, moaning at the stretch. 

“I’m not that great,” you laughed, only to have the sound die in a squeak. He threw you down, rolling his body with yours into a missionary position. 

Another deep moan left him as he thrust into you, pulling your hips to him. “You’re perfect,” he said. “You all are,” he thrust into you slowly again and again, cock dragging against sensitive walls, “so perfectly imperfect. That’s why I fell.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned his name as he worked your body softly.

Fanged kisses dotted your neck as you clung to him. Your need for him only grew as he pushed you closer to your finish with each soft, steady thrust into you. His small nose nuzzled the soft skin under your ear as he kissed along your jaw. 

“Please,” you moaned, turning to him, lips begging for the kiss you were so scared to ask for. 

He indulged you, lips slanting over yours in a kiss that, while starting sweet, quickly turned passionate. His thin, forked tongue worked into your mouth, allowing him to swallow your soft moans as he pushed inside your warm walls again and again. 

“You feel so good,” Lucifer whispered as he ran his hands over you, cupping the soft swell of your breast through the silky bra. “So good, wrapped around me.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, body craving his touch, needing his kiss. “Please, Lucifer.” 

“You’re close,” his honey voice dropped nearly directly into your ear, “I can feel you tight you are. Every twitch of your muscles. Every wave of pleasure through your core.”

“Fuck, Luc-lucifer!” You cried out as he pushed you over the edge, diving into the rhythmic waves of your orgasm. Each contraction of your walls rippled around his cock, continuing to push into you as he prolonged your orgasm.

Only when your core stilled did Lucifer’s thrusts slow. Panting breaths ripped through your lungs as he kissed the collum of your neck. Just as he was starting to think you had been satisfied, you began to whine and rut against the cock still buried in you. 

“Better?” Lucifer asked, somewhat surprised to find your body seeking more from him. 

“More,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “Harder? More? It’s not enough.”

“Harder?” Lucifer asked, pulling back from you.

“Please,” you chased him, wanting his touch. It felt like you needed his touch to survive. Nothing he was giving you was enough. “I’m burning up. I need more. I need, fuck I need you.” 

“But you want it harder?” Lucifer kissed you softly as you chased his body.

“I want the devil to fuck me,” you spoke into the kiss. “Show me what you can do.” 

Lucifer chuckled, “Alright then- on your hands and knees, little dove.” 

You trembled in want and fear as you rolled over onto your stomach. Lucifer stood at the foot of the bed, watching as you moved. Slick ran down your thighs, evidence of your orgasm and the impacts of the flower’s pollen in your system. He didn’t want to hurt you, but it felt so good to be inside you. 

The bed jerked as Lucifer pulled it easily away from the wall. The feet scraped against the carpet as you squealed, looking back over your shoulder at him. He moved the heavy bad frame as if it was nothing. For him, it was nothing. The man you were desperate for the cock of was far from human. 

“What are you doing?” you whined, hips rocking side to side as you leaned forward, presenting your puffy folds to him. The slick poured from your opening. You could feel it running over your sensitive folds as gravity pulled it down your body. “Please, Lucifer. I want you. I need you back inside me.” 

“I thought your neighbors wouldn’t like the sound of the headboard banging the wall,” he said. 

“It burns,” you whimpered, hand reaching down to run along your soaked folds. 

The sight of your fingers entranced Lucifer. They glided over your clit, sinking deep into your fluttering opening. A breathy moan fell from your lips as you looked at him over your shoulder. “I want you. Fuck, I need you. Please, Lucifer. It hurts. I ache so bad. I need you back inside me.” 

“Fuck,” Lucifer groaned as he climbed into the bed, black hands running up your thighs. “I’m so sorry, Dove. You’re like this because of me. It’s my fault. I should have had better control over the imps. That flower should never have come here.” 

“Please,” you whimpered, “I need you.” A sob racked through your body, born of need, desire, and shame. “Fuck, I’m begging the devil for his cock. I’m going to hell for this, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know.” Your skin was so soft under his hands. Warm palms ran up your back, smoothing skin and unclasping your bra with practiced hands. “I don’t make the rules. I fell before they were in place. Are you sure you want this? I can stay like this instead.”

“Please,” tears ran down your face, fire swallowing you alive. Slick squelching sounds never stopped as your fingers worked in and out of you. “Please, I want the devil.” 

“Don’t worry,” Lucifer purred, lineing his cock up with your opening. Your wet fingers reached out from between your legs, leaving the warm wet heat of your core to wrap around his shaft. It was a battle to reach, arm stretching to pump his shaft, still coated in your slick. “I’ll fuck you.” 

His voice was deeper, power radiating off each word. You watched as the flush on his cheeks deepened, skin growing whiter. The yellow of his eyes deepened and the rusty brown of his eyes changed, becoming a bright vermillion. 

Fear ran through you, eyes locked on him. The blunt head of his cock pushed into your waiting walls, parting them as you watched him change with wide eyes. Teeth grew pointed while a black spade tipped whip extended out from behind him. 

“Oh fuck,” you leaned down as he bottomed out, bra crushing under your chests. 

“If it gets to be too much,” Lucifer leaned down, whip-like tail wrapping around your thigh as he spoke directly into your ear, “Just say ducky.” 

“What?” You yelped as the spade tip of his tail smacked your ass. “Fuck, okay. Just fuck me, please.”

“Good girl,” he said, straightening up.

For a moment he was frozen, looking at the delicate human woman speared on his cock. Soft and wanting. Would you want him if not for the flower? Would you let him touch you if you had anyone else?

“Please,” you begged, and his tail tightened around your thigh. “Fuck me,” 

He smiled, a sharp, cutting look before pulling back from you. His cock dragged through your slick walls, slick coating his shaft in shiny ropes. The thrust that followed was hard, forcing your body to bounce as his hips connected with your ass. 

Each harsh thrust pushed you forward, hips kept up by the bruising grip of his hands. You moaned, eyes looking at him over your shoulder as you rested your head on the bed. The devil was fucking you, spreading you over his thick cock again and again, and it felt so good.

There was a thrill in the danger of it. The sin of submitting to the king of temptation. He filled you perfectly, stretching you around his girth as his tip pressed into your cervix again and again, just enough pressure to tell you he was there. 

“Oh,” you gasped as his balls slapped your clit, each thrust punctuating with it as he rammed his cock into you with a bruising pace. The tail wrapped around your leg caressed you, squeezing and releasing in time with each thrust. 

“Fuck,” you cried out, pushed closer and closer to your orgasm until his powerful thrusts shoved you off it. “Fuck, fuck. Oh, Lucifer, Fuck!” 

“That’s it,” Lucifer groaned, walls convulsing around his cock as he continued to fuck into you. He leaned over you, running his hands up your side as he wrapped his tail around your waist. Your breasts were hot in his hands as he indulged in their soft weight, pulling you up off the bed by them. 

Your orgasm wracked through you, shudders running down your spine and up your legs as he pulled you onto your knees, shoulders against his chest. Each thrust into your quivering walls had you moaning. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Lucifer whispered in your ear as your orgasm subsided. 

He continued to thrust into you, pace turning soft as you gasped for air. While he ran his hands over your front, twirling his fingers over your nipples and taking in the way your breasts moved with each thrust into you, his tail ran down your waist, spade finding your clit.

“How are you feeling?” Lucifer whispered into your ear, hips continuing to push into you at a lazy pace. Your slick dripped from his heavy balls, running down his thighs. 

“Good,” you whispered, head turning to look into the inhuman eyes of your lover. “So good.” 

Taking a chance, you leaned forward, slotting your lips over his. The kiss was sweet and thankful, catching Lucifer off guard. There was a rustling sound, drawing your eyes open again to witness a sea of feathers falling within your room.

“Sorry,” Lucifer whispered sheepishly as your lips left his. 

“You have wings?” You were in your post orgasm haze, a sea of fuzzy satisfaction that your brain floated on, lost in the Devil’s arms as his tail caressed your clit. Each soft pass of the smooth spade had your hips jerking, oversensitive. Pebbled nipples sent shocks of pleasure through your body. “With feathers?”

Lucifer smiled, plucking one from the bedsheet. When he crossed into the human world, he always shed more feathers. It was annoying, a mess, and yet you looked at them with wonder. Perhaps it was the flower. Perhaps it was the cock still wedged inside you. 

He wanted to believe it was just because he was him. 

“I do.” He ran the soft tip of the feather in his hand down your chest, teasing your nipple with it as you shivered in his arms. “I didn’t lose my wings when I fell. I’m the devil but still an angel.” 

“Oh,” you gasped, arching into his back as the feathers teased. 

“Are you done?” He asked, cock twitching inside you. 

He had no business continuing to touch you. Every caress just encouraged the flower’s influence rather than giving it a chance to fade. It was wrong, but he didn’t want you to be done yet. He wanted to finish inside you, with you, and not spill into his fist yet again. It felt good to be with another. 

“More.” you rutted your ass against him, begging with your body and your words. “I want more,” 

“Do you need more?” Lucifer asked, feather running over the bud of your nipple. 

“I want it,” you whimpered. “I want you.” 

“Want?” Lucifer teased, “Not need?” 

“Please,” you whimpered. In truth, you were not sure where want began and need ended. It didn’t feel like you’d burn up without his touch, but you were not ready to be without it yet either. “Please, don’t leave me yet. I want more, please.” 

“You want me,” Lucifer moaned, pulling from your gripping heat as he turned you in his arms. “You want me?” 

“Please,” you wrapped your arms around him, fingers caressing down his feathers as you pressed your body against him. His cock, soaked in your slick, pressed between your bodies. He rocked his hips, thrusting between you as he kissed you hungerly. 

Lucifer grabbed your thigh, lifting it around his waist. His tail slapped against your ass, the sound loud and sharp as he sank back into your wet heat. Sharp teeth scratched your tongue as it danced with the devil’s. Your breasts pressed into his strong chest. 

“So full,” you sighed as he fluttered his six wings forward, feathers caressing against your skin as he laid you back down. 

Fingers dug into your thigh as he pulled it up, higher and higher until he was hugging it to his chest. There was a beat of silence as he looked down at you. Eyes ran over your face, slack and flushed with the fire of pleasure. Breasts moved as you gasped for air, nipples standing out, begging him to run his tongue over them. 

You watched, the fire of the flower still burning through you as his eyes ran down your body, focusing in on where his cock was lodged into your cunt, spreading you wide.

“Please,” you begged, “Fuck me.” 

“You’re so greedy,” Lucifer teased, hips beginning to once again piston into you. Your back arched as his cock pressed against every sensitive tissue of your core, pushing against your stomach.

“Harder,” you moaned as he worked his cock in and out of you. He pulled your hips to him, each thrust brutal as your leg curled around his waist. The thin whip of his tail wrapped around your calf, holding it against the small of his back. “Please, harder.” 

There was a flash of fire as his eyes changed, black and yellow inverting. A loud moan ripped from your chest, nothing more than a pathetic mockery of a scream as tall red and white horns extended from his head. 

A simple small flame stood out between the points. He was terrifying and yet; you reached out for him. Fingers wrapped around his forearm, wanting to him as your body jerked with each powerful thrust. 

“Are you scared?” Lucifer asked, leaning down over you as he folded your leg, bringing it closer to your chest. “Fearful of the devil?”

“No,” you answered honestly, though you should have been. “More.” 

He fucked into you harshly, each powerful thrust driving the bed closer to the wall. Your hips ached. Your ass stung where his body slammed into yours again and again. He nipped and kissed your nipple, hips pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, fingers carding through his hair without care of the horns that brushed the side of your face. “Please, Lucifer, please.” 

“You’re so tight around me,” he moaned as your walls fluttered, a telltale sign that you were as close as you claimed. “Fuck, angel, you’re going to make me cum.” 

“Harder,” you begged, limbs tightening around him. 

“Just for you,” he whispered, strong hands flexing, fingers digging into flesh as he fucked you hard and fast, moaning curses each time his balls slapped against you. The pointed tip of his tail caressed your slick covered clit. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, nails digging into white marble skin as your body ripped apart at the seams, convulsions undoing everything you were, “Fuck, fuck! Lucifer! Fuck!” 

“I’m going to,” he moaned as fingers dug into his hair, pulling at his scalp with the force of your muscle spasms. He fucked into you, the pace harsh and wild as he drove himself closer and closer to his own finish. “Fuck, angel, let go or-” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, limbs gripping him, breasts presented to him as your back arched. “Fuck, Lucifer! Fuck, Fuck! Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” 

“I’m going to-” He moaned, head burying in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips as his punishing pace kept you on the tail edge of your orgasm, unsure if it was one long one or many hitting back to back. 

“Fuck,” Lucifer tried to rip himself from the tangle of your limbs, only to lift your back from the bed, body unwilling to part from him. “Going to-” he gasped out as wave after wave of convulsions gripped his cock, “I’m cuming, dove.” 

He slammed into you, wild and reckless. His cock exploded into you as the headboard slammed against the wall. Hot ropes painted your walls white as his cock swelled and twitched, depositing everything he had as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper. 

Only when he had nothing left to leave inside you did he still, panting as he looked down at you. Your limbs grew slack and fell from him. Dazed eyes gazed up at the devil. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, trying to shove air into your lungs. “I can’t take anymore.” 

“Good,” Lucifer said, smoothing some hair back from your face. “You’ll be able to rest now. When you wake, you’ll be back to normal. Won’t remember a thing.” 

“I want to though,” you whispered, body relaxing. 

Lucifer only chuckled. No human would want to remember being bed by the devil. “I’ll get you water,” he said instead of arguing. 

When he returned to the room, you were already asleep. Anxiety clawed at him, pushed deep down as he focused on what was in front of him. You lay, thighs spread with his seed leaking from your opening. Bruises dotted your skin and feathers were everywhere. 

The devil scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the head of the bed. He used his tail to pull down the blanket, giving him room to set you down. Carefully, he covered your naked body. 

You slept peacefully, body spent as the devil moved around your room. Water was placed on your nightstand and feathers cleaned up. Lucifer took a moment, eyeing the medicine bottle that had housed the cursed flower and the feathers in his hand. 

He pointed at the bottle and it changed into a red and white vase, classical lines accented with gold. Inside, he tucked in the nicest of his shed feathers. It wasn’t flowers, but it was a token at least. 

Looking back at you, he knew he should wipe your memory. Humans didn’t need to know of the divine. You didn’t need to remember you had taken the devil himself into your bed. 

He needed to, but… the way your hands felt on him, the taste of your kiss made him want to believe in the way those touches felt.

“Good night, little dove.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[marvel-redemption-omega]

Ok guys! I have three- no FOUR wips in the works rn! I've gotten two anons on here for some x Reader and one on AO3!

I'm also doing a part two to Make Me that goes into the swing/hinge relationship and gives some Lute x Reader and maybe a touch of GuitarSpear...👀

I might post sneak peaks, but be on the lookout! I'm glad y'all have enjoyed Make Me so much! 💜 My wittle heart has swelled with the love I've received for it. 💜💜💜 So thank you all for the kind words and love. Y'all are badass and I love you all.

[klttn]

Hello again! I was wondering if you'd write a Polyamorous Lucifer and Lilith with a reader who's like their secretary. Both of them are pining after reader and trying to give them hints but reader is very oblivious, she's too caught up in being the best at her job and making the King/Queen proud that she doesn't notice them trying to court her.

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉(𝒶𝓇𝓎)

— 𝜗𝜚 pt.2 here

pairing : lucifer x lilith x reader

content : slight power play but only because reader is dumb and it’s to get her to listen.

summary : when you landed in hell, it was all chaos and everyone wanted the fresh meat for themselves either to mold or abuse, luckily for you, two very hot blondes found you and decided to claim you as theirs and give you a job.

god how you loved your job, secretary for the big boss of hell himself and his queen, it was a dream. lenient hours, amazing pay and your very own room/office in the prettiest castle you'd ever laid your eyes on.

that's where you were currently, walking through the halls of the place, heading to see the rulers of hell, staring at the angelic patterns on the wall to calm the abundance of nerves in your tummy.

lucifer and lilith always made you so nervous, your heart beat just that little bit faster, your knees go slightly weak. you didn't know why. you don't think they noticed it anyway, you were good at hiding it. right? wrong.

of course lucifer and lilith knew and oh did they revel in it, always trying to fluster you, make you stutter or fumble, loving how cute you looked when you did. eager for your reactions.

it didn't stop there though, it didn't take long for them to want more, need more, crave more of you. they had to have you. they had to make you theirs.

it started small, they'd take you on dates, bring you the prettiest of dresses to wear for said occasion and shower you with praise and affection. but you were still so unknowing, thinking it was just a courtesy.

they had to go bigger, come to your room late at night, lilith in one of those long silky night dresses, beautiful lace cutouts drawing all the attention to her tiny waist. lucifer in nothing but joggers and a fitted t-shirt.

it didn't sound like much but it drove you insane, her so scantily clad, so close to you, a few inches away from being able touch her. and him in something so vastly different from the suit he usually dons. fuck, when he moved you could see the outline of something you wanted to see more than anything.

but. alas. you still just presumed they were simply getting more comfy with you and that was all there was to it. their lingering touches, words they'd leave you hanging by, the very obvious attempts at seduction and flirtation was all just them being nice. right? besides they were married, they couldn’t possibly want you.

you didn't care though you just wanted to be their good little secretary and make them proud, be the best you can be for them, there was nothing more you wanted... well maybe to be theirs in another way. but that's just you being silly.

lucifer and lilith, mainly lilith, decided they'd had enough of being gentle and were getting tired of waiting. endlessly yearning for you to pick up the hints. you were just so oblivious.

so, they're going to ask you to a meeting and they're going to force you to listen. they had to.

♡ ⋆ ˚ ❀ ｡⋆୨୧ ‘

knock knock knock.

you had finally arrived at the large wooden doors of the king and queens office. nerves wracking and anticipation crawling in your skin. they were never so formal about a meeting like this and you were terrified.

‘please be good. please be good,’ played in your mind like a mantra. you’d do anything to continue being theirs. their secretary, of course.

“come in, darling,” you heard lilith say softly through the latched doors.

you needed to look composed, you didn’t want them to know how scared you were, you also wanted them to think you looked pretty, just a little bit.

adjusting your skirt ever so slightly and fixing your hair, you opened the doors to the room, eyes widening at the view in front of you.

“have a seat, sweetheart,” lucifer gestured in front of him.

both him and lilith were exerting so much power together. lucifer sat on a fully padded throne-like chair, legs spread, arms either side, the epitome of hot.

whilst lilith perched her tall body on the edge of the desk, the slit in her dress widening to expose all her thigh, elongating herself, making you feel so small under her.

you’d seen this room a million times, seen them like this a million times, but somehow this felt different.

lilith leaned forward from where she was sat and hooked her slender finger under your chin, eyes sharp and demanding, you couldn’t help but let out a little squeak, “she’s so cute, luci, look at her squirm and she doesn’t even know why she’s here yet.”

“w-why am i here?” you stutter, not daring to move away from liliths touch but also not wanting to.

“you’re here because we need to talk, y/n, about you,” lilith continued, gaze not faltering or failing to meet yours.

your head falls down, immediately presuming the worst. oh. they wanted to fire you.

small tears started to swell in your eyes, “i-i’m sorry, i can do better, i-i promise,” the couple looked at you puzzled, “please d-don’t fire me, i’ll try h-harder, i’ll be better, i’ll b-be good enough” you sniffled, looking up, pleading to the both of them.

lucifers heart panged in his chest, guilt flooding in as he stalked over to you and his wife, “pretty girl, we’re not firing you, and you are good enough, you are such a good girl for us, isn’t that right, lil?”

“of course, baby, you’re our darling secretary, our best girl.”

you were too caught up in your ramble and tears to process all the pretty names you were being called, just focused on their comfort and the slight touch they had on you.

“s-so what do you need me here for?” you say, still worked up and worried.

lucifer shifted where he was knelt in front of you, “well, you see, doll,” he glanced at lilith, who nodded, “we want to court you.”

ohhhhh. it all made sense now.

your sniffles started to slow, “that’s so nice of you guys, you’re so considerate but you see i don’t really need to be dating anyone and-“ you started to ramble, the nerves lifting the more you spoke, “im sure whoever you’ve found is great and all and im sorry if im wasting your time but i just don’t think it’s a good idea and im kinda busy with all my work for you and its just a lot and-“

“darling-“ lilith tried to cut you off.

“well i kinda have my eyes on these two people but you see they probably won’t like me back and they’re married like you, wait no im not saying it’s you, i- it’s just really complica-“

they both rolled their eyes and with one huff from lucifer, his devil horns were coming out and immediately grabbing your attention, stopping your rant.

he grabs your face, softly, despite his form, “y/n, i need you to be good and listen, can you do that for me?” you nod your head, trying to ignore all the different emotions this was making you feel. “good girl.”

lilith pulls your awareness onto her as she starts stroking your hair, “baby, we want to court you, me and lucifer, we want you to be ours.”

your head tilts like a confused puppy as lucifer reverts to his normal state and chimes in, “we’ve been trying for months, all those dates, late night visits to your room, all the pet names we call you, we want you as ours.”

you didn’t know what to do or say, so dumbfounded and oblivious this whole time, how could you be so dumb?

luckily, lucifer and lilith notice you slowly zoning out.

“okay darling let’s try this,” lilith spoke, causing you to look at her, “nod if you want that too or shake your head if you don’t, we promise we won’t be upset either way, okay?” her eyes became so doting, it had you melting for her.

“all we want is your happiness, doll, i promise,” lucifer added.

you nodded shyly, a small smile creeping onto your face.

“you want to be our princess, huh baby?”

you were practically starting to bubble up in front of them, “please please please please please.”

they both let out a little chuckle before locking the doors and moving your pliable body.

they had shifted you with such ease and put you on lucifers lap, “so pretty and smart, aren’t you, my little angel?” he cooed.

you were gradually being pushed up against lilith who was sat on the desk behind him, “yet such a dumb little girl when it comes to us courting you,” she whispered, her mouth latching onto your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“i think she liked that, my love, i think she likes being dumb for us.”

your heart was racing, mind spinning, almost in a trance with how they were making you feel. you needed them so bad.

“i think so too, sweetie,” lilith stopped the attack on your neck for just a second, “don’t worry, babygirl, we’ll take care of you, no need to be smart right now.”

lucifer grinned, “now let’s make you officially ours, princess.”

A/N : this took so long cause i didn’t wanna mess it up… i’m in love with poly luci and lilith <3 i really hoped you guys liked this!!

[1-helluva-hazbin]

Oooooooooooooooooo

Such a good tease~

Can I request a bit of lucifer x reader where reader is a new resident at the hotel but also extremely powerful like could almost be an overlord if they wanted but are shy/hate people so they try to just keep to themselves and be as quiet as possible but end up in a forced proximity situation with the king of hell himself (who they have a horrible crush on) and something pushes them over the edge we get some fluffy confessions but also a bit of dry humping (I liked your pervious story with it) and afterwards they realize being tangled up with Lucifer himself probably isn't going to keep them out of the spotlight but oh well? (I hope this isn't too much you said the more specifics the better and works got me to burned out to write it myself )

ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ- “ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ” ——> word count: 3.5k

Warnings: drinking, tiny mention of blood/violence, sexual content, dry humping, forced proximity

hiii anon tysm for the ask I love it, it’s perfectly specific and I had sm fun writing this ! I’m not too good with fluff but I tried my best, I hope you like it!

You didn’t want to be an overlord.

Despite your monumental power- it was just too much. The other overlords scared you, and you despised the attention. 

Instead of choosing any overlord-ish career endeavours, you’d opted to help Charlie, your friend, with her hotel. It was better, it was easier, especially much more than having to mingle with power-hungry demons. And Charlie herself was charming enough to make working with her seem attractive enough. 

“[name], I’m so happy you’ve decided to help me,” she beamed, clutching your hands, eyes sparkling. And as she hugged you fiercely you realized with a rush of warmth that it was worth it.

Vaggie nodded behind her, yet her eyes held apprehension as she swept her gaze up and down you. “We need all the help we can get,” she said tersely. You nodded wordlessly. Charlie turned to look at her. 

“Believe me, Vaggie, she’ll be a great addition.” She hugged you again, sideways. “[name] here just happens to be super powerful! It’ll be really useful to have them around.” You flushed bashfully at the praise. 

Vaggie nodded and smiled stiffly.  

Over time you’d made it your mission to get Vaggie to like you. Need help moving these boxes? Telekinesis. Loan sharks bothering the hotel? Incinerated. Angelic warfare? You were more than willing to paint the streets gold. And you did it, too, terrifyingly easily, without a single word spoken. You were never one to talk more than you needed to. Normally you wouldn’t, but you did it discreetly so that word wouldn’t leak that it was you, and plus, you could use Vaggie’s trust.

You sighed, placing down a box Vaggie had asked you to move as everyone crowded together in the lounge, colouring pencils and markers spilled across the floor. Charlie’s soft murmurs had ceased as she put down the phone. 

You cleared your throat, to catch her attention and focus it on your quiet voice. “Hey Vaggie. What’s in this?”

Vaggie looked up. “Books, for the library. It’s too he-“

It lifted up into the air behind you, and you stared at her blankly. She cleared her throat. 

“Right, you can do that. They belong in the library.”

You set for the door, the box trailing behind you in the air. Charlie sat up properly. “Won’t you join us, [name]?”

You nodded quickly. “I’ll just drop these off first,” you mumbled, before giving a tinkly little wave before slipping in through the door.

Sighing, you quietly made your way down the hallway towards the library. Grappling with the lock before swinging the door open, wincing as it creaked, you switched on the lights. Dust billowed up where you moved and even more as you set the box down with a thud.

“God, this storage unit so fucking tiny,” you muttered to yourself. The door fell shut.

You tried to open it but it wouldn’t budge. It was jammed. You slammed the base of your palm against the door. It took you a good few seconds of pulling and twisting until it clicked back open. 

You sighed, running your hand through your hair before going back to join the others. 

You smiled wearily in greeting, your hand throbbing as you sat down and picked up a piece of paper. It rustled in your hands. You looked around, an unspoken question.

“Mindful colouring,” Charlie replied, the tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration as she carefully coloured within the lines. Vaggie smiled softly. Your eyebrows shot up as Niffty took in a deep sniff of a Sharpie and suddenly began to shake- not that anyone paid her any mind.

“Cool,” you said, not really knowing what else to say before picking up a pen. Angel Dust shifted behind you, his paper catching your eye. 

“Angel, you can’t just draw dicks all over your sheet,” Vaggie chided.

“Sure I can, toots,” he said, scribbling down another one in bright pink marker. You sighed and scratched a few lines into your own sheet. 

“By the way,” Charlie said. “My dad’s coming tomorrow.”

Your heart seized. 

No-one noticed the look on your face as the room fell into casual conversation. Only you could feel the thrumming of your heart in the back of your throat. Heat crept up your face. 

A hand landed on your shoulder. Charlie’s concerned face appeared in your vision. “You okay, [name]?”

You struggled to dredge up words to assure her that you were, eventually stuttering out a single word.

“Y-yeah.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. You gave her a wobbly smile. The conversation resumed without you. 

Eventually night fell and the group had dispersed, aside from you, Angel and Alastor at the bar while Husk rubbed down a glass. You glanced sideways nervously at the overlord, who lifted a gloved finger. 

“Whiskey,” he ordered nonchalantly, leaning on his elbow as he flicked his hand at Husk- who rolled his eyes and grumbled. You hunched over your hands as you quietly requested a drink, before Angel made his own order.

“So, dear.” Alastor’s glass clinked as he set it down on the counter, smile widening as his eyes fixed onto you. “You’re quite powerful, [name].”

You shrugged, taking a gulp of your drink, figuring you’d need it to get through the conversation anyways. It burned the back of your throat, bitter and woozy. “I guess so.” Alcohol had always managed to loosen your tongue. Angel and Husk fell into conversation on the other end of the bar. Alastor leaned closer.

“Then why don’t you become an overlord, darling? You could seize half of the Pride ring with that power. We’d work wonderfully together.” His eyes sparked with excitement. You pulled away.

“Don’t wanna,” you said bluntly, turning back to your drink. You heard him huff lightly, yet the smile never left. 

“Why not?” Radio static buzzed in your ears.

“I can’t. I just can’t. Being well-known…dealing with other overlords and sinners and even royalty…” you threw your hands into the air. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Al, but I’m not exactly a people person.” You threw back your head and took another gulp. “I’d rather live without the attention on me.”

He gave a low chuckle, tracing the rim of his glass. “Oh, but there already is. Despite keeping to yourself, and hiding who exactly you are, you haven’t exactly made an effort to hide your abilities. Not from us, anyways.”

“And I have no obligation to,” you slurred. “I’m content with what I have.”

He seemed to be thoughtful for a moment, finger still tracing patterns against his glass. Then he sighed. “Fair enough, dear.” You blinked, surprised as he patted your shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you may consider me and Rosie allies.” 

With that offer he stood up, dusting down his coat and emptying his glass. He nodded curtly. “Farewell.”

And then he left. 

Angel Dust’s arms were around you within moments, his chest floof pressed against your back. You giggled a little, ticklish. 

“Hey, toots. What was Smiles talkin’ about?” He released you, spinning your stool around so that you faced him. Husk had moved towards you two as well. 

“Just asked me why I wasn’t an overlord,” you mumbled. They both looked at you expectantly. “No, I’m not explaining. I’m sick of it. I just don’t wanna.” You sighed and slumped onto the bar counter, almost knocking your drink over before Husk steadied it.

“That’s fair,” he said gruffly. Angel Dust shifted behind you.

“If you’re not drinking that, then I will.” His hand reached for your glass.

“Take it,” you mumbled. He did.

Husk had disappeared to mind his own business, leaving you and Angel to talk. You could feel his smirk burn into your back, and turned to look at him. “What?”

“So, I’ve been noticin’ something…” he leaned his elbows on the counter, placing another hand on his hip, as his smirk widened.

“Uh huh,” you said, not sure where this was going. 

“And whenever someone mentions him, or he shows up…Don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face during Charlie’s little bonding thing.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Who’s he?”

Angel waved his hands around animatedly. “Devil Daddy. Short King. Ya know.”

“Did you just call him ‘Devil Daddy?’”

“Yeah, I did,” he said proudly, giving you a bold stare. You sighed and ran your hands through your hair, and with your growing silence his smirk split into a grin.

“You’re not denyin’ it.”

“Denying what?” You spread your hands in front of you, exasperated. He rolled your eyes.

“You got a crush, toots.”

You pressed your lips together.

He jabbed a finger at your chest. “See? Y’ain’t denyin’ it!”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Your words seared through your throat and tore from your lips, face burning with embarrassment. “What’s it to you?” 

He snorted. “Can’t wait to see him tomorrow, huh?”

“No,” you squeaked. He chuckled with triumph, ruffling your air.

“Good luck, toots.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

-

You groaned, stirring in your sheets as the red light peeked in through the curtains. Niffty was jumping on you, knocking the breath out of you as she landed on your chest. She pulled away, face inches from yours, hair tickling your cheeks. 

The words came out in a jumbled, hysterical mess. “Wake up! The bad boy’s here and he’s been here for an hour and you’ve just been sleeping!” 

You tore Niffty and the bedsheets off of you before scrambling to get yourself ready as she scurried out. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to fix your hair and stripped yourself of your clothes, stepping into the shower. You tugged a comb through your wet hair and quickly rummaged around for clothes- and all the while your heart thrashed against your ribcage at the thought of seeing Lucifer. 

A few minutes later and you’d managed to make yourself presentable. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands down over your stomach to fix your clothes, and then stalked down the stairs. 

Charlie looked up, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. You tried not to look at the man sitting next to her. 

“Hey, [name]!” She waved and then gestured to Lucifer. “My dad’s here!”

Your eyes shifted to him and immediately burned again- his sleeves were up, coat and hat off. His blond hair was slightly tousled in that perfectly messy way- you tore your eyes away from him after giving him a small smile and back to Charlie. 

“Sorry I slept in. I must have had too much to drink last night.” 

Charlie smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You smiled nervously, feeling Lucifer’s gaze burning through you. Charlie waved you over next to her. You sat down awkwardly, knotting your fingers together in your lap. 

“I’ll just go get a drink of water,” she said quickly, shuffling off. “I’ll be right back.” You and Lucifer both nodded. He turned to you.

“So,” he said. The air burned with awkwardness. “You look- you look nice today.”

Heat flooded your entire body. “Really? Thanks.” You looked away, unable to find the courage to compliment him back. “I mean, I only woke up less than ten minutes ago,” you chuckled nervously. He laughed.

“You seem to have a talent for looking effortlessly beautiful, then.”

Was he flirting with you?

Before you could answer with an absolute stuttering mess of word vomit, Charlie tottered back. “So anyways,” she said, turning back to her father and continuing their previous conversation. “We’re making a library. [name]’s helping with it.”

“Really?” He balanced his elbow on the side of the seat, his eyes fixing onto you. Your face burned. 

“I- yeah, I am.”

He chuckled at your answer, then his eyes flicked between you, Charlie, then you again. Charlie piped up. “How about you show him, [name]?” She grabbed you both my the arm and ushered you to the door.

“Oh, it’s not really- it’s not really ready-

“It’s fine!” She waved you away. You and Lucifer stared at each other. You could see him swallow, then grin and flick his head at the door.

“Go on, then. Show me.”

You briskly walked down the hallway, feeling his presence behind you as you began rambling. “Well. The bigger room is where we’ll eventually have the library but we’re keeping all the stuff in this smaller room right now, well actually the stuff was already there except we’re just moving it now so-“

“You can show me both,” he murmured as you stopped outside a door, breath hot on your nape. You flinched at his closeness and opened the door. 

He glanced inside. “It’s quite…empty.”

“Like I said.”

“I guess so. Other room, then?”

“Sure.” You turned. “It’s just a storage unit, though. There’s books, bookshelves, lights and decorations and stuff.” 

He hummed as you opened the door.

“Wow,” he said, stepping into the dark room after you. “How do you even move around in here?” Something clinked and the clutter shifted, before he almost tripped over a box and into you. 

“I don’t know,” you said, with a light huff of laughter as he grabbed your arms to steady himself. The places where his fingertips pressed into your arm burned. The door swung shut.

The room flooded in darkness. You flinched, Lucifer’s yellow eyes glowing at you, cutting through the shadows and you laughed nervously, shuffling around the mess to reach for the door handle. Your hand closed around cool metal, and you tugged. 

It wouldn’t budge.

You tugged again, and it took a few moments of you grappling with the handle for Lucifer to come over and try it himself. He stood behind you, reaching past your arm to-

CRASH!

You let out a small yelp as you were immediately pressed against the door, Lucifer being thrust up against you. Your forehead knocked against the wall and your head spun. 

“Fuck,” he cursed behind you, breath skimming across your shoulder. You shuddered. “Something fell and I-“ he squirmed, “I can’t move.” Your eyes fell to his palm, splayed out on the wall above you to steady himself. 

You parted your lips but no sound came out for a few moments, until you forced yourself to speak. “It’s okay. Do you have a phone?”

Silence. Then: “No. I left it in the other-“

“Yeah. Me too.”

You both fell silent, and it began to gnaw at you so you scrabbled at the wall, looking for the light. You searched for at least five minutes but couldn’t find it. Your hand fell back to your side.

“Can you turn around?” Lucifer muttered. “This feels…this is kind of weird-“

“Yeah, yeah,” you said hastily, voice breathless as you shimmied to the side so you could turn around, your back to the wall instead. You bit your lip as you looked at him, a blond lock of hair falling in front of his eyes. His breath was warm on your lips. 

“I feel like this isn’t much better.” 

“I guess not,” you laughed nervously. He started to look anxious so you awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“They’ll find us,” you reassured him. “They’ll realize we’re gone and they’ll come looking.”

His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I hope so.” 

You could feel his heartbeat thrumming against your chest. You tried to look everywhere except him, but the closeness wasn’t exactly helping- his eyes searched your face, expression dropping. 

“Hey, [name], I- I know that this isn’t the ideal position to be in, and that you’d rather be anywhere else than stuck with me right now, but-“

“That’s not true,” you said quickly, then pressed your lips shut as he looked at you in surprise. “You’re… you’re nice.”

“I- really?” He chuckled nervously. “I mean- I always thought you hated me.”

You blanched. “What? No, that’s-“ your face grew hot at the look on his face, and your gaze dropped downwards. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you don’t really talk to me that much is all.” He licked his lips nervously. “I mean, you don’t talk much but- me, it’s like you’re specifically avoiding me. So I just assumed.” 

You stared at him for a moment. “That’s far from the truth.”

He gave a low, quiet laugh, nerves eased. “What’s that meant to mean?” 

“I like you,” you blurted out. The stunned look on his face seemed to slow down time. You swallowed and then turned away, not that it would get you anywhere away from him- he seemed to have pressed even closer to you- flush up against your body. Or it could have just been your imagination. 

“Well, I’m glad,” came the relieved reply.

“N-no, I mean, I like like you. Romantically.”

Silence.

Fuck. You should have just not said anything and-

“I’m still glad.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “Huh?”

“I like you to, [name].” He grinned. “I like like you. Romantically.” 

The air around the two of you felt like it was burning, oxygen sucking out of your lungs as your knees buckled. This had to be some sort of fever dream. “Really?” Your voice sounded weak to your own ears. He drew closer, humming. 

His lips met yours. 

Heat pooled under your stomach as he pushed you roughly against the door, lips moving in time with his as you snaked your hands around his shoulders and dug your fingers into his hair. He pulled away, face flushed. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”

“It’s fine.” A smile danced along your lips. “I liked it.” His hands fell down to your waist, then hips, pulling you closer. Your core brushed against his, and you flinched, but he didn’t notice as he buried his head into your shoulder in an embrace. 

“This is nice,” he muttered, and you hummed. “I’m glad- this sounds selfish, but I’m glad that we got stuck in here.” He laughed, a beautiful sound. 

“Really? Exactly how long have you had eyes for me, my king?” You teased, newfound confidence born from how comfortable the vibe had gotten. He shivered at the title you’d called him by. 

“Since I saw you help Charlie with those loan sharks.”

“So…when I commit an act of violence?”

“Hush. Don’t question it.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get into a comfortable position, and he stiffened. “Don’t do that,” he muttered. You did it again and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Don’t do what?”

He didn’t say anything, instead opting to hide his face from you. “Lucifer?”

You felt something press up against your abdomen. 

You flushed heavily, then chewed on your lip, wondering if you should drop it or toy with him. Your own desire flooded you at the thought. You tapped his shoulder. “Kiss me again?” You mumbled. He glanced at you, not knowing whether you’d noticed or not. 

“Anything you ask of me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lip before pressing his lips to yours.

You ran your hands through his hair again, and just as he was about to pull away you sharply tugged him back in, pressing your crotch against his. You could feel his breath hitch. “[name], what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, grinding slowly. His face flushed as you felt him harden, and suddenly you were burning too. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead immediately diving in for another kiss and catching you off guard. His tongue swiped across your lips, which didn’t part, until his hand snaked its way up to your collarbone, wrapping around your neck and pressing gently at the base of your throat. You gasped, and his tongue slipped in, making you shudder. 

“Lucifer,” you gasped as he pulled away, hips rolling into his, desperate for friction against your cunt, which was already drenched. He peppered kisses down your jaw and collarbone, hands falling back to your hips and pushing you back up against him.

“Fuck,” he grunted, a languid grind of his hips against yours making you throb. He latched his lips back to your neck, leaving a hickey. You whimpered as his hands smoothed up your sides, thumbs worming their way under the hem of your shirt and holding you steady by the waist as he continued his desperate humping against you. Your core pulsed, drawing closer to the edge-

Suddenly he pulled away, running his hands through his already mussed hair. “What?” You asked breathlessly, anxiety spooling in your stomach. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, then bit his lip and grinned. “The opposite, actually.” He reached behind you. The handle clicked, air buzzing with magic. You stared at him, finding it even harder to ignore the throbbing in between your legs.

“You could do that this whole time, couldn’t you?”  You accused. He arched a brow and you flushed. 

“Don’t act like you couldn’t either,” he winked before kicking the door open. His hand closed around your wrist. 

You huffed, face burning as you realized- getting tangled up with him wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to avoid attention like you’d told Alastor. But the pleasure you were feeling told you that you didn’t care. 

He turned to you. You flushed. 

“Now. Where’s your room?”

[1-helluva-hazbin]

Always Something Underneath

Chapter 4 - Sprig of Thyme

Content warning: slow burn, writing the accent, discussion and portrayal of depression, self isolation, crossing boundaries, quick proofread

Summary: Lucifer had been receding into himself for weeks and finally had pulled a vanishing for one of the hotel's events. While you had sat idly by until that moment with concern gnawing at you, his absence finally propels you into action.

Author Note: Depression does not have one face. This is a portrayal of one of the many ways depression can look. An amalgamation of my own battles, struggles talked about by my friends and family, as well as stories I've read of those who have suffered from it as well. Depression does not manifest in everyone the exact same way. It is not the same intensity with every depressive dip. Everyone needs different forms of support. Please be gentle with the people you love if they have depression. Please be kind to yourself if you are struggling with it.

Word Count: 4364

Chapter 1 𖤐 Chapter 2 𖤐 Chapter 3 𖤐 Chapter 4 (You Are Here) 𖤐 Chapter 5 (WIP)

Hypervigilant.

That was what Husk had called you off handedly a night or two ago after you had gotten off work and hunkered down at the bar for a nightcap. You hadn’t even realized you had been looking around every few minutes with your mind elsewhere to the point the bartender had to repeat himself on a couple of occasions. Well, you knew you were looking around. You just hadn’t realized how apparent it had been.

It had eventually come out that you had allowed yourself to be killed at work. You could only hide in your room for so long and while the bruises healed faster down here in hell, it still took time. So, when Husk had mentioned you seemed hypervigilant and had asked if work had been okay, you were actually kind of relieved it seemed like he linked it to that. You didn’t want to admit you had actually been looking for Lucifer.

Since having had tea with Lucifer, a couple of times you had also shared an evening over drinks. Of course, with other hotel guests around and Husk. Yet, you had started eagerly looking forward to your time with him. He always asked how your day had been and seemed to attentively listen. He had even started learning some of your co-worker’s names so when you’d spill some drama that happened he knew who was who or would ask a clarifying question to make sure he did. It was thrilling to finally get to talk to someone about it who wasn’t directly involved who seemed genuinely interested. 

Husk would let you talk to get it out but, would usually zone out.

Angel would launch into his own work drama stories. Sometimes you were cool with that because, you knew it was how he was relating. You think. Sometimes you just wanted to vent though.

Charlie and Vaggie would listen but, always offered advice on how to solve whatever the underlying issue was.

When Cherri was around and heard your tales she would basically just tell you to fuck them bitches and quit before shoving another drink into your hand.

Alastor cut you off to change the topic or find a reason to walk away.

The other guests usually did some sort of variation or combination of those.

Lucifer… listened though. It tugged at your heart in the same way he had when you had shared tea and he said that everyone at the hotel wasn’t going to just be abandoned. To be seen without having to vie for it. You liked that. You liked being around him. Sort of craved being around him, especially when you had a hard day. So, at some point you had started hoping he would show up. You had started looking for him.

Maybe that was why you had noticed over time he had slowly been becoming less interactive. Not as enthusiastic to partake in conversations. His prior boisterous self muted. Withdrawn. While you could tell he was still trying, he progressively seemed more taxed; strained smiles,losing focus, providing less input.

Tonight though was the first time he had missed an event he told Charlie he would be at. Charlie liked to plan group dinners together from time to time as a way for residents to bond. Lucifer had attended a few before, so they could bond as well, and he had originally seemed elated to be invited again. Yet, Charlie’s texts and calls had been left unanswered. 

The whole scene, seemed eerily familiar to you. While you wanted to ask Charlie, it didn’t feel like your place to ask about something as personal as his mental health. Especially since she was his kid. What made you more concerned was the fact that Charlie seemed in the dark. Completely unaware of why her father might suddenly do this.

Additionally, while Lucifer seemingly had a plethora of acquaintances, you questioned who his confidants were. Many of the beings he spoke of were fleeting mentions, merely characters in his story or passing mentions.

When you had realized Lucifer likely wasn’t going to be showing up for dinner, you debated whether to take action or not. While the two of you certainly had become closer, if this was what you were worried it was, you knew it was beyond the bounds of your current relationship. It would very possibly ruin everything which made you hesitate. You liked what you had with him. 

You’d miss what you had if you lost it.

Yet, if he didn’t have anyone and he was alone just enduring what you were concerned about… You couldn’t just not at least try.

So, after dinner, you made your exit during the lull between dinner and some of the other bonding activities Charlie always had setup. Board games and card games primarily but, there was one drinking game a few of the sinners had picked up that she had reluctantly allowed considering the positive impact. You’d come back down afterwards if your excursion proved fruitless with some flippant excuse about needing air or just a walk to digest the food. Stealing away and excusing your absence had become second nature long before your death. A skill developed in the paving of your path to hell.

You reached the door to his room relatively quickly; the elevator making the skyward trip exponentially fast. As you had strolled the hallway down towards his room though, the space felt barren. Like you were walking the halls of a recently abandoned building. You had grown so use to the hallway on your floor; the doors decorated with stickers, graffiti, art, or caution tape along with the resident’s name on a placard that Charlie had each person make on their first day. One of the more recently departed souls had said it gave off ‘college dorm room’ vibes. You hadn’t ever been to college, though you always pondered whether it might have been a fun experience. Not that you would have been able to afford it.

Yet this floor lacked any semblance of living. All the doors along the hallway empty of adornments or name plaques. A musty odor having settled into the air. The carpets still plush and full of color from disuse. There weren’t even the pictures on the wall that Charlie had hung on many of the lower floors. You couldn’t recall if anyone had ever claimed a room on the upper floor outside of Lucifer’s in his apple designed suite and Alastor’s studio, which he always shadowed himself away into. 

Even Lucifer’s door remained a pristine white. The golden handle and hinges practically glowing. This part of the floor, seemingly enchanted with some spell to keep the dust from settling despite the stagnant air that betrayed it’s appearance. An unwelcoming aura despite the grandiosity. Your face twisted with concern. This was the perfect place to seclude yourself away especially if he could teleport in and out to remain unbothered. 

Your knuckles gently rapped against the door with solid sounding thuds that echoed into the void. Your breath stuck in your throat as you listened. Straining your ears to hear anything over the beating of your anxious heart. You bit your lip and knocked again. “Lucifa?”

Again you paused. Holding your breath hoping to hear something. 

Something was nagging at you. A gut feeling that was attempting to wrench the meal from your stomach with constant churning and twisting. You wanted to be wrong. Desperately. You needed to know you were wrong.

“Lucifa… I’m comin’ in.” You waited a moment to see if that might elicit a reaction, if he was there, before you pushed open the door to a darkened room. The stench of body odor and mildew immediately hitting you; exacerbating your tortuous gut as your heart seized.

You let yourself in, closing the door behind you. You found it hard to breathe but you made your way over to the wall of windows pulling the curtains back before cranking open the first set of windows. The door to the suite complaining with a gentle rattle at the influx of airflow. You turned using the city lights to examine the room better quickly spotting a lump in the bed.

You couldn’t see very well but, by the smell of the room he had locked himself away at least a full 48 hours. A plate stacked with food on the nightstand next to the bed appeared to be untouched with his phone next to it. As you examined him, you noted his chest slowly rising and falling. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to see that until you sighed out, relieving a massive weight in your chest.

You turned drawing back the curtains and opening the rest of the windows. You then made your way over to the bathroom flicking the light on. Thankfully, there was an untouched stack of towels perched on the vanity. You pushed the showerhead slightly so it aimed more towards the far wall before you turned it on to let it run, throwing one of the towels down onto the floor to catch any of the stray spray before exiting the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” You looked up to see Lucifer, sleepily propped up on one arm and clearly flabbergasted by your presence given his incredulous tone. You knew this was a gamble. Despite the rapport you had built, it hadn’t been nearly enough to confidently stampede into his personal space as you were; especially not actually knowing the situation and going off a hunch.

Yet you doubled down. “Oh, don’t mind me Luci babe. Chawlie said you weren’t answerin’ your texts or cawls so I figga’ed I’d check in. ‘specially since you haven't seemed quite right for a lil while.”

His brows shot skyward and he turned to grabbed his phone. Groaning as the time flashed up onto the screen. “I…missed the dinner…” he sounded defeated as he fell back into the bed, hand hanging off the side letting his phone fall to the floor.

“Yeah…yeah ya did.” Your voice was soft. You made your way closer to him, seeing he was still fully dressed. You didn’t see his shoes on the floor so you were guessing they were in the bed too. “That’sa problem for tamarrow though.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you in my room?” he growled, unmoving from his collapsed position.

“I told ya, cheeks,” you said pulling the blankets off of him, revealing you were right about the shoes, “I came up ta check in. Ya gawt me a little worried honestly. First ya was actin’ awff the last couple weeks and ta’day ya ghosted. If ya want though, I could get Chawlie.”

His head whipped to the side, his eyes wide before they narrowed. His voice deepening as he growled out, his horns poking through his skin and eyes flickering red as he pulled himself into and upright position, “Don’t. You. Dare.” 

The two of you stared at one another for a long moment. The sound of the shower running in the background masking the city sounds quietly wafting in on the breeze. The curtains softly rustling as they swayed, their shadows dancing across the floor. You give him a lopsided smile in an attempt to break the tension. He tore his gaze away from yours as his demonic features receded.

Slowly, you sat yourself down onto the edge of the bed. The frame creaking from the additional weight and the mattress sagging. Your hands found their way into your lap laying on top of one another as you pondered your next words for a moment. “My ma use ta get into a mood from time ta time. Couldn’t get outta bed. Didn’t care ta eat. Didn’t wanna go outside. She didn’t even like the t.v. or radio awn. Couldn’t pick up the book she had stawted an’ said she loved eitha. Best thing I could do for her was open the windas an’ get her into the showa. Clothes ‘n awll. She use ta say it made her feel a lil’ bit human just sittin’ an feelin’ the wata.” Lucifer’s face scrunched and he turned his head away. Plopping backwards onto the bed to bury his face into the pillow. Unwilling to admit how familiar all that sounded. 

“I know I’m bein’ pushy bein’ here. I can leave if ya want me ta though.” Your eyes locked onto the floor. You counted the breaths he took; each of them slow and even. When you counted 15, you slowly turned your head to look at him. You could only see a small portion of his face since he had turned away. You wondered if he had spent all the emotional energy he could muster on lashing out before.

He wasn’t defensive and he hadn’t sent you away. So you pushed. “Do ya wanna stand or sit in the showa?” 

His head turned enough for his eyes to pin you down, his face impassive now as he studied you. You let him ponder the question, as you reached out to gently pull off his boots. He rapidly blinked, sucking in a breath as he rallied another surge of energy only to be cut off. “I swear no funny bis’ness. I’m just takin’ awff what I can. Ya pants an’ shirt’ll stay awn.”

Slowly, Lucifer’s tension eased from his posture. You continued pulling off both of his boots, carefully setting them off to the side. You saw his hoofs and bit back a smile. Now wasn’t the time to gush about how cute this new aspect of him was. Not the time at all.

You scooted up the mattress, getting a better look at the condition he was truly in; his hair slicked back with grease, deep bags under his eyes, and his usual glowing skin seemed dulled. “I’m gonna sit ya up. ‘kay?” You waited a moment to let the idea grow on him before you slowly worked your hands under his back and brought him forward just enough you could undo and push back his jacket and subsequently his striped vest.

The whole time, he wouldn’t look at you. His eyes finding anywhere else to be. His lips pinched into a tight line. Yet he didn’t pull away. Didn’t make a move to get out of the bed on his own. Didn’t open his mouth to tell you to leave.

When you stood, his head started to turn towards you until you suddenly scooped him up to whisk him away from the bed -thanks monster strength!- catching him off guard. He didn’t struggle to be freed. After a moment, his head even tilted slightly to rest against your shoulder though it lulled forward to hide his face as you strode across the expanse of his room towards the bathroom oozing steam.

The mirror above the vanity had a thin layer of condensation across it, blurring the two of you which you figured was for the better. You turned, ensuring you maneuvered yourself so you nor him would hit off of anything, before you kicked off the heels from your feet and slipped one into the shower. Despite the throng of steam, it had erred on the cooler side which was better than too hot since you didn’t have a hand to spare. “I’m gonna sit ya da’hn unless ya wanna stand.”

“Sitting is fine.” he mumbled before you carefully, and rather awkwardly, lowered yourself and him to the floor of the tub with the showerhead raining water down across his chest. He shuddered at the temperature of the water, leading to hurried movements from you to increase the hot water in small increments. You figured you hit the sweet spot when he sighed out.

“Warma?” you asked softly and he shook his head from side to side as he leaned forward into the stream letting the water run down across his face and through his hair. He sighed again and slowly he pulled his knees up to his chest before his head tilted forward to rest his forehead on them. His arms slowly snaking around his legs to hold it all together. As the water ricocheted out of the tub, you were hesitant to move away. “You gonna be okay if I go swap the sheets out?”

Momentarily, he didn’t move. After a second though, he nodded his head. “Holla if ya need me.” you uttered standing up leaving the curtain drawn back. You made your way out of the bathroom and in a whirlwind had the sheets off bed and the pillows stripped of their cases. You had heard Niffty, or maybe it was Charlie -not that it mattered-, mentioned in the past that there were fresh sheets at the end of every hallway.

You peeked in on Lucifer, statuesque in his huddled position, before bolting out of the room to the end of the hallway, finding a closet packed with sheets. You took a whiff to make sure they didn’t smell musty before pulling out what looked like a set in the right size. You hurried back into the room and checked in on the unmoving Lucifer before beginning to make the bed. 

The endeavor took a few minutes but once you had the sheets done, the pillows re-sleeved, and his comforter back on the bed you slipped into the bathroom once more kneeling down next to him. His shirt, pants, and hair were all thoroughly soaked now. The thin fabric of his top clinging to his nearly matching skin tone, almost looking as if it had molded to his form. Everything about the moment making him look picturesque in a renaissance style way. 

 “Ya want me ta wash ya hair?” you asked softly pulling yourself from your observations, your arms resting on the damp side of the tub. Lucifer turned slightly to side eye you, processing the question, before he nodded. You looked at the space, quickly trying to formulate a plan. “Ya think ya can twist so ya back is against this side of the tub?” you asked, patting the side of the tub you were leaning against. “That way ya body can stay in the wata.”

He nodded again and slowly started to twist until he had pressed his back to the side of the tub near you with his feet propped against the opposing side. You reached for bottle of shampoo you noted in the corner of the tub as he adjusted and waited for him to get as comfortable as he could. He leaned back, letting his head hang over the edge looking back at you.

After getting enough soap to cover the palm of one hand, you gently touched the back of his neck with the other before cupping the base of his head. He held his head up, not relying on your hand. Slowly, you ran the soapy hand up from his neck towards the top of his head, sliding your hand over in small increments as you spread the soap through his hair making sure to get both sides of the head. Once you had spread the soap around, you began to message the soap into his hair in small circles. Carefully, using both hands to work the soap in with your fingertips making sure the soap thoroughly lathered. As you had started to message his scalp, you steadily felt the weight of his head baring down in your hands until you were entirely supporting his head. While it made it a little trickier to work, you didn’t say a thing and just continued with your task finding ways to work around it.

Once you were certain you had worked out most of the grease from the back and sides of his head, you lifted a soapy hand and placed it on the top of his head. Using your fingertips again, you began the circular motions again as you had before to work up a lather before moving your hand in a spiral motion from his crown outwards to spread the shampoo.

At some point you had started humming as you worked. A nameless song. One you had heard in passing and only recalled the melody of. It had been a happier song from what you could vaguely recall but, your humming came out in a lower octave. The once airy tune taking on a more melenonic and ethereal air. One that unintentionally fit the current mood far better.

As you began to finish up working with his hair, your humming tapered off. A subtle shift. “Awlright, time to rinse Luci babe.” the whispered words just audible over the water. He hummed, his eyes fluttering open. You gently propped his head up, letting him gather his bearings before you pulled away just enough so she could twist himself back into his prior position under the stream of pelting water; knees to chest, forehead to knees, arms around his legs, with closed eyes.

“I’m gonna run m’hand through you’re hair.” you announce, giving him a moment before reaching forward to do just that. Your hand squeegeeing the shampoo from his locks as you ran it over his scalp again and again until he was free of suds. You did it a few extra times for good measure though before you pulled away.

With your drier hand, you reached for another towel to dab off your arm and hand before standing up and looking around for a bathrobe. You knew not everyone had one but, considering his usual self, you figured there was a chance he might. You opened the small closet in the bathroom to no avail before helping yourself to the closet in his bedroom. Thankfully, once you opened the door a beautifully royal red robe, with an embroidered gold L over the heart, revealed itself to you hanging by a hook on the back of the door.

 Re-entering the bathroom, you kneeled down to Lucifer’s level. “It’s time ta get aut. Now, I gawt’cha robe… so I was thinkin’ I’d get’cha stood up an put it ova ya shouldas. From there, if ya hold awn ta it I’ll unbutton ya shirt an pants. Then I’ll take ova holdin’ the robe if ya can shuck awff the wet cloths. I’ll take ya back ta bed afta. Kay?”

He gave a lethargic nod and the events proceeded fairly close to how you had described them. Getting him standing had been easy though unbuttoning his shirt and pants had been more of a pain than you had anticipated. Your awkward fumbling leaving your cheeks slightly tinged a rosey hue despite your usual callousness to all things sexual or physically intimate. It hadn’t seemed to phase him thankfully, though you were certain he was spent since his eyes had remained closed through the entirety of your fumbling. The disposing of his clothes, bundling him up in his robe, and getting him back was effortless. You had even managed to grab the last towel and laid it down on his pillow before laying him down and tucking him in.

As you finished getting him sorted, you glanced at the plate of food gone to waste on the nightstand. “I’d like ta see ya eat some’in but, I know I awlraedy put ya through the ringa. Is there anythin’ you really want right now?” 

You looked around the room as you gave him a moment, figuring you could close a majority of the windows back up and draw the curtains again. A decent night of sleep might help and he didn’t need hell’s sound pollution soiling it. Before you could move to take action you heard him finally respond. “Hum that song again.”

You blink and looked back to him seeing his eyes cracked open as he looked at you. “The one from earlia?”

He responded with a slow nod. It made you let out a breathy laugh before you started up the tune. As you hummed, you flitted over to the windows and closed all but one of them. Drawing the curtains back again to darken the room. The open window giving a little life to the curtain hiding it as it pushed and pulled it in a tidal motion while blocking some of the obnoxious city sounds.

You returned to the bathroom, cleaning up the pools of water as best you could with the towel you had haphazardly cast to the floor. Once you were certain the floor would dry on its own, you wrung out the towel in the tub as best you could before hanging it up and taking your leave of that room for the final time turning off the light.

All the while you continued to hum the melody on repeat; sometimes adding notes here or there, playing with the vibrato, or drawing out notes to give different pacing. Not all of the vocal playing worked in your favor but your audience didn’t seem to mind. He looked as though he had fallen asleep. His breathing even and his head having lulled to the side on the pillow.

You contemplated taking your leave. Your presence didn’t seem to be needed any further if he had been able to fall asleep though, you hesitated. Your humming quieted to a whisper and then died off. Shortly after, you heard a soft ‘hm?’ from Lucifer. 

The melody began again and you made your way over to the far side of the bed. Slowly, you lowered yourself to the edge and began making yourself comfortable. You sat down with your back propped up against the headboard and shifted a pillow this way or that before grabbing your phone and turning it on silent. Thankfully you didn’t have work today and if anyone from the hotel asked, you had gone back to your room for the night. You then placed it in your lap with your hands overtop of it. Your head falling back against the headboard watching the sway of the curtains as you zoned into the rhythm. The warm gusts of air caressing the both of you, beckoning you into an entranced momentary haze before eventually succumbing to slumber.