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trashogram · 5 months ago

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He Chose You (Pt. 13.5)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

(So, this is a quick update because chapter 14 keeps getting more complicated but I promised a continuation last weekend and couldn’t get it out due to health concerns. I hope y’all can forgive me for such a short chapter piece, but thank you for reading regardless!)

“You’re here.”

You paused, hands already wrapped around Lucifer’s as the words spilled from both his and your mouth. In spite of everything, you giggled semi-hysterically and the stalled expression on Lucifer’s face relaxed as well.

He looked at you between the bars of the gate, eyes shining to the point of tears. You pressed harder against the bars of your cage as if to slip through, one hand raised to cup his cheek and thumb the cherubic blush there.

“I didn’t think I’d get to see you again.” He admitted, surrendering to your touch.

It hurt to smile but you couldn’t help yourself. You grinned through your own tears, dripping down your cheeks before falling to the clouds beneath. You were struck by his admiring gaze, even with the blurring of your vision. It reminded you of the many times he’d looked at you when you were a mere mortal and not privy to the knowledge you had now.

You had tried so hard to fight against what that look meant, stupidly thinking you wouldn’t fall prey to it if you feigned ignorance.

The King sniffled, hand intertwined with your own as you explored the planes of his face once more. He closed in on the bars that kept you from each other, slumping forward to press his forehead to yours. He inhaled deeply, trying to absorb everything that was You without heeding what lay behind him or beyond. His wings had expanded to their full glory, acting as a screen between you and the less than welcoming retinue that had just attacked him. Lucifer couldn’t provide full privacy from the throng of nosy citizens gathered behind you. But at least you were shielded from Gabriel and his goons for the time being.

“It’s alright.” You soothed, fingertips fleeced through his blond hair. “We’re together now.”

The noise he made was more a sob than a laugh as he intended, but your heart swelled at the sound. For a moment you soaked in the touch of his face against your own, in all of its cold, marblesque glory. If you closed your eyes, you could convince yourself that you were back home, spending another lazy afternoon trussed up with Lucifer in your bedsheets.

Your eyes opened again, suddenly.

“Lucifer, where’s Charlotte?” You asked.

The father of your child seemed out of sorts at the question. His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish’s before enlightenment brightened his features.

“She’s fine!” He replied. “She’s all tucked in her crib, fast asleep.”

“Her crib… at the Farrows?” You gulped down the shot of bile that raced up your throat.

“Well… yeah,” Lucifer’s smile wilted at the hysteria building behind your eyes like a tsunami wave. “I couldn’t very well bring her with me!”

“So you left our daughter with those people?!” You couldn’t help the shrill accusation from leaving your mouth when a million and one horrible possibilities ran through your head.

“No! I would never!” Lucifer denied, head shaking vigorously. “She’s being watched over by the goats!”

Your eyebrows rose, rearing back. “What?”

“The goats! The ones with little wings and tails that I made? I showed them to you right before you… well, you know!” Lucifer caroled. “Remember?”

You stared at him blankly until the metaphorical lightbulb in your brain flicked on. Incredulity bodied you.

“You left… our baby… with stuffed animals…?”

Lucifer stilled for an instant before reanimating until his body resembled less a sturdy human’s and more a flexible jello mold as his arms pinwheeled at his sides. The Devil’s wings flapped and shuddered with his anxiety.

He matched your hysteria with a frenzied laugh. “Oh! No! Not— I wouldn’t! I-I-I gave them sentience! Th-that-that was the plan! I was gonna tell you before but — I-I guess it slipped my mind after you started glowing!”

Lucifer attempted to steady himself after the sudden burst of emotion as you stared in alarm, though he was panting when he leaned forward.

“They were made for Charlotte. To cater to her every need! And if anything happens, they know to get me right away!”

His eyes went wide and earnest. “I would never, ever, ever put our baby in danger. I swear to you. Never. I-if I could’ve brought her with me, a-and been sure that no one would try to take her, I’d —”

Your fingers brushed over his lips as soon as he was within range again.

“Okay.” You interrupted.

Lucifer blinked.

“Okay?” He asked.

You nodded, taking his hand once more to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I believe you.”

Your kiss had the desired effect. Lucifer melted into a daze, smiling almost shyly at the gesture before you looked into his eyes again. You tried to communicate your sincerity without words, for it would take far too long to tell him everything you’d discovered upon arriving in Heaven.

You sighed softly, feeling his warm breath on your face. Lucifer gravitated toward you, close enough to kiss between the infernal bars holding you back…

“Lucifer, I…” Your words came out shakily, the heartbeat you shouldn’t have ringing in your ears.

His lips were a hair’s breadth away. Too distracting. Your eyes fell shut. “I… lov-”

“I fucking told you this would happen!”

You froze.

A harsh voice rose above the din and fray, bringing reality with it to jolt you upright.

Lucifer’s expression fell, warped by shock and horror as you were ripped away from his grasp and pulled back from the gate as if it were on fire. You gasped as your back collided with another’s chest and an arm wrapped around your midsection.

Your head snapped up to see Adam’s ghoulish mask hung above you, glaring over your head at Lucifer. He continued to squeeze the life out of you as he flew back and stopped a good meter away from where you’d been standing.

“Let go of me!” You shouted, squirming in the man’s grip. You dug your nails into his forearm, trying to pry him off of you. An unusual feeling lanced up your spine, something that was not quite pain but uncomfortable and indescribable. It further disoriented you as you were dragged back.

A force of wind blasted over you and Adam, stopping the latter in his tracks with a curse. The gale blew back your extremities, forcing you to cover your face to block the brunt of it. You squinted through it to catch another glimpse of Lucifer.

The Devil’s wings pumped through the air in his rage as he stood ablaze in red, ivory and gold. He looked much like he had before your death: a fiery comet promising destruction to anything in its path. Pure energy radiated off of him from all sides as his horns protracted from the crown of his head. Fire bloomed between them to match the blood red that had overtaken his eyes, and the jagged stripes rippling over his porcelain face.

His fangs gnashed and once delicate hands contracted into long claws that grappled with the gate panels until they bowed and bent under the pressure.

Gasps and screams filled the air all around you.

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#hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader

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shapard · 9 months ago

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Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

Michael is an Asshole

Near death experience

An Angel cries

Chapter 3 < Chapter 4 > Chapter 5

Lucifer was on edge.

What is Michael doing here?

Why Michael of all? The one that hates him more than anything.

Michael was standing in his home destroying the peace Charlie and you had.

The peace you enjoyed so much that he wanted to keep.

For the sake of you two.

His inner demon wanted to rip Michael limp from limp.

Its craving to use Michael’s blood to paint the town in pure gold with his blood.

Lucifers feather rustle out of anger.

“You would never pay me a visit Michael. We both know that.” After all it was his Fault.

Michael and Gabriel gave him the Idea to begin with.

And in the end they were the one who let him fall into this personal nightmare.

In hell.

Lucifer almost lost his life because of them.

Meanwhile confusing was written all over your face.

Brother?

Michael? The Arch angel?

Your brain was working on overload.

Slowly it started to click. You completely dismissed the thought that Lucifer is an arch Angel.

An offspring from God himself.

The Soulmate bond let you feel Lucifers rage, and his urge to protect you and his daughter.

It pushes you to stay put and to have faith in him.

Lucifer was still in a protecting pose to protect you.

He didn’t even realize when he was in front of you.

In a blink of an eye, he saw himself protecting you with his wings. Making them larger and covering you.

What was wrong with him?

Was it because you grew close in these last days, or was there more?

Has he caught feelings for you?

It made sense. Common logic.

His train of thoughts were Interrupted by Michaels speech.

“You’re clever as ever. But I do have to disappoint you. I’m not here for you, but rather for that seraphim behind you.” Michael’s gaze moved from Lucifer towards you.

His pure blue eyes bored into you, you felt almost naked under his stare.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress hoping it will help with your anxiety that started to build up in your system.

You heard an animalistic growl coming from Lucifer.

“You better get the fuck away Michael.”

It is terrifying. Lucifer is terrifying. You should be scared, but you aren’t.

You found this utterly attractive.

Lucifers horns were showing in all their might and all you could do was looking at them in awe.

Michael was still staring at you, Ignoring Lucifers threat.

It fueled Lucifers Anger even more, the lights started to flicker in the hotel.

Sweat pearled down from Charlie’s face.

She’s never seen her father that pissed before. Not even with Alastor nor Adam.

His eyes showing nothing but crimson red. But he remained calm in front of his older Brother.

It would’ve scared Michael if he was a mere lower-class Angel or a demon in Hell.

But he was the Arch Angel Michael, nothing scared him except his father God and Gabriel.

He started to smirk showing his pearl white teeth, and it settled off you.

Lucifer and Michael looked so similar, same hairstyle, same face.

There was a huge difference between these two though. Michael was cold, his aura was dark and with nothing but anger and Ignorance.

Meanwhile Lucifers Aura was warm, like a hot bath that was pure relaxation. His aura was white and pure.

Maybe it was the bond. But you see a foul soul when there's one.

But one thing they had in common, and that's their pride.

You don’t have a good feeling about this.

He wants something, but what?

What can be so special in here that an Arch Angel comes down here and confronts his brother?

What makes you so special that Michael would come down here?

Michael's predatory gaze was following your every movement making you want to run or plead for your life.

Lucifer widened his wings shielding you from the other Arch Angel.

You sigh in relief; you don’t want to spend any second longer with Michael's stare.

Not with the way he was looking at you.

Like a treat he could eat for breakfast.

“You should leave.” Lucifer’s eyes never left Michael’s.

All what he did was starting to laugh at Lucifer, “Aww, Little Lucifer protecting a fallen Angel How cute.”

In the next moment Michaels wings spread and he flapped them to create a hurricane like wind blow.

Wind blew softly in your face, Lucifers wings helped that you didn’t fly away from the force.

With a crash Nifty flew into the alcohol bar, leaving a mess with broken bottles. Husk frowned, “Oh great.”

The whole crew hid behind the staircase to take cover from the Arch Angel.

Michael whistled. “You seem to grow a liking towards that girl.” He pointed at him then at you, “what happened with Lilith? Cheating on her?” Lucifer gritted his teeth and took a step forward.

He wants to crush Michael skull on this hellish floor. Drawing an abstract painting in pure Gold on a red canvas.

“That’s none of your business.” Michael gasps at him, holding his mouth with his hand. Acting all shocked.

You could swear Lucifer was ready to bounce on him.

His devil tail flicked dangerously from side to side.

That’s what Michaels want.

He wants to see Lucifer loses control and letting his guard down.

He wants to piss his little Brother off. And Lucifer fell for it. His pride is taking over not thinking correctly.

Your feet carried you towards Lucifer, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. “Luci, don’t. That’s what he wants.”

He didn’t look your way but stopped in his track.

This disappointed Michael.

Deep.

Usually this works, it always worked. Why not now?

He came here to have fun with you and Lucifer, but you ruined it for him.

“You are listening now to a random bitch?”

This was the last straw for Lucifer. No one talks to you like that.

Lucifer flew up to get more speed when he flew back down to kick Michael in the stomach. That send Michael flying towards the nearest house.

Leaving nothing but ruins from the building.

Coughing he looked where Lucifer was, nowhere to be seen.

Confused he threw stones in every direction trying to hit Lucifer.

Lucifer laughed at this useless attempt. “That’s what you’re doing now? Throwing stones? Who's the Bitch now?”

His heart started to race out of fear.

He whipped his head frantic searching for his enemy.

A howling laugh vibrated through hell and a crash followed it.

Lucifer punched Michael hard into the floor letting Michael see black for a minute.

The earth shook under the force making you slump down at the sudden ground movement.

Michael spit out one of his Paper white teeth, it was covered in golden blood.

Michael realized that Lucifer got stronger and could easily get rid of him.

But that can’t be true, that’s not fair.

“Fuck.” He screamed as he heard Lucifers laugh from joy.

Michael panicked; he still couldn’t see Lucifer anywhere.

He was scared to death.

Sweat covered his injured now dirty white skin. His golden head piece had a slight crack in it.

How can I get away from here?

Then he remembers.

you.

You were his compass right now and Michael can use you.

Use you to cause mental damage to Lucifer.

Lucifer stepped out of the dark, stalking slowly forward like a predator to their prey.

Michael crawled back. His hand slipped on a small rock making him fall on his back.

Lucifer took the opportunity and charged forward. Michael dodged his attack just in time, flying towards your direction in 200km/h.

Searching for Lucifer in the distance, you saw someone flying towards you.

Your eyes widen in excitement, thinking it is Lucifer.

You walked slowly towards him, only to see that this is not your Lucifer.

This Aura, so dark and it was scary.

It was Michael.

You started to run to the opposite direction, you knew he would catch you easily if he wants to.

But you won’t give up without a fight.

Michael’s hair was all a mess, he looked like a maniac who lost control.

Blood all over his white attire and dirt all over him.

He grabbed your wrist lifting you up in the air.

You screamed, kicking your feet all around you.

For the first time in decades, you seem scared of heights.

Not having wings comes with fear from heights. Not being available to fly when you fell. Getting crushed by gravity wasn’t exactly how you planned on dying.

Your scream was quickly caught the attention from Lucifer, out of panic he teleported his way to you.

His tail swayed dangerous from side to side as he looked at the disgusting mutt of a brother holding you up with your wrist.

Pain and fear were written all over your demeanor and for the first time in this battle he felt scared.

Scared that he’ll do something to you.

Scared that if he interferes, you’ll die.

Michael Shaked you a bit to piss off Lucifer more. As if you were a mere piece of meat laid on display in an auction house.

Meanwhile he swung you around your sleeve of your dress slipped down revealing the apple mark on your wrist.

As fast as you could, you tried to pull the sleeve back up, but Michael stopped you.

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, what was your plan?

He took a glance at the thing you tried to hide, and oh did he never forget that mark.

You share the same mark like him.

Like Lucifer.

“Really? That’s all the fuss why you’re doing all of this?” You looked away in shame.

Michael was to say at least very confused. You were ashamed of being Lucifers soulmate? He would be too, but you clearly enjoy his presence way too much to hate this.

Then it clicks, “Ohhh, he doesn’t even know.” You bitt your lip, showing Michael that his speculation was Indeed right.

Lucifer was standing there at his friendlier form, observing the scenery above him.

He doesn’t know what?

You knew this would happen at one point.

You hid it very well the couple days, even though your heart was aching for that man. To tell him the truth.

But you were afraid. Will he reject you? Or does he even enjoy your presence, when he finds out the soulmate bond makes him feel that.

Michael pulled you in front of his face, you two were so close that you could feel his breath on your lips.

“You’re not better than your mother. To keep a secret that huge and so small,” His hand stroked your mark, it started to burn in your wrist making you scream in terror.

It felt like someone was burning a piece of iron into your cold skin making your blood underneath boil.

You felt hot and lightheaded.

You wiggled your whole body, trying to get out of Michaels grasp.

The tears that fell out of your eye collides on Lucifers face; his clawed fist clenched hard the claws shoving into his palm drawing blood.

Michael ripped a piece off your long-sleeved dress showing your mark towards Lucifer.

Lucifers eyes widen, no that couldn’t be.

He searched in your eyes the answer, but you looked away, ashamed.

And it hurts him. Why didn’t you tell him?

He unconsciously rubbed his mark on his wrist which started to itch since Michael touched yours.

Now everything made sense for him.

Why he felt that kind of euphoric, why he felt so in love. Why his heart ached for you every time you’re not there.

That’s why he was so attracted to you.

And you lied to him. God knows how long.

He is mad at you, but he won’t lose you out of his anger.

You were his last chance, his nemesis.

He must get rid of Michael before he can deal with you.

Meanwhile you struggled in Michael death grip on your wrist. Your hand felt numb with no blood getting pumped in it.

“I can’t kill you Y/n. But I can cause you pain which will hurt him even more.” His eyes shifted towards Lucifer smiling from ear to ear.

His laugh that rippled through his ribcage made you cringe.

His hands let you fall out of his grip. Before you could relax, thinking he would let you go. He grabbed your hair making you wince.

He pulled out a little dagger and pressed it against your neck. “Let’s see if your blood is still golden.”

Lucifer flew as fast as he could towards you stretching his arm towards Michael and you. Michaels words echoing in Lucifers brain. Let’s see if your blood is still golden.

But it was too late.

His knife slashed a cut on your neck, golden blood started to gush out and you started to choke on your own blood.

“No!”

It was hard to breath, every time you tried to take the oxygen in your lungs, blood filled them which made you cough and choke every time.

Michael let you go, disgusted that your blood spilled on his cloths.

He removed his golden strand out of his face smiling widely at Lucifer.

“Next time I make sure to you two will never see each other. Farewell.” With that he teleported away leaving a mess in hell behind him.

Lucifer punched into the cement where Michael was standing.

His heart stopped when he heard you choking from your own blood.

Ache

Rushing to your side he pressed on your wound tight. “Please, please don’t die.”

All you could feel was pain, and the warmth of Lucifer by your side.

And there it was again, the warmth of his powers flowing into your system.

it was calming. Making you almost forget the pain you’re in.

Lucifer was on the edge of crying.

Forgetting that you didn’t tell him that you were his soulmate.

All he could think about is that you were slowly dying.

He feels useless.

Charlie watched the scene, feeling bad for her dad.

He told her that he has a soulmate, someone who is his other half.

But since he fell, he’d never see them.

It was sad to see his depressed expression when he thought about it.

But now he found out in the middle of the battlefield that he found her. And now he may lose someone precious. His other half. The reason he still had faith.

She looks at her father saying a mantra all over and over again.

Please don’t die, please, please Y/n don’t leave me. Please.

He felt alone like he did when Lilith left him, but this is not the same.

You’ll never come back. Leaving him with an empty void in his heart that cannot be filled.

He survived the void that Lilith left in him.

But not you, his soulmate that helped him without even knowing.

Every night he thought of you. Not even in a sexual way.

He held the duck he made for you tight to his body to feel comforted in some kind of way.

And it all makes sense. But it may be too late.

Here you were, slowly dying in his hands. Passed out from your blood lost.

His tears dropped down on your lips making you feel the salty sweet substance.

An Angel cries.

Your neck wound started to close making him sigh in relief.

you have lost a lot of blood, and it was still life threatening but the bleeding was stopped.

You have a chance to survive this.

He stroked your cheek softly removing the dirt that was on your face.

He pressed his forehead on yours in a comforting way.

“Please wake up.”

A/n: 👀 Soooo, how y'all doing? Thank you to all who are writing so sweet comments<3

Hope you enjoyed this chapter❤️

💫

@ayanazoldyck @marydragneell @lunaryasha @cherry-cola-100 @lxkeee @latersgates-steven @fandom-crashlanding @cupidsgift

#y/n #hazbin hotel #lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #female reader #angel #michael hazbin hotel #shapard

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johnwickb1tsch · 14 days ago

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The Girl Next Door - XVI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Chapter warnings: A bit more graphic violence. Character death. If you made it this far, you'll be fine...⚠

16. epilogue

John Constantine stands on the rooftop, looking out over the glittering lights of the city.

He wants a cigarette so fucking bad, but like he can hear you grousing about how he was given a second chance and he shouldn’t waste it, he pops a stick of gum instead.

It’s not the same thing.

He misses you.

He can’t stop himself from thinking about that night, not so long ago, when the two of you headed off an early Apocalypse by the skin of your teeth. He remembers how in the end, somehow he found the strength to stumble to your side, and how whatever small grain of hope he’d allowed himself vanished at the sight of you, the Spear piercing your heart to the hilt, your body deathly still. He’d collapsed to his knees beside you, clutching your cold little hand in his. The knowledge that your eternal soul was saved was hardly a consolation at the moment–he was the one who was supposed to die, not you.

He’d tried to budge the spear–but couldn't.

And so he’d clutched at your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles as silent tears slid down his cheeks.

“She saved me,” Angela had said, making her way on shaky legs over to press his shoulder.

You saved him too, he realized. If not with anything but the determination of your love, you’d saved him, and he was finally able to save you in turn. That should count for something, but at the moment it was all so raw that he still wanted to curse God for taking you from him in the mortal realm, if not the next.

If he ever wanted to see you again, he was really going to have to walk the line.

He and Angela had both jumped as a bedraggled Gabriel surfaced from the bottom of the pool–their wings naught but bloody stubbs protruding from their shoulders. They had looked upon your lifeless body with zero remorse. They dared to say with their usual blind righteousness, “You should rejoice, John. She’s gone home.”

John had narrowed his eyes, but his scathing tirade died on his tongue as a hulking figure had emerged from the water behind the ex-angel, his eyes glowing that deadly blue. Constantine had felt nothing but the most un-Christian gratification, as Wick seized Gabriel’s head in his massive hands and twisted.

The angel sank back to the bottom of the pool, and Wick stepped over their body to pull himself out of the water, a horrific wound barely knit together over his abdomen. Paying it no heed, he’d collapsed to his knees beside your body, tearing out the Spear and throwing it to clang against the far wall before sinking down to weep upon your shoulder. It had been unsettling for Constantine, not to see a man cry, but the utter despair with which Wick expressed himself. In a way, he found that he envied him.

“My little bird,” Wick whispered desperately against your lifeless flesh. “I will find you again. I swear, I will find you again.”

In a strange twist…Constantine found that he actually felt sorry for the dhampir.

Whatever his sins…his love for you had certainly been real, and true.

But then…you had that effect on people.

♰♰♰

Constantine continues to stand vigil on the roof, and there is something about the warm desert breeze that night, like a breath of heaven on his skin, that reminds him of you.

Then something silken soft brushes against his face–and in his mouth. He spits, making a show of expelling something from between his lips.

“Really? I gotta use the tattoos on you?”

Laughing, you assume your most corporeal form, appearing in front of him. Your raven-black wings enclose the two of you like a privacy curtain, a cozy little space just for the two of you. Steadying yourself with hands on his chest, you incline your head for a kiss.

He grants it, his soft lips lingering on yours, his big hands on your waist pulling you closer. “You’re back early.”

“Hmm.”

“I was afraid he might not let you go.”

You reach up to brush dark hair out of his eyes; he softens for your touch, a small sigh betraying his enjoyment. “He’s happy with our deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

He has trouble hiding how relieved he is to hear this. Fighting John Wick wasn’t something high on his list of suicidal things he wanted to try out, but he might have had to, had the vampire hunter not been in such a seemingly generous mood.

He had to admit, he’d never envisioned himself in a polyamorous relationship with a dhampir and an angel.

At least, that's what they think you are, or some derivative anyway. The black wings are a little wildcard–but then, you had been carrying around a baggie of blood taken from the other Antichrist, which was pierced perfectly by the Spear. Beeman theorizes that it counteracted the blood of Christ in a way that somehow saved your life. And after Constantine’s little deal with Satan…supposedly, you were home free.

Or at least…no longer damned by default.

You liked being an angel, so far. You still had the immense power to help people, but didn't have to get your hands quite so dirty to do it.

And, he won't admit it, but you're pretty sure John Constantine has a wing fetish.

You think about the first time you'd appeared to him, about a week after your supposed death. He'd broken into your apartment, and was just sitting amongst your things. You'd been trailing him invisibly, not having quite gotten the hang of your corporeal form yet. You didn't even really know what you were, yet. You kind of fancied yourself a sort of guardian ghost for John, your heart breaking all over again as you watched him mourn you.

You didn't think that he could sense you–but when you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out to touch his face he’d straightened like you'd slapped him. You'd watched as he’d rolled up his sleeves, admiring those corded forearms even as he chanted the words and joined those archaic tattoos. The magic in them felt like being tugged hard by a rope, and suddenly–he could see you.

You're not sure who was more shocked: him, or you.

“Y/n?”

You swear his hands shook as he reached for you. And then his eyes went wide, as his gaze fixed behind you, on what you would soon find were oil-black wings, your feathers shimmering with green and violet highlights in the low light.

With no concept yet of what you'd become, you’d flung yourself into his arms, and he'd welcomed you gladly. Finally, when you could come up for air again between heated kisses, he demanded, “Have you been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Mostly.” You'd gone to check on Wick for a little while, trying to comfort him in the manic depths of his grief, but he’d been untouchable.

Then, he’d disappeared.

You will admit, that you’d been more worried about Constantine, if for anything because you knew Wick was a survivor to the bone.

“I thought…I was a ghost,” you'd admitted.

Constantine actually laughed, a short, disbelieving burst of mirth. “Oh, honey.” He’d cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply, filling your heart with something like sunshine. Then, his attention had turned to your wings again. He ran an experimental hand down your silky flight feathers, and a delicious shudder ripped down your spine. “They’re sensitive,” you admitted, and the look John Constantine paid you could have melted granite, one angular black brow lifted high.

“Are they now?”

Suddenly you could barely speak past your libido lodged in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, and his fingers found their way into your hair, drawing you to him again. The new addition of the wings made things interesting between you, but somehow you managed to come together with only one casualty of a lamp you never really liked much anyway.

It reminded you of the first night you made love in this bed, riding his beautiful cock while he teased your needy little clit with his thumb. Desperate for each other, hardly able to believe that this was real, that you were even allowed to have this blessing after everything you went through…you came together as you held on for dear life, your eyes locked with his as you found bliss with his body joined with yours.

“There's a Touched By An Angel joke here somewhere,” he’d teased in the aftermath, as you curled up in his arms.

“I always thought that show sounded like something you'd have to report door to door,” you mused, winning the coveted prize of his mirth, and his lips on your forehead.

Much later, while you were cooking for him [and you, because God you missed solid food] he told you, “I never thought I’d say this…but we better go find Wick. He's gone on a rampage killing vampires, but I don't know what he'll do when he runs out of fangfaces to mangle.”

You looked back over your shoulder from the stove, your eyebrows raised high. “Where?”

“Last I heard, he was tearing Portland apart.”

“Fuck.”

Constantine offered you a commiserating ghost of a smile.

“The High Table…are not going to be amused by that?”

“Ah…probably not.”

Your heart fell like a stone. “Will they go after him for it?”

“I would feel sorry for anyone they sent his way, but…”

You sigh. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“I suppose.” He looked down at the table. “Well. I had you to myself for all of 24 hours.”

“John…do you want me to yourself?”

He’d looked up at you through his dark hair, those eyes filled with a mix of heart-crushing sorrow and longing, his long fingers clenching then unclenching upon the table. The bond between you was different, after your transformation, but you still could tell in a rare instance this man was nervous.

“I’m not saying I think I’m…husband material or that I’d even make a good boyfriend, and I know you deserve better…but…I love you, y/n.”

How far you'd come, that he could say that last part aloud.

All you had to do was die.

You’d nodded in earnest, your knees weak. “We can work with that.”

Suddenly he was on his feet, and you gravitated towards him until you were in his arms again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, for so long that you almost burned the chicken, and you found out that when you're that happy your wings flutter, the same way your toes curl.

♰♰♰

In the end you’d convinced Constantine that you should probably go on your own, not knowing Wick’s state of mind, and you caught up with your dhampir at a cabin deep in the Snoqualmie Forest. It seemed he’d retreated there to heal after tearing through the vampire population of Seattle, almost like he was daring the High Table to come after him.

It was a beautiful setting, the fir trees towering all around. The cabin was small, rustic, and you wondered if Wick did not build it with his bare hands. The air smelled fresh, and clean, and reminded you of a different time, long ago. Something that came to you as fact, in the fever dream of your resurrection, and somehow you were allowed to retain the long buried memory.

When you were a young woman, in another life, 300 years ago, vampires ravaged your village, killing and pillaging as they pleased, the dead including your own parents and young sister. A dhampir named Jardani Jovanovich came to hunt them. Tall and true, dark as the devil himself, and from the moment you laid eyes on his tall, terrible form, you’d felt as though you had a fever burning inside you. He’d looked your way from astride his beautiful black horse, as though you’d said his name, and when your eyes met you knew he’d stolen your soul. After he delivered the heads of the strigoi to your village starosta he took you as his wife, and the two of you never looked back, and never separated, until the day you died.

Despite the fearsome man he’d been, Jardani Jovanovich had always been good to you.

Perhaps it was this memory that gave you the courage to let yourself into the cabin, as though you had every right to be there. It was deathly quiet, and an empty bottle of vodka on the table, along with a pile of bloody gauze, perhaps explained why. You found him in the back bedroom, half-clothed, passed out on his side.

You weren’t sure there was any good way to go about this that wouldn’t startle him, so you shed your shoes and lay down beside him, taking his hand in your smaller one between you on the counterpane. Now that you’d found him, you wanted to sleep. You’d flown (on the wing!) all the way from L.A., after all. Being an angel–or angel-ish–was strange. You got the sense that you didn’t need food, or drink, or sleep–but you liked to have it. The cold damp wouldn’t kill you, but you certainly felt it. Perhaps this is why you snuggled into Wick’s furnace of a body, as you dozed.

You half-woke to the sound of him mumbling in his sleep–or rather, the vibration of it from within his broad chest. “Yelena Ivanovna, gde ty byl…”

Where have you been?

“I’m here,” you answered softly, not really awake yourself.

“Hmmff,” he’d answered, holding you closer with a grip that would have crushed a human woman. You managed to worm loose a little, perching on his chest.

“Jardani,” you’d said softly, brushing back his unkempt dark hair.

That was when his eyes finally slitted open, slowly focusing on you. Then they drifted up, taking in your wings. Maybe he thought he was dreaming, for he questioned nothing at first, simply taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “Milaya…my pretty little bird, what wings you have grown.”

“You like them?”

You sit up, straddling his torso, and as his hands gravitate to your jean-clad thighs he seems to begin to realize this is not a dream or a drunken vision–you are here.

Bolting upright, he seizes you in his arms, holding you hard against him. “Y/N?” His face is buried in the bend of your neck; your name is lost in the distortion of a sob.

“I’m here,” you told him again, running your fingers through his tangled dark hair.

“...How?” he asks as he pulls back to look you over again, seemingly in awe of the feathered appendages protruding from your shoulders, but most amazed by the smoothe, unbroken skin over your breastbone.

You have a scar there, where the Spear pierced your heart. You wondered if you would have managed to heal, had Wick not wrested the blade from your body so quickly.

You shrugged, because you really didn’t know the answers, and his calloused fingers caressing your chest so gently crossed the wires in your brain. You couldn’t help but lean into him, winning something like a growl from deep in his throat.

“Do you remember what I told you would happen, when we finally found ourselves a bed?” He'd almost posed it like a threat, his hands ghosting over your breasts, running down the ladder of your ribs. It felt marvelous, and you giggled nervously as you undulated against him.

“I might recall something of that nature…”

The sound he made was nothing less than animal, as he fell on your lips and devoured you whole. You let him gladly, giddy with bliss as he seemed bent on tasting every inch of your bare skin with his seeking lips and tongue. “You are so beautiful, my love, my darling little angel, my own heaven on earth.” He whispered this like a prayer upon your skin, consecrated each word with a kiss, and you utterly melted beneath what was nothing less than an onslaught.

You lost track of how many times you came, in that man’s mouth, on his thick fingers, and with his insatiable cock buried inside you. By the time he was done with you, for the moment, at least, your body was covered in lovebites, full of his cum, and your usually supernaturally sturdy limbs were rendered into utter jelly. You could do nothing but curl up with him under a blanket beside the fire he’d built for you, joyfully stupefied by his relentless affection.

Later, you ate soup together made from a freeze-dried packet, and it tasted like a gourmet meal when eaten in the warm glow of his tender gaze upon you, your legs tangled under the table. You talked of what happened after you died, and what you can’t remember but you theorize happened in the interim. You wonder if the High Table witch’s spell was another factor in your taking on a new earthbound form, rather than going on to Heaven like Constantine had bargained for. Wick found it amusing that you thought you were a ghost. “I felt you,” he tells you regretfully. “But I was mad with grief–I thought I was hallucinating it. I am sorry…I let you down.”

Perhaps he is thinking back on how he wept on your corpse and vowed to find you again–but you were there all along.

However, you shook your head, reaching out for his big hand on the rough-hewn table. “You didn't let me down. We’re both still new to this, aren’t we? And John figured it out.”

Wick narrowed his eyes a little at the mention of your other beau. It’s funny– you really could not have picked two more opposite sorts of men. “Yes. He is very clever, your John.”

You smiled a little, perhaps masking the bloom of warmth in your heart that flowers any time you are speaking of John Constantine. “He is.”

“He loves you?”

You can't stop your lips from curling a little more. You'd in fact heard it from that stubborn horse’s own mouth.

“Yes.”

“But he was not good to you?”

You sighed. “Things were…complicated.”

“They are not now?”

“Less so, maybe.” Somehow, you thought you were actually telling the truth. Something about the lifted weight of certain damnation brought a lightness to John that was never there before. He is more open, with you, at least. He is, in fact, damn near affectionate, when you're alone together in your own little world. Maybe the truth of this showed on your face; Wick seemed attuned to your every tell. The look he paid you next was nothing less than wolfish, long in fang and a sharp hunger in his gaze.

“This does not mean I am letting you out of your promise to me. You will like New York.”

“For a visit,” you answered sweetly, ready to do battle. “But I'm not uprooting from L.A.”

He smirked at this, as though he did not think the matter closed by half. “Hmm. You think I will share you, little bird?”

“I think…it’s the only way this will work,” you answered him honestly.

“You won't give him up?”

“I can’t,” you admitted.

“Mmm,” he grumbled, that deep sound from his chest that did not fail to make your pulse quicken. “Stubborn woman. You always were a disobedient wife.”

There was a sparkle of mirth in his dark eyes that signaled to you that this was an inside joke between you that you just didn’t remember.

Or so you hoped.

“Honey, we are not married,” you dared to remind him.

He smirked at you like you said something very funny. “Maybe not yet…but I know how to make you pliant and sweet…”

The rabbit impulse to run came too late. You barely had time to even squeal before he caught you up in his strong arms and had you on the table, his narrow hips wedged between your thighs, your hands pinned over your head. All you were wearing was your panties and his oversized flannel shirt. You felt utterly vulnerable to him, and it was so terrifyingly wonderful you feared you might burst. “Give me…an hour…between these luscious thighs,” he’d purred, kissing down your neck as you tried to struggle, giggling all the while. “And you'll see things my way.”

He bites off one of the buttons of his own shirt, clearly not caring in the least.

“That is so not fair!”

“I am not interested in fair,” he chuckled against your skin. “Only in making you mine.”

It occurred to you that not once had that intoxicating power of his surfaced between you. Were you immune, now that you're no longer a vampire? No bewitching scents, no tantalizing magic–the desire between you is fire, but it’s just pure, good ol’ fashioned, human lust, woven through with love, and it was its own potent magic indeed.

“Jardani…”

He sat up on elbows above you, looking down at you with a warmth that rivaled the red hot coals in the stove as you stroked the hair out of his face, tracing the ridge of his brow. His eyes closed under the lull of your touch, leaning into your hand.

“You need him, little bird? To be happy?”

“Yes,” you'd answered in a whisper, aware that something binding was happening between you.

“Do you need me too?” There was a vulnerability in this simple question from this fearsome man that melted you to your toes.

“Yes,” you confirmed, going for broke.

His answering smile was like a baring of teeth. “My little angel is greedy.” He kissed you hard, your head pressing down into the table. “Fine,” he grumbled as you gasped for air, and maybe your sanity too. “I will grant you this. I am a generous man, ptichka. You will see.”

You were so delighted that you pulled him down into another tonsil-teasing kiss, holding him closer with your bare legs around his waist. “Thank you.”

He sat up to sweep you with a considering look, your body laid out like a feast for him on the table, and he made a sound that reminded you more of a bear, than a man. “But when you’re with me, malyshka,” he warned you darkly, “you are all mine.” Suddenly too impatient to even bother with removing your panties again, he moved them to the side so that he could sink into the wet heat of your needy cunt, stretching you deliciously while he played with your clit, his voracious tongue mercilessly toying with your peaked nipples. You came on his cock with a ragged scream, the searing pleasure of another release tearing through you like a punishment as much as a blessing. You were impressed that the table held, after the way he pounded into you, finishing with a roar like a battle cry as he filled you again with his seed.

You held him, as he collapsed on you, and you knew you were going to have your hands full.

Deep down, a part of you knew that he only agreed to this arrangement out of pure practicality.

You don't know if he's immortal, per se, but he certainly isn't aging fast. You suspect your own situation might be the same. But John…is mortal, and even if you hate the thought, the fact is that you and Wick have time that Constantine doesn't.

All the dhampir has to do is be patient.

And, not piss you off, of course.

You keep telling yourself that just because you were his wife in a past life doesn't mean things are a done deal between you. You have to keep reminding yourself that you barely know him, because when you're together?

Everything else melts away.

♰♰♰

Perhaps Wick is patient, but he does not waste time. A month after Snoqualmie he’s already bought a house in Los Angeles, and a cabin in Big Sur.

Oddly enough, the arrangement suits Constantine just as well. He’d meant what he said, that he wasn't relationship oriented, and you knew it. You had zero interest in molding him into something he didn't want to be.

Besides.

You have your own thing going.

You don't move into Wick’s posh manse in the Hills, despite his invitation.

You keep your humble apartment next to Constantine’s. You like your little space, and frankly…you need something of your own. Splitting your time between the two of them…can be intense, truth be told. Blissfully, maddeningly so, but sometimes, you need a break.

You are having one of those, when you hear a knock on your door. John had been away on an exorcism, clearing out an infestation of aswangs in the Bay Area, and you were afraid you might not get to see him before your upcoming trip to Paris with Wick, to officially receive his release from Service to the High Table.

You missed him.

Eagerly you open the door.

“Hello, handsome.”

John Constantine looks down at you with that half smile that still quickens your heart, leaning on the door jamb. He could push you over with a feather when you see he is not only holding a bottle of delicious red wine, but a bouquet of flowers.

Who is this man, and where is your surly demon hunter?

You can tell that they came from the gas station around the corner, but they are pretty, and that he even thought to bring them to you fills you with a fluttery glee.

Amused by your stupefied expression, he lifts one angular eyebrow at you. “Hello, angel.”

You feel the warmth in his eyes to the marrow of your bones–and if you’re being honest, right between your thighs.

You've really missed him.

You express your enthusiasm by tugging him inside by his tie, pressing your lips to his. John puts down the wine and the flowers as you breeze by the table–en route to the couch, where you direct him to sit in no uncertain terms.

The wings complicate things–you've discovered you can glamor them away to mingle with the public at large, but it doesn't actually make their volume disappear. It’s just easier to be on top–good thing you both like it.

But you notice he flinches a little, and immediately you hold your weight off of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” Frowning, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. He lets you do what you want, having long learned it's no good to fight you.

And, you suspect, he secretly likes being coddled a little.

What he calls just a scratch is in fact angry claw marks that rake across his entire abdomen. “Oh, John. Why didn't you call me?”

“I just…wanted to come home to you,” he admits, looking up at you with those soulful dark eyes in a way that makes your wings quiver, your most visible of tells these days.

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hold up your hands, and they begin to glow.

Something else you've discovered?

You can heal with your touch.

You found this out when visiting Chas in the hospital, when he was trussed in traction, and the doctors weren't sure he'd ever walk again. Heartbroken, filled with guilt and the wish that it could have been different for him, you'd taken his hand and something poured out of you.

His recovery within weeks was considered nothing less than a miracle, utterly boggling the medical community. Bless his heart, but Chas kept your secret. It was an ability certain clandestine government agencies, not to mention unscrupulous billionaires, would certainly have snatched you for.

It also comes in pretty handy with a boyfriend like John Constantine. And others, too. You spend a lot of time in the children’s wards of various hospitals (in invisible form). You've discovered the ability is not infinite, nor without its price. You can run out of juice, and you have to take time to recharge. You will feel like shit tomorrow, but it's a price you'll gladly pay. You've downplayed that particular effect–John doesn't quite know the toll it takes on you, but you prefer to keep it that way.

It still does not cease to impress you, watching John's skin knit back to its previous milky pale perfection, only the faintest hint of pink scars left behind in your wake. He sighs, his eyes closed, head tilted back in bliss.

“I warned it that my liver wasn’t exactly grade A, but it was determined.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. You know he drinks a lot less now, but the bottles still appear with regularity. You lean down, catching his lips with yours. “You taste pretty good to me.”

He chuckles, holding your face in his hands. “Mmm, so do you, Girl Next Door. My favorite vintage.”

“Am I?”

You can't hide your surprise. You'd kind of assumed that he might start seeing Angela on the side eventually. They liked each other, and you weren't exactly in an exclusive arrangement, considering. But he looks at you the way he does when he's afraid he's said something that only belatedly he realizes is hurtful.

“Yeah.” He cups your face in his big hands, and you feel your wings quivering again. “I know I don't tell you enough, y/n, but I love you. So much.”

You know you were always ridiculous, and becoming an angelic being of some sort has not changed that. Your eyes brim with tears, and your lip quivers. “Oh John. I love you too.”

He sits up to pull you into an embrace, holding you close against his heart. “Jesus Christ. I still don't know what I did to deserve you.”

You think about the journey that brought the two of you to this moment, and the transformations you’ve both undergone. It’s nothing less than incredible, really, and yet that is the miracle of the human spirit. The ability to endure, and to change. The power of love truly is an awesome thing.

“Hmm. I think…you were just yourself.” He huffs at that, holding you harder. He’s getting better, at not hating himself all the time, but for a man like him it’s still a daily battle. So you tell him, and you will keep telling him, until someday maybe he sees the light that you saw in him all along.

You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other.

It's moments like these that you savor to the last second, knowing how very precious they are. Maybe you've never exactly received any direct marching orders from the Big Guy Above, but you can't really refute the existence of some sort of Divine entity after what you’ve been through, and you can’t help but feel like your time with either of your Johns is something sacred. You've learned, if anything, that He or She or The Universe, whatever you choose, works in mysterious ways, and maybe, just maybe, things have worked out exactly the way they should.

the end. for now. until, it all begins again. but that’s another story…

__________________

*starosta - the village elder/mayor figure *strigoi - evil spirits risen from the dead, vampires *aswang - evil, bloodthirsty, sometimes organ-eating spirit from Filipino folklore

__________________

You guys!!!!!! 😭😭😭 Finishing a story is always bittersweet, but I’m so happy to have gone on this journey with all of you! You kept me going with your love and your encouragement, and the way this story evolved thanks to your feedback is pretty cool, I have to say. It NEVER would have turned out like this without you! A huge thanks to @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @discoscoob @donaka-screaming @reallongwire @scarlettspectra @lilithlinen @lilspookymeh @xxjaejaexx-blog1 @casuallyobssessed @girl-at-the-verge @babsharrison @luminousmoon21 @luluvstars @lonelyspadez @desolatewrath @fernpetals @axshadows @junojunimo @nightmare-bean @ghcstpyre and so many others for your kindness and your readership, I really can’t tell you how much it’s meant to be over the course of this story! And a special thanks to @lilspookymeh , I know you haven’t been on in a while but in case you ever read this, your comments and analysis back when I first started this story were just utterly crucial in molding it into what it became, you’re so insightful and I can’t thank you enough! I love you guys! ❤❤❤❤❤

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theres-a-body-here · 1 month ago

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Scumtober - Day 12 (Medicine)

Gabriel Reyes x Male!Reader

The agony was unbearable.

Searing, tearing, disintegrating.

Gabriel's body was rejecting the very act of living. The pain came and went as time went on, but recently its been getting worse. More frequent, and more excruciating. Before, he could suck it up and lock himself in his room, but now, he's been going to Moira for painkillers.

But she's not on base right now.

Sent to do some "fieldwork" as Akande put it. So, without her help, Gabriel's only real option...would be going to you.

Gabriel did not like you.

Granted, he didn't like Moira either, but something about you really irked him to no end. Your constant flirting, teasing, and downright sadistic tendencies made you insufferable to be around. But there was one single thing that truly made you unbearable, maybe even more than the pain he felt now.

You couldn't be intimidated.

Any attempts to threaten you would be met with a blank look, a curled smile, or downright laughter, and Gabriel could attest to that himself. Not even Akande could get you to sweat. So getting any help from you would be a hassle. But as Gabriel felt wave after wave of flesh-rending pain course through his body, he decided that dealing with you was better than spending the night like this.

Hobbling through the halls, Gabriel made his way to the infirmary wing, clinging to the walls for support as his body threatened to fall over. It was late so there wasn't many agents roaming the corridors, and if any were around, Gabriel stopped to hide, unwilling to let anyone see him in this state. He knew that any perceived weakness would make him look pathetic, and he couldn't allow that to happen.

As two Talon grunts walked past, Gabriel pushed himself off the wall with a grunt as he made a dash for the infirmary doors. He pressed entry codes into the interface roughly and nearly tripped on himself as he pushed in immediately once the door opened. His relief was short-lived as he saw a Talon grunt sitting on the exam table with you beside him, stitching some wound shut.

The growl that left his throat was very loud, probably louder than he intended. Storming forwards, he slams his clenched fist onto the table, shaking it violently.

"Get out. Now."

To their credit, the grunt immediately stood up, not wanting an early death at the hands of Talon's scariest agent. But before they could take a single step, a hand gripped their shoulder and yanked them back onto the table. Their head instantly snapped to look at you, and despite wearing a helmet, you can tell what they were saying;

Are you trying to get me killed?

"Even he...must wait his turn," was all that left your mouth, calm and stern.

And with that, you grabbed the needle that hung from his injury and continued to suture it shut, your eyes never leaving theirs. But the grunt felt another pair of eyes on him.

Reaper's.

They burned into their skull, melting their brains as you pulled the thread taut. They didn't dare look back, choosing to look at their injury, mentally counting the seconds before they could get the hell out.

With the final stitch, tie, and cut, the poor thing jumped to their feet and ran out the door as quick as an assassin unit.

Gabriel then turned his burning gaze to you, watching as you put the suture kit away...slowly.

Reaching out, he slaps the kit out of your hands the clattering echoing through the room as he then gripped your wrist.

"Give me the fucking pain meds."

You didn't even flinch.

Snatching your hand away from him, you gesture to the exam table. You turn to walk over to one of the cabinets and open it as he takes a seat. Your eyes scan the labels as you go through bottles and vials, trying to remember what your fellow coworker uses to deal with Reaper's situation.

"Morphine....codeine...prozac," you mutter to yourself, taking note of that last one for later use. A creaking groan broke the silence, making you glance over to your patient. Gabriel had bent the metal of the table beneath his hand, no doubt from the pain. You hum, turning to open another cabinet, certain that you've seen the medication before.

The sound of clinking bottles are accompanied by Gabriel's heavy and strained breathing, but it does little to hurry your hand. After a few more seconds of looking, you find it.

"Adenosine," you read out, grabbing a clean syringe on your way back to the writhing man

Gabriel watches as you plunge the needle into the vial, drawing up some liquid before flicking the syringe. His hand grips the table again as a wave of burning hot pain rolls through his head.

Barely registering your footsteps, Gabriel tenses as he feels your hands on him.

"Lie back for me, darling."

You push him onto the table, hand burning into his chest as he resists the urge to smack it away. Leaning closer, you hold the syringe over his jugular for a few seconds before jabbing it in. And before he could stop it, a whimper leaves his mouth. Whether or not you heard he isn't sure.

For a few seconds, nothing happens.

And then it hits.

Gabriel feels as if a giant stone is rolled over his body, starting at his chest. It crushes his lungs as his body runs colder than before. The pain starts to become heightened, nearly mind-breaking. The only thing he can manage to do is let out a couple of choked gasps. The pain reaches a peak, and for a second, Gabriel truly believes he's going to die.

And then it's over.

It takes a moment for his body to regain its senses, and the first one that comes back is the feeling of being touched. Your hand rubs his forehead as you look down at him, your face an expression he doesn't care to read. As he settles, he notices the lack of pain anywhere. Letting out a deep exhale, he tries to sit up, only to be pushed down by your palm.

"I can see why Moira likes sticking things in you," you coo, your hand wandering lower. "You make such funny faces."

Before your hand could go lower than his stomach, he finally regains the strength needed to smack it away.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Your lips curl into a smile as you lean closer, your mouth hovering over his ear. "You should come to me more often."

He quickly rises up from the table, pushing you away as he stomps out of the infirmary. You scoff, shifting your attention to the mess he left before grabbing a nearby broom.

"Prude."

Despite the pain being gone, unease lingered in his bones. And as Gabriel made his way to his living quarters, he couldn't help but think about you.

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

He really didn't like you.

#reaper x reader #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes #reaper overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 #overwatch #overwatch x you #male reader #male!reader #scumtober 2024 #scumtober #whumptober 2024 #whumptober

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fanfiction-fantasies · 8 months ago

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HEY ULTRAKILL FANDOM

This idea has been rattling in my brain for days now. Enjoy.

Gabriel x Reader, hurt/no comfort.

An angel, severed from the Creator's light because of a lost battle. Dying slowly, it would only take hours for Gabriel's life to be extinguished. Even so, before heading off to correct his supposed mistake, he seeks out his love, the one that holds his heart so gently. A spirit of a fallen human, one unfairly denied entrance to paradise. Warm and loving and bright, everything an angel should have been, everything he was not any longer.

He see the beloved spirit, waiting for him like always, and he feels his heart ache as he shares the news of his imminent demise. The light has been torn from him, he can't live without it. The burning fury is gone.

Instead, the spirit asks if it can be replaced, even if just for a few moments. If a furnace is still intact, why not simply add a different fuel? Gabriel scoffs, unable to think of such blasphemy, even after everything that has been taken from him.

"Our Lord's light cannot be replaced. I am doomed, love."

"...No. I won't accept that."

"What are you-? What!? No! Don't do that!"

The angel tries to remove their beloved hands from his chest, but their form has already started to shift. White flames slowly envelop the little spirit, blurring the form he loved so much.

"You can't! You- You wretch! Blasphemous being! Let go!"

Insults and anger did nothing to make his beloved stop. The flames burned ever brighter, slowly melting into his chest... until all he could feel was love.

He fell to his knees, sobbing pitifully. He reached, grasping at empty air. His beloved was no longer there. He could feel every ounce of love directed towards him, filling him from his fingertips all the way to his glowing wings.

Warm and loving and bright... everything an angel should have been.

#chitter chatting #ultrakill #ultrakill x reader #ultrakill gabriel #gabriel ultrakill #gabriel x reader #gabriel x reader ultrakill #ultrakill fanfic #btw i did send this to like #two blogs while on anon #so if it seems familiar thats why

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rocultrakillstuff · 2 months ago

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hi there!!! could i get general gabriel x gn!reader headcanons?

Of course you can! Here's some Gabriel x GN!Reader Headcanons all prettied up for you and finished with a homebaked gif! I really didn't expect to get a request this soon. Thank you so much for being the first one ♡♡♡

Gabriel x GN!Reader Headcanons (Gabriel x Reader) [Requested]

🐑 ♡ Thank you so much to my dearest Birch for beta'ing these headcanons ♡ 🐑

A general selection of headcanons for Gabriel x a GN!Reader.

Teen and Up Audiences, No Warnings, F/M, M/M, Other/M, Tag(s): Headcanon, Short, Flirting, Fluff, Pet Names, Blood, GN!Reader, Ambiguous Gender Reader, POV Second Person

Find it on ao3 ♡ WC: 654

Thank you @kiitiikiiwii for requesting this! It's my first time doing HCs, so I did my homework to see what sort of thing I should be doing. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations. Likewise, I decided to mark it as GN! and Ambig! due to the lack of pronouns. Insert away ♡

♡ Flirting is not something Gabriel is accustomed to. So much so, he won’t ever realise this is what he’s doing. When he’s returning your signals, it’s because he is doing it out of mutual respect and appreciation for such fine company. That’s exactly why he seeks you out you upon the thought mere thought of your smile. Of course he lets his hand rest against the side of your arm to get your attention. Why wouldn’t he? He’s matching your kind gestures with the same enthusiasm. He’s complimenting your skills as you compliment him. He is flirting with you in blissful ignorance of what he’s actually doing. To him, the bond you share is irreplaceable.

♡ He finds it exhilarating how you focus his senses like he was in battle. With Gabriel as oblivious to flirting as he is, he is no better at understanding his own feelings when it comes to you. He’s aware of every little thing you do around him, and he will often comment on things out of curiosity or interest. Touch - no matter how fleeting - leaves him restless. Your voice, however soothing it may be to him, does nothing to quell the internal chaos warring in his head. Be it through word of mouth, reflection, or your own confession, he finally realises what it all means.

♡ When Gabriel figures out how he feels, all that smooth flirting deteriorates to confusion. Suddenly he has to think about his actions in a way he is unfamiliar with. The confident angel you know struggles to be anything more than a new creation unleashed upon Heaven. Fragile eagerness would guide his hand towards you, and his hesitancy would compel him to stop. He would ask for your permission if he ever wanted to be close to you. Your time is a resource he seems infinitely aware he is spending, and yet you reassure him you want to spend it with him. Gabriel wouldn't avoid you. Not when you felt the same way. Yet you would see a vulnerable side to him he otherwise hid behind titles and strength.

♡ Splendor would be his choice of endearment for you. Like the sword that adorns his side, so do you. It seems a fitting title for the object of his affections. When his duties take him far from you, he is able to keep a piece of you with him more tangible than a memory. And when the blood of fallen Sinners coats the blade, he feels a sense of pride about his purpose. He is following God’s will, but he is also ensuring there would never be another rebellion to threaten the life you lead. When the colour of the sword is drowned out entirely by crimson, he would consider the intensity of his feelings - feelings that bled between ideas of love and war. He adores you with the same ferocity he wields his blade. It is a high that leaves his wings unsettled against his back. There was no such thing as mercy for him; only the point of a blade embedded deep in his soul.

♡ When he returns to your side, he finds himself unable to stay away from you. Nor does he stay still. He would chase the same high he felt when you were apart, and you would be swept off of your feet. You’re sparring together regardless of your experience. You’re dancing together with full vigour. You’re listening to him as he tries to teach you all he knows when you’re busy. The few peaceful moments that sneak into your routine are filled with silence, however. While he savours your presence, he continues to think about what he’s feeling. He doesn’t know if it will ever go away. It’s a thought that makes him uneasy. So he’ll keep chasing after you - his Splendor - with the same intensity of the sun even after the fire is gone. He cannot comprehend anything else.

#Ritual_Of_Cirice fanfiction #Ritual_Of_Cirice requests #ultrakill #gabriel (ultrakill)#gabriel (ultrakill) x reader #gabriel (ultrakill) x reader headcanons #tw blood #all the best ♡

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samdeancass · 5 months ago

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Soulmates

Requested on Quotev

Pairing: Gabriel x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Characters: Gabriel, Y/N

Description: Y/N helps Gabriel deal with what Asmodeus did to him. While doing this, she discovers why she can see his wings.

"Gabe..baby..please wake up!" You were trying your best to shake Gabriel awake from the nightmare he was having. They have been happening since he was tortured by Asmodeus, and it killed you that you didn't know about it. The moment when he stepped foot into the bunker, a beaten and broken shell of the angel he used to be ultimately broke you. He would flinch whenever somebody walked too quickly beside him or too close to him. You thought he had broken through when he healed himself and killed Asmodeus, but it was just a facade. He was a broken shell of the angel you loved, and it broke your heart every day, and you wished he would come back to you. You would hear him crying to himself when you walked past closed doors and having nightmares some nights, and now, things were getting worse. The nightmares were becoming a nightly appearance, and it was getting harder to try and console him. But you were determined to stand by him, your love for him growing stronger with each passing day. "Please, baby, wake up." You climbed on top of him and shook his shoulders as hard as you could and breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes fluttered open, wide and afraid. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. Did I wake you again?" You shook your head and moved off him, sitting up. "Never mind that, are you alright? That was the worst one yet! What happened?" Gabriel sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. "It…it was just so real as if I was still there. Everything he did to me, I could feel it over and over again, and I couldn't escape the pain. I just need it to stop; it's breaking me from the inside." As Gabriel confessed, tears welled up in your eyes. You longed to alleviate his pain, to erase the memories of his torture. But all you could do was love him, and that's what you did. You reached out and enveloped him in your arms, a gesture of your unwavering love and support. "I love you, Gabriel, and I always will. I will support you through this and do whatever it takes." A flutter of wings was heard, and a new warmth enveloped your body. Pulling away, you carefully caressed a few feathers around your shoulder, causing Gabriel to shake them slightly. You looked his way and gave a questioning look, and he stared at you with wide eyes. "You…you can see them?" "Yes, I always have. I thought everyone could." He took your hands and gave each one a peck as tears rolled from his eyes. "No, princess, only one person can see an angel's wings, and that's their soulmate. I always had an inkling that you were mine, but I could never confirm it, and I didn't want to ask in case you didn't." You rested your head against his and pecked his lips. "I always knew you were special, Gabe. My mission is to help and support you through this pain and make you happy again, my angel." He pulled you against him and lay down, gathering you in his arms. "What did I ever do to deserve someone as special as you?" Kissing the top of your head, he fell asleep again, this time in a peaceful slumber and for the first time in a while, you fell asleep happy, knowing that you both might just make it through this, with the hope that the revelation of your soulmate connection brings.

Tag List:

@akshi8278 @bxoken-heartss @deascheck

#gabriel #gabriel x reader #gabriel supernatural #gabriel fluff #gabriel angst #supernatural #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #gabriel imagine #gabriel fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction

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spn-fanfic-reblog-writes · 7 months ago

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Title: Endearment

Rating: Gen

Pairing: Gabriel x gn!Reader (2nd POV)

Warning: slight description of nightmare but vague.

A/N: I went down a Gabriel rabbit hole and got inspired. No beta we die like spn women. 🤣 Fluffiness. Dedication. Gabriel.

Want more? Please let me know! I would love to hear from you. Thank you. 💛🩶

Waking up in the dark with a body that’s not much taller than yours surprisingly except it was incredibly heavier than expected. When you move, you feel the softest thing on you. You look and it’s a fucking wing, giant golden wings. Your mouth gapes open.

Unknowingly to you, Gabriel has not moved and remains relaxed but his eyes are open and his angelic senses are very much aware of you. He inwardly chuckles and preens at your reaction to his wings.

You slowly turn, shifting slightly to not disturb the wings as much as possible, to see who is cuddling you. “Gabriel?!” You stage whisper, seeing his golden yellow eyes watch you. He smiles softly at you.

“Hey, Sweet pea,” Gabriel quietly greets.

“Why are you in my bed?” You looked down at yourself and felt you were still in your PJs so you didn’t get up and do something stupid. You quirk a questioning brow at him.

“You prayed to me in your sleep,” he stage-whispers back.

You open your mouth to deny it, and then your eyes down towards Gabe’s wing without seeing them. You think about your nightmare, men doing indescribable things to you that make you scream in pain but you don’t remember what you said. It somehow turned good when Gabriel showed up in all his angelic glory and amazing battle armor with his wings out to defeat the bad men hurting you.

“I prayed to you?” You ask him.

He nods.

You roll fully over and get as close as you can to him. Suddenly, you realize he is shirtless and in boxers or shorts, you’re not sure. The heat crawls up your face to your ears.

Gabriel smiles. “I love it when you blush. Your freckles pop.”

This causes you to warm further knowing your face darkens.

“Hey,” he says, gently. “I told you. You call me, I’ll come running as fast as I can. I said I’d be here for you. I am.” He pauses. “I know I can’t be here all the time but I’m trying.”

You grin at his words and move to scoot up to be face-to-face with him.

“Hey, lovely.”

“Hey, flowers.”

Your nickname for him since his eyes match so many yellow flowers. Depending on his mood, the tone changes.

He rolls his eyes and you can’t see it but know he did. You know him pretty well.

“Thank you,” you say barely above a whisper.

“Always.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you lean forward and lightly rub your nose against his with a small smile on your lips. He returns the nose rub in kind.

“Come ‘ere, pumpkin.” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you down then against him, so you can put your ear on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

“I’m not a pu’kin,” you mumble against him.

“Right, no gords. Check. What about puddin’?”

You sleepily giggle at ‘puddin’’, shaking your head.

“No desserts. Hmm.” He kisses your head and lays his cheek on your head.

“I like honey or, um, sweets.”

“Anything else?”

You press your lips together not wanting to tell him your favorite since you’re embarrassed. You shift up a little, putting your head on his shoulder.

“I can hear your thoughts, you know.”

“That’s cheatin’,” you mumble against his neck.

He grins and chuckles. He lays his cheek on yours. You can feel the smile on his lips as he says it into your ear. You hide a small shiver that runs down your spine, and then he says in your favorite language with a shiver you can’t cover up.

You bite your lower lip and place an awkward, small kiss below his ear as confirmation.

He chuckles, deeply. So much so that you can feel the vibrations in his chest. It’s comforting to hear and feel him talk.

“Are ya stayin’?”

“For as long as I can, Y/N.”

You hum your approval and move down slightly to cuddle against his chest again. “Your wings are soft”

Gabriel hums approvingly with a slight flutter from his wing.

#supernatural #archangel Gabriel x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #spn #wings #elle em bee #fluff schmoop #endearment

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jolenes-doppelganger · 1 year ago

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Bet with the Devil (NSFW)

Lucifer Morningstar (The Sandman) x fem!Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: Following Dream's narrow escape from Lucifer, chaos breaks lose in heaven. At least for the Archangels like yourself, the lowest ranking angels in heaven. With few options left, Michael appoints you to run an errand down to hell wherefore you are to deliver a message from God himself. What could go wrong? (Angels are all genderless according to official lore, both Lucifer and reader present with female anatomy).

Warnings: Sexual content (cunnilingus, fingering, the works), roughish, blood kink-adjacent sex

Word Count: 7.2k words (Oh my GOD I'm sorry).

It was a simple mission. That's what you'd been told. Michael was preoccupied, and to send such a small errand with Raphael, Aziraphale, or even Gabriel would be insulting. God had better uses for them. As a lowly Archangel, you were cut out for small errands. They weren't usually to Hell. Sure, you were protected, and had all the necessary authority to visit Hell without needing to call in, but still.

"Deliver a message to Lucifer Morningstar," Michael ordered. "It bears the official crucifix, if demons give you trouble, bare it and command them to obey in the name of the Almighty," he explained, glancing down, a bored expression on their face.

"Yes Michael, I understand," you sheepishly replied.

"One more thing, Y/N," Michael said, extending the scroll outward. "This is your first time interacting with the Prince of Lies, correct?"

You nodded, taking the scroll from Michael, tucking it inside your robes for safekeeping.

"In that case, always remember, Lucifer Morningstar was the best of us before the fall," Michael solemnly declared, "They are still the most beautiful and charismatic angel to exist. Listen not to their lies,"

"I understand, thank you Michael,"

They smiled in response, patting you on the back. As the gates of heaven open, multitudes of angels pour out, flying every which way. Michael gestures for you to follow them, and you both take to the air, flying away from the horde of angels sent down to Earth. Taking his mighty sword, Michael cuts a portal through empty space, motioning you forward. Clutching at the rosary around your wrist, you dive headfirst into the flaming pit below you.

<-*~~~~~~~~~~~~~*->

Your feet hit the stone floor with a jolt. Distant screams and wails fill the air, the acrid smell of sulfur causing you to wrinkle your nose. The devastation of Hell is truly complete, after all, the malevolence of the Almighty knows no bounds. A demon shrieks as you make your presence known, skittering around a corner before you can even make your visit known. Silence enters the chambers, and you slowly pace around the strange coliseum-like structure. Pits of fire surround you, dancing vengefully. Turning your eyes upward, you utter a short prayer to the Almighty, requesting strength. This is the only connection you have with him, he cannot see you here, only direct messages can be sent.

Giant columns bear the weight of this strange place, irreverent carvings dotting the surfaces randomly. It's grotesque, and feels incomplete in a way that irks you. Taking in every detail of your surroundings, you're slow to recognize the hulking figure mere steps from you.

"My, my," they whispered, "You must be... An angel," They smirk.

The most beautiful divinity you've laid eyes upon regards you with utter amusement, vibrant red robes glittering in the faint light. Golden-white curls decorate their head, and the serenest blue eyes you've ever seen flicker over your features with playful interest.

"Lucifer Morningstar," you gasped, flexing your wings in surprise. "I didn't think it would be this easy to reach you,"

This comment seemed to amuse them more, and they chuckled, gliding over to a basin of fire. You watch as they slowly reach in, fingers fluttering ever so slightly before scooping out a handful of vibrant vermillion and coral flames.

"Who else but me would greet a rogue angel?" they chuckle, watching the flames glide over their fingers.

"I assure you, I come on official business," you promised. "I act as a messenger on behalf of the Almighty,"

This peaks their interest, their wings flexing ever so slightly. Dropping the fire back into the basic, they take a few steps forward, large frame bearing over you ever so slightly.

"And what kind of irrelevant message could this be?" Lucifer sneered.

The situation was a bit comical. A lowly Archangel cast off on a mission to relay the ruler of Hell a lazy rebuke, Heaven's equivalent of a slap on the wrist. From Lucifer's point of view, this could only be seen as insulting.

"Morningstar, I apologize for the unintentional injury my presence has caused. Aziraphale, Raphael, Gabriel and Michael were all preoccupied," you assured.

Lucifer chuckled, gazing down at you with a patronizing smile.

"No, don't apologize. I am charmed that heaven has sent you to bear this urgent message,"

You're taken aback by Lucifer's charm. Their comments are meant to be insulting, yet they carry an elegance to them. Lucifer watches you intently, reveling in how small you seem beneath them. You're oh so timid and shy, a nameless Archangel sent on a meaningless mission. It's cute how accommodating you are, how nervous they make you.

Shaking your head, you flutter your wings, attempting to regain whatever miniscule leverage you have.

"It appears you've angered the Almighty with your exchange with the Endless. I have been sent here to remind you that there are certain rules regarding exchanges between them, and that under no circumstances are they to be taken as trophies,"

Lucifer groaned aloud. "Please, these are just rules. The Endless are divine powers, they come and go as they please, and make decisions as their free-will permits,"

"I assure you that these rules exist to ensure balance. You cannot do whatever you desire without consequences,"

Lucifer laughs at this, turning toward you with a look of utter disbelief on their face.

"Oh, sweet one, aren't you tired of all these rules," they purred, reaching forward to gently caress your wings.

Shuddering ever so slightly, you jerk away from their grasp. Your cheeks flushed, heat tingling from the edges of your feathers to your shoulders. Touching wings was a gesture made by only the closest companions, thus cheeky gestures such the Morningstar's were considered taboo. Sensitivity and honor played a role in this custom, the former more pertinent in high society. It seemed only necessary that the prince of demons would be so callous with gestures such as this, making your mission all the more difficult.

"Perhaps you've forgotten decorum between angels, but I certainly have not," you spat, flexing your wings with vicious intent.

"Oh, how easily you heavenly messengers are to anger," they insipidly grinned.

Turning their fingers ever so slightly, a robust gold ring flickered delicately in the dim light. Chasing your gaze upward, Lucifer regarded you with a bemused expression, silently begging you to take the bait. Your nostrils flared ever so slightly as you breathed in deeply, gently moving to take a rosary bead between your fingers. Lucifer glanced down at your wrist where you had woven the object on to your body, and you watched with unguarded glee as their features twisted into a macabre look of disgust.

"It is not my place to engage in such childish games with you, Lucifer Morningstar," you preened, "I simply bear a formal censure from the Almighty. You may choose to read it yourself, or I can read it for you,"

You reached inside your robes to remove the scroll, the threadbare cloth soft from years of use. Heaven had no need of trivial things such as luxury. Heaven was the highest honor, thus even the merest of rags would glorify God. It was this state of self-righteous thought led to the consequence of indifference. A rough grasp on your palm broke you from your thoughts as harsh winter winds break through the mildness of fall. Eyes so blue, so deep that they could be compared to the serenest of water bored into yours with such wrath that could only belong to God's most scorned child.

"Bear that spiteful scroll in my presence and I will send it back to God with your wings as postage!" Morningstar snarled.

"Unhand me, fiendish vermin!" you insulted, "In the name of Almighty God you will release me!"

"Oh you poor foolish child," they growled, "You are in my realm, he has no authority here, and neither do you!"

Both you and Lucifer fought for purchase, their grip on your wrist made dually claustrophobic by the vice grip they held on the crux between your neck and shoulder. Instinct instructed you to drop the scroll, to break free from their grasp and fly to heaven. Your message would be delivered, yes, and you would be safe. Tossing the scroll as far from you as possible, Lucifer was momentarily distracted, thus giving you a window by which to escape. Shrugging away their arms was the final step to freedom, feet sturdy on the ground and wings flared, you took a step, grinding the soles of your feet into the slippery ground, you slipped. The sandals upon your feet, threadbare and devoid of traction slipped upon the lip of stone, and you slipped.

Time grew slower, arms braced parallel to the floor, to catch the weight of your body and your hulking wings. Freedom was certainly lost now, injury closing upon your tail like a wolf pack upon a doe. Wind rustled through your robes, bare skin exposed to the air currents; a product of your scuffle with the devil. Your eyes closed as the ground grew closer, that was until two arms encircled your waist.

"Ahh!" you gasped.

Red velvet-encased arms held you close to Lucifer's chest, your wings pinned outward. You were relieved, yes. But this was the devil you were dealing with.

"My, my, clumsy and naïve," they tutted, breath tickling the shell of your ear, "What an unfortunately appetizing combination,"

Your heart raced in your chest, blood flushing your cheeks, dizziness and nausea weakening your already vulnerable state. Your robes sagged open, bearing clammy skin to the cold air, and to Lucifer's vulturous gaze.

"Out of one-liners?"

"Out of breath," you replied, reaching upward to close your robes.

"No, no, keep them like that," Morningstar whispered, swatting away your hands. "I like the view,"

An obscene amount of cleavage was exposed, an expanse of skin from your collarbones to your sternum barely covered by the thin layers of your clothing. Whether it was their probing stares or their flirtatious regard of your disenfranchised state was irrelevant, the rapid beating of your chest made known your nervous state all too well.

"Come, sit with me," they inclined, "I am capable of civility,"

It wasn't an invitation as their tone suggested, rather an introduction of their intended course. With as much grace as one could muster given the partnership of a flustered, clumsy and hopelessly confused angel, Lucifer pulled you away into a deeper corridor, away from the green marble pillars and strange pictures. No faces greeted you down this strange passageway, no sound reached you. It was eerie how empty this grand structure was.

"Stop will you," Lucifer groaned, holding you still upon a landing. "You are impossible to lead, I'd have greater success with a three-legged lamb,"

"It would help if I knew where I was going," you glowered.

They scoffed, disregarding your pleas. Obstinate and self-assured, this was the devil’s main flaw. But you had flaws too now you realized. Greed perhaps? No. Not yet at least, you had nothing that you simply could not get enough of, perhaps you were greedy for air? But I suppose if you needed it, like needed it every moment of every day, it would not be greed? Maybe you were selfish. But how could you be selfish? You did not want, aside from the wants granted from above. Perhaps you were too meek, although the Lord said that the kingdom of heaven would be theirs.

“Quite a lot of thoughts in that big head, I wouldn’t want you to get too focused and misplace your step,”

Shaking your head in annoyance, you disregard Lucifer’s warning. Your thoughts were your own. They should mind theirs.

“How can your thoughts be your own if everything is dictated to you,” Morningstar pressed.

“If you would mind your tongue,” you seethed.

“Oh alright then, if you’re so inclined to your thoughts allow me to stay in them,” Lucifer’s voice rippled through your head.

The jolt of their voice in your head did more than catch you off guard, you found your step slipping, flimsy sandals sliding over the damp steps. With little more than a sigh, the prince of free will reached around to grab you by your waist, once again suspending you mid air.

“What did I just say?” Lucifer mocked, overly dramatic as they pulled you up, lips pursed for dramatic effect.

“What the fuck are we talking for?” you growled.

“Oh?” Lucifer smirked.

“I have no time to talk, I was supposed to return to my post by now, and I don’t have room for your games. Make your point, seated or otherwise,”

Lucifer’s expression hardened, abruptly dragging you toward and open room. The room itself was a lounge, a precipice-like opening above the fires of hell. With a flick of their wrist all doors and windows clanged shut, sealing you in a room with the Morningstar.

“Be seated,” they sighed, gesturing to a point on a couch.

You hesitantly obeyed, sinking into the softest surface you’d ever touched. It felt sinfully good, you thought, smirking to yourself. Maybe relaying messages to Morningstar didn’t need to feel so heavy.

“That’s right, relax yourself,” they purred, looking down at you bemused.

“Well, what did you want to talk about?” you half-heartedly pressed.

“I didn’t come here to talk, did you?” Lucifer crooned.

“Well, how else would you convince me to abandon my heavenly post and join your ghastly forces?”

Lucifer rolled their eyes. Inching over you ever slowly until at last, at long last, you could see just how deep those blue eyes were. All the rage, all the anger one could ever imagine welled up in those deep hues of blue and grey, irises dilating until all light from their eyes seemed to fade. How could their gaze be so hateful, were you that vile?

“Yes,” they sneered, lunging toward you viscerally.

The force they used to grasp at you sent the couch hurtling backward, leaving your skull to collide with the stone ground. Pain bloomed in the back of your head, and you gasped in agony. Pain met pain as Lucifer, commander of the legions of hell, sunk their teeth into the crook of your neck.

“Oh God,” you gasped.

“He’s not here,” they glared, lips lightly glistening with your blood.

“Why are you doing this?” you gasped.

“Because I know you, I’ve been in your head, I know how you lose yourself in my eyes, and I know just how flustered you’ll get when I do this,” they snarled, their fingers burying themselves into the flesh of your trapezius, knotted from the constant strain of your wings upon the muscles.

“Please!” you moaned, wings twitching uncontrollably. “I thought you were going to convince me to be here, this doesn’t feel-“

A long stripe up your neck silenced all that was left of your plea. It felt cool, luxurious and soothing. Fingers ran up your neck, burying into your hair, gently massaging the place where you’d hit your head. Pain bloomed into pleasure, and the rage-filled gaze of your captor turned bemusedly wanting.

“The head injury is atonement for the head ache your sudden appearance has given me,” they smirked, “The abuse of your back for the knife heaven has sent you to stab in mine, and the bite,” they chuckled, “Well the bite is just for fun,”

Morningstar glowed above you, light from the ornate chandelier creating a halo of soft light around their angelic features. They really were the most beautiful angel ever created.

“Yes little angel, look all you want,”

Gently, ever so languidly, Lucifer moved your robes to the side, baring your breasts to the chill of the room. Their gaze glides over the peaks and valleys of your form, smiling in delight as you blush.

“Tempting, so tempting,” they whisper, dragging a finger down your sternum.

Your breathing grows ragged, a desire you’ve never felt blooming in your lower abdomen. Instinct calls, and you flex your thighs, shifting your position, trying to find release from the uncomfortable clenching in your cunt.

“Poor little angel,” Lucifer drawls, running fingers through your tangled hair. “How desperately you want,”

It’s meant to be condescending, this statement. It’s not your fault, you think. Your innocence, the lack of experience, it’s not your burden to bear. If you’d been given the opportunity, if you’d ever had the chance to engage in, to learn this strange dance of limbs and ragged, animalistic desire, well, you would have.

Lucifer rolls their eyes at your inner monologue. It’s rather cute, how you justify your naïveté. But it’s boring, a waste of thought. Thought is the killer of want, to think long enough is to ruin any chance of acting instinctually, to chain the animalistic mind, ruining any chance of sin. Lucifer doesn’t much care for the act of sex, it’s carnal, sometimes entertaining, but this, getting an angel to sin? Oh my. What a lovely thought.

“Stop thinking little angel, stop worrying,” they whisper, pressing the softest of kisses on your ear. “The body knows, the mind doubts,”

Their words, the breath on your ear, it’s all too stimulating. You reach around their shoulders, pulling yourself into the warmth of their body. Your head aches from the trauma of the stone, and little prickles of pain bloom in your neck. You want comfort now, you want patient pleasure.

“Good,” Lucifer croons, pulling you upward, carrying you like a child.

They smell spicy, like a blend of pepper and cardamom, maybe even frankincense. Their robes stink of sulfur, but their skin smells of incense, perfumed oils and smoke. You pull away the awful smelling robes from their neck, burying your nose in the smell of their skin. Never before have you wished for fresh air, for the rustle of wind on your wings, the cool of a mountain breeze.

Yes. A voice whispers. This is what you must cling to, this is what you must remember.

Lucifer hisses, a sharp rebuttal, laced with mirth. You’re thrown, landing on a bed of satin and silk, but the sudden motion causes you to shriek, and you land at an odd angle, your wing’s twisting painfully. If Morningstar had been furious before, they were murderous now.

“I told you,” they shout, “Not to think!”

You shuffle away from them, backing yourself into the headboard, away from the rage of the demon in front of you.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean to?” Lucifer mocks. “I don’t care what you meant to do, you will not think, you will not ponder, you will only feel,”

Lucifer smiles down at you, canines bared in a saccharine smile. They flare their wings, dark onyx against the flickering red and yellow light. The anger, the flat out hatred, it’s gone. Golden curls illuminated by candlelight, soft pale skin defined by shadow, silky robes in luxurious tones, it’s all sensuality and elegance.

“Beautiful, sweet angel,” they lull, “Come here,”

Soft fingertips trace over your lips, your chin, your cheek. Gentleness and warmth dips into the contours of your skin. Comforting, merciful touches. The likes of which you have never felt.

“Yes, that’s right,” Lucifer praises, “Just feel,”

Their hands slide lower, running over your shoulders, your collarbones, the raw skin where they bit you. They grow closer, breath tickling the tiny hairs on your face. Lucifer’s lips wet with spit, eyes dilated in the low light. You desperately want to run your hands through their hair, to muss up their curls, ruin the delicate spirals. Their lips on your neck, on your cheeks, on your own.

I want, I want, I want, I want.

"Yes, good little angel," they whisper, "What pretty little feelings those are,"

"Can I?" you whisper. "Can I have these things?"

"Yes, yes you may," Lucifer smirks.

Wrapping yourself in their embrace, your robes sliding down your shoulders, baring your chest to them, your stomach, the top of your mons pubis, all of these things lay bare, vulnerability in it's most simple form.

"Beautiful, uncorrupted angel," Lucifer groans, "Bare yourself onto me, let me see you as the Father has made you,"

They pull your robe down, fully baring you to the candlelight. You shiver, the air here is stagnant, but devoid of heat. It's that of a cave, murky and claustrophobic. You're desperate for air, you feel like you might faint, you feel dizzy, like you might faint, like you might-

"-Shh, feel me, don't feel fear," they direct, pulling your naked form into their skin, toward the smell of incense and perfumed lotion.

You inhale, pulling down the red silk that smells of misery and rotten things, down off their shoulders, down their arms, down to sit on the bed, down onto the floor. I want, I want, I want.

"Yes," they smirk, "Want," they echo.

A burning ache fills your lower abdomen, an uncomfortable pulsing that only seems to worsen to pulse and clench, and you ache to be rid of it. Lucifer smiles, a knowing, pitying smile. Their skin glows in the dim room, and you try not to blush at the sight of their bare skin. You fail, and your embarrassment becomes funny to them.

“Sweet little baby, so young, so naive, how desperately would you like to be with me?” Lucifer preens, your lips inches apart.

“I-,” you stutter, almost ready to commit to them, to sin against God, to deny your creator, but then you want. Not for their touch, but for the sun on your face, and you shut your eyes tightly, breath growing heavy.

I can’t lose this bet, I can’t want too much. I can’t lose, can’t lose, can’t lose.

“Shh,” they whisper, gently pressing their lips against yours.

Fire blooms in your abdomen, hot aching fire, and it burns and flares and pulses at a rate that feels sinful. Their lips mound against yours, and you bury your hands in their curls, feeling the soft hairs between your fingers. Lucifer gasps in your mouth, letting out a low groan, smirking between passionate kisses.

Their hands snake down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You continue to kiss them, to inhale the soft gasps as you tease them with your caresses. Lucifer continues to lightly hum into your mouth, running their hands up and down your body, pinching slightly, running their short nails up and down your back.

“Please,” you whisper, “You must try harder than that,”

A low chuckle bounces off the walls, and you look into their eyes once more, to find them filled with mirth.

“I’m not trying,” they smirk.

Lucifer’s hands swiftly move from your lower back to your butt, firmly grasping the soft flesh. They pull you up and toward them, pulling you into them, breasts pressed up against theirs. You can feel the soft pebbles of their nipples rubbing against yours, the softness of their stomach, the hairs of their pubis tickling your thighs. But most importantly, they can feel you, the heat that comes off your skin, the softness of your thighs, the slight sweat that coats your body.

Morningstar presses a few kisses to your neck and shoulders, one hand tracing back up to your upper back, the other still massaging and pulling the flesh of your buttocks and inner thigh. It’s odd how close they feel. Their breath seems to come on all sides of you, the pull of their chest, the softness of their gentle hums of approval in their ear, it all contradicts the needy grip they have on your body, the way they pinch, and pull and suck.

Lucifer had moved to kiss and abuse the flesh of your shoulder, running their tongue up the soft welts left by their earlier bites. A hand continues to sneak up your back, and you gasp softly as it caresses the soft span of your wings. Their touch is featherlight at first, gently rubbing and feeling the tips of your wings.

“So soft,” they whisper. “Oh?” they smirk, an eyebrow quirking.

You feel then finger a particularly sore feather, encased in keratin, you’d had trouble removing the casing and you’d given up.

“I can help with that,”

Lucifer gently pinches away the casing, gently smoothing the feather. It feels heavenly, the itching sensation finally falling away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, letting your head fall onto their shoulder.

“Anything for you, little angel,” they smirk.

“Let me return the favor,” you ask, gently rubbing the crook of their wings.

Lucifer lets out a loud gasp, groaning at the gentle sensation of your hands on their wings. They hang their head, leaning backward, exposing their breasts. You continue to massage the sensitive muscles of their wings, sore from the sheer mass of skin and bone. The sight of their nipples is arousing, how they peak and stand fully erect.

“May I?” you ask.

“Please,” they groan, twitching and grinding their pelvis into the expanse of your lower stomach.

The approval is all you need, and you begin to slowly kiss a path up their sternum, pressing light kisses to the underside of their breasts. Lucifer shifts their hips, attempting to grind themselves against the soft expanse of your thighs. They grunt and groan softly, digging their fingers into the soft flesh of your shoulders, causing you to gasp and wince.

“More,” they beg, “Give me more,”

Their cunt makes contact with your thigh, silky wetness sliding against your thigh. They gasp and moan, pulling your face closer toward their nipple. Taking the cue, you gently kiss up from the bottom of their breast, open-mouthed, finally circling their sensitive nipples with your wet tongue.

“Please,” they drawl, grinding themselves against your thigh.

Experimentally clenching your thigh, you watch as Lucifer continues to quiver and twitch, their wings fluttering erratically. The continuous massaging of their wings seems to bring them closer to agony, but regardless of your fear that you are hurting them, they continue to grind and gasp and plead for your clenched thigh, your exploration of their wings, the assault of your mouth on the chest.

“Oh little angel,” they sigh, leaning into your continued ministrations of your mouth, the way you circle their nipple. “You are too sweet, hurt me a little,”

You look up at them in shock. Hurt them? Wasn’t that the opposite of what they wanted.

“Bite me a little, pinch me, be greedy,” they smirk.

The dance of limbs begins once more, but you’re cautious. Lucifer gently croons above you, looking at you with curiosity.

“Just try it, please little angel, just try,” they whisper, pushing your mouth into their breast insistently.

Lucifer gently pushes themselves into you, and you clench your thigh, gasping in surprise when they twitch and moan in response.

“Good, good little angel,” they praise, running their hands up and down your back, kissing the top for your head between the motions of their hips.

Their reaction emboldens you, probes curiously at the clenching sensation in your cunt, making it worse. The small twitches of their wings grow softer, as if they’re becoming accustomed to the light touches. Gently, ever so gently, you apply more pressure to the crux of their wings, rubbing the tips of your nails against the soft leathery flesh of their wings. Morningstar gasps in shock, grinding against your thigh with increased desperation.

“Yes, yes, more,” they gasp.

The caresses of your nails turn to intense grasping, pinching lightly at the skin, squeezing the joints of cartilage and skin. Lucifer rolls their head, emphatically moaning and sighing. Their skin is flush with sweat, pink and covered in goose flesh. They let their head hang, using your body for support, intermittently gasping and groaning. Morningstar’s hair is a tangled mess of blonde frizz, the perfect curls that halo their head are soaked with sweat, the product of your unnatural coupling.

"More," they growl, shoving your face into their breast.

Perhaps they want you to go faster? The gentle caresses of your tongue turn into soft suckles, and to your surprise Lucifer exerts more pressure on your scalp. You cry out in pain, trying to pull away from the pinpricking sensation of their tugs on your scalp. It hurts, it stings, and you try to twist away, making it worse.

"Just bite me, for God's sake," they mock.

You dig your fingernails into the skin of their back, clenching your thighs in pain. They groan and gasp, taking shaky breaths. Clenching your jaw ever so slightly, you take the tip of their nipple in your mouth, gentle running your teeth over it.

"Ohhh," they groan, writhing and whimpering in your grasp.

The sensations seem to be painful, and you would stop, if not for the hunger that boils in your lower abdomen, that clenching sensation that flares up every time they make a certain low hum in their throat, when they twitch just right, when their knee barely brushes the tender area of your inner thigh. Lucifer looks glorious above you, and the more you rock into their motions, the slower and more intense the grasps on their leathery wings, the harder you bite and suck at their breasts, oh, how beautiful they look.

"Oh, angel, sweet perfect angel," they keen, erratically thrusting themselves into you, into your mouth and the motions of your hands. "You've done a wonderful, a perfect- Oh!"

Lucifer's compliments are cut off by a strange surge of shaking, gasping and moaning, and you watch wide-eyed as they throw their head back, wailing at the ceiling in agony-filled bliss. Eventually the subtle rocking motion of their hips still, and they go limp in your arms. The great Lucifer Morningstar, God's most perfect angel, limp in your arms, panting heavily, slick with sweat, and, other things.

"Did that hurt?" you whisper, confused by the whole ordeal.

"In only the best ways," Morningstar replies, looking down at you with a mischievous twinkle in their eyes. "Would you like to experience it?"

Lucifer seems genuine, caressing your face softly, and for a moment you feel wanted. You'd never been allowed to want, or to be wanted by someone else. As a vessel of God, of the Holy Trinity, it was your duty to serve, to never be served, but in this moment, you could be wanted, you could experience the feeling of being desired so explicitly. Would it be worth giving your soul up?

"It is," Lucifer smiles. "It is worth that and much more,"

There isn't a hint of treachery in their eyes, just the usual twinkle of mirth. Perhaps you want to believe them, perhaps that's why you kiss them so desperately.

Lucifer tastes like red wine and brimstone; it's like licking wine off of a stone wall. You like it, that much is clear. They just indulge you, messily biting and licking your lips, your tongue, running theirs on your teeth. Making out has never been clean, at least not when you're this desperate, this wanting.

"Pretty angel, so pretty," they croon, running their hands up and down your back.

"It won't hurt, you promise?" you ask, a little shaken by the ordeal Lucifer themself had experienced.

They chuckle, a soft, pitying chuckle, as if you've missed something clearly critical to the entire deal.

"It must hurt, otherwise it is simply no fun," they giggle, gently bringing you in for another kiss.

Their hands slide over your body, running over the ridges of your spine, the soft curves of your stomach, your thighs. Hunger pools in your body, and you cling desperately to them, seeking release from this terrible want that continues to build inside of you.

"You poor, suffering creature," they smirk. "Do you want me to make it better?"

"Yes, please," you gasp, barely thinking about your answer.

Lucifer laughs wickedly, pushing your shoulders into the bed, leaning over you with barely concealed lust. Their eyes seem to burn with animalistic hunger, and you wonder if it hurts to want that much. Lucifer doesn't respond to this thought, rather out of character to their previous actions. The stream of thoughts is quickly driven out of your mind when they press a series of hungry kisses to your neck, suckling and biting with merciless intensity.

"You taste like virtue," they groan. "It's so refreshing, I wish I could bottle it," they confess between kisses.

Their hot breath on your neck feels like fire on top of a violent sunburn, it just builds in intensity with prolonged exposure. Morningstar grasps your hips, squeezing and massaging the tender flesh, as if toying with clay. It's near painful, it'll leave bruises, that much is certain.

"I'm supposed to like this?" you wonder aloud.

"Not necessarily, but you'll like this,"

Lucifer drops their mouth to your breast, licking and suckling slowly at a nipple, and you watch as they take the soft bud in between their lips, making direct eye contact with you as they do so. The sensation of their mouth on your breast feels like agony, and you clench and squirm underneath their grip, the teasing pulses of that odd place intensifying astronomically. It causes you to gasp and groan erratically, as if experiencing some kind of forbidden torment, the worst kind. Lucifer moans in response to a particularly vocal keen, rewarding you with a soft bite to your nipple. The sensation is overwhelming, you jerk your hips upward, seeking relief from the hotness that extends from your cunt.

Lucifer firmly pins your hips down, humming softly as you continue to wriggle and gasp underneath them. Regardless of how desperately you desire them, how awfully the sensation burns, Lucifer does not quicken their pace, riling you up further, as if to prove how awful this sensation of wanting can be. Regardless of your silent and occasionally verbal pleas, the lord of evil continues to smirk as they toy with your breasts, biting lightly at the underside, as if to say "Mine", and in a way, they are claiming you.

"That feels, good," you admit, running your hands through Lucifer's messy golden hair. You hope it's what they want to hear, what will convince them to hurry the process.

They hum in response dropping a few kisses in between your sternum. Their movements are slower now, methodical. They follow the slope of your stomach, gingerly kissing the soft indents of your ribs, the softness of your stomach, reveling in the pureness of your form. It's not enough, and the pulsing sensation that grows in your cunt feels terribly strong now, and you whimper wantonly as their mouth grows closer.

"Oh, so needy," they sneer. "How lovely,"

Lucifer gently pries your thighs opening, groaning lightly at the sight of your wet cunt, the proof of their persuasiveness. It's odd how they look at it, you don't see anything particularly intriguing with the unused organ, rather all of your torment seems to be linked to the spot, and you desperately wish it to end. Morningstar gently leans towards the mound of flesh and hair, blowing lightly, directly on your clit. The sensation is torturous, and you twitch and shake despairingly at the awfulness of the assault. They laugh in response, keeping your thighs spread, letting your most intimate areas remain open for the world to see.

"Please, please, I need it," you beg, unsure of what you desire so desperately.

"You do? How unfortunate," they drawl, blowing cool air on that sensitive bud once more.

You arch your back, digging your hands into the sheets. A hand comes from your hips to your stomach, shoving you back into the bed. The point is clear: Stay put.

Hands gently squeeze and caress your thighs and ass, a hot mouth suckling and biting at your inner thighs. You glance down to see the golden haired deity paying homage to the cradle of your sex, smirking in a most peculiar way as they get closer and closer to where you so desperately need them.

“If I gave in right away, it wouldn’t be as good,” Lucifer explains. “The more I rile you up, the better this will all be,”

Their explanation is perfectly efficient, but you find no comfort in you. The closer their mouth gets to your core, the closer their hot tongue inches toward that aching, needy place between your thighs, the worse it gets for you.

“Please,” you beg uselessly. “I want to feel what it’s like,”

Morningstar hums in response, rolling their eyes at you. By now their command is clear, you will be patient and you will be complicit to their pace. When their mouth finally rests atop your mind pubis, a trickle of wetness has run a path down from your opening to the lowest crevices of your genitals, and you feel your cunt pulse erratically.

“What a pretty little sight,” Lucifer sighs contentedly.

Making sinful eye-contact with you, they extend their tongue, running a strip up from your entrance to your clitoris, and the feeling is so hot, so consuming that you shriek in relief. Lucifer continues this motion a few more times, each stroke slower than the first.

“Please, please,” you beg, “I want it,”

“You want what?” they croon.

To put it into words feels too lecherous, and you plead with them through your eyes, imploring them to understand your desperation.

“I don’t know what you want until you tell me,” they smirk, playing dumb.

Taking a few shaky breaths, you open your mouth, visualizing the actions you wish them to take.

“I want your tongue,” you whisper.

“Where? How? In what ways?” Lucifer murmurs, resting their head on your thigh, toying with the tiny hairs there.

“I want it on my, my clitoris,” you blush, “I want it in a steady rhythm, but other than that I don’t know what will….” you trail off.

In truth you don’t know what will feel good, you haven’t experimented, not even a little bit.

“Oh little angel,” they purr, “If you want me to just take the lead all you had to do was ask,” they sigh, returning their mouth to your clit.

The pace they set is torturous, tongue drawing acutely decisive patterns over the tiny nub, causing all kinds of pleasurable sensations to erupt from your body. You feel a continuous clenching and releasing sensation in your lower abdomen, in your core, and it continues to build and broil, sustained by the soft hums and groans of Lucifer’s mouth into your clit.

“Oh my God,” you wail, the prayer decidedly unheard in this domain.

Lucifer detaches themselves from their clit, biting your inner thigh forcefully. The shock of the sudden movement causes you to squeal in pain, and you try to twist away from their movements.

“Never, ever, speak his name here,” Lucifer rasps, “You will only praise me, you will only beg me,”

Two fingers enter you forcefully, tearing the soft tissue of your hymen, effectively severing your virginal state. The action delivers two kinds of pain. The first is a searing agony that bleeds through your labia, hot and throbbing. The other torture stems in your soul, a certain blackness marring your sinless state.

“No!” you cry out.

You would be changed now, forever marked by the devil. It would not be noticed, not be detected by the other angels, but the Almighty? He would know.

The circumstances of your changed state and the pressing weight of pending damnation weigh on you, nearly swallowing you in fear and pain, but that pain is erased when a pair of hot, wet lips descend on your core.

The feeling is blissful in comparison to the sting of your labia, and you quickly descend into the feeling of pleasure once more, but a stone weighs on your chest, and in between your gasps and moans, a few tears fall from your cheeks.

“There, there,” Lucifer soothes between their movements, “It won’t be so bad, I promise you’ll like this,”

The two fingers that lie in your entrance slowly pump in and out, and the sensation stings and burns a little in contrast to the raging coil that contracts and releases in your lower abdomen. In between strokes, Lucifer gently croons and hums into your clit, freehand drawing circles on your hip.

Their fingers hit a particularly sweet spot in your core, and you buck into their face, gasping and groaning as that coil unexpectedly tightens, pulsing and growing like waves of an incoming tide. Between your fevered breaths and moans of bittersweet pleasure, Lucifer continues to burn holes into your body with their gaze, forcing you to acknowledge them and what they are doing to you.

“Lucifer,” you gasp, “This feels so good,”

They smirk into you, curving their fingers in and out of you in a strange fashion that pulls you closer to heaven; the heaven of the flesh. The coil in your abdomen, the tower of arousal and bliss topples over, and you feel waves of bliss hit you as you climax.

“Good angel, good job,” Lucifer preens, holding you in their arms as you descend from your high.

Their touch is almost comforting, the soft kisses on your collarbones and neck are almost affectionate.

“That wasn’t a fair bet,” you whimper, beginning to cry. “You took my virginity, I’m blemished in the eyes of the Lord,”

“No, no, no,” Lucifer chuckles. “You asked me to, you asked me to take control,”

You blink in confusion, running back the few exchanged words in the moments leading up to the tearing of your hymen, the penetration.

“I said I wanted your tongue, I didn’t say-”

“-You didn’t tell me no, you silence following my assertion to take the lead was your answer, and that answer was yes,” Lucifer wearily sighs.

It dawns on you, you’ve been damned, and as soon as you return to the Almighty it will become official. You are an angel only in title.

“I should have never come here,” you lament uselessly.

“Oh don’t play victim, you were following orders, and by disobeying then you would have been damned,” Lucifer wearily explains, rolling over to lay you in their chest.

You’re worthless now, you have no value, no prospects, absolutely nothing to look forward to. You’ll be doomed to walk the earth until you are summoned by God, and at that point you will be officially cast out from heaven, forced back into the arms of the person who had managed to woo you into defiance of the lord.

“I hate you,” you gasp.

Lucifer pauses, momentarily taken aback by the statement.

“Wrath?” they chuckle, “So soon too, oh my,” they sigh, toying with the rapidly darkening feathers of your wings.

“You are the second prettiest angel I’ve laid eyes upon,” they muse.

When you look up at them again, you don’t see a lie in their face, rather a simple contemplation of your positioning. Their face is soft and silky, skin smoother than that of a baby. Their lips are pursed in thought, begging to be kissed. You’re done asking for things from the devil, so when you kiss them, it’s not Lucifer who tastes of sin; it’s you.

A/N: Six weeks, a trip across an ocean to Uni and a dehabilitating sinus infection later…… I’m free to write my other fics!!!!!!

Tagging: @hecatescrystaldagger @the-fuck-do-i-know

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar sandman x reader #lucifer morningstar sandman smut #lucifer morningstar sandman #gwendolyn christie #gwendolyn christie x reader #smut #lesbian

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libraryraccoon · 9 months ago

Note

Ok I request Azrael x archangel gn reader please (romantic pls)

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Message from Raccoon : it's honestly a little hard to write for Azrael because we know nothing of him-

You and Azrael have known each other for a long time, before the Earth was created.

You had to watch over Heaven and make sure everything was okay. Azrael often accompanied you in your task because he wanted an excuse to escape the paperwork.

He often tells you what some souls did when they were alive and how they died, like this demon killed by a hunter and dogs because they thought it was a deer.

You got closer, and what was supposed to happen happened.

You start to date him.

Now that was fun.

Do you know what the “50 questions to see if we approve you for dating our brother” archangels/family of Big G version is ?

No because you felt like you were being questioned for a serious crime and not dating their brother.

3 hours.

All right ? 3 hours of suffering an interrogation for a crime that wasn't a crime. In the end, they accepted you, apparently it went pretty quickly because you knew them..

You don't even want to know how long it would have lasted if you didn't know them before dating Azrael.

You and Azrael flying together is canon.

You fly at least once a week, and when you don't people think there's a problem.

Literally you and Azrael might just don't want to fly the week, but people will think you've broken up.

There are always angels to come and find out why you don't fly together, even after you tell them to stop.

Although it also helps a lot, in the sense that when you argue there are always angels to help you resolve the problem.

Personal/private life who ?

You know how Viv sold us Lillith x Lucifer ? Not what it's like on the show, but how she sold it, the loving couple everyone wants ? Yeah. It's you and Azrael.

Azrael always plays jokes on you, and you play jokes on him in return.

I can just see you starting a never ending prank war, you creating new jokes so it never ends.

You created most of humanity's jokes, Big G once asked how you had so much imagination for this sort of thing.

Hugs. So there, three possibilities :

If you are shorter than him then you are the little spoon,

Or you are the same size and always change from small spoon to big spoon depending on your mood,

Or you're taller and he's the little spoon.

The one who makes the big spoon must always put their wings around the other.

Whenever one of you is sad, the other always puts their wings around the one who is sad, because it's just comforting and brings a kind of sense of security.

Gabriel is your number 1 shipper. You can't tell me otherwise, he was literally the one who managed to bring you together in the first place.

Lucifer wondered how his brother managed to find someone, especially since Azrael had never seemed interested in love before.

Michael threatened to kill you if you ever hurt his brother... you didn't feel like it was a threat but more of a warning.

You’re glad he never heard about your little arguments.

Despite your little arguments which are rare, you and Azrael are THAT couple that everyone wants.

I just know that some angels come to ask you how you manage to have such a perfect/good couple.

I can see Azrael being sarcastic, so if you are too, know that you are the threat couple from Heaven.

(Second) Message from Raccoon : Writing for a character that we haven't see/know anything about them is so hard ?? I never suspect it to be that hard tbh.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x gn reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #azrael #azrael hazbin hotel #azrael x reader #azrael x gn reader #azrael x male reader

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reds-ultrakill-brainrot · 2 years ago

Text

A Good Night’s Rest

sleeping headcannons (included characters; V1, Gabriel, Minos Prime)

x reader content (heavily leaning romantic, though still aromantic friendly)

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Gabriel - a light sleeper, he tends to take a long time to get to sleep as he often has a lot on his mind. He would hesitate to share such thoughts lest he burden you with his problems, but he greatly appreciates any chance he would get to talk about it before going to sleep - his favourite sleeping position is the sweetheart cradle, keeping you close to his side. He doesn't have much left besides you and it helps quiet his worries having you nestled up to him - rarely wakes once he gets to sleep, though will stir if you leave the bed. he doesn't mind if you have problems sleeping or if you need to get up during the night, he's always there if you need his help - isn't one to nap often, but will lay with you if you want to use him as a pillow

V1 - they don’t particularly have the ability to sleep but they can go into a sort of idle mode, this allowing them to only keep core systems running. this however doesn't put their mind to sleep, so they often use that time to rewatch their favourite memories, most involving you - they are fairly cold to the touch if they haven’t fought recently, so you may find cuddling them a little uncomfortable, but this is easily remedied with more blankets - their favourite sleeping position is being the big spoon, there aren’t many positions you can sleep together due to their wings but they do appreciate keeping you in their arms, they know they can keep you safe this way - as previously mentioned they do not need to sleep, and as such aren't bothered by you being a restless sleeper or needing to get up, they will most likely 'wake' to see what you are oding - v1 is a very active machine and doesn't really understand naps, but is happy to keep themself quiet if you want to nap nearby

Minos - very much appreciates rest, he finds spending such time together intimate and would gladly lounge away most days - due to his size it’s most likely you will end up either laying on top of him or being cuddled, he would rather avoid the potential of crushing you in his sleep - his favourite sleeping position is front to front, he could spend forever admiring you, and waking up to your face is a sight he will never grow tired of - will playfully tease you if you leave the bed, trying to persuade you to come back to bed or comment on how you interrupted his beauty sleep. he isn't bothered by your activity, but he finds himself missing your warmth - minos is a big appreciator of naps and is more than happy to be used as a cushin. on more than one occasion he has found himself with a novel in hand and you curled up on his lap

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i am blown away by the response ive had and am so excited people have enjoyed my writing. i have a minos prime headcanon post in the works but i will be posting my requests guidelines first, so stay tuned

#ultrakill x reader #v1 ultrakill x reader #gabriel ultrakill x reader #minos prime x reader #ultrakill

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do-not-lick-the-walls · 11 months ago

Text

a devil put aside | chapter one - when it all goes to hell

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif from this lovely set by wearecrowley)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: six thousand years after the war, you crash-land in hell's accounting department. someone unexpected comes to your rescue.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader in later chapters, no use of y/n)

warnings: graphic depictions of injury, near-death experience, themes/ideas of death & dying, religious themes & trauma, strong language, vaguely sexual undertones to some of this lol

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Your wings drag useless through the air as you plummet down, down, down like a falling star. All the eyes inside of you have gone dark; you're seeing only through your corporal ones, staring between your smoking feathers at the mass of sky that heaven dissapeared into. You're both weightless and heavy at once; the drop lifts behind your hips, pushes on your shoulders, tugs at your fractured wingbones. It's a long way down, and you're going down backwards.

As you fall, you realize that you've never really been afraid before. Not like this. You've never had the cause to be. Even back in the war, fear couldn't take you, for you had trust that She would shield you. And you were powerful, beautiful, six-winged and twelve-eyed in your true state of being, bright enough to blind, holy and free and clairvoyant.

And now you've lost it all.

This isn't anybody's fault but your own. Michael may have been the one to break your wings, and Gabriel may have thrown you over the edge, but it was you who lit this match and set yourself on fire. You and your pride.

As the sky goes dark and the air grows hot, there's nothing left to do but wait for impact.

It's not an easy landing.

You crash hard through what must be the roof of hell, then hit the ground a second after. You go tumbling, knocking into and through unidentified obstacles with enough momentum to push them over or send them flying. The unmistakable sound of scattering printer paper takes over as you bowl straight through what feels like a stack of it, before bouncing against something metal and being thrown off-course, only to hit something else and shoot off in another direction.

Eventually, you roll to a stop, banged-up and unable to tell right from left or wrong.

A sob chokes from your throat. Whether it's born of relief, or grief, or pain, you don't know. Your brain spins inside your head, and something---no, many somethings---are shouting, hissing, chattering. Wherever you've landed, you're not alone.

You lie wrecked in a pile of fiberglass, copy paper and sin, bathed in dingy florescent light and the remaining embers on your mangled wings. An oppressive green tint hangs over the world. Filing cabinets lay toppled like Babel, and the hole you smashed in the ceiling stares down in judgement.

With a struggle, you pull yourself into sitting up. Even through the blur, you can tell the room is trashed, and get the impression it was so even before you made an entrance. Paper stacks cover half the floor, water damage crawls along the walls, the air reeks of sulfur and oil and cigarettes. Despite never having eaten, you feel the urge to retch.

You tried to prepare yourself on the way down. You tried to come to an acceptance. But now that you're looking at what you'll become, every peace you've made with this situation goes up in flames.

You're surrounded. By uncanny, fucked-up mirrors of the ethereal, as if somebody cut out an angel and they crawled in to fill the empty space left behind. Animalistic traits wind through some of their bodies---horns, tails, claws. One hisses at you with a long, forked tongue, another bares several rows of jagged teeth. They're speaking, but whatever they're saying, you can't hear it over the ringing in your ears---when did your ears start ringing?---and the tangle of voices and growls and snarls all fighting to be the loudest.

Desperate for space, you scramble backwards, ignoring how a white-hot jolt goes shooting down your wings as they drag awkwardly across the concrete. The demons are starting to crowd around you fully now, melting from individuals into more of a living mass that edges you back while it closes in. Then you're up against the wall, and there's nowhere else to go. Something wet runs down your face. You can't breathe---since when do you even need to breathe?---and there's nowhere to go, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. This is how you die, and it is your fault. Your fault, your fault. You squeeze shut the eyes you have left, curl inward, and brace.

"STOOOOOOOOOP."

It stops.

Everything goes quiet. The room holds its breath as you let yours out. For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged sighs, and your heart---you don't normally have a heart either, why do you have a heart?---thumping in your ears. After a few seconds, you risk looking. Everyone's turned in the direction of the voice.

"What is the meaning of all this noizzze?"

The demons shuffle, mumble, and avoid eye contact in an obvious attempt to dodge the speaker's wrath. In another world, it might've been funny. You suddenly remember yourself and a few other angels doing something very similar once, Before the Beginning, when Gabriel caught you playing with stars instead of working.

Then the sea parts, and leaves you before your rescuer. Your eyes land first upon their shoes, then scan upward over the rest of them. They're dressed better than the others: sharp lapels adorned with pins, ribbons at their throat, red sash hanging like a warning sign across their chest. Everything about them radiates command. Authority. They are unmistakably in charge.

You know who this is.

Half of you knows to shrink away. The other half wants to reach out and touch.

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, Prince of Hell, and Grand Duke Below fixes their gaze upon you. There is nothing left to protect you. Not your wings, not your miracles, not your mind. On desperate instinct, you start to pray, then realize it's futile. God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could. You are alone in the belly of this whale.

"Oh."

Beelzebub moves in a manner unlike the other demons. Less hurried. Their gait is smooth, deliberate as they cross the space between you, free of any unpredictable motions and with an unsettling kind of calm. They crouch to your level in that same careful way, and your eyes meet theirs through the hair that's fallen over your face. A gentle buzz fills your ears.

"Well, what have we got here?" They muse, cocking their head to the side. "C'mon, love. Talk to me."

Their voice contains the same authority as before, but it's softened around the edges, taken on a tone that's not unkind.

This is a trap.

The crowd is starting to push in again. There's a curiosity about them, a hunger, like they can't wait to rip out your throat and see what's inside. You can practically feel their mouths watering.

Beelzebub registers this as well, and must not like it any more than you do, because they whip back over their shoulder, and shout "Everyone, back up! Yes, ALL of you lot! Go on, BACK."

This is met with obedience from the lesser demons, and, although the yelling makes you flinch, you're grateful for it. If you're to be torn to shreds by the Prince of Hell, at least you'll have some breathing room while it happens.

Beelzebub reaches out a hand, wrapped in a netted glove that ends before the knuckles. Up close, it's construction is almost like that of spiderwebs. Long fingers lead to nails unexpectedly well-kept, unlike your own bitten-down ones. And, odd enough, their skin looks soft. Then you realize that this is probably not the time to notice things about their hand, considering it's about to clamp around your neck and squeeze the life from you.

It doesn't.

No suddenly-appearing claws wrap around your throat. Or gouge out your remaining eyes, or dig into your throbbing wings. They don't rip you apart.

They brush the hair away from your face.

"Let me see you, sweet."

Beelzebub is gentle as they urge your chin up. Careful, touch almost like that of a doctor with a patient, or a lover with their beloved. The ghost of a buzzzzz presses into your skin where their fingers nest beneath your jaw.

You shiver.

As they take in your face, their expression shifts many times over, though you can't place the emotions, then settles into a soft frown. Their thumb drags along your cheekbone, wipes away the wetness beneath your eye. The taste of smoke sits heavy on your tongue.

"Be not afraid, angel."

They say it like they're making a decision.

"C'mon. I'll fix you up."

In that smooth, slow manner, they rise and offer their hands. Their upturned palms aren't a command, exactly, but they're something close to it. The voice in your head continues to shout that this is a trap as you slide your hands into theirs, but there's no other option, here. Not really.

They grip you tight around the wrists and pull. Your wings cry out in protest of the movement, stabbing, as you fall upward into their chest with a gasp. The world is swimmingspinninglooping, and now you're the one gripping tight to them while you stumble and blink like a newborn foal.

"Go on, hold on to me. There we go." They anchor you upright. Something hot and wet drips onto the back of your knee, and after a moment, you realize that it's all over your back, too. It's soaking into your clothes, and now that you're standing, dripping onto the floor. Smears of red around where you just sat---and the heart that's been put inside your chest---tell you exactly what it is.

Once you're stable enough, Beelzebub maneuvers your arm over their shoulders, and wraps one of theirs around your waist. Every accidental touch to a wing doubles the ache pounding through your broken bones, leaving behind a trail of whimpers and pained hisses that spill from your lips like prayers. Beneath your fingers, the fabric of their blazer is soft and thick, not so different to that of your own jacket; save for the color, and the way that yours is steadily growing wetter down the back.

After a deep, shaking breath and an attempt to swallow the taste of iron, you nod. They look back at the crowd of still-curious demons.

"What are you looking at? Back to work, all of you!"

The demons pretend to go back to work as Beelzebub helps you through the room. "Right. Stay close," they mumble, as if you weren't already wrapped to their side and relying on them to keep you from eating concrete. But still, you lean in a little further. There's strength there, you find, far more strength than their frame would suggest by it's lean build and delicate features. They're Prince of Hell, of course they're strong, your brain helpfully supplies. Are you an idiot?

Yes, say your wings, dragging lifeless behind you. Yes, you very much are.

Beelzebub keeps you on your feet as you stumble through the doorway and into the crowded throats of Hell.

Contact of any means is rare in heaven; being supported like this is already the closest you've been to another in centuries. Having to push through hell's living river of bodies is near enough to suffocate. Demons run hot, and soon, sweat begins to drip from you alongside the blood. You can't tell what's worse-- the shooting pain when the crowd jostles your wings, or the sheer discomfort from the heat and the stick and the smell. The loss of your inner eyes has left your vision at the mercy of lighting, like everyone else's. You weren't built to see in the dark, and the hallway lights are so dingy you're not sure they do anything at all. There are no windows here, just flickering overheads that buzz along with the flies.

So you focus on your feet. Partly to watch your step, partly because you can't take the way the demons keep leering at you. The laces of your oxfords have come untied and one of your spats is missing, probably lost in the fall, while the other one's twisted strangely around your ankle and coming undone. Beneath the green overhang, your pretty, cream stockings look diseased. Your heels less click than clomp as you stumble endlessly forward.

"Hold your head up," Beelzebub's voice slips into your ear, barely more than a whisper. "They can smell fear. Don't give it to them."

You don't know why, but you obey. Maybe there's comfort in a task, or maybe you're longing for approval. Maybe, deep down, you've got something to prove. Whyever you do it, you wipe your eyes, pick up your head, and stare back at those who stare upon you.

For the first time in six thousand years, you glare.

"Good," Beelzebub praises, in a way that makes something pleasant roll down your back. "Very good, angel."

They don't seem to mind the weight you've pushed onto them; you're hanging off their shoulders like they're the edge of the world. And, at this point, they might as well be. Your dead wings are getting heavier with each step, your throat's gone raw from heavy breaths, your newly-beating heart's still going wild. Every inhale has got you sucking down the cigarette smoke---or probably something worse---that lingers in the air. Every exhale trembles. Waves start taking over, make you dizzy on your feet. You're coming up on the end of your rope.

"Just a little further, next door on the left. Almost there."

You clench your teeth. Dontgiveittothemdontgiveittothemdontgiveittothem.

"Josh, get that door for me---out of the way, idiots!" Beelzebub pushes past a small crowd, positioning so as to keep you shielded from any more touch. Up ahead, somebody ('Josh'?) swings open a panel in the wall. They all but carry you the last few paces---you're falling apart at the seams, white-knuckling their shoulder as they help you duck through the doorway.

"If any of you so much as think about coming in, you'll be spending the next century without a tongue."

The door slams closed, leaves you in the pitch-black.

You slip from Beelzebub's grip.

And you're back where you started. Crumpled to the floor, dripping in your own sin. Snapped in half and deserving of it. You bury your face in your hands. It's all too much--- the falling, the crowds, the pain, it's so much. You don't have enough space in your head for it, you're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. The tears are spilling hard now, pooling on your face then running between your fingers. Your trembling breaths match time with the throbbing in your bones.

God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could.

"I know, angel," Beelzebub's voice rings soft beside you. Something brushes against your head, begins to card through your hair, and, after a moment, you realize it's them. The Prince of Hell is sitting next to you in the darkness, running their fingers through your hair.

And you let them. You let them whisper nothings while you cry, you let them push their hand through your hair, because it feels good. Because it feels good, and you're dying, and you can't make yourself shove them away like you should. You don't have it in you.

"Let there be light," they whisper.

The room takes on a gentler shade of black-tinged-green, just enough to allow sight. For you, at least. You have a feeling they could already see you through the dark.

"Alright, I'm gonna fix you up now, and I'm gonna be honest, it won't feel great. Hey, look at me," a hand wraps around your cheek, guides you face-to-face. They don't look very much like the Lord of Hell right now, you think, with their soft eyes and long lashes, and their thumb brushing away your tears. Their slow, calculated mannerisms are dropping into something less regulated, though still careful.

"I'm gonna need you to trust me, angel. I know that's a hard ask, if I were you right now, I sure as heaven wouldn't trust myself. But if you go thrashing about when I start, it's gonna make things a lot harder for both of us. I need you to trust me here, and stay still. Can you do that?"

You manage a nod.

"Good, now lie down for me."

It's entirely irrational. Borderline suicidal, this situation; to let yourself be locked in the dark with Hell's Prince, to freely bare your wounds to them. But it's not like you've got anything left to lose. You're dying as it is.

As they help lie you down on your stomach, half of your heart is able to trust them. And right now, in the dim, in the warm, on the concrete, half is enough.

"This is going to hurt, angel, so brace yourself. Alright, three, two, one..."

Their hand presses into your back, and you cry out as the dull, shining throb of brokenness contorts into something alive. You forget your one job. The instinct to struggle, to writhe against the ungodly sensation takes over your body. Beneath your skin, your wingbones are realigning and sewing themselves back together, sliding through limp, wet muscle and burned flesh to get to their places. You push into the ground, bite down on nothing, make desperate, useless movements with no object as you succumb to throes of agonized frenzy.

"Fuck, angel, stay still--"

You're pinned down by another hand on the small of your back, jerking you partly out of your craze. You gasp, whimper, dig your nails into your palms, will yourself to staystillstaystillstaystill while your bones snap into place. Your chest heaves against the ground.

Slowly, slowly, it ends. Relief takes over. Beelzebub lets you go with a sigh, and you echo it. Your wings are bloody and sore, but you can move them again, the cuts are closed, and you're finally in enough control to put them away.

You are exhausted. You are alive.

You breathe.

Whether angels can actually die, at least, by means other than hellfire, nobody's ever told you. You've never really thought about it before, and you sure as hell don't know now. To just have come so close, to be so certain that you're not going to make it, and then to be forcibly put back together and come out living... it's not the kind of thing that gives you any answers.

Beelzebub flops to the ground beside you, panting, and you're struck with the fact of what they've done for you. Somebody meant to be nothing but evil given form, and yet, they're the one who pulled you from the rubble. Who dragged you somewhere safe, who just held you down and mended your wings. Who saved you, their hereditary enemy of six thousand years.

"...Why?"

They don't answer.

You're not sure what happens now. Maybe you've fallen into a trap after all. You don't really want to find out, but you suppose you'll have to. And soon. But, until then, you're content to lie here on the floor.

A heaviness flutters over you, and sleep comes for the first time.

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