#lucifer sandman fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rippersz · 9 months ago

Text

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

283 notes · View notes

cappulcino · 4 months ago

Note

hi!! saw your requests were open!! I dont have anything super specific in mind but an enemies to lovers plot with a lucifer x angel reader would be very cool!

Sure! I was originally going to write the whole thing and post it as a one-shot here, but I got overexcited with this idea and couldn't resist turning this into multiple short chapters and already giving you the first one (idk, let me know if you'd rather have the whole thing when it's done).

Seven Days Til Fall (Part 1)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7

Read on AO3

Words: 2,185

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader

Summary: You're an angel sent on a divine mission to retrieve a powerful relic that has been stolen from Heaven. The orders are clear: gain an audience with the Devil, make deals with them if necessary, anything to return that object to the Silver City. But Hell is not quite what you expected, and neither is Lucifer.

Trigger warnings: None in this chapter (let me know if you think I should add some)

In the beginning, this assembly had seemed no different from the other monotonous celestial meetings the Divine Council liked to conduct. The session was strictly organised and full of unnecessary details, as per usual, golden light shone through the large windows, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the Silver City –routine, in short.

But now the Archangel Michael was calling your name, and you weren't so sure this would be your typical angelic meeting any more. Nobody ever called your name, it wasn't among those that mattered. Why was he calling your name?

Straightening your slouched back and wings, you answered with uncertainty. "Y-Yes?"

Michael offered a fake smile before returning to his bureaucratic demeanour, his hands joined only by the fingertips on the table.

"As you know, the Cup of Eternal Grace has been missing for quite some time now."

"The… Cup of Eternal Grace. Missing. Yes."

You had forgotten about that –your mind had surely deemed that to be another 'unnecessary detail' from one of the previous assemblies. But it was coming back to you now. The chalice, made of celestial metals and inlaid with precious stones had the power to bestow divine grace upon those who drank from it, offering visions, blessings, and, for humans, even limited immortality. And indeed, the artefact had been lost for a while.

Michael's eyes narrowed at your hesitation, but he continued.

"One of our emissaries on Earth had found a lead on the Cup tracing back to some… obscure cult. Unfortunately, by the time he got there, the humans had traded with a demon –they do like to do this for a reason that escapes me. We now have cause to believe the Cup is in Hell."

"I see," you said slowly after a short silence. You weren't sure why this had anything to do with you.

"Its presence in Hell could easily disrupt order or worse, be used to bargain with divine entities. It cannot stay there. We need someone to retrieve it," Michael replied as if annoyed to have to spell out the evidence for you.

Ah, now you understood.

"Me?"

"Yes. You."

That Heaven could have so foolishly lost an object that had the potential to tip the balance of the entire universe when in the wrong hands was already astonishing to you. But to entrust you with the task of going to Hell, assuredly face its ruler, and retrieve the Cup? That was hardly believable, and for an angel like you, who had to Believe, that said something. Why didn't Michael go himself?

"I… don't understand. I'm merely a Dominion, and the Morningstar is Your sibling, Your Grace."

"Yes, so that's your job."

That was Gabriel talking down to you as if you had just uttered the most unintelligent thing in front of the whole congregation.

"Besides, we're not going to waste our time when others have been designated for that kind of risky stuff. That would be…" He let out an inelegant snort-laugh.

"What Gabriel means," Uriel intervened in their usual soft-spoken voice, "is that angels among the higher ranks have other matters to attend to, but we cannot ask this of anyone with lesser powers. And well, it is your function to execute divine orders." Uriel paused, scrutinizing your expression. "Would we be making a mistake by putting our faith in you?"

You gulped.

"N-No."

"Good."

Plans had been made, and you were now approaching the gates of Hell. Protocol required that you banged a sort of gong by the entrance, and a dead mortal fused into the wall handed you a mallet. You had read somewhere once that the Damned made Hell what it was. At the time, you hadn't understood that meant this realm was literally made of the Damned. You winced and then, forcing the politeness out of your angelic mouth with a small "Thank you", you grabbed the tool.

The gong's echo made the other souls trapped around the gates scream and then, accompanying heavy steps, a deep voice growled.

"There's one at the door. At the gate of damnation. Is it thief, thug or–"

Squatterbloat, the gatekeeper suddenly froze in his speech when his gaze landed upon you. An angel, in Hell. Quite the unusual sight.

"Whore?"

"Peace be upon you, demon."

As you uttered them, you realised how ironic your words sounded. Squatterbloat chuckled.

"We don't accept holy brochures."

His sense of humour compensated for his dreadful looks, and you managed to stop your wings from shuddering.

"That is not why I'm here."

"Then state that business of yours."

"I seek an audience with your sovereign."

"Do you now, little cloud-hopper? I fear the Devil doesn't have time for your affairs."

You approached the gate, your wings spreading in a foolish attempt to appear menacing, your tone still polite but steely.

"I am an envoy of Heaven, and the matter is urgent. Even you cannot go against God's will, demon. Take me to your master."

Squatterbloat's eyes remained fixated on yours for an instant, and then, his keys jangled.

"Mmh. Right this way… If you dare."

"Oh, what a joyous day," Lucifer purred with a faint smile before relaxing on their throne with a sigh. "Can you feel it, Mazikeen? The innocence? So pure."

"Shall I ask for more guards to stand by Your side?"

"That will not be necessary. That little angel is no threat to Us."

You were certain the ruler of Hell had sensed your arrival –how could they not?– and your suspicions were immediately confirmed when you entered the room. Sitting regally on their throne, the Lightbringer did not even bat an eye as they eyed you and the heavenly glow that surrounded your body. If anything, they seemed… amused.

You had heard many stories about them –though most of those tales still spoke of a Samael– but you had never seen them. Imagery was forbidden in Heaven, of the Devil more than anyone else, and you had never been down to Earth to look at the various depictions humans had made of them either. Therefore, you took a moment to marvel at their appearance, so foreign and yet so familiar, and as your gaze roamed over their leathery wings, you wondered if that was what became of angels' wings after the Fall.

In fact, you wondered about so many things at once that you almost forgot your manners. But Mazikeen's insistent look quickly pulled you out of your reverie.

"Uh, yes. Apologies. Peace be upon You, Lucifer Morningstar," you greeted with a slight bow of your head. "And upon you, Mazikeen of the Lillim." It sounded even sillier than when you had said it to Squatterbloat.

Lucifer let out a small chuckle then and exchanged looks with Mazikeen. Then, as they turned to face you again, they smiled.

"It is unusual for Our Father to send His subjects down here. Almost an event, We might say. To what do We owe the pleasure?"

Lucifer's words dripped from their mouth like honey, and you weren't sure whether you found it more captivating or terrifying.

"Well?"

You shook your head and straightened your back some more to give yourself a semblance of presence, and undertook to explain why Michael had sent you here.

"Our dear brother has never liked getting his pristine hands dirty," Lucifer remarked once you were done.

They stood up, took a few slow steps in your direction with a thoughtful expression, and then stopped a mere yard away from you. The way they towered over you and the power they radiated felt overwhelming, and a shiver ran through the feathers of your wings.

"It is not a task fit for his rank," you said. And for a brief moment, you almost convinced yourself of what Gabriel had told you earlier today. Almost.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow as if seeing right through you and perfectly understanding the lack of conviction in your own words. A doubtful angel. Oh, this day could not get any better.

"Tell Us," they said, now pacing through their throne room. "What do We gain from helping you?"

The question startled you. What did the Devil gain from obeying God for once? Not another divine punishment, that's what.

"Excuse me?"

"We said, what do We gain from helping you with your task? We sure hope you did not come all the way to Our domain expecting a pretty smile to be sufficient to convince Us."

That… serpent. You clenched your jaw, resisting a sudden urge to speak from your heart while Lucifer kept on smirking devilishly.

Taking a deep breath, you chose to show yourself open to discussion instead.

"What is it You wish for, Lightbringer?"

Lucifer pretended to think about it, gazing into the vastness of their realm, and then spoke firmly.

"A single visit to the Silver City."

Your heart stopped.

"And open the gates for You to terrorise us or attack the Creator? Absolutely not."

"Then forget about the chalice."

"The Morningstar may believe angels are foolish, naive creatures, but I assure You I'm not that stupid."

Your defiance intrigued Lucifer, who gauged you for a second.

"No…" they eventually said. "Indeed. Which is why We are fairly certain you will know how to convince the Divine Council. Tell them We have no intentions of wreaking havoc in their home if that is what they are so worried about."

"Then why?" you asked somewhat harshly.

"You would not understand."

"Your Majesty, I–"

"There will be no need for further discussion, little angel. Either you manage to get Us what We want and We will do everything in Our power to help you, or the Cup of Eternal Grace remains in Hell. In which case, do not even bother coming back."

"They said what?"

"The Morningstar wishes to be able to visit the Silver City, Your Grace. Just once."

You were now standing in the bright room where the heavenly meeting that had got you sent to Hell had been held a few hours ago, alone in front of the five members of the Divine Council. You felt small, but not as small as you had felt in front of the ruler of Hell.

"Yes, we heard that part," Azrael replied rather angrily.

Somehow, their tone managed to make you feel as if you had already failed your mission, and it took a lot of self-persuasion to stand your ground. You were only repeating what you had been told, after all.

"They, uh…" You cleared your throat and tried again. "They said they had no intentions of attacking Heaven, and I think their words were genuine."

"Hello, this is Satan we're talking about," Gabriel said, exaggerating their diction as if you were mentally impaired.

"My sibling does not lie, Gabriel," Michael reminded him. The other Archangel sighed. "If you will excuse us, the Council needs to consider Lucifer's offer."

Taking the hint, you bowed and promptly left the room to find refuge in the closest chapel. Once there, you dropped to your knees for the Almighty and clasped your trembling hands so tight your knuckles turned white.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned…"

You started repenting because you couldn't help but feel as if it would be your fault if Heaven ended up needing to make a deal with the Devil. You should have resisted and told Lucifer that they deserved their banishment from the Silver City and that never would they be welcome here again. You should have fought them if needed, though you would have been doomed –you would have died a martyr, and maybe for once your name would have mattered in Heaven. But you hadn't.

Deep down, you also prayed for the Council to give up on the Cup of Eternal Grace. Hell was a terrible place, and Lucifer a dangerous monster, your sworn enemy. You didn't want to go back to Hell. Not for a stupid goblet.

But as soon as you came out of the chapel, Gabriel was standing in front of you, his hands behind his back. As God's messenger, you knew he was here to pass on the Divine Council's decision.

"So. We have deliberated and we want you to carry on with the mission. You will go down to Hell every day, do whatever you need to do, and come back up every evening to report before compline until you find the Cup. Okay?"

You opened your mouth to answer but only managed a weak, strangled sound. Gabriel didn't give you enough time to speak anyway.

"Great!" he exclaimed as he slapped your shoulder. Then he pointed at the chapel. "Is this free?" Again, you tried to answer, but he was already gone.

Feeling an irrational anger rising inside, you decided you needed a break, some time alone spent in silence, not even in prayer. Angels, like other immortal beings, didn't need to sleep, but you wanted to forget about the world for a while. So you flew back to the Dominions' quarters to lay on your soft bed.

And there was evening, and there was morning –the first day.

#lucifer morningstar x reader #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman netflix #lucifer morningstar #lucifer the sandman #gwendoline christie #cappulcino writes

100 notes · View notes

callmelittlesunshinefics · 4 months ago

Text

Hello, Little Girl (Part One)

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

Summary: You have been living at Xavier's school for a few years now, feeling slightly out of place as a Nephilim from another universe but welcome nonetheless. When something pops up that has no business being in this universe you're sent gearing up for a mission that you would rather leave the X-Men out of, but an anxious endless and overprotective step-uncle-devil insist on this being worked as a team.

A/N: The title is an Into the Woods reference for no good reason other than that I couldn't help myself. We're also loosely using X2 Logan purely because of the kitchen scene, but in reality it's an AU.

Some quick background, the reader (Y/N in fic, described with she/her pronouns) is based off of an OC I tend to pull out pretty frequently. Half human, half angel, displaced from their home universe and dropped into this one, with characters from Lucifer (show/comics) and The Sandman (show/comics) making appearances despite not existing in the Marvel Universe. *shrug* TW: Alcohol use, swearing, mature/explicit themes down the line in subsequent chapters so MDNI

Feedback/questions/comments HUGELY appreciated as it took me a long ass time to say f it and post this <3

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Word Count: 3,437

It was late when you arrived, but that was part of your plan. You didn’t want too much of a fuss and had plenty of groceries to put away, everyone made a big fuss out of missing your cooking when you announced your departure, so you were sure to come back with all the essentials you knew you’d be asked to make in the coming days. It was late to start cooking, even by your standards, but the silence in the house was so deep that you were certain starting some baked goods wouldn’t be the cause of any commotion. You got to work with plenty of butter, flour, sugar, and eggs on hand. All of the basics you would need to make as many things as possible.

You got started on big batches of basics; chocolate chip cookies, brownies, dough for cinnamon rolls to serve tomorrow morning. You had several bowls in various stages of prep when you fell silent, realizing you were no longer alone.

“If I had known you were here I swear I wouldn’t have started,” you turned, explaining yourself to the only person it could be, “You’re the only one who could’ve heard any of this from three floors away.”

Logan shook his head in the negative and unlocked the fridge that stored alcohol for the adults of the mansion, grabbing two beers. He held one out to you that you accepted, and he took a large sip of his before explaining.

“I was up as soon as you landed in the kitchen,” he referenced your unique method of travel, shrugging, “You might be flying too fast to see, but I heard you.”

You smirked, “Yet you waited until the cookie dough was just about ready…”

He shrugged, “Figured you’d be so happy to see your favorite in the house you’d be more likely to sneak me some extra.”

“Were you even asleep?” You cut through the bullshit, and Logan chuckled, “And so confident you’re my favorite?” You teased, “What if it’s Scott?”

He actually growled and wasn’t ashamed of it, “Don’t say things just to wound me, darlin’.”

You chuckled to yourself but relented, sharing the cookie dough with the wolverine with an extra spoon you pulled from the drawer as soon as you realized who was snooping. You took a long sip of the beer and hummed, relenting without much of a fight.

“How many are still here?” He knew what you meant without clarification.

“Not many, but they’re all older so no one complains about these,” He gestured to the beers between the two of you, “But all of this will be gone by tomorrow.” He meant all of your baked goods and you shrugged.

“That’s what they’re for, Old Man.” He glared at you, shoveling more cookie dough out of the bowl.

“How long are we going to do this little dance?” He asked looking you dead in the eye. It took a lot to throw you off balance, but Logan was better at doing it than most.

“Is it your hip? Need a seat, grandpa?” They were coming out half-hearted even to you, and he leveled you with a look to tell you as much as he continued to wait, “Alright look, I’ll admit those weren’t my best, but if you don’t want to keep up the dance how about you just ask me whatever it is you want to know?”

Logan looked genuinely surprised and you snorted, getting back to work you started to roll out dough that had finished resting for the cinnamon rolls. Logan sat down to watch, sipping his beer and enjoying your company while he worked out how to ask you everything he was thinking without scaring you off.

He sighed, “When you left you said you couldn’t tell us much, and I understand needing to leave the past in the past better than most.”

You waited for him to continue as you spread the filling across the dough. There were long silences sometimes between the two of you, but they never felt awkward. Logan didn’t have the gift of gab, but you weren’t in any rush. You learned early on that it was best to give him his time, but you also realized equally early that sometimes Logan sitting down and trying to talk about his feelings was like trying to recite a poem he’s never heard in a language he doesn’t speak.

“If I’m being totally honest, and I will be since it seems like that’s what you’re getting at, I don’t really know if I fixed anything or if I just…” You trailed off and Logan nodded, scooping up more cookie dough. This was the point you realized Logan really wasn’t leaving without more answers from you, any other day and that cookie dough would be a fond memory by now.

“If they’re sending you for intel it must be pretty bad, huh?”

You finally got a genuine laugh out of him, “No one sent me, bub. The reason I waited for this to be ready first,” he gestured to his snack, “Is because I could smell the stress on you miles away. Whatever sent you runnin off hasn’t let you alone since, matter of time before you accept the fact you need help.”

You squinted, “Can you actually smell stress or is that an exaggeration?” It may have sounded like a joke but you were genuinely curious and he knew, deciding to humor you.

“More complicated than I made it sound, but bottom line is yes, bub. Is it my turn to ask a question?” He threw you a signature smirk as you both nursed your drinks, cinnamon rolls temporarily abandoned. You took a deep breath.

“You’re no stranger to the fact that there are other worlds out there, some like the ones I came from, some much closer than that within this universe.” Logan sobered up quickly, sitting up straighter. He thought it would take more prodding, he didn’t expect you to casually toss him into the deep end. “Does the name Morepheus mean anything to you?”

Logan shook his head in the negative and you nodded, but he interrupted before you could continue, “Do you want me to wake the professor?”

You smiled sadly, “I’m going to tell him everything too. But is it alright if I just tell you first, we’ll consider it a first draft. I really have no clue how I’m going to explain this to-”

“I’m gonna get us some proper drinks, don’t get too ahead of yourself kiddo.” You rolled your eyes and took the break as an opportunity to finish spreading the filling and roll up the cinnamon rolls to rest ahead of slicing and baking.

Opening up to Logan first thing upon your arrival wasn’t on your bingo card for how your return was going to go, but it wasn’t unwelcome either. Your friendship with Logan was an easy one, but you couldn’t pretend it didn’t get strained in your absence. He knew you weren’t a mutant and that some part of you felt you didn’t belong at the school, didn’t deserve it, but he would be the first to remind you that didn’t matter. Of course, you weren’t fully human either, so what that made you to the team was always a question mark in your own mind.

Logan returned and began covering your many bowls before you had a chance to tell him what went where, “I take it you’re forcing me into a break?”

“And some sleep if I’m lucky.” He meant it as a joke but regretted it as soon as he saw your face fall, “But for now moving us into the study with the whiskey.”

You got the kitchen mostly in a state of order before heading down the hallway to meet Logan by the fire, plate of brownies in hand. If you weren’t painfully aware of the bad news you were about to deliver, it might even feel romantic, huddled near the fire with chocolate and alcohol. You kicked your shoes off and collapsed onto the small couch beside Logan, enough space between the two of you to feel intimate without being crowded. You closed your eyes and leaned backwards into the plush cushions of the couch, taking a deep breath as you tried to pinpoint the start.

“Now hon the first thing you need to understand is that nothing sent me off running. It may have seemed abrupt to everyone here, except the professor that is, but I was gone the second my head hit the pillow that night. I shut my eyes here and opened them in another world.” You took a deep breath as Logan stared back at you looking like he wasn’t entirely certain if you had completely lost it or were telling him something of dire importance. Once the shock wore off and he remembered who he was speaking to, a nephilim from another universe, he decided if you told him you were pulled into another world, he had no reason to doubt it as fact.

“Do you know where you were?”

You nodded and pointed to your empty glasses, “It’s not like you to be stingey with the liquor, ever plan on helping a girl out?”

He rolled his eyes but eagerly poured you both what looked to be maker’s mark. Not your favorite but for the conversation ahead anything would do. You weren’t a lightweight, but you couldn’t be called a drinker either, so you surprised yourself and Logan when you downed the double shot he poured before refilling your own glass and topping off his. You expected a snarky joke or more disapproval of your behavior, but instead the Wolverine just continued to watch you as if he were studying for a test he wasn’t entirely prepared for.

You didn’t need his heightened senses to see that your behavior was putting him on edge, and you quietly admired this as one of his most underrated abilities. He might not know what you were about to tell him, but his instincts knew before you said the words that you were gearing up for a fight.

“Have you ever heard of the Endless?” You asked Logan and he slowly shook his head no, “I didn’t think so, at this point most people think of them as myths. Stories that got lost to time and all that. But my Uncle Lu had a few run ins with the family, not all of them good, but you know how he could be…” You wandered off for a bit and Logan felt a chill, as much as he would try to deny it. You mentioned him so casually, your “Uncle Lu”, Lucifer Morningstar, the devil himself.

“Dream of the Endless dropped in at Lux to see if Lucifer was behind a hex bag found in the dreaming.” You pulled a leather pouch from your pocket and Logan felt all the hair on his arms stand at edge, “It’s unusual here though, this type of magic. Even some of the most powerful magic users in this world haven’t seen anything like it, but to be fair it’s some creative work.” You pulled the drawstrings slightly to open it just enough for Logan to see inside.

“Bones? And..” He squinted at the bag and you nodded as he finished, “Sand.”

“It belongs to Dream. Also known as the Sandman, never seen without a raven,” you gestured to the bones in the palm of your hand, “and his sand. They contain fragments of his power, even in this state.” You stared at the item in your hand that weighed on you more heavily than the literal weight of its contents. You felt yourself veering towards tipsy but reached for your glass anyway.

“The irony of who I’m saying this to isn’t lost on me, but you seem pretty quiet, even for you.” You threw a playful elbow nudge in Logan’s direction and completely missed, he caught your shoulder before you could fall over him onto the couch. His hand stayed on your arm as he shook his head as if to clear his head.

“Have you seen anything like it?” Logan asked cautiously. If he was being completely honest the direction of this conversation was unsettling him for reasons he couldn’t place, it was a new feeling entirely.

“That’s the million dollar question,” You smiled sadly, “I’m gonna need a favor, Lo.” You stood up and began throwing all your strength into sliding the small couch you and Logan had just occupied out of the way, lifting the edge of the rug it had been resting on. You gestured to a particular floorboard, “Can you lift that one?”

You expected another question or any hesitation really, but Logan stood and did as you asked. You reached into the opening as soon as the board was cleared and pulled out a small bag that looked nearly identical to the one you had shown Logan.

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is goin’.” Logan huffed as you returned the floorboard and started to climb back into your seat.

“Everyone told me the kind of things in the world I came from didn’t exist here, but even when I was with Lucifer and then came here, I couldn’t just…let my guard down?” It sounded like you were asking him a question but you just kept going, “I had been on the run for years, Logan, and everyone was telling me I was safe here, but-”

“You were stuck in survival mode.” He said it as matter of fact, and you closed your eyes and nodded, “So you hid these here for…protection?” Logan was giving you a break, filling in the gaps he came to understand from what you were telling him and what he already knew about you.

“Some are for protection,” You nodded, “Some of them actually act as little safeguards too so that if someone or something comes waltzing in here that shouldn’t be, it can bind them to the spot.”

Logan chuckled, the way you delighted in your clever tricks not lost on him, “Can’t say we couldn’t have used a few of those before you got here,”

“To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they would work here. Still not totally sure, can only tell you that this one,” you pointed to the one fallen open with sand and bones, “Managed to work in the dreaming without Morpheus detecting anything.”

You didn’t need to tell Logan you were scared, your heart rate was erratic enough for him to start to wonder if he should change the subject, shit on Scott for a while or something else guaranteed to get a chuckle out of you. This time a few years ago he might’ve done that, when you were both still new and he didn’t know how quickly you would become pivotal to his life, to everything he knew about who he was, not that he ever said as much. When it came to you Logan wasn’t prepared to take the easy outs, he needed you to tell him everything.

“How does it work?” It was a careful question asked quietly, vague enough to keep you talking, but not specific enough to spook you.

“It was basically hijacking some of Dream’s power. Whoever made this used it to create a little pocket dimension for themself deep in the dreaming, the only reason Morpheus found out at all was an increasing number of dreams and nightmares stumbling upon it only to be transported back to Morpheus’s castle with no memory of their hours before.” Your voice was just above a whisper, and you startled a bit when Logan snorted.

“This guy has a castle?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, some would call this a castle, Logan.” You getured to the mansion you were seated in, tucked away in the cozy study that screamed wealth, intentional or not, “But yes, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares. No one has that many names and doesn’t have a castle.”

Logan caught the mocking tone and was grateful to hear it, “So are you telling me you ditched us to go hang out in a castle, Princess?”

He smirked at you and your heart stuttered for a different reason entirely. Logan being insanely, ridiculously attractive was by no means new to you, but huddled next to the fireplace and calling you ‘Princess’, even jokingly….well, you took a deep breath and tried to laugh off just how flustered his comment made you.

He knew, of course he knew. Any other night Logan may have finally taken the plunge, grabbed you by the chin to look him in the eye and ask if the two of you were ready to stop dancing around your feelings. But then again he had been telling himself that for months already, and the night of your return showing up being chased by ghosts from your past was probably not the best night to add more to your plate.

“Something like that. I actually haven’t gone to the dreaming yet, Lu didn’t think…well, he thought-”

Logan stiffened and his mind started racing a thousand miles a minute while screaming at himself that he’s a fucking idiot, that he should have caught on to what this all meant sooner.

“He thinks they’re coming for you?” It was growled through his teeth, but he needed to ask it.

“He thinks…” you chose your next words carefully, not wanting to put Logan any more on edge than he already was, “That we don’t know enough yet to rule it out, and me prancing right into the dreaming, even with him and Morpheus-”

“You need backup.” Logan finished for you as you nodded.

“As much as I don’t want to involve any of you in this, I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice. Logan, I,” you struggled with this next part, trying to figure out how to explain it.

“Just say it, kid, don’t worry about how it sounds on my account.”

“Logan, the best case scenario would actually be that they’re coming for me.” You whispered as Logan began to snarl, you continued talking faster, “The alternative is that someone with a lot of knowledge they shouldn’t have is trying to destabilize the dreaming. If that’s what’s happening, I’m not the only person in danger. Human and mutant alike, we’re all tied to the dreaming. If the dreaming dies…”

“Alright kid, look,” Logan sat up in his chair and took your hands, that you hadn’t realized you were wringing anxiously, in his, “I’ve lived a long time, alright? Until I met you I didn’t know about all of this celestial bullshit, hell I still don’t understand half of what you’ve told me tonight.” You chuckled, acknowledging it was quite a lot to handle in general let alone around 3 am, “But you know what, bub? I’ve been in more wars than I’d care to count, we’ve been in battles with imperial space birds, and I’ve had to time travel enough that Chuck sometimes has to fill me in on what’s changed when my consciousness returns to the present.”

You looked at him quizzically, not having been aware of that last one and he shrugged, “You can be nosey about it later, my point is everyone under this roof has stopped the end of the world a few times by now, don’t go losing sleep before we even know what we’re up against. Give us some credit.” He winked at you and squeezed your hands before returning them to your lap and finishing his drink.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and smiled sweetly at him, a little too sweetly in fact, “That was quite the pep talk Lo, gotta be careful, some might say you’re starting to sound like Scott.”

You expected a glare, maybe even an actual growl as you compared Logan to the ever present thorn in his side but instead he shrugged, “You tell anyone I said this and I’ll deny it, but one thing Summers and I agree on is tackling the big bads as a team. From this universe or whoever the hell else is stupid enough to come knocking.”

There were a few beats of silence as what Logan said soaked in, and even though your instincts were still screaming at you to run, when Logan told you you would face it and beat it as a team, god help you, you believed him.

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #lucifer show #the sandman netflix #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #james howlett #say hi or something #i'm a mess lol

75 notes · View notes

phantomstatistician · 2 years ago

Photo

Fandom: The Sandman (comics vs TV show)

Sample Size: 1,301 (comics); 4,048 (TV show)

Source: AO3

NOTE: Do not compare colors between charts

699 notes · View notes

viivenn · 5 months ago

Text

ミ★ Viven’s Masterlist

i figured i should make a masterlist of fanfictions and artwork, so that it’s easier to find for you all! :)

✧ 𝐁𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 ’𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐚’ !

✧ 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞.

ミ★

𝟎𝟏.) ➤ fanfics/writing

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫

↳ 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐫: in which the lightbringer and a very inebriated jophiel converse solemnly about their melancholic tumbles from grace.

𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

↳ (au series!)𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫: in which ava hires a retired constable from overseas to work as the school’s resource officer. a work in progress, planned laughs, angst, unexpected romance and the occasional sprinkle of smut. (chapter warnings included!!!)

𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞

↳ (UNTITLED) in which the lady of wax confesses to a stranger her homosexual sin, only to find out that stranger is the very woman she slept with. a work in progress, with angst, religious themes, and the eventual ‘fingering-in-the-confession-booth’. (MINORS DNI ON COMPLETION)

𝟎𝟐.) ➤ artwork sorted by character and piece title

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞

↳ 𝐔𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐳𝐚̈𝐡𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐬 𝐳𝐞𝐡𝐧… (and the world counts loud to ten.)

↳ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧.

↳ 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭.

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫

↳ 𝐃𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐮̈𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥. (the lying angel)

↳ 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝.(death)

↳ “𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

↳ 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. (NSFW)

𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

↳ 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚. (abbot crossover au)

↳ 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧.

𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞

↳ 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩!𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬.

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐚

↳ 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫.

↳ 𝐍𝐨-𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭.

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡

↳ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫.

↳ 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭.

↳ 𝐂𝐚𝐭!𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬. (NSFW)

↳ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬

↳ 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚. (ouat au)

↳ 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞.

↳ 𝐂𝐚𝐭!𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬.

↳ 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫.

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮

↳ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭.

↳ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭.

↳ 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩.

37 notes · View notes

queerfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

masterlist

I created a masterlist of my works and linked it on my page (/masterlist). However, I thought I would post it as it's own post, too.

Wednesday (TV 2022):

Larissa Weems x Reader/OC

Love Notes You’re a music teacher at Nevermore that makes encouraging handwritten notes and mix CDs for Larissa anonymously. Will Principal Weems ever find out you are her secret admirer? Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 (currently writing)

Topic of Study Arriving to Nevermore on fellowship is a normie PhD student writing their dissertation on Normie/Outcast rhetoric and relations. The best way to research is hands-on, so reader has decided to make Principal Larissa Weems their main object of study. Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 (currently writing)

Public (Kinktober 2023 one shot)

Mummy Issues (one shot) (request)

Guardian Angel (one shot) (request)

Ghosting (one shot) (request) (currently writing)

—

Game of Thrones (TV 2011)

Brienne of Tarth x Reader/OC

Angel in the (K)night (one shot)

—

The Sandman (TV 2022)

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader/OC

Possessed (one shot) (request)

Flying (one shot) (request)

—

Fate: The Winx Saga (TV 2021)

Farah Dowling x Rosalind

Breathplay (Kinktober 2023 one shot)

All works above are also crossposted to AO3. Links are to Tumblr posts.

87 notes · View notes

daydream-cement · 2 years ago

Text

The Road Trip Ch. 1

Larissa Weems, Captain Phasma, Miranda Hilmarson, and Brienne of Tarth are all stuck in a car together, headed towards a vacation none of them are prepared for.

this fic has been such a joy to write with my @bri-sonat !!! this was such a labor of love and i loved writing every bit of it :)

“So, you want to take a right up here and get on to the highway,” Brienne looked up from the map in her lap, pointing towards the turn coming up. She was sitting in the passenger seat beside Phasma, who was driving the car.

At Brienne’s direction, Phasma snapped her head toward the knight, giving her the usual glare, signaling that she was very much aware of where to go. “Yes, thank you, Brienne.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and with a sigh, the captain flicked on the car turn signal before steering the car down the ramp leading to the freeway. “Can you two shut up back there!?” Larissa and Miranda had taken their places in the backseat. The headmistress sitting behind Phasma, and the constable sitting behind Brienne. The shapeshifter had made a comment on how the chromed captain should’ve slowed down even more when turning, and Miranda had simply opened a bag of crisps.

“Sorry, Phasma…” Miranda would gladly admit that she found the captain a little intimidating if it meant she would keep her life. “I’ll open the snacks more silently next time.” She glanced at Larissa who was leaning slightly forward, only enough for her voice to reach Phasma’s ear, silently begging the headmistress to keep her mouth shut.

Phasma had warned them all in advance that in her car, her rules were final, and her rules were: ‘keep your mouth shut, or I will shut it for you.’ It was a simple one, the problem was, Larissa had no interest in simple things, not allowing herself to get bossed around considering she usually did the bossing.

“I’m just saying, you could’ve taken that turn a little bit more gracefully. It almost made Miranda spill her drink on me,” Larissa stated matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes at Phasma’s stubbornness. She thought she was offering ‘constructive suggestions’ on the captain’s driving, and that it would be appreciated. It was not.

“I’ll kill you a little bit more gracefully…” Phasma muttered under her breath, instantly questioning why she had agreed to go on this God-forsaken road trip knowing that if the entire ride was going to be anything like the first ten minutes had been, she would surely lose her sanity. She was starting to envy Lucifer’s choice, to not respond at all. She too wished she wasn’t in this car.

“What was that?” The shapeshifter hadn’t quite heard exactly what the captain had said, but she could draw her own conclusions about what it could’ve been if she based it on the very little she knew about the chromed trooper.

“I said, I’ll kill you a little bit more gracefully if you don’t sit your ass back, stop breathing into my ear, and shut your mouth.” Even if Phasma’s voice was at a normal volume, the threat, and anger in it did not go unnoticed, and Larissa decided that it was best to obey her for now if she wanted to get to her destination in one piece.

The silence in the car was deafening after Larissa had leaned back into her seat, Brienne sneaking occasional glances at Phasma, and Miranda had started munching on her snacks. Every once in a while offering the shapeshifter some by silently holding it out for the headmistress to take, which she did.

The sounds of classical music filled the car which helped in lulling Miranda to sleep who was now napping against the window, her head on a pillow that she brought from home. Larissa had opted to take her phone out, answered some emails, and was now playing Candy Crush on it, trying to pass the time, mindlessly snacking on the crisps the woman next to her had given her before falling asleep.

Brienne had her eyes fixed on the map in her lap, reading over the bookings again and again, ensuring that everything was as it should be. Sitting next to Phasma who relished in the silence, staring dead ahead at the winding road as she drove them closer to their destination, was proving to be an interesting experience.

The knight would not say that she was intimidated by Phasma, but there was definitely professional regard that played a part, wanting to respect the trooper's wishes for tranquility.

“Hey, Phasma?” The knight in the passenger seat spoke up, silent to avoid waking Miranda and to evade enraging the captain by making too much noise. She had contemplated saying anything for the past half hour but landed in having to swallow the fear of angering the scary woman next to her.

“Brienne.” Remaining focused on the road, Phasma’s mouth formed into a frown, a tiny bit annoyed at the disruption of her peace but grateful for her hushed voice. “Is something the matter?”

“Not really. I just wanted to bring it to the captain’s attention that once constable Hilmarson wakes up she will be... energetic, to say the least.” Brienne had been terrified of bringing this to Phasma’s attention, knowing it would not be liked by the driver. “I’d say we have another ten minutes of silence.”

Phasma grunted, “Thank you for the information, Lord Brienne.” To say that the chromed trooper would cherish the next ten minutes was an understatement. She already rued the seconds leading up to Miranda’s eventual rousing.

“You’re welcome,” Brienne went back to her activity of reading over the documents in her lap, every now and then looking out the window, observing the passing landscape.

As if she had an internal alarm clock, Miranda awoke ten minutes later on the dot with new-found energy, causing Larissa to put her phone away, realizing she had spent almost two hours playing that silly game. It did prove to be a successful way to pass the time, even if it felt like no time at all had passed.

“What did I miss?” Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Miranda took in the very quiet space, glancing to the rearview mirror where she met Phasma’s eyes that bore into hers, causing the constable to look away faster than she had intended.

“Not much,” Larissa mumbled next to her, answering her query.

“Not much? Wha- Does this mean you’ve been sitting in silence this entire time?” Miranda couldn’t believe her ears, this was not how a road trip was supposed to be. There was supposed to be loud music, sing-alongs, and games. Apparently, there had been none of that during her slumber and she found that offensive.

“Yes. It is how our driver wishes for it to be.” Larissa had given up on defying Phasma long ago, succumbing to the captain’s will for serenity. The headmistress turned her head to look out the window as the comforting sounds of piano filled the car space once again.

Miranda frowned, almost pouting, at how boring her fellow travelers were being. This was not how she expected the trip to be even if she knew of Phasma’s rules beforehand, but she had hoped that the captain would be adaptable and abandon her regulations once she realized how fun they could have. This was too boring for her.

The constable started looking about the car, peeking over the passenger seat to see what Brienne was doing but grew bored of that the second she saw the large map. She switched her eyes to Phasma who did not rip her eyes away from the road for even a second, other than to stare at Miranda through the mirror after she had woken up.

Phasma was an interesting person to study but she was not stimulating enough to keep Miranda entertained so she moved her gaze again, landing on the headmistress’ turned head. She was staring intently at Larissa’s hair, hoping that the shapeshifter would notice her trying to get her attention.

Larissa could feel Miranda’s eyes on her as the shapeshifter stared out the window. The constable would want to have more interaction than the knight, captain, and principal were currently offering her. Finally, Miranda’s voice rang out once more, “Larissa, we should play a game.”

“A game?” Larissa shifts back to stare at Miranda plainly; it had been years since she partook in a travel game.

“Yeah! Have you played the alphabet game? Or twenty questions? Or maybe, maybe we could play eye spy?” Miranda’s excitement was contagious, causing Larissa to smirk. The constable’s demeanor reminded Larissa of her more energetic students, endearing Miranda to the shapeshifter.

“Pick a game and I’ll try my best to learn.”

“Oh, let’s do the alphabet game! Brienne will be good at this! I can tell.” Miranda was talking a mile a minute, explaining all of the rules to her fellow passengers, “All you have to do is one of us will pick a category and then we go around in a circle, stating something that starts with the letter we are given. Like if the category is food, Larissa might say apple for the letter A and then Phas would say banana for B, and then Bri would say cake for C!”

“Don’t drag me into this.” Brienne’s voice sounded from the front, her ears spiked after hearing her name, clearly uninterested in whatever the two women in the backseat were planning on doing to pass the time. She was content reading the map and had no need for games to keep her mind stimulated, finding occupation in the small things being something she had mastered over the years.

“Oh, please Brienne! It’s no fun with just two people!” Miranda begged, her hand coming up over the back of the seat to squeeze the knight's shoulder.

Brienne sighed, rolling her head back and staring up at the car ceiling. “Fine. But if we miss our exit, that is on you.” The knight returned her head to its previous position, looking over at Phasma. She could practically see the frustration grow within her and decided to save the chromed trooper from this ‘irrelevant and childish game.’ “However, we should probably leave the captain here out of it, I have a feeling that she would not find it as enjoyable as you, Constable.”

“Okay, fine, but Phas if you wanna join in at any point, you just jump right in.” Miranda took charge of the game, knowing if she left it up to the other women, they might not end up playing the game. “I’ll make it easy on us and pick a category. We are gonna do ‘things you can find outside’ and Bri, you are gonna start okay?”

“Can’t you find anything outside?” Larissa asked, her brow furrowing.

“I was about to ask the same question.” Brienne followed Larissa’s statement, glancing at the map every now and then to make sure they did not miss their exit knowing Phasma would not be happy if they did.

“Nature-y things! You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play devil’s advocate. Luci doesn’t need your help.” Miranda gave Larissa a playful shove and then laughed at her own joke.

Phasma’s hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. “Just get on with the game already! Enough with the dilly-dallying, it’s annoying.” Even if she didn’t want to admit it, she found the three’s game slightly intriguing, she had never heard of anything like it before. She wouldn’t want to partake, of course, but there was that naturistic curiosity that she couldn’t shake, even if she tried.

“Bri!! Go!! Something nature-y that starts with A!” Miranda wasn’t interested in pissing off Phasma more than she already had, so she was more than happy to do what she was told.

The suddenness of the beginning of the game caused Brienne’s mind to freeze for a second, scrambling to find an answer, “Uh, oh, umm, shit. I guess, apple?” She was unsure of her answer, but it was found in nature, after all.

“Good one! Bear!” Miranda partially shouted, regretting her decision when she watched Phasma tighten her grip on the steering wheel even more.

“Catkin.” Larissa had prepared ahead of time, already thinking about the letter she would get four turns from now. Miranda shot the shapeshifter a strange look, questioning the validity of her answer, “It’s found on a tree...”

“Oh, it’s me again. Deer? Yeah. Deer.” Brienne was growing more confident in her answers, getting the hand of the new game she had been introduced to minutes ago. She was used to being put on the spot as a knight, but this was entirely different. Her brain was working overtime trying to come up with responses fast enough.

“Elephant!”

“Frog.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna do ‘G’, Phasma?” Miranda knew what the response would probably be, but she felt guilty for not trying to include her.

“Yes. I am sure,” Phasma responded through gritted teeth, Miranda’s game already transitioning from intriguing to exasperating.

“Okay, then... Brienne, it's your turn.” Miranda rolled her eyes, frustrated that the chrome-clad captain wouldn’t participate in her game.

“Grass.” Brienne smiled to herself, proud that this answer came to her much quicker than the others. Could’ve had something to do with the vast amount of greenery running along the asphalted road, there wasn’t much else to look at.

“Hill!” Miranda was on the edge of her seat, ready with her response when Brienne finished speaking.

“Isopod.” Larissa wore a smug smirk with her answer, believing it showed off her diverse knowledge of many topics. In most situations, she stood out in a crowd due to her height, but this group simply made her blend in, so her intelligence was the only thing she could rely on to stand out.

“Jagu- Oh! Phasma, our exit is coming up.” Brienne interrupted herself when she noticed that the ramp to get off the freeway was closer than she thought. She had gotten so invested in the game that she completely forgot to check the map, thankfully there were signs along the road that reminded her. “Sorry, Hilmarson, Weems. We’re going to have to put a lid on the game for now.”

Miranda huffed in response, slouching back in her seat, her only source of entertainment gone for now.

“This exit right here?” Phasma was satisfied with their incessant game finally ending, even more so that their destination was close. She would finally get out of this car. She lifted one hand of the steering wheel, pointing towards the ramp that was getting closer and closer.

“Aye.” Brienne nodded, looking up at what Phasma was pointing at, and then down at her map again, checking so it matched, checking so they didn’t take the wrong turn. The captain placed her hand on the steering wheel once again, using her other to switch on the turn signal, preparing to change lanes.

The shift of the car caused the pouting constable to dramatically slide over, her head landing on Larissa’s shoulder as she stared out the front windshield. The shapeshifter wanted to comment on the roughness of the steer, but refrained from it, not wanting to anger Phasma even more. She instead brought a hand to the back of Miranda’s head, running her fingers through her short hair and shaking her own head gently at the silliness of the Aussie woman.

“Are we there yet?” Miranda called out, keeping herself comfortably attached to Larissa’s side.

Phasma’s only response was to glare at Miranda through the rearview mirror, conveying her words very clearly through her piercing gaze: ‘ask again, and I will kick you out of this car.’

Brienne was much kinder than Phasma and decided to answer Miranda’s query, “No. I would say that we have another forty minutes in this car before we arrive.” After she had finished speaking, a calm filled the car and it remained for the duration of the drive.

Lucifer was waiting patiently at the destination when they arrived. Their expression contained a nearly undetectable smile as they were mildly surprised all of the women arrived in one piece. With Phasma in the car, they had expected at least an appendage to be missing. Lucifer’s voice twinged with the mischievous knowledge that they had been the sole cause of this silly little trip, “How was your journey?”

Phasma slammed the door shut, looking over at Lucifer with a scowl as she grumbled under her breath about how frustrating they all were. How rude they were for ignoring her very clear rules. Brienne emerged from the passenger side, closing it before answering the lightbringer’s inquiry, “For me? Fine. For the captain? Best not to ask.”

“I slept during most of it, but it was okay. A little boring for my taste, personally.” Miranda shrugged before stretching, trying to get rid of the rigidness and stiffness currently hounding her limbs.

“We are lucky someone isn’t dead,” Larissa huffed, gripping her purse to her as she took her place at the lightbringer’s side, not particularly interested in helping with the bags while Phasma was near the trunk. After their little spat at the beginning of the trip, Larissa was avoiding her at all costs.

Lucifer was amused with Phasma’s and Larissa’s answers. This was going to be very entertaining to the Lightbringer.

Brienne rounded the car, stopping in front of the trunk and opening it. She and Phasma, the strongest ones in the group, had been chosen to carry the heavier pieces of luggage that had been brought on the trip. This was quite obvious, and the two women had no issues with accepting the job, but they started to question just how much of this was needed for a week’s vacation.

As Phasma lugged the baggage toward the shared house they had rented, she realized she would have to sit through all those hours once again when it would be time to return home. It made her groan, knowing that she had barely stayed sane on the ride here. She did not know how she would survive. Less keep this week accident free. Her trigger finger was already twitching, and she just had to be grateful that they had separate rooms.

The trip back was going to suck, that she was sure of.

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #gwen christie #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got #captain phasma #star wars tfa #star wars #star wars the last jedi #star wars the force awakens #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar (sandman)#the sandman #fanfic #fanfiction #crack fic #the road trip

289 notes · View notes

infamous-light · 21 days ago

Text

The Sandman

➣ Smut: 🔥 (18+)

➣ Dark: 💥

➣ Fluff: ✨

⤐ Lucifer Morningstar ⬷

♦ Sacrifice 💥

Summary: There was nothing nobler than offering oneself to the Ruler of Hell to ensure humanity's survival.

Angel! Gender Neutral Reader

#the sandman #the sandman lucifer x reader #the sandman lucifer #the sandman fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x reader #the sandman lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar

8 notes · View notes

cissyenthusiast010155 · 2 years ago

Text

Lucifer Morningstar (the sandman) Masterlist

Mommy…Master List

Approach at your own risk... smut = * extra smutty=**

Series

The First Corruption Part 1 ~Eve!reader**

Part 2, Part 3*

I’m Here, Little one Part 1

Part 2*

One Shots

“I love MILFS” shirt…

Initialized Necklace ~gn!reader

Change in Pace

Shadow Shadow ~Soft!Lucifer

Pet Play Kink with Lucifer Morningstar*

DD/lg Fetish with Lucifer Morningstar*

Oh and I take Requests, so hit me up with your ideas 😉 Requests & Prompt-List

90 notes · View notes

plush4bunny · 3 days ago

Text

A hard pull makes you fall off your throne and to the ground. You stop breathing when you see a floor made of black marble beneath you, not the one found in your kingdom. Another tug and your head is forced upward, to look at the face of the one holding the leash: none other than Lucifer.

- scene from @chrism02’s 4th chapter from their Lucifer Morningstar (The Sandman) x reader fanfic called “Dice with Death”

#gwendoline christie #lucifer morningstar sandman #lucifer morningstar x reader #the sandman 2022 #the sandman netflix #fanart #fanfic fanart #fanfiction fanart #fanfic rec #character art #character illustration #artists on tumblr

70 notes · View notes

cappulcino · 2 months ago

Text

Seven Days Til Fall (Part 7)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7

Read on AO3

Words: 6,666

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader

Trigger warnings: Mentions of blood and wounds, non-graphic mentions of nudity and sex, slight wing kink

Midnight approached, and you could feel the quiet shift, the final moments of the sixth day slipping into the seventh as you tried to define the complex emotions coursing through your mind.

Soon, you would be walking down the same path Lucifer had when they were still Samael, Heaven would cast you down and Hellfire would come. How much would it hurt? More than you could imagine, undoubtedly more than you deserved.

The unknown weighed heavily, yet, deep beneath the fear, lay something else –a strange, unexpected peace. The end of everything you had ever known was near and it felt as terrifying as it was liberating. This path would lead you to the Morningstar, and in their realm, you would live on. In Hell, you would be free.

Chants began resonating from the heart of the Silver City. You knew what that meant. It was midnight. The seventh day had begun.

The door to your cell promptly opened then, and you closed your eyes to take a few deep breaths. Masked guards unfastened your chains from the wall and firmly gripped your arms to put you on your feet. Your heart was thumping, your knees wobbling with fear and yet, you found yourself smirking.

The guards took you to the Pearly Gates where every angel in Heaven seemed to be present, gathered in vast ranks stretching out beneath the Divine Light. Their voices rose in an anthem, praising God's justice and the Fall of Evil, but somehow, amidst the celestial harmonies, you failed to recognise the fervour the same angels had expressed when Lucifer had fallen all those aeons ago.

Then, Heaven had rejoiced with absolute conviction; you had been the only one not to sing –so you had found out from Gabriel the other night. But now, as your eyes moved through the assembly, you noticed things had changed. So many angels were barely singing, murmuring the words with their gazes fleeting or riveted to their feet.

Somewhere in the distance, you caught sight of Camael. Their purple eyes were of those that refused to watch the scene unfolding before them, and their mouth was forming words but not of praise –it seemed more like a prayer, a farewell whispered in your honour.

Not far from them, Muriel had decided to join the chorus, but her expression was anything but celebratory. She looked almost as if she were scolding herself, disappointment shadowing her usually cheerful traits.

Finally, among the Archangels, Arakiel's eyes shimmered as if on the verge of tears, though their face remained proud and their lips moved mechanically.

Seeing all your former peers like this stirred a strange emotion in you, a spark of hope, and you couldn't help but think that maybe your defiance would mean something. Maybe someday angels would question these chains and silences, the fearful compliance. Maybe you wouldn't fall in vain.

After a lengthy look at the Silver City and a small nod to those you could have once almost called friends to assure them you would be fine, you turned to the Pearly Gates.

The members of the Divine Council and the Metatron stood unwavering on each side, smug superiority in their stance, although betrayed by a certain bitterness. They had wanted to see you obliterated in the Hellfire, not alive under the Devil's protection.

"Such a shame," Michael murmured with an edge of disappointment as you walked by him, though his eyes were the coldest you had ever seen them. "We had placed a great deal of faith in you. Truly."

You turned to him fully, your voice sharp, a determined look on your face.

"So had I. Shameful, indeed."

Michael's expression flickered, but you moved past him, facing the Gates. With a mighty surge, they began to open, revealing the edge of Heaven. You stepped through and considered throwing one last glance at the place you once called home, or maybe even saying something to the angels awaiting your Fall.

But what was there to tell them? Most of them would not listen, so you figured a resolute silence would be more meaningful and you stayed still, your wings held high.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, became charged with a power greater than anything in the infinite universe, and you felt the Presence. God was now here, and though you knew the angels behind you were still singing, you couldn't hear them any more. It was just you and Him.

An overwhelming sensation engulfed you, hateful, though you realised it was not so different from the so-called love you had felt at the moment of your creation. Interesting.

God reached down and, with mighty strength, lifted you by the wings, holding you aloft in front of Him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the weight of eternity suspended in His hands, and you shivered.

"And thus we meet again," you said, your voice surprisingly steady considering the turmoil raging inside you.

God did not answer. He never did –not to you, at least. But His energy spoke for Him, and you understood the disappointment and blame emanating from Him.

You knew it would be useless to defend your case now, and you didn't even want to. You had said it yesterday, you would not ask for forgiveness any more. You also knew it was too late to demand an explanation and that God would not give it to you anyway. But you had things weighing on your heart and you would not see God ever again. You had to speak now or forever hold your peace.

"Oh, my God, why have You forsaken me? Here I stand, condemned for nothing but my mind and my heart. I was once taught You had love for Your children even while they were still sinners, that no sin was truly unforgivable in Your sight. And so I believed. I believed in a God who loved even those who strayed from the path, a God who longed for each soul to return to the Light, who would always be there to guide me. Instead, You hid Yourself and left only Your Law –Your confusing, irrational Law. How was I supposed to understand that what I was doing was wrong?"

Faced with nothing but indifference, you looked up at the sky, aimlessly searching for an answer.

"I was merely seeking the Truth. You knew the way that I was taking, You have tested me. Why not make me know my transgression and my sin if I was so corrupted? And if I was to follow You blindly, why did You not make me of steel and stone? Why did You allow me to feel? I have tried to faithfully serve You and now look at the danger I am in. God, oh, my God… Have I feared You for nothing?"

Again, your desperate words were only met with silence. You sighed heavily. Was it all the Creator, this omnipotent and omniscient being, could do? Order to be obeyed and cast all resistance away like chaff in the wind?

"If all of this was known to You… If this end was Your design, if that is what You truly are, then I cannot regret choosing for myself. I can see, at last, that, perhaps, this was always the way."

Against all odds, a small, sour chuckle escaped your throat.

"In fact, I realise it is quite alright. Let it be, Father. I forgive You."

There was nothing left to say, and God could hear no more complaints. Thunder boomed under the heavenly vault and then, suddenly, you felt your skin tear and your wings snap like dead branches, violently ripped off your back.

And so, like the fragile autumn leaf, you fell.

The world, the whole universe began to spin around you. You were nowhere and everywhere all at once. Light and darkness collided. Your sense of time blurred, and you weren't sure if it was slowing down, accelerating, or if it had stopped altogether. Moments flashed before your eyes, past and present merged. Memories flooded in –laughter, tears, warmth, and cold. Faces and places flickered like shadows. Home. Lucifer. Prison. Isolation. God. Joy. Despair.

Everything was chaotic, yet so clear. You saw every choice, every doubt, every moment you wished you could change. There was a cacophony of emotions in your heart. You were nothing yet finally becoming something. Fear gripped your heart. Relief washed over you. You were free, but the price was steep.

With no wings to slow you down, your body ignited with the heat of your descent. It burnt, but you felt nothing. Not yet. The pain seemed distant as if belonging to someone else. Your Fall appeared like a never-ending death but still you lived.

Your body flipped again, and, for the very last time, you saw the Divine Light and heard the angels sing. That only lasted a brief moment before profound darkness swallowed you whole, a ludicrous cocoon, protecting you for the final instants of your Fall.

You hopelessly tried to brace yourself for impact.

And then crashed into Hell.

Your ears rang with the force of the shock, plunging you into a deafening silence. Your eyes were clouded with tears but still, you noticed a shape coming closer.

Lucifer.

The Lightbringer was rushing to your side, followed by Mazikeen, and then ungracefully collapsed on the ashy ground.

Your ears suddenly unclogged when they did and the first thing you heard was a blaring, high-pitched shrill. It took you a moment to realise it was coming out of your mouth.

"We have you," Lucifer attempted to reassure you as they scooped you in their arms. "You are not alone."

Your blood quickly ran down their hands and arms, tainted their robes. You were squirming ferociously, too, trying to fight the searing pain, but they never let you go. If anything, their embrace seemed to tighten.

You weren't too aware of it, but demons, alerted by the bright light coming down from Hell's orange sky and the echo of your Fall, had started to gather all around, ready to witness the transformation they had all once been through.

Indeed, new wings began to grow in your back, piercing through your tender flesh. Your eyes snapped in horror and your hands clumsily clutched Lucifer's tunic and everywhere you could while your shrieking doubled, resonating through the whole kingdom. And yet the Morningstar held on, even when you scratched their face.

"We know, We know."

Lucifer knew their words were vain, but still they tried to console you and make the torturous transition somewhat easier.

"We know, little dove. Breathe, it is almost over. Shh..."

But you were panting, contorting in impossible ways, and your head was starting to spin.

It felt atrocious, and not only physically. The psychological pain was just as intolerable. You felt like a newborn violently snatched from the womb. You were lost, had no idea what to do with all that freedom, and felt an inexplicable need to crawl back to your toxic certainties, and to the places and people you knew, those who had once made you believe you were safe.

Lucifer kept shushing you as more and more demons gathered, and then it was done. Your Fall was over. You were no longer an angel.

Your pain was still very much present and your wounds were still dripping, but you were now too weak to express your agony. You felt like fainting and you vaguely heard Lucifer encourage you not to resist it. So you didn't, and your head lolled against their chest.

By then, you were too confused to fully register anything that was happening but managed to grasp a few things nonetheless.

First, Lucifer's scent. You hadn't noticed it before, but it was probably the best thing that had ever hit your senses –warm, comforting, grounding, with faint notes of amber and burned incense, and undertones of hemlock.

Then you felt their regal arms move under your body and lift you off the ground with ease, mindful to support your head and avoid touching your back as much as they could.

Lucifer paused once they were standing as if silently presenting you to their court. At that moment, you heard swords clatter and vaguely noticed from the corner of your eye that it was Mazikeen who had let them fall. And then, as Lucifer slowly began walking towards their palace, carrying you like a bride, you heard more weapons hit the ground and saw the demons around you line up. Even the Damned seemed to have stopped screaming.

Heaven had watched you leave with a walk of shame; Hell welcomed you with a guard of honour.

You were already in and out of consciousness by the time Lucifer took you inside. You weren't sure where they had taken you but felt them lay you on a soft and warm mattress.

Still, the contact with your back and newly-grown wings hurt and made you wince and hiss.

"Lucifer…" you whimpered pitifully.

"We are right here. We are not leaving you."

"Lucifer…"

"We know."

You thought you felt fingers graze your forehead, but it could have very well been the fruit of your imagination. You were delirious and close to fainting again.

And thus you spent a great deal of the night and early morning between states of consciousness. Once, you woke up to feel Lucifer plump the pillow you rested on, only to immediately fall back asleep. Then you opened your eyes again and saw the Morningstar waiting with a bowl of warm broth, which you refused –that scene actually happened twice and you weren't sure in which order. Another time, you woke up screaming and crying once more, widely agitated, and Lucifer stopped you from hurting yourself any further and wiped your tears.

That went on for what seemed an eternity, and you weren't even sure how long had passed since your Fall. You were exhausted, and if Lucifer was, too, they didn't show it.

"Relax now," they whispered eventually, trying to lull you to sleep once and for all. "Even God rested on the seventh day."

You felt a strange pressure on your forehead, warm and delicate, but were unable to make out what it was. And already, you were falling into the deepest slumber you had ever known.

You had no idea how many hours had passed when you woke up next, and there was no way to know. Several, you guessed, because your back had finally stopped bleeding and you felt your new set of wings settling in. They hurt like… well, like Hell.

Sitting up in the bed painstakingly, you tried to recall what had happened since your Fall. You didn't remember much, except for Lucifer's gentle hands and soft gaze, always present each time you had come to.

But once you were completely seated, you realised the Lightbringer was nowhere to be seen this time. You felt a pang of disappointment as they had said they would not be leaving but understood. They still had a kingdom to rule, one that had just welcomed a new immortal denizen; they couldn't possibly stay at your bedside all day long.

You took the time to look around you. The bed first, enormous and soft as clouds, was draped in dark silks and woven blankets, with intricate embroidery glinting like stars across the fabric. The bedposts were made of polished obsidian, each carved with scenes that seemed to dance and shift as you looked at them –figures falling and rising, like the story of every Fallen etched in stone. Pillows in dark red, silver, and black were piled around you, catching the faint light and making the space feel safe.

You noticed the grand furnishing next: a firepit, burning with the same Hellfire that had almost killed you yesterday; shelves, carved directly in the black marble of the high walls and holding ancient artefacts, books bound in leather, and crystalline vials containing swirling mists and colours you had no names for.

As you took in the room's subdued opulence, it dawned on you. This was no ordinary guest chamber. This was Lucifer's own sanctuary. The idea that the Morningstar had brought you to the one place most private to them made your chest tighten.

Your eyes kept scanning the room, and then, noticing a full-length mirror inlaid with gemstones nearby, you decided to stand up and take a closer look at yourself.

It took all of your strength to extricate yourself from the bed and to cross the room without falling. Your muscles hurt and your wings seemed to have a different weight than before; you weren't sure how to stand.

When you finally managed to reach the mirror, you couldn't help but gasp at your reflection. Bruised, burnt here and there, covered in dried blood, you hardly recognised yourself. Your robes, once pristine white, were now ashy grey and tattered. They barely hung on by a thread and you guessed the only reason they had been left on your body was to give you a semblance of modesty.

Then of course the biggest change in your appearance was your wings. Black with a slight mahogany undertone when the light hit them right and leathery, they reminded you of Lucifer's, though you felt like you didn't sport them nearly as well as they did.

After looking at your reflection for a while, it began to look foreign, and you suddenly felt the need to glance down at your body as if to make sure that what the mirror showed was true. And it was. You had no idea what to make of the emotions this new truth stirred. You looked half-dead, felt half-alive.

Absorbed by your thoughts –or better yet, the lack thereof; you rather felt absorbed by the silence post-chaos in your mind–, you didn't hear the door opening behind you.

"You're awake."

Despite its softness, Lucifer's voice startled you, making you look up to meet their gaze through the mirror.

"We were not sure you would wake up any more today."

You looked down at yourself again, somewhat ashamed by your dishevelled appearance –you were truly in no fit condition to stand in the presence of your new sovereign. You were also ashamed of the scratch you had left on their face and that they still hadn't taken the time to heal as well as of the state you surely had left their previous tunic in.

But Lucifer didn't seem to mind. They knew what you were going through and had already seen you at your worst. When they spoke again, their voice sounded even softer and almost hesitant.

"We brought you some new clothes," they said, putting the garments down on a nearby hassock. "We have also had some ointment made. For your back. Your wounds are not of the kind that Our powers can heal."

The consideration made you smile, but sadness quickly took over. Lucifer had fallen first, crashing all alone into Hell, with no one to dry their tears or soothe their pain, hence why they knew exactly what you needed. The mere thought was enough to break your heart.

"Thank You, Lightbringer. The ruler of Hell must know my gratitude towards Them is infinite."

"Please…"

Had Lucifer's tone been any weaker, it would have become beseeching. Their plea made your heart clench even harder.

"Do not be so ceremonious. Not now."

"I merely wish to thank my Lord for Their benevolence."

Without even turning around, you felt Lucifer tense behind you.

"You are not Our subject," they retorted as if wanting to berate you for even thinking such a thing.

"Am I not?" you asked, your smile widening ever so slightly.

Lucifer didn't answer that. You weren't their subject. They had said so once and hated to repeat themself.

"We will call for a servant to tend to your wings," they said instead.

"I would rather not," you replied without missing a beat. Your wings, just like your heart, had been mistreated too much. You would never let a stranger touch them ever again.

There was a moment of silence and you wondered if Lucifer understood your underlying request or if they would leave you to get by on your own.

But then you heard the distinct sound of a jar being opened followed by footsteps, and Lucifer's reflection appeared in the mirror behind yours while the air around you filled with the scent of honey, yarrow, turmeric, and arnica.

"We need to…" Lucifer's voice trailed and you heard them swallow thickly.

You understood they didn't dare to move the shredded panel of cloth that covered the space between your wings, so you reached with difficulty over your shoulders and pulled the fabric yourself to reveal your back.

The sight made Lucifer's breath hitch no matter how hard they tried to prevent it. Not only did you hear it, but you also felt the warmth hitting the nape of your neck, and your hair immediately stood on end.

Neither of you dared to speak or look at each other through the mirror as Lucifer scooped a bit of healing balm on their fingers and started applying it to your wounds, at the base of your wings. They were being extremely careful and you could feel their hands tremble, proof that they were worried they would hurt you.

Finding comfort in their touch, you slightly leaned back to let them know it was alright. Not that you weren't in pain –you were, deeply. But the pain was somehow easier to deal with the closer you were to the Morningstar.

Again, Lucifer gasped quietly. Your gesture could be considered daring, and they were evidently unsure how to react. Yet, soon enough you felt their fingertips trailing up your wings, along your sore muscles. You shivered then and found yourself unable to tell if it was more from the pain or that unknown feeling sparkling inside your chest.

Regardless, the sudden movement brought Lucifer back to reality, and finally their voice broke the silence, barely a whisper.

"We… I am sorry."

At these words, you finally looked up at Lucifer's reflection. You knew what they were sorry for –for forgetting about etiquette and the customary distance they should have kept between you two; for causing you pain, just now as well as days ago; and most of all, for not finding a better way to save your life than causing your Fall.

But what surprised you the most was the change in pronouns. Like many monarchs would, Lucifer never said "I" unless they were in the presence of someone they trusted and the matter was personal. And as you looked at Lucifer through the mirror, at the way their eyes roamed on the expense of your wounded back and wings, you realised they had made your Fall personal. You were personal.

You remained silent for a while, feeling the warmth in your chest spread further down. And once you were certain your heart and mind agreed with one another, you replied in earnest.

"I'm not."

It was now Lucifer's turn to lift their head. Their eyes found yours in the mirror, so full of emotions, filling with hope as their chin quivered. They looked so vulnerable, and you finally understood what that unfamiliar feeling creeping through your body and burning your heart was, for you realised you had fallen twice this week.

Down to Hell.

And in love with Lucifer Morningstar.

Slowly, steered by pure instinct, you pulled on what was left of your angelic robes, tearing them off your body, and revealed yourself entirely to the ruler of Hell. Your eyes never let go of their reflection as you did so, waiting to see their reaction.

It was immediate, though not exactly everything you had hoped for. Indeed, Lucifer averted their eyes, staring at the ceiling in despair, and you figured they felt as lost as you were. Still, you mustered what little self-confidence you had left and insisted, turning around to encourage them to look at you and this shattered body you offered them.

It worked. Briefly. And then Lucifer looked away again.

"Why are you doing this?" they whimpered more than they asked. "What do you want?"

Their question was legitimate. After all, the last time Lucifer had got too close, you had rejected them.

Once again moved by forces beyond your understanding, you reached out with trembling hands to seize the lapels of their robes. Lucifer stiffened, their eyes widening slightly, but they didn't pull away.

"To worship the Devil," you said your voice suddenly dropping to a lower tone you had no idea you could reach.

And as you felt the weight of those words settle in the air between you, you used their robes for support, pulling yourself up and closer, your mouth now merely an inch from their ear.

"Show me how," you whispered then.

Lucifer's body tensed even more, and you could feel the subtle tremor in their frame. You pulled back, letting your nose slide along their cheek, the barest hint of contact, before your eyes met again. This time, Lucifer didn't look away. Their gaze locked onto yours, and you could see the storm of emotions swirling in their eyes –desire, uncertainty, restraint.

In fact, it seemed that Lucifer doubted that you were in full possession of your faculties. They knew all too well how traumatic the Fall could be and were worried that your sudden boldness came from confusion rather than genuine want. They did not want you to later feel used, nor did they want to get hurt.

But you saw their pupils dilating, and that gave you enough confidence to cup their jaw, your thumb just under their bottom lip as you let the tip of your nose poke their cheek and your lips hover over theirs, testing the waters. The touch was light, barely there, but enough to send a spark of electricity through your entire being and make that building heat in your chest drop down to your lower abdomen.

Lucifer decided to take a chance then and tentatively placed their lips on yours, without moving them at first. But that was all it took to make their wings shudder and spread violently, an involuntary reaction that betrayed their carefully guarded control. The sight of their wings trembling made your heart leap. It confirmed everything.

Lucifer wanted you.

Encouraged by this knowledge, you inhaled sharply and leaned in, pressing your body fully against theirs, seeking out more of that intoxicating closeness. This time, you kissed them with purpose, and Lucifer responded in kind, their lips moving against yours with growing urgency.

When you felt the tip of their tongue against your mouth, you realised you were unsure what to do, but decided to trust your instinct and parted your lips. Lucifer let you know that this was the right thing to do with a low, guttural growl that made your knees weak, and the kiss deepened, your tongues meeting in a slow, passionate dance.

Without parting, Lucifer crouched slightly to wrap their arms around your thighs and lift you up. A faint noise of surprise escaped your mouth, and your own wings unfurled before a smile came to grace your lips as you realised the Lightbringer was carrying you back to bed.

They laid you down carefully, as though you were something precious –deeply fragile, but desired beyond measure– and, inevitably, your gaze dropped to the expense of cleavage now revealed as gravity pulled their neckline down.

They sat up and your chest heaved in anticipation as you waited for them to undress. And when they did, the sight stole the air from your lungs. Devil or not, Lucifer remained the most beautiful creature the Lord had ever fashioned.

"Magnificent…" The word slipped out of your mouth before you had even finished forming the thought.

Lucifer smiled then. But their smile was not smug; the pride you had expected was instead replaced by relief as if Lucifer had been worried not to be to your liking and had needed the reassurance that somebody would want them not for their well-known ability to engage in lustful sins, but because they found genuine beauty in their body and soul. And you did.

Lucifer leaned forward, their gaze tender, studying every detail of your face as if they were seeing you for the first time. And they might as well be, for everything you once were was no more and you were like clay demanding to be shaped anew.

Lucifer's touch was gentle, reverent, patient, so much more than skin against skin –it felt as though their very presence was seeping into yours, filling the cracks Heaven had left in your soul, and you were suddenly not hurting any more. You surrendered entirely to the moment, and it was as if time held its breath, the Silver City and Hell themselves fading away, leaving only the two of you joined in a space beyond mere existence.

The world indeed seemed to stop and blur, the air thick with anticipation, yet there was no rush, only a shared understanding that the two of you were breaking through boundaries that neither angels nor demons knew could be abolished.

"Is this alright?" Lucifer asked with care, their mouth nibbling at your pulse point.

Barely able to form a coherent thought, you nodded eagerly, desperately pushing your body against theirs with need. So Lucifer's smile widened before they captured your lips once more and let their nails rake along your arms, all the way to your palms until their fingers intertwined with yours and they brought your hands above your head.

And then you felt it.

What the Morningstar was doing to you was not too dissimilar to the earthly act and yet so different. It was something boundless, woven from light and shadow, a union of energies that transcended flesh. It was everything you had ever needed and even more, and, as you cried out loudly, you clutched their hands, happy to have something to hold on to and keep you grounded as you felt yourself fly somewhere so high you feared falling again.

"Lucifer!"

"Shh… I have you."

Never once did you feel abandoned indeed. Lucifer kept guiding you with unwavering tenderness and patience, understanding that this moment was delicate for you, a once-in-a-lifetime offering.

The intensity of your connection deepened, tension building as pleasure overtook you both. You loved Lucifer. You loved them so much. And you craved to tell them. But perhaps was it too soon for such heartfelt confessions, you weren't sure, and you couldn't speak anyway –your mouth was too busy either dancing with Lucifer's or chanting how good they were making you feel.

Still wanting to convey your feelings, you soon let go of Lucifer's hands, your own finding their way to their back, their waist, their hips and, finally, their wings. Lucifer's head dropped forward and the low, shuddering groan they let out then only spurred you on. You moaned even louder, your hips still rolling to move with theirs in unison.

Panting heavily, Lucifer cradled your head to bring you even closer while their free hand started stroking your wings, still scared to hurt you but wanting to give you the same pleasure you were procuring them.

And then, most unexpectedly, as if understanding your unspoken desires and fears and wanting to answer them, the ruler of Hell spoke the most beautiful words you had ever heard.

"I love you."

The words undid you, a sudden flood of warmth filling every inch of your body as you began quivering all over. The bliss made your back arch and you felt as if light exploded within you and you could see stars.

You screamed Lucifer's name and they screamed yours as their release followed, your wings shuddering uncontrollably together as the sensation rippled through your bodies in waves that seemed never-ending.

And then, as the wave ebbed, you both lay there breathless, utterly content, feeling a new kind of completeness settle within you. Lucifer's forehead pressed gently against yours, their wings folding protectively around you.

Despite the sudden weakness overtaking you, you wrapped your arms around their strong torso and pulled them closer, urging them to let their body cover yours. They did, and you smiled as their weight anchored you to the mattress and helped the trembling subside.

"You delivered me from Evil, Lucifer Morningstar," you whispered before planting a kiss on their temple. "And I love you, too."

You had lost count of how many hours you and Lucifer had spent making love before falling asleep in each other's embrace. Now you were admiring their peaceful state as they rested next to you, their expression still somewhat worn out from the intensity of this week's events but content.

After a while, you quietly slipped out of bed, hoping not to wake them up as you walked towards the hassock where they had left new clothes for you earlier. You picked the vestment up and the corner of your lips twitched slightly upwards.

They were silk, in a beautiful gradient from crimson red to obsidian black, too elegant for you. But what actually made you smile was how comfortable they looked and how thoughtful Lucifer had been, choosing a halter top that would leave your wounded back bare of any fabric.

You put them with surprising ease now that the pain between your shoulder blades had turned into a dull discomfort and walked back to the mirror to take a look at your new self. The demon that stared back at you was already no longer a shadow of your former angelhood, but a vibrant embodiment of freedom and defiance. The weight of God's injunctions was gone, replaced by the warmth of self-acceptance. You were finally home, and this was who you were meant to be. For the first time in your long existence, you felt utterly proud.

As you let your hands wander on the fine silk, Lucifer's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Luxury suits you."

Your cheeks blushed at their words and you pinched your lips while they rose to their feet in one smooth motion and joined you, still naked. They, too, were looking at you with pride –rare would be the angels to take the Fall so well and recover so quickly.

Letting their fingertips graze your scalp with adoration before cupping your cheeks, they spoke softly.

"All that is missing is a crown."

You blinked and slightly pulled back to look Lucifer in the eye, rather shocked by the implication.

"Lucifer, I–"

"It is better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven."

"So it is. But Lucifer, my whole life has been spent in servitude. I do not have the makings of a ruler."

"I disagree," Lucifer countered kindly, their voice like honey. "Do you believe I would have gone to Heaven for just anybody? That I would have negotiated with my brother and missed a chance at revenge with my Father for someone I deemed unworthy?"

"Perhaps not."

You lowered your head slightly, feeling somewhat guilty Lucifer had given up on the opportunity they had been offered for you. But Lucifer quickly placed a finger under your chin and lifted it. You were to keep your head up in pride at all times now, they would not let you bow any more.

"But… What about your subjects? Will they not think me illegitimate?"

"You are one of them now, one of us. Are you not?"

"Yes," you replied firmly. Your scars were proof of what you had once been. You were proud of them, proud to call yourself a demon.

"Then they shall accept you and respect you as such." Lucifer paused briefly to stroke your cheek. "Only perhaps are you more deserving, and they know it."

"How so?"

"Because you knew the horror that awaited you and still chose to fall. And not because you were fighting for somebody else's ideals, but for your own convictions. It is most honourable."

"Is it honourable to seek to redefine oneself, to pursue freedom and… love?"

"Yes."

You let Lucifer's words sink in for a moment, then turned back to the mirror. You had much to learn about your new self and as exhilarating as it was, it was also dizzying.

There was still something bothering you, though. But you weren't sure what, and it made you furrow your eyebrows. Lucifer sensed your confusion of course and, as if reading your mind better than yourself, they offered a solution to your issue.

"You can change your name. If you'd like. Heaven does not have any more grip on you."

The possibility of creating a new identity for yourself, building a new life and detaching yourself entirely from your celestial origins lifted an enormous weight off your shoulders and you let out a long, shaky sigh.

It was a difficult choice, one you needed to make with care, but it didn't need to be made today. You had all eternity, and perhaps, you mused, the name would come to you as naturally as the decision to fall had.

Lucifer smiled as they watched your features relax, and they wrapped their arms around your waist. In that simple, familiar gesture, you felt the weight of your new world settling comfortably.

"There is no hurry," they murmured, their voice low and reassuring. "A name is only one part of who you are. All the rest, your choices, your dreams, your hopes… those are already yours."

"I have a lot to learn," you stated as you turned around to face Lucifer again. "You will help me, will you not?"

"Fear not," Lucifer replied gently, their eyes softening. "In Hell, you are allowed to find yourself at your own pace, without expectations. And I shall be there for you, forever."

"An awfully long time…" you joked, your eyes shining almost mischievously, though your words were intended to make sure Lucifer understood you would not take such a promise lightly.

"Mmh. Eternity has a way of slipping past when one has purpose," Lucifer replied, their fingertips sliding along your left wing.

"And have you found it, your purpose?" you asked, pressing yourself to their front.

"Oh, yes. And in time, you shall find yours, too, in whatever form it may take."

"I think I already have."

You placed a hand on Lucifer's chest and leaned in. The gesture, coupled with the confession, made their heartbeat quicken and they smiled before closing the distance to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

When you broke it for air, you realised life in Hell had resumed its course. The demons had picked up their weapons and were fighting again, the Damned wept once more. Hellfire burnt and ashes fell from the sky.

Quietly, you turned to the balcony and crossed the room to observe this realm you could now call home, this kingdom that would soon be yours to rule, by Lucifer's side.

You had so many ideas already, impatient to fulfil your new role, to govern these damned souls, to welcome them in the afterlife, and help them grieve Heaven. You would help them and, in return, they would help you. Everything would be as it should have always been.

Lucifer joined you, placing their hand on the small of your back, and the two of you stood there, bound by something that felt ancient, inevitable, and yet entirely new as if this day had been waiting for you both since the beginning of time and even before that. You let the silence embrace you, neither of you needing to say anything more.

There would be a time for crowns and names, for ruling and discovering yourself and the full extent of your freedom. For now, you had all you needed.

And there was evening, and there was morning –the seventh day.

A/N: If you’re interested you can find the link to the playlist I used to write this fanfic here.

A/N 2: This has been a journey and feedback is so important! Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment –perhaps giving me some lines you really liked, or discussing the religious references you recognized or the ones you feel you didn’t understand. I would LOVE to talk about this work with you all.

#reblog appreciated #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer #lucifer the sandman #the sandman #the sandman fandom #the sandman fanfiction #gwendoline christie fandom #gwendoline christie #cappulcino writes

67 notes · View notes