#that's not to say that lucifer never loved him

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

unfaithful

one-shot

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam's Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: It's been the same almost every night since Dean left. You wander the halls of the bunker, feet always carrying you to his closed door. Only tonight? It's open.

Warnings: 18+!, language, angst, cheating, mocking, guilt, pining, smut (dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, fingering, p in v, ass-play kinda, gagging), I think that's all.

Word Count: 4,410

It starts with silence. The kind that swells in old, haunted places—thick with ghosts, thicker still with the things left unsaid.

The bunker was never quiet when Dean was alive. Even asleep, he filled the space—snoring down the hall, boots echoing off stone, laughter ricocheting off walls like a warm, familiar gunshot. But now? Now it's just Sam.

Sam and the weight of all that's missing.

He sleeps restlessly beside you, long limbs tangled in the sheets, one arm slung over your stomach like it's instinct. You've been his anchor for years, since before Lucifer, before Ruby, before the bunker was even carved into your lives. His grief is a living thing now—tucked into his spine, sewn into the dark crescents under his eyes. He doesn't cry. Sam doesn't do that. He burns. Quietly. Patiently. Like a fuse with nowhere to go.

And you love him. God, you do.

You love the way he softens when you brush his hair back. The way his voice cracks when he says your name like it still means safety. The way his fingers find yours in the dark, like maybe you can hold each other together.

But you haven't been sleeping. Not since Dean. Not really.

Because love isn't always enough to quiet the hum beneath your skin. The one that started when the bunker went still. When Dean's door slammed shut. When Sam stopped saying his name with any emotion because the syllable hurt too much on his tongue.

It's been a couple months, maybe more, since Dean disappeared. Since the Mark swallowed him whole and left Sam behind to dig through the wreckage.

He won't call it that. Disappeared. He says gone, like he's coming back. Like he's late, not lost.

But every time Sam leaves to follow another lead—a demon sighting here, a body drained dry there—he comes back heavier. Shoulders hunched. Jaw clenched. A little more wrecked than the time before.

The last time, he came through the war room doors with his arm in a sling and blood crusted in his hair. He wouldn't look at you when you pressed your hands to his chest and asked what happened. Just muttered something about a crossroads deal gone sideways and that he "got what he needed."

You didn't ask what that meant. Not because you didn't want to know. Because you weren't sure you could carry it.

So you kissed his temple and made him tea and sat beside him in bed, letting his weight lean into yours until the tension bled out of his body. He was asleep in minutes.

He always sleeps when he's home now. And you? You stay awake.

Because when he's gone, the bunker is all stone and silence and the sound of your own spiralling thoughts. And when he's here, it's somehow worse. Because you can feel how far away he is—even with his arm around you, even with his head on your chest.

He used to laugh more. God, he used to laugh.

Now, he only talks about Dean. His voice tight. Raw. Like the name alone is a wound.

And you love him. You love him with everything you are. But love doesn't keep the walls from closing in. It doesn't stop your skin from prickling every time you pass Dean's room. It doesn't erase the way your heart beat different when Dean was still here—messy and loud and impossible.

It just makes you feel worse for noticing.

You don't mean to get up. You try, god, you try to just lie there, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Sam's breathing beside you—soft and even, his body warm under the blankets, pressed into your side like he knows the second you leave, he'll feel it.

But still, you slide out from under his arm like a ghost. Still, you pull his flannel off the back of the chair and slip it over your bare shoulders. Still, you pad barefoot across the bunker floor, silent and aching, like something inside you is pacing the walls of your ribcage.

It's not that you're not tired. It's that you can't rest. Not with all this noise inside your head.

You make your rounds like you always do—through the library, past the war room. Everything's dim, quiet, lit only by the soft golden wash of overhead lamps left on low. Books you've already read sit open-faced on the table. A mug of tea long gone cold. Nothing helps.

Your feet move on their own. They always do. And you know where they're taking you. You always know.

Past the weapons room. Past the corridor where the lights flicker just a little when you breathe too hard. And then—

There it is.

Dean's door. Always shut, still sealed like a tomb. Except tonight, it's not. It's cracked open, just barely. Just enough.

You stop in your tracks, throat going tight. Your heart pounds like it's got something to say—but you don't want to hear it. You should go back to bed. You should lie down with Sam and pretend you didn't notice. Pretend you don't always end up here, standing in front of the last place Dean touched.

But the truth is...

You were always going to stop.

Even when he was alive, there was something about Dean that pulled you off course. Something gravitational. It wasn't like it was with Sam—steady, soft, true. Dean was a fire you kept your hands from, even when your skin ached for the burn.

You never said it out loud. Not even to yourself. Because to name it would've been to shatter everything you'd built. And you loved Sam. You still do. That's the worst part.

But Dean... Dean was something else entirely.

Something dark and sharp-edged and dangerous. Something you only let yourself want in your dreams—the kind that leave you waking up gasping, thighs clenched, shame curling in your gut like smoke.

You thought the ache would die with him. You thought grief would overwrite the hunger. But here you are, standing in front of his door again.

And tonight, it's open.

Your hand moves before your mind can catch up. Fingertips against wood. A breath held in your throat. The door groans quietly as it opens wider beneath your touch.

And he's there. Standing in the middle of the room like he never left.

Dean.

But not.

His hair is perfect, of course—flawless in that infuriating, tousled way like he rolled out of bed smug. His skin is golden under the low light, his jaw shadowed with stubble. A tight red shirt clings to him like a second skin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms flexed like he's waiting for something.

But it's the look on his face that stops your heart dead in your chest. That grin. That slow, smug, shit-eating grin. It's Dean, and it isn't. His eyes are darker. Not black, but close—gleaming with something feral. Something cruel.

And he's leering at you. At your bare legs. At the way you're clutching Sam's flannel closed around your body like it's armour. Like it's going to protect you from him.

"Lookin' for me, sweetheart?"

His voice is a low drawl, thicker than you remember, honey poured over poison.

You can't move. Can't speak. You just... gawk at him.

Because what the fuck?

Sam has been tearing the earth apart looking for him. Nearly died chasing after scraps and whispers and demon tracks. He's got a sling on his arm and bruises he doesn't talk about and a look in his eyes like something inside him is breaking, and—

And Dean's just here. Standing in his room like it's a Tuesday. Looking you over like you're dinner. Like he's already decided how this ends.

"Cat got your tongue?" He murmurs, cocking his head, eyes dragging slowly down your body. "That mine?" He adds, chin-jerking toward the flannel you've pulled tight over your chest. "Or Sam's?"

You swallow hard, voice lost somewhere between your ribs and your gut.

He steps forward. One slow stride. Then another. And the closer he gets, the clearer it becomes—this isn't the Dean you remember.

This Dean doesn't carry guilt like a second skin. He's not breaking apart under the weight of his choices. No—this Dean is whole. Whole and dark and dangerous. And from the way he's looking at you now? He's starving.

Your voice slips out of you like it's been trapped behind your teeth for weeks.

"...Dean?"

He exhales like you just gave him life. His eyes flutter closed for a second, jaw flexing, that awful, beautiful grin widening.

"Fuck," he whispers, almost to himself. "There's that voice I missed."

When he opens his eyes again, they're molten. A furnace. Locked on you.

"You have any idea how many times I imagined you saying my name just like that?" He says, low and lazy, taking another step closer. "'Cept maybe you're on your knees. Maybe you're spread over Baby's hood. Or—fuck, maybe you're sittin' right in Sam's lap while I'm—"

"Dean."

It comes out more like a warning than anything else, but your grip on the flannel tightens. Your knuckles are white.

"What the hell is going on?" You whisper, pulse pounding in your throat. "You're alive? Where the—how are you here? Sam's been—he's been looking for you, he's been—"

"Oh, I know," Dean cuts in, eyes glittering. "Sammy's been very busy. Playing hero, getting himself all bruised up just for little old me." He steps close enough now that you can smell him—soap, leather, whiskey, and something wrong. Something deep and sulphurous beneath the surface. "And where's his sweet little girlfriend while he's out savin' the world?"

You don't answer. Can't.

Dean's gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there. Then drags slowly back up.

"Home alone. Wrapped up in his flannel. Lookin' like a fuckin' gift."

"Dean, stop—"

"Why?" He murmurs, cocking his head. "You're standing in my doorway, baby. Wearing his shirt but lookin' at me like you wanna drop it and let me ruin you right here."

You stumble back a step, but he follows, slow, stalking. A predator playing with his food.

"I mean, shit," he drawls. "You don't think I noticed how you looked at me back then? All those years? You were so good, weren't you? Loyal little thing. Always kept your legs crossed, always trying to keep your eyes on Sam."

He steps close enough to touch you, but he doesn't. Not yet.

"But I bet you wondered," he whispers, voice like smoke curling around your ears. "Bet you laid awake more than once, wondering what it'd be like to get a taste of the bad brother."

Your breath catches, and Dean smirks.

"Lemme guess. You'd ride Sam's cock like a good girl, but you were thinkin' about me. About how I'd make you beg for it. About how I'd tear you apart and leave you a mess on the sheets. Don't lie. I can see it all over your fuckin' face."

"Dean, stop," you say again, but your voice is thinner this time. Weak. You don't sound convincing, and he knows it.

"Oh, you want me to stop?" He purrs, finally reaching up, brushing your jaw with the backs of his fingers, so gently it makes your knees tremble. "Or you want me to drag you into this room, bend you over that chair, and fuck you like you need it?"

You're shaking. You hate him. You love him. You hate yourself for standing there. And still—

You don't run.

Dean's fingers brush your jaw again, and when you don't flinch—don't recoil, don't run—he grins. That grin. Wicked and slow. Like he knew this would happen eventually.

"Atta girl," he purrs, voice gravel-thick with satisfaction.

Then he grabs you.

Not rough, not yet—but with enough force to make your breath stutter. His hand closes around your wrist, dragging you across the threshold and into the dim, still room that smells like leather and bourbon and the faintest trace of gun oil.

You don't fight him. You should. But your feet move where he leads. Right into the lion's den. And then he glances at the door behind you, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your wrist like he's weighing something. Considering.

Then he looks back at you with a raised brow, lips twitching.

"...Fuck it." He lets the words roll off his tongue like a dare. "The door stays open."

Your heart lurches in your chest.

"What—"

"I wanna see if you can keep that pretty little mouth shut," he says, stepping in close, his breath hot against your cheek. "Wanna know if you can take my cock and not wake Sammy up down the hall. That sound good, sweetheart?"

You shake your head—somewhere between no and I don't know—but he's already walking backward, pulling you with him.

"You really shouldn't be here," he says, faux-regret dripping from his voice. "But fuck me, you look so goddamn good in his shirt. Like you want me to wreck you while you're still wearing it."

He backs up to the desk and spins the chair around behind him.

"C'mon," he murmurs, low and filthy. "Over the chair, baby. Let's get you nice and bent for me."

You hesitate. Just for a second.

But then he tugs the flannel—Sam's flannel—just a little, exposing one shoulder, and hums like he's opening a present.

"Keep it on," he says, voice darker now. Rougher. "I wanna fuck you in his clothes. Wanna ruin you in the last thing he touched."

Your knees hit the chair. His hand is on the back of your neck now, guiding, not forcing—but firm enough you feel your breath stutter.

"Bend over," he whispers. "Hands on the seat. Ass up. That's it."

You're shaking. And he loves it. He kicks your legs apart gently with the side of his boot.

"There we go. Look at that. That's my girl."

You feel the flannel shift as he runs his fingers down your spine. His palm smooths over your ass, slow and proprietary.

"All these years playin' house with Sammy. Being good. Loyal. And all it took was one look at me tonight, and now here you are—wet and desperate and ready to get fucked like the filthy little secret you are."

He leans in, breath at your ear.

"You gonna let me ruin you, baby?"

You break before he even touches you.

Tears spill without warning, hot and fast, sliding down your cheeks as you grip the edge of the chair. Your body's trembling. With shame. With want. With everything you're too afraid to name.

Dean pauses. Then you hear his boots shift behind you. A second later, he's in front of you. Squatting down, one knee bent, his eyes catching yours beneath the curtain of your hair.

"Oh, baby," he coos, voice like silk dragged across a blade. He reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek, swiping away a tear.

Then he brings it to his mouth. Licks it clean.

"Cryin' already?" He murmurs, tilting his head. "That for me, sweetheart? Or for Sammy?"

You sniff, ashamed, eyes closing as another tear rolls free.

"There's no use in cryin'," Dean goes on, softer now. "You're getting what you've wanted for years."

He leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, feather-light. Then your lips. You melt into it without meaning to. A broken whimper caught in your throat, your whole body pressing forward into the kiss like you need it.

He grins into your mouth. Smug. Knowing. And you hate him for it. But you don't pull away. When he finally draws back, he wipes your other cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"That's my girl," he whispers, and then—he's gone. He circles behind you again, hands dragging slowly down your back. "Flannel still on. Good."

Then you feel it—his fingers sliding beneath your panties, tugging them slowly down your thighs. He catches them just before they fall past your knees, lifts them to his face, inhales.

"Christ," he mutters, voice wrecked for a moment. "You smell like sin."

He folds them up, tucks them into the breast pocket of his red shirt like a souvenir.

"Mine now."

You whimper again, and he hums, pleased. A belt clinks open. Denim rustles a fraction. And then he's back—kneeling behind you this time. His hands spread your thighs wider, and then—

Oh god.

He sniffs you.

Right at the crease of your thigh, slow and obscene. Then his tongue drags a stripe up, hot and deliberate, until he's right at your centre.

He moans.

"Fuck."

Another kiss, soft and maddening, pressed to your clit like worship.

"You have no idea," he breathes against you. "How many nights I used to lie awake in that bed..."

He presses a finger inside. Slow. Deep. You choke on a gasp.

"...jerkin' myself raw, thinking about this pussy. About how sweet you'd sound begging me to ruin you."

The finger curls. You cry out—too loud—and he growls.

"Shhh. You wanna wake him up? Huh?"

You shake your head, clutching the chair like it's the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

"I'd come back from hunts all wound up and pissed off," he continues, voice ragged. "And you'd be there—wearin' your little shorts, leaning over the table with your mouth all smart and your ass lookin' like sin. And I'd be thinking about what you sound like when you come. How tight you'd feel clenching around my cock. What kinda mess you'd make."

He slips a second finger in. You cry out again—quieter this time. More desperate.

He grins against your thigh.

"Bet Sammy's never even made you come like this, huh?"

Dean's fingers pump into you slow and steady—just enough to make your thighs shake, but not enough to push you over. You bite your lip to hold back the sounds, forehead pressed to the seat of the chair, breath fogging the leather.

"You wanna wake him up?" Dean mutters, his voice low and tight as his fingers curl just right. "You wanna hear him walk down that hall and see you spread for me like a fuckin' whore?"

You gasp. Whimper. Shake your head.

"Didn't think so," he huffs. "Then keep your goddamn voice down."

He thrusts his fingers deeper, scissoring them inside you, tongue dragging along your inner thigh again like he's starved.

"Son of a bitch," he groans. "You're tight."

He fucks you with his hand like he means it, wet and obscene, the sound of it echoing off the stone walls of the bunker like a crime.

"Holy crap," he breathes out. "This is even better than I imagined. And trust me, sweetheart—I imagined it a lot."

He grazes your clit with his thumb, just a whisper of contact, and your whole body jolts.

"Shit, look at you," he laughs. "So fucking desperate. So goddamn wet for me. And in his shirt, too. That's real cute."

Your legs are trembling. You can feel it coiling in your belly—that tight, unbearable pressure.

You're gonna come.

"Dean—please—"

"Oh no, sweetheart," he cuts in, voice going sharp as he slows his pace to a crawl. "You don't get to come yet. Not unless you tell me what I wanna hear."

You shake your head, gasping. "What—what do you mean—?"

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, fingers curling inside you with cruel precision.

"You don't come," he says, low and commanding, "until you tell me you love me."

You freeze.

"Go on," he murmurs, breath hot. "Say it. Say you love me. Say it like you mean it."

"I—I can't—"

"Then I stop," he shrugs, withdrawing his fingers with a slick, obscene sound. You cry out, body clenching around nothing, so close you could scream.

"You don't wanna come that bad?" He taunts. "Guess I overestimated you."

"No," you breathe, desperate, eyes stinging again. "Please—please, Dean—"

"You think Sam would make you beg like this?" He growls, grinding his cock against your ass now through his boxers. "You think he'd know how to ruin you right? Like this?"

You moan, the friction almost enough to tip you over again, but not quite.

"Then say it."

He grips your hips hard, hissing under his breath. "Say you love me or I'm leaving you right here dripping and empty."

And you break.

"I love you," you sob. "Dean—I love you."

There's a beat of silence. Then—snap. His belt hits the floor.

"That's my fuckin' girl."

He's kicking his jeans off, tearing his boxers down, and then his cock is pressing against your soaked entrance, thick and hot and so fucking wrong.

He pushes in slow. Deliberate. Every inch feels like a sin you can't take back.

"Holy shit," he groans. "You really are tight."

You bury your face into the seat, choking on a cry, your entire body shaking.

"Take it," Dean hisses, hips rolling as he bottoms out. "Take all of it, baby. Fuckin' feel me."

He starts moving—hard and slow and deep. The chair rocks beneath you with every thrust, the open door behind you reminding you exactly how close this secret is to shattering.

"You feel that?" He pants. "Feel how deep I am? That's where I belong. That's mine. Always has been."

You're moaning now, helpless, face streaked with tears and pleasure.

"You keep clenching like that," he grits out, "I'm not gonna last long."

His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back as he thrusts into you harder, meaner.

"Bet you think about this every night now," he snarls. "Bet you go back to his bed with my cum dripping down your thighs and pretend you're still a good girl."

You scream into the leather, your body unraveling under his, fire licking up your spine.

"Come for me," he orders, voice raw. "Do it. Let go. Fuckingsay my name."

"Dean," you gasp. "Oh—god, Dean—"

You shatter.

And he doesn't stop.

You're sobbing into the chair now, blabbering incoherent pleas between the aftershocks, your thighs shaking violently as Dean keeps moving inside you—slower now, deeper, like he's savouring the feel of your body spasming around him.

"Fuck," he breathes, sweat beading at his temple, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "Look at you. Wrecked. Can't even talk right, can you?"

You let out a broken noise—somewhere between a whine and a sob.

He chuckles darkly. "Didn't think I'd fuck you stupid this fast."

His hand slides up, reaching into the pocket of his shirt—your panties, still warm from being tucked against his skin. He pulls them out, dangles them in front of your tear-soaked face like a prize.

"As much as I love these pretty little sounds," he murmurs, mocking sweetness dripping from every word, "I ain't ready for Sammy to come wanderin' in here asking why his girlfriend's whining like she's never had cock in her life."

He stuffs the panties into your mouth, slow and deliberate, pressing them past your lips with two fingers.

"There we go," he coos. "That's better. Nice and quiet."

You gag around the fabric, drooling, tears still leaking from the corners of your eyes—and Dean groans, hips stuttering at the sight.

"Jesus Christ, you look so good like this. Stuffed full'a me, mouth full of your own shame. Fuckin' perfect."

Then—he slows. Just a beat. Just enough to lean down and really ruin you.

One hand snakes between your cheeks, thumb pressing just under your tailbone, circling—until—

You jerk, whimpering around the fabric, eyes wide.

Dean laughs, low and cruel and utterly delighted.

"Sensitive, huh?" He murmurs, pressing the pad of his thumb just inside your ass, keeping you right where he wants you. "Don't squirm, sweetheart. Gotta keep you nice and still while I fill you up."

His thrusts pick up again—harder now. Meaner. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, echoing off the walls like a fucking dirge.

"Been waitin' years for this," he pants, voice going ragged. "Years of watching you play house with my fucking brother—dressed up like his little good girl, never lookin' twice at me."

Another thrust. Your whole body jolts.

"But I knew. I knew what was underneath. Knew you'd fall apart the second I touched you. And now look at you—soaked, stuffed, fucked out, cryin' into a goddamn chair while Sammy dreams down the hall."

He's getting close. You can feel it. His rhythm falters, hips jerking.

"You're mine now," he growls, biting out the words like a vow. "Don't care how many years you've been with him. Don't care what he means to you. You let me in, baby. That's all I needed."

One more thrust. Two. And then—he groans, low and brutal and satisfied, hips grinding as he comes deep inside you.

He holds you there—panting, trembling, pulsing around him—thumb still snug between your cheeks, panties stuffed in your mouth, Sam's flannel hanging off your shoulders like a scarlet fucking letter.

"Goddamn," he breathes, resting his forehead against your spine for a beat, voice low and reverent now. "Better than I ever fucking dreamed."

He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

"You're not walkin' straight tomorrow," he adds, smug. "But don't worry—I'll be right here to remind you why."

He doesn't pull out right away. Just stays there—buried deep, still twitching inside you, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other slipping up under the flannel to palm your breast with lazy ownership.

The silence is thick. The kind that rings. Your heartbeat is all you can hear—fast, frantic, shame-soaked.

Dean breathes deep, then exhales slow. "...Shit." It's almost fond.

He slides out with a wet sound, groaning under his breath, watching the mess drip from between your thighs with open satisfaction.

"Fucking hell, baby," he murmurs, dragging a finger through it, spreading it with no shame at all. "Can't believe you let me do that. In his shirt."

You whimper, still gagged, still shaking. Your knees nearly give as you try to straighten up.

He catches you by the waist, steadying you effortlessly. Then, softly—mockingly:

"You done crying?"

You don't answer. Can't. Not around the panties in your mouth. But your eyes say everything.

Dean leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

"I want you in my bed next time," he murmurs, voice like velvet and poison. "Naked. On your knees. Beggin' me to do it all over again."

You let out a broken sob—quiet, shameful.

He grins. Stands tall. Tucks himself back into his jeans without taking his eyes off you.

Then—

"But if you're just gonna go crawl back into Sammy's bed and cry yourself to sleep..." He shrugs, flicks his belt shut with one hand. "Might as well run along."

His eyes flick to the door.

"It's still open."

You turn—barely able to walk, face flushed and soaked with tears, the flannel falling off one shoulder. Every step away from him is a scar.

And as you reach the threshold, he calls after you—softly, smugly:

"Don't forget what you just gave up, sweetheart."

Your legs are barely working. You're half-naked, wearing Sam's flannel, marked inside and out by his brother's mouth, his cock, his voice.

The silence chokes you now.

Behind you, Dean drops into his desk chair like a king after war—chest rising and falling, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you go. He doesn't say anything else. Doesn't call you back. Just... waits. Because he knows what he's done. He knows what you are now.

You stop in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Look down the hall—toward the room that's supposed to be yours. The bed you share. The man you love.

Then you glance back. At Dean's bed. Unmade. Open. Waiting.

You stay there a second longer—undecided. A trembling silhouette caught between sin and salvation. And the door never shuts.

A/N: Okay, I am well aware of how goddamn cruel this was... but I lowkey don't really care (sorry Sammy bby) because how fucking hot? Ew. Gross levels of hot. Let me know what y'alls think pleaseeee. All the love.

Dean taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @liiiilsss @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn <3

Also tagging @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth because I need you to see that I wrote it, please don't sue me. <3

[sakusaswifee]

once you get around to writing obey me again you should totally share some of your sexcanons of the brothers 🫣

“𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 NSFW HCS/BLURBS + LUCIFER

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ content. Dom!Lucifer. Power dynamics. BDSM themes including magical bondage, orgasm control, edging, oral fixation, brat taming, rough sex, possessive behavior, praise + degradation, jealousy kink, ritual kink (altar sex + magical sigils), light humiliation, voyeurism, public teasing (implied), magic-infused pleasure. Aftercare implied. Reader insert.

MINORS DNI, 18+ content ahead.

This was lazy, I apologize if it’s too short.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Imagine Lucifer…

𓆩༒︎𓆪 sitting behind his desk, cool and unreadable, but the moment you step in with that look in your eyes, he knows exactly what you’re after. And he makes you ask for it—formally. “On your knees. Use your manners. Then we’ll discuss what you’re so desperate for.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 being a total dom. He loves control, loves it more than anything. He’s calm, collected, and terrifyingly precise. Every touch, every thrust, every order is calculated to make you fall apart slowly.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 tying your wrists behind your back with his demon marked silk tie, whispering in your ear, “You’ve been mouthing off all day. Now you’re going to sit there and behave while I ruin you.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 having a thing for being worshipped. He won’t beg, but he loves when you do. Kissing his chest, his thighs, praising his strength, his power, how good he feels. It feeds his pride and turns him on like crazy.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 fucking you over his desk with one hand gripping your hair and the other holding your thigh up, voice low and sinful “Look at the mess you’ve made on my papers. You’re going to clean this up with your tongue.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 being surprisingly patient during foreplay. He enjoys watching you squirm, teasing you for hours if he’s in the mood. He’ll edge you while reading reports like he’s not even fazed, smirking while you’re a dripping, begging mess beside him.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 loving power exchange, but only with someone he trusts completely. You being his, submitting only to him brings out his most possessive, protective instincts. You’re his sin, his secret, his pleasure.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 having a voice kink. Your moans, your whimpers, your cries of “Lucifer—p-please!” make him go absolutely feral. He’ll ask you to repeat things just to hear it again. “Say it louder. I want to hear you scream who owns you.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 lowkey loving the idea of punishing you in public ways no one else notices. A subtle spank under the table. A vibrator on a low setting during a council meeting. A threat whispered while he fixes your collar. “Behave. Or I’ll bend you over the lectern.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 aftercare king. He might be strict, intense, even punishing but when it’s over, he’s cleaning you up with warm towels, kissing your forehead, stroking your hair, and murmuring, “You did so well for me, my darling. I’m proud of you.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 summoning his magic chains when he’s really had enough of your brattiness. They glow red-hot, coiling around your wrists and ankles as you’re suspended mid air, legs spread for him. “Since you can’t seem to listen, I’ll have to make sure you can’t move at all.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 having an oral fixation for you. He could spend hours between your thighs, dragging his tongue slow and deep while his crimson eyes never leave yours. He’ll edge you like that, tongue buried in you until you’re sobbing and then pull back with a smug, glistening smirk: “I’ll let you come..once you beg like you mean it.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 being so obsessed with your pleasure, but only when he controls it. Vibrator spells locked in place, delayed orgasm potions slipped into your drink, pleasure magic that doesn’t let you finish unless he says so. And he loves watching you break under it.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 loving role reversal play now and then. You in his lap wearing his coat and nothing underneath, trying to act in charge until he flips the script and fucks you senseless on the throne, whispering in your ear, “Did you really think you could command me, pet?”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 getting feral when he’s jealous. Not loud or messy but cold, lethal, and possessive. He’ll drag you back to his room, push you against the wall, and claim you so deep and rough, you’ll feel it for days. “You’re mine. No one else touches what belongs to me.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 letting you wear his gloves while you touch yourself, all while he sits back and watches with a dark, hungry look. “Go on. Make yourself come on my hands. I want to see how desperate you’ve become for me.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 having an entire ritual chamber in the House of Lamentation just for special punishments. Runes carved into stone, a velvet-lined altar, enchanted restraints, aphrodisiac candles. When he takes you there, you know you’re in for hours of ruin.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 being so in control that even when you’re begging to come, crying and shaking, he just presses his fingers inside you again and says, “You’ll come when I say. Now take it like the good little sinner you are.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 possessing this intense ritualistic kink where he marks you with Devildom sigils on your thighs, your hips, your neck with his mouth and his magic. You wake up glowing faintly with his power, sore and full, knowing you were completely, utterly owned.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 always whispering, “You belong to me,” while you fall apart in his arms, voice like silk and sin, promising you more and more until you’re too wrecked to even speak.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

You shouldn’t have teased him at dinner. Not with that look in your eyes, not with your foot sliding up his leg under the table.

Now you’re in the ritual room, wrists bound in glowing chains above your head, body arched and trembling as Lucifer circles you like a predator. His gloves are off, magic crackling at his fingertips as he trails them down your spine.

“You wanted my attention?” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got it.”

He presses you to the altar, bare and helpless, then slides two fingers deep inside you without warning..slow, cruel, perfect.

“No begging tonight,” he growls against your ear. “You’re going to take everything I give you and thank me for it.”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

[moonshroooms]

Alright I've got one for each show.

For the much shorter one for Hazbin, which I feel like is so petty and silly sdjfksdjf but: most of the m/m ships are not old man yaoi ☠️ Like. I get that these characters were alive in the 1930s, 50s, 70s, before Jesus, etc. But Alastor died in his THIRTIES at most and no longer ages. That's not an old man! Even Lucifer, the oldest guy ever, doesn't have a single wrinkle. Oh he's an angel and we can't use human standards for him? Then Vox also is probably only in his 30s/40s and runs around like a spring chicken. Not old! Husk afaik died in his 60s/70s and is the only one who could be, biologically, considered old. But everyone else? Nay! False idols! These dudes act old-FASHIONED, but not old. It 👏🏽 doesn't 👏🏽 count! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽 (At the people who write these characters with things like shitty knees and other old people problems: I love you. You're doing God's work. Yours DOES count as old man yaoi akdkgkg)

And for Helluva Boss (and this one is much longer winded sjdkfjsd), idk if this is controversial cuz I haven't really seen it expressed much. Mostly I see "we're NOT going to villainize Octavia!" But I think:

Octavia is right for being pissed off at Stolas.

Not "she's 17 so it's understandable she's upset and we're not going to to be mean about her" but "she's absolutely IN THE RIGHT for being upset."

Her fears about her father abandoning her for Blitz have been a long-standing ones. One that Stolas gave her a very all-encompassing, and not very deep "I would never abandon you like that." It was a very kneejerk reaction on Stolas' part. Of course he'd never just leave Octavia for his boyfriend! And I think he very much believed it. And from his end, I don't think that's what he felt like he was doing.

And then the trial happened. And I GET it. Lives were on the line. Blitz was going to DIE for this transgressions. But in deciding to take Blitz' place, Stolas thought he was going to be killed for taking the blame.

Which leaves Octavia where, exactly? With her emotionally abusive and manipulative mother and an uncle who couldn't give a damn about her. Both of whom are not above killing someone or manipulating the system to get what they want. Stolas is lucky he didn't die.

And like I said, I get it. Lives were on the line. And I wouldn't say Stolas shouldn't have saved Blitz life. He did the right thing. But Octavia isn't wrong for thinking that Stolas chose Blitz over her. HE DID. And the situation is a lot more complicated than just that, there's so many layers, but Stolas never gave her anything more complex than "I would never leave you." He sheltered Octavia so much, maybe even too much, which means when the situation stopped being simple (and it never really was simple), he 100% betrayed the biggest promise he ever made to his daughter, and not by "running away with his new boyfriend" but by (almost) dying for him. And from Octavia's perspective? That's abandoning her on a level she wouldn't even have thought to predict and would've been gruesome, permanent, isolating - and considering her mother and uncle - potentially dangerous, or at least setting her up for a lifetime of manipulation.

Don't get me wrong though, I'm an angsty bitch and I absolutely LOVE this messy shit show XD I think the decisions the characters made are complex and fun and I wouldn't change them at all! I don't blame Stolas, Blitz, or Octavia in any meaningful way. Who tf is going to make all the right decisions in a situation like that, especially with antagonists actively trying to ruin you? There's kind of no right answer. And also the characters making all the right choices and being perfect people would be BORING. It's much more fun like this >:) I just think that Octavia is not just "understandably upset because she's 17" but she's right for being upset because she was given a simple answer to a complex situation that was mostly hidden to her and it predictably blew up in everyone's faces.

I still hope she comes around tho. I need that Christmas scene of Blitz Loona Stolas and Via being one big happy family to be canon dsjfksdjfksd

I'm gonna use this post to ask you all for your most controversial Hellaverse opinions.

I know people often do these, but I don't want to hear any "staticmoth is better than radiostatic" mundane, palatable opinions. I want to hear your most contentious, your most divisive, your most polemic, your nastiest, deepest hidden opinions that on any other app would get you beleaguered. I want to hear the opinions that you're afraid of voicing because other fans will flip out. Run wild and don't worry about consequences, the comment section is a safe space, and I will delete any offensive comments or people trying to argue "no, you're wrong" because I want to hear OPINIONS

(A healthy, nonjudgemental discussion is, of course, welcome 🥰)

[fellulahh]

Taking Diavolo to a football game HCs

- “MC I’ve bought us a few snacks and a light beverage for the game” *literally has his hands full*

- Cue multiple questions from people nearby saying “Jheez mate, how tall are you?” “Do you play basketball?”

- He buys a program before the game which he reads every single page of

- “MC what are they chanting?” *MC whispers rude chant in Diavolo’s ear* “My word, the profanities are absolutely ludicrous!”

- “THE REFEREES A WANKER” “do you hear that, MC? I’ve never heard such passion!”

- Every time their favourite team scores, Diavolo gives MC a MASSIVE bear hug

- “are you warm enough? Do you need my jacket?”

- Many, MANY selfies are taken. He also takes lots of photos of MC because he loves seeing her so happy

- Multiple updates are sent to Lucifer and Barbatos throughout the day

- “hey, MC?” “Yes, Diavolo?” “Are you in goal? Because I want to keep yo—no wait I messed it up…oh drat.”

- MC steals his hat (which Diavolo doesn’t mind at all) and wears it throughout the game

- Diavolo doesn’t let MC give him the hat back

- “IS THERE A FIRE DRILL?” “MC, I think we need to leave. The crowd is alerting us to a fire.”

- Diavolo is in complete awe the entire time because he’s never seen so many people in one place at once all cheering so loudly

- “so when is the medal ceremony?” “What medal ceremony?” “Well they won didn’t they?” “Diavolo there’s still 17 games left in the league.” “THERE’S MORE?!”

- “[player] was excellent today wasn’t he?” “Is he the only one who’s name you remember?” “…it might be.”

- Buys matching shirts at the end of the game with their names printed on

- Immediately a series of photos are uploaded to his Devilgram of their day out together

[shallowseeker]

Once an angel, always an....???

Not for nothin, but the things Cas appreciates most about Jack are the HUMAN parts.

and Cas admires that Jack takes after kelly in that he’s a beautiful EMOTIONAL CREATURE and he LOVES MOVIES

13x12

EMOTIONAL. INTUITIVE.

///

And Cas is not without a smattering of PRIDE. "He looks like <me, not you> and his instinct is ME as his father" > "ON PURE INSTINCT HE REACHED OUT TO ME"

Jack called Cas father before anyone else; has maybe modeled himself after Cas

13x12, 13x01

And Cas is okay with that, but only up to a point, as we'll see when Jack starts to eat up his own soul...

//

but importantly, JUST AFTER ALL THIS experience with Lucifer:

UNDERCURRENT from script: cas gets depressed and horrified with HIMSELF because hanging out with lucifer is not that uncomfortable

13x14 via @spnscripthunt-inactive

bc there's some resonance with Lucifer's angel nature, awakening Cas's own angel instincts

and despite everything maybe even some battle exhilaration

they walk out like two predators on the hunt, smiling as the prey walks right into their trap

13x12 via @spnscripthunt-inactive

///

cas's not even that guilty about it when recounting it in 13x13:

okay, maybe a LITTLE nervous that Dean will be mad that Cas put himself in danger again to get the intel

Cas is like BUT I EXPECTED THAT

and as Lucifer pointed out, I myself have done the same thing before when I was taken prisoner and had to retake some grace...

...

///

BUT ANYWAY

On the nature of souls, I AM ALSO continually thinking about how Cas doesn't want Jack to be a purely celestial being

the thing is, jack isn't like soulless sam was, not completely. jack has GRACE.

(We see that in how, unlike soulless Sam, soulless Jack had a unique type of emotional volatility...)

//

but yeah

like mary doesn't want her boys to be hunters

cas in so many ways doesn't want jack to be an angel at least not ALL angel***

and jack gets that message early: BE AS STRONG AS THE ANGELS AND DO EVERYTHING THEY DO

and yet... when he's weak, he's not "quite himself"

///

be strong like them but don't be LIKE them

what an impossible task!!!!!

///

And later, even when Jack has no soul... there's still GRACE. His celestial essence was still strong:

///

What Cas isn't saying????

So do I.

///

SO yeah. When Jack loses his soul, Cas is affected too—but he doesn't say it. Because to admit it would be to admit what Meredith said in her script: that he's "not what he's pretending to be."

Or, worse—that maybe a soul isn't required to feel at all. Maybe they don't understand it the way they thought they did. Maybe all creatures great and small, grace or no grace, soul or no soul, have the capacity for "what we call humanity."

And if that's true, then all the self-hatred he’s buried—the angel side of him he’s never made peace with—rises to the surface.

But he won’t reckon with it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

[koukouture]

Script for a comic I don't think I'll ever make LMAO

Context: This is sort of Emet Selch's monologue about Azem during Shadowbringers. Yeah. That's all you need to know.

"You don't know me at all. So shut up" that's what you said.

You were dying. I could see it- the light infecting you, seeping into your head, heart and very soul. You were no longer a distant star but a blinding supernova. Hot to the touch, dangerous, dying, faded- but in a way- beautiful.

You always did shine brighter than the rest.

So how dare you say I don't know you?

Know you?

You are my other half; I am nothing without you. You are all I know.

I knew you across thousands of years, across hundreds of incarnations, across a dozen and some worlds.

Know you?

I am you.

Everything that I am now is because of you. All of it! I traveled far and wide and every single time I cannot stray from your light. Every single road I took went back to you. Every single path, alleyway, staircase every labyrinth- you were at the end of all of them.

Sometimes we are lovers, sometimes we are friends, allies, enemies... sometimes we are strangers.

Do not accuse me of ignorance. I am under no delusion that I know you- I know you better than anyone.

And you know me too.

Don't you?

Azem

Lucifer

You know me... right?

You can feel it surely- this is fate! You know me! I'm your soulmate! Can't you feel it!? Can't you feel me!?

WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME!?

okay i think that's it lolol. bye

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

That almost made Sera reach out and smack him.

Lucifer: And I have NEVER forced myself on her.

There were even times where his beautiful wife came to him for pleasures of the flesh.

Lucifer: I admit how I went about marrying her was wrong....... We have even talked about it in extensive conversations. But if my only crime is that I love her too much then lock me away. I'll never stop loving your daughter even after I die I will love her from beyond the grave.

Sera glared: You should be in a grave. I don't care what you say, you have been obsessed with her since she found in that forest like a lost puppy all those years ago.

She picked up the knife on the table and walked towards him.

Sera: You're a monster that should have been put down years ago.

Before Lucifer could react, she stabbed him square in the chest knocking the air from his lungs. Lucifer had tears in his eyes as he fell to the ground and was stabbed a few more times.

His thoughts went to Ada and their baby, he hoped that they would be okay without him. He could feel the pain and his heartbeat slowing as he bled out.

Maybe this was his punishment, he loved Ada too much and put her in a life she wasn't ready for........ So he doesn't get to spend their lives together, or even meet their baby.

A tear left his eye as he grew weak from blood loss, he could hear muffled voices that were frantic but he couldn't make them out. For a moment he thought one was Ada......... But it couldn't be, she was at home.

As Lucifer lay dying, he just hoped that Ada and their baby lived a wonderful life........ Even without him.

-

Ada had grown suspicious when Lucifer had been gone so long. He's been trying to make her happy.

Ada: Please don't be here, please don't be here.

She had made the walk to her parents new place, if he came here.......

Ada: Dad?

Edward looked up from the bush he was trimming: Hello there sweetie! Your mom and Lucifer are inside.

The Bride of the Goblin

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

A child’s laugh mixed with the sounds of nature filled the green scenery. A young girl ran across the grass, following the deer as they bounded away. The majestic creatures always brought a sense of curiosity and joy to the girl named Ada.

They were beautiful, free to roam as they saw fit. Never having to listen to anybody but their selves. In fact, all animals that existed she viewed as that.

In all honesty, she was quite envious of them even at such a young age.

When the deer stopped to have a bite of the grass a few of them went right up to her and allowed her to pet them. Their fur was soft yet coarse, it was something that she couldn't quite describe.

Yet still knew what it was at the same time.

Ada: Your so pretty.

She said softly so as to not upset nor frighten the doe in front of her. However, it would be of no use as it's ears twitched, looking around to see where the imaginary sound was coming from.

Ada was confused as to why it suddenly left but she was determined to find out why and where it was going.

As fast as her little legs could take her, she finally caught up to the deer who by now was following a quiet sound. She didn't hear it before but now she had.

The further the two progressed the louder it became. Until Ada and the deer stopped right in front of a tree, and she knew exactly what kind of noise it was.

It was the sobbing of someone in distress

Ada: Hello?

She called out hoping someone would call back. Fortunately, for the young girl she did receive an answer.

Lucifer: W, who's there?

Ada could tell that it was the sound of a little boy: Hi! my name is Ada what's yours?

Lucifer: ...I, I'm Lucifer.

Ada grinned: Well Lucifer may I see you?

Lucifer: No!

Ada: Why not?

Lucifer: You'll scream and run away! Just like everyone else!

Ada: ...Is that why your crying?

Lucifer didn't say anything back and she assumed her guess was right.

Ada: Well, you don't have to be afraid of that happening because I won't scream, I promise.

Lucifer: How do I know you telling the truth?

Ada: Because I always keep my promises, and I always tell the truth. My mama actually says I'm very honest!

She beamed with pride as she said that. Her mother would often tell her that it was possibly her best characteristic.

Lucifer: ....Alright, I'll come out, but please don't run away!

She was confused deeply by the little boys pleas. Why on Earth would she run away from another kid?

She found out as soon as she saw a being start to come to the other side of the tree. What she saw truly shocked her to her core.

First, she saw pale skin, almost as white as snow. Then soon the rest of him, his ears were large and pointed, his teeth sharp like knives as they bit his lips, his hands that wrung each other anxiously had claws attached to him.

But what caught her attention most were his two eyes that were as red as her favorite fruit.

Apples.

Lucifer waited for the screams of horror to start or at worst a rock to his face. However the more she gazed at him the more he realized it was not one of disgust or fear, but of that of wonder.

Adam: What are you?

Lucifer: I’m Lucifer!

Adam giggled: I know that but what ARE you?

Lucifer: My mother says that I am a goblin. Or at least partly one.

Ada: Your unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. You’re like one of my woodland friends!

Lucifer: I can’t help the way I look!

Ada: I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything by it, I just mean that I think you’re very pretty!

The poor boy felt his entire face grow hot as the girl got closer to him.

Ada: Do you want to play with me?

Lucifer: I….w, what?

Ada: I said would you like to play with me?

She reached her hand over for him to take. Lucifer stared at for the longest time before finally accepting it.

Ada grinned as she proceeded to drag him to where she normally spent her days at.

For the remainder of the day Ada showed him all of her most favorite places in the forrest.

They climbed trees, swam in the creek, and rolled on the grass together. She even took him to the deer again where they accepted him with open arms.

Lucifer was having a jolly good time with his new friend. He certainly can’t remember the last time he laughed or smiled so hard.

However, like all good things this had to come to an end.

By the time the sun set Ada had to go back to her home.

Ada: Sorry Luci, but my mama and papa get very cross with me if I’m even a second late for supper.

Lucifer tried not to let his disappointment show: That’s okay Ada, I understand.

Ada smiled at the goblin and planted a chaste kiss on the forehead, the young boy could hardly breathe as his heart banged against his chest like a drum.

Ada: Good bye Lucifer!

Just like that the young girl was gone but that had cemented the feeling stirring within him. He was unaware that what it was would cause a deeply infatuation that would soon lead on to full obsession.

[fennel-cake]

Fattest shout-out to all my long time oomfs on here

I'm glad y'all are still alive 🙏🙏🙏

[samiferboy]

i am not immune to the idea of s1-2 samifer

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Till death do us part ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : What if Alastors dear little darling wife, his partner in crime, the person he thought he'd never see again, turns up with Mimzy on the day of the visit of the big boss of hell.

Pairing : Alastor x fem! Reader

Word count : 1899 Words

Genre : Fluff , Drama , Angst

Warnings ➵ Mentions of death, you're shorter than

Vaggie, possessive Alastor, swearing

Prequel -> > The radio star lost <

a/n : I love this trope ngl, tried to not make him to much out of character, hope it worked.. T T

Also I'm rather new to Hazbin Hotel, so I say sorry if anythings seems wrong or out of character! ><

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

The whole hotel was a bit chaotic right now, Lucifer himself would be visiting in just a bit and Charlie wanted everything to be perfect. Colorful decorations were hanging everywhere, a banner was hung up for welcoming the king of hell, how does one even welcome the king of hell into their hotel? Charlie was probably the most stressed of all, but Vaggie did her best to calm her nervous wreck of a girlfriend down.

The moment Lucifer stepped into the hotel was meant to make everything go down, Alastor and his Ego had somehow always a snarky remark against Lucifer. Charlie tried her best to keep them apart, introducing her other friends, before she announced how she would be needing his help. And again the banter between the king of hell and the radio demon started all over again. As if throwing insults at each other before wasn't enough already, now they were pulling at Charlie left and right, like two babies fighting over a toy.

But all things come to an end, which Charlie was thankful for right now, as Mimzy, apparently a friend of Alastor, which was interesting to know he even had any, came barging in with a grand entrance. As the woman now settles down at the bar, talking with the others, Alastor and Charlie took Lucifer on a walk around, Husker disappearing for a second too, but soon joining them at the bar again, a scowl on his face, but something else, undescribable behind his eyes.

A bang was heard through the whole hotel as the entrance door was slammed open and heard could be an angry voice. "MIMZY! You little bitch!" A demon, a slight bit shorter than Vaggie probably, walked in. A scowl evident on the face, as her eyes scan over the place, before falling on the woman she was looking for. "How dare you leave me in the shit like that?! You've got it coming if those sharks don't kill you, I certainly will!" Ignoring the questioning looks of Angel and Husker, you stomp over to the blonde, ready to yank at her hair, when suddenly a bit of debris was thrown through the window and landed beside you, barely missing you by a hair. "The fuck?" The demon's head craned around, looking out the window and there they were, those fuckers Mimzy was in debt to.

You didn't really have time to react much, as three people stormed into the entrance hall, all you could catch was a glimpse of red before the person ran outside, screams of the sharks could be heard, at least those were finally taken care of.

The loan sharks were gone and fought off quickly by that person, his voice now directed to Mimzy, your own eyes on her yourself with a scowl. She and that red demon apparently knew each other quite well, as Mimzy was walking to the door, you finally really looked at the demon. He had short red and black hair, ears sat atop his head, despite scowling Mimzy he was smiling, though a sinister smile it seems. His attire was almost completely red too, a cane was clutched in his hands, as he watched Mimzy walk off, you could only make out a small part of his face. The man seemed so familiar as if you had known him for a long time.. Your heart was running a mile right now, it was getting hard to breathe, and then...

"Thank you Alastor, really.." The long-haired blonde spoke up.. That name, it couldn't be right? Mimzy would've told you, she knew him, she would've definitely told you.. right? You must be mistaken right now.. Your eyes were fixated on the man called Alastor, the voices and sounds around you were all a mush, drowned out as your brain was going all around. Now that you could see his face, he definitely had some resemblance to him.. to your late husband, who had died before you. You were his assistant, his partner in crime, when the news hit you that he was shot, it broke your heart, but still, you continued on alone, killing. That's probably what also got you to hell, well sooner than later you were figured out and soon arrived here in hell.

"Yo smiles, this girly is gawking at you for minutes now." Slowly voices were coming back to you, the white spider beside you talked, pointing his thumb at you, the red-haired now meeting your eyes, his ears straightening and standing alert like the ones of a deer caught in headlight. What irony if he was your Alastor, the irony of dooming him with deer-like features, after getting shot assumed for a deer while hiding one of the many bodies. That day you decided to let him go alone, oh if you just hadn't done that, maybe you both would be alive or you would've at least arrived together in hell.

Alastor was taking slow steps to you, the smile on his face looking strained, yet it never disappeared, his hand was reaching out for you but stopped. Eyes moving over your form, taking in everything. Resemblance to his wife evident, but.. how did he never notice you before? Had he ever met you, walked past, maybe even taken a second glance but dismissed this feeling he has right now.

Swiftly he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him, ignoring the calls of his name of the other residents, his mind plagued by one only thought, more like one only person.. you.

Stumbling behind him, his grip rather firm on your wrist, yet it felt comforting as if you knew he would never hurt you. Not in your lifetime and also not now in your afterlife. Eyes watching the back of his head, you were wondering what expression his face harbors right now. Was he happy? Was he confused? Disappointed? Maybe he knew where you were all this time but didn't want to meet you. No, he wasn't like this. He may have been distant sometimes while alive, but in the end, he was always a darling to you. Taking care of you, just as he vowed on your wedding day. A distant memory, yet one of the most beautiful ones you have.

A door was opened and as you were pulled inside, the door closed. Steps echoed through the room, you noticed a forest on the other side of the room, but that didn't rather faze you, eyes on him again.. and him only. "Al-" You were interrupted by laughter, the man before you was hugging himself, his arms around him, yet you still weren't able to see his face. "D-Do you know.. How often have I thought about you?!" His voice was loud, a static sound like from a radio accompanied it. One of his hands was tearing at his hair now. "That bitch never told me... I'll make sure to kill her for that.. She kept you from me.." The laughter got even louder, as if the man before you was going insane.

This behavior was nothing new to you, he used to be like this, high on adrenalin when another murder was successful.. Or when he was close to being figured out by the police and detectives, yet he always slipped away right through their incapable fingers.

"I always wondered what happened to you, if you grew old with someone new.." If you were able to see his face right now, you would be able to see the sinister yet possessive smile on his face, his eyes darting around the room.

This all ended in a second when he felt a soft hand on his. He knew this hand, he also knew the person it belonged to like the front of his pocket. "I would never, I carried on alone in your memories, yet I was never as skilled as you darling, so sooner than later they connected all the dots to me." A low chuckle could be heard again, the static radio sound calmed down again too. The tall man slowly turned around now, his hand engulfing your own, his fingers softly running over your own, before he linked them together. How he had missed this feeling, despite having a distaste for people touching him, you were different. Your touch felt warm, like the summer sun kissing his skin, it felt comforting.

"I've missed you mon amour.." His voice was soft, probably the softest it had ever been since he had arrived in hell. His hand guides yours up to his lips, as he closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a smile, now softer, on his lips. He was never one for kissing you on the lips, he definitely favored kissing your hand, like the gentleman he has always been. "I figured with how you were talking seconds ago my dear.." A soft smile was creeping up onto your lips too, mirroring his own one. Red eyes open again, your hand still pressed to his face, but now he was rather holding your hand to his cheek. "Oh how I wished I could've stayed with you my darling, we would've been so successful.." Giggling at his words, with him at your side, you probably would have been going for a long time. "But who says we can't be successful now?" A smirk etched its way onto your husband's face, oh how he loved your daring little mind, always thirsting for blood. With you by his side again now, he would definitely be able to get everything done that he wanted.

"Shall we go back? I want to meet your friends properly." Wanting to pull away your hand, he softly gives you a tug, your head landing on his chest now. Wide eyes look the the side now, as you weren't really able to move, his arms having snaked around you and his chin resting on your head. This was unusual much physical contact, but figured that you hadn't seen each other for multiple decades he yearned for your touch just a slight bit. Your arms lying around him, embracing the hug. "Let's just stay here a few minutes more, we got enough time to introduce you to everyone down there but for now.. let me have you for myself." Nodding softly, your head rests on his chest, as your eyes close and you simply enjoy the presence of your dearly beloved husband.

"What do you mean 'married to smiles'?!" Angel, as he was introduced to you, shouted from his place on the couch now, staring at you flabbergasted. "We've been married for quite a few years before his death." Smiling you answered his question. Alastor didn't like all the attention you were getting, but sooner than later he would have you all to himself again when you two go back to his cozy hotel room or the radio tower. "So you two fu-" Angel wasn't even able to finish his question before he shut himself up as he noticed the look on Alastors face. This time he would've been dead for sure if he finished that question.

Overall everyone invited you happily into their little hotel family, it was amazing. Charlie immediately took a liking to you and if you're being honest she quickly was viewed by you like a daughter.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

I find it really funny that Mammon is genuinely one of the kindest demons,

• He rarely loses his temper

• He was picked to look after a human because of this and so he's the only brother that never attacks or genuinely threatens MC

• He adopts some random 9yr old orphaned human, is determined to pay for all her needs until she's an adult, and lets himself be extorted by the witches just so they continue to look after her

• He forgives any slight against him if the person who wronged him says sorry

• He has put Luke's happiness & safety over money multiple times

• His whole reason for Falling was just so he could follow Lucifer & continue supporting him while he was suffering

• He gave a birthday present he received to a random demon who tried to hurt him because he figured that demon needed something to make him happy

• Even though Raphael doesn't see the good in him, he still wanted to help Raphael see the beauty of the Devildom

• He was worried about Simeon and ready to fight Michael on Simeon's behalf

• He tries to give up a prize he would have won for Asmo

• The thing that makes him initially reach out to MC in Nightbringer is seeing them being nice to Levi

• Levi describes him as a "jerk with a heart of gold"

• Levi says Mammon makes friends easily and isn't selfish

• He cares deeply about consent

• MC says he's "innocent & genuine"

• MC says Mammon has "always been kind" and the others don't disagree

• He says that angels, demons & humans are all people and shouldn't be treated differently because of what they are

• He gets upset because of the way Cinderella's family treats her because he thinks family should love each other, and it doesn't matter if they are blood related or not

• He cries during nature documentaries

• He's the one that takes the first step to make things normal with Belphie again after what happened in Lesson 16 despite the fact that he was the one who was most outwardly affected by MC's death and was mocked for it by Belphie

BUT

The only thing stopping him from doing a complete 180° and becoming a villain is that MC has decided to use their considerable power for chaotic neutral level hijinks and not chaotic evil level destruction

[hello-lesbian-dinosaur]

you’re a radio4pple fan. opinion discarded

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Lucifer and Mammon (x gn!reader, separately)

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

Main Masterlist

CW: very OOC since they'd never reject you to begin with, but hey, that's why it's a nightmare

A/N: the rest of the brothers, as well as the dateables, will have their own part too, but I'm writing the requests and the fics for the 500 followers event at the same time, so everything will take some time <3

.

Lucifer – You weren’t his first choice

Under the fear and the mistrust, you showed a clear interest in him since the beginning.

He couldn’t blame you; he was handsome, after all, and he knew his attitude was attractive to most.

And while he found you beautiful as well, you meddled too much in his family’s business and your defiance to him only felt irritable.

You were a nuisance. A threat to his Lord’s wishes.

He made sure to keep you at arms’ length except the few times he felt the need to threaten you.

Surprisingly, the more you forced him to know you, the more he couldn’t say no.

Your shared time turned enjoyable and you soon started to hang out in his office late at night or, if you were an early riser like him, in the morning during breakfast.

He should’ve expected your romantic feelings towards him, something he saw before you had the chance to tell him. The way you looked at him or blushed when he paid you attention, how you searched for his presence more and more.

He rejected you before you could even talk to him about it.

It was brutal, in a way, cold and straight to the point. He didn’t bother to pour his heart into his apology.

He had his duties to Lord Diavolo, to his family and the kingdom.

The attraction he felt for you, the love that could’ve been, wasn’t enough for him to stay.

There were two types of pain in his chest when he woke up: the pressure in his sternum caused by the sharp edge of the desk and the sting in his heart from the hurt in your eyes.

He didn’t do that, did he?

He accepted you, he accepted your love with open arms, gave his in return. Lucifer could remember the smile in your first kiss just as much as the sincerity in your voice each time you reminded him the depth of your feelings. He always opened his ribcage like you would with a book to show his reciprocation.

Staring at his paperwork in horror, the pool of saliva slowly drying under his distress, Lucifer searched for memories that could prove the existence of your relationship. Your weight on his lap, your scent in his clothes, the last message you sent him, the last time he treated you on a date.

When was that?

How many days ago?

Weeks? Months??

His fingers trembled when he pushed his hair back and he knew the sting in his eyes wasn’t due to fatigue. Now gasping, eyes wide open in panic, he got up and paced around the room, the false reality of his dreams thankfully fading away and letting him see himself pouring two drinks while you stared at him in adoration, setting you on top of the table to kiss you carelessly or letting you drag him out of the office for a good night sleep.

 “Dear Diavolo” he mustered to himself, taking his coat off and letting it fall to the ground before breathing deeply. “How stupid… Stupid…”

Although not entirely, the embarrassment of suffering such despair for a nightmare washed the panic away, making him thank everything that would listen that none of his brothers were there to witness his fear and desperation.

It was the last thing he needed.

However, still hating the oneiric sight of your heartbreak, Lucifer refused to stay in the office. Reading official documents and signing them with his beautifully practised handwriting seemed like proper torture now and he knew that going back to his work would only give him more suffering dreams.

Would you hug him for the rest of the night if he asked or would you rather have the roles reversed, as it usually was? Oh, what he would do to feel your fingers through his hair and your heartbeat under his cheek. He’d stay awake forever if that meant never letting you go the way he did in his dream.

.

Mammon – He wouldn’t admit the truth

He thought so lowly of you during your first week in the Devildom that once he caught feelings, admitting them was simply mortifying.

The second born, Avatar of Greed, falling in love with a human? It was embarrassing at best and pathetic at worst.

Yet, he followed you every step of the way. Going to classes, to the cafeteria, back to the house once the day was over...

As days went by, he even spent more time in your room than his; watching a movie, taking a nap, studying or just hanging out.

And when he wanted to do something else? Something more… illegal and underground?

Oh, you followed. You followed him just as blindly as he followed you.

It was painful, yet wonderful.

How full his chest felt whenever you smiled or even looked at him, the complicity in your conversations, the comfortable silence you shared.

The quiet sobs that closed his throat each time he insulted you because he accidentally showed too much of himself, the horrifying emptiness of his room that engulfed him when you finally had enough and wouldn’t let him visit you out of the blue anymore.

Your feelings for him were as clear as the ones he had for you, but none of them were spoken about.

Yours came and went, first hopeful and then neglected.

His stayed.

He still followed, you just didn’t look back anymore.

He woke up crying, body hyperventilating and sweating and mind still in the horror that his dream had created.

He recognized the sheets as the ones from his bed, but everything else looked blurry and too dark to pay attention to. However, Mammon could feel the spot next to him still warm and the silhouette of your figure was visible on the mattress. A quick glance at the door and the lights of the bathroom shining through helped set his heart in a steady pace.

You were there with him, unavailable for just a couple of minutes, but soon to return to the comfort of his arms. Your clothes were mixed with his on the sofa, he was charging his DDD with your charger because his was in your room.

Even if it was hard to say out loud, Mammon loved you too much to ever let you go, as did you.

There was no possibility of that nightmare ever being real.

“Did I wake you up?”

There you stood, above him, hair completely dishevelled, eyes half closed, either from grogginess or the temporary blindness from light exposure, and hands reaching out for him. Your fingers intertwined with his as soon as they found each other and your lips slowly came down to clumsily kiss the corner of his mouth.

“What was that?” he softly laughed, quickly forgetting about the nightmare.

“Shut up, I can’t even see you”

He could only observe in tenderness and relief as you climbed over him, ignoring your side of the bed in favour of his entire torso, but, just when you were settling in, you licked your lips and stared at him, even if you weren’t entirely able to see.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not” he immediately answered in a defensive stance, blushing in embarrassment.

How could you know being blind as a mole?? Did you taste his tears when you kissed him?

“Mammon”

You tried to look serious, but the exhaustion betrayed you, turning your glare into a pout. He could’ve laughed at you, and he would’ve in any other situation, but the feeling of being too late to freely love you still crushed his heart and the only thing he wanted to do was to keep you close and hope you were still there by morning.

“I’m not crying” he insisted, this time in a softer tone.

That seemed to reach whatever was left of your consciousness, so you finally let your head fall on top of his chest to continue your slumber, talking one last time only to say what he needed to hear the most.

“I love you, Mams”

“I love you too” he sighed.

He’d tell you again once you were awake. And once more after that, just to make sure.

.

.

[lost-romantique]

Imagine being Stolas...

You're chilling on your living room couch drinking your favorite brand of alcohol, waiting for the commercial to finish so you can watch your favorite rom-com.

All of a sudden, the channel switches to a live broadcast of your ex-situationship that you still can't get over, despite how much of an ass he was last time you saw him.

"Oh my Lucifer! What are they doing!?"

You rush in anyway to stop whatever the fuck is going on because OBVIOUSLY you can't just sit there and do nothing!?

You don't think, you're an autopilot, but you have one thought on your mind. You need to save him! You love him! It doesn't matter how much he hurt you, he also saved you in so many ways, and you still love him! FOR FUCKS SAKES! YOU WOULD DIE FOR THIS MAN!

And all of a sudden, you’re on a suicide mission...

You will take the fall for whatever his charges may be because you love him, and it's better to die than live in a world without him in it.

You go in that courtroom knowing that you are going to die that day. You expect it.

Of course, you have some reservations doing this, some regrets...

The man you're sacrificing yourself for will probably never return your feelings, but what can you do?

You love him so much, and can't imagine a world without him.

If one of you has to go, it's better you than him.

You're bound by chains and the moment of your impending death approaches...

The moment he's freed, he rushes right to you, clutching at you, desperately begging you not to do what you're about to do.

He fights his captors tooth and nail, having to be dragged out in chains, and he doesn't stop screaming your name.

You feel a flood of emotions, happiness, sadness, love, anger, desperation, longing... so you give him one last look.

It's here, you're impending death and as you approach the device that's about to seal your fate, you're at peace with your decision...

Only...

You didn't die... You can't die...

You're royalty after all...

Your life holds actual worth...

Instead, they strip you out of house and home. Taking away everything of value as you're banished from the life you've led till now.

The only thing you could think about as you're stripped of everything is your daughter.

They drag you out of court, and throw you to the gallows and the first person you see is the man that you did all this for...

And the first thing he does is grab your hand and offer you a place to stay...

People are throwing things at you, makes sense, you did this to yourself after all... but he keeps you close, wrapping his arm around your waist as he leads you back to his place.

He takes you by the hand, and for the first time ever you see his tiny dingy one-bedroom apartment that's a lot smaller than you thought it would be.

As you look at the unfamiliar surroundings of this small home, you're greeted by the sight of the man you did all this for and his daughter, hugging...

And it fucking destroys you, as the gravity of the situation finally dawns...

You have just lost everything for a man you think doesn't give a shit about you.

You were supposed to die...

Why aren't you dead?

Why do you have to live with the consequences of your own actions?

Things are a blur...

Fuzzy...

You can't think properly, but you find yourself in his bathtub as he helps you bathe...

He's being unusually kind and soothing, and doesn't try to make conversation.

He says reassuring words to you, but it doesn't register.

None of this feels real...

As you drearily walk to his couch you feel both exhausted and defeated, he tucks you in and thanks you for saving him.

"Always."

You're angry at him, justifiably so, and you're having the worse day of your fucking life, but you'd save him again and again.

Always...

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Jealousy - Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Sinner!Reader SMUT

Summary: Lucifer's jealousy emerges when your Ex from when you were alive enters the hotel in search of you. Lucifer makes sure to claim you as his.

Contents/Possible Warnings: P in V sex, dom!Lucifer, cream pie, Lucifer being possessive, marking, unprotected sex, degradation (it happens like once), SMUT, MDNI

A typical day in Hell was far from calm, so whenever a peaceful moment occurred, even a small one, you made sure to savor it, appreciating it for what it was. For example, you intended to let the wonderful moment you were currently in last for as long as you possibly could. You had been watching a movie in your room in the hotel, but by now your attention had turned away from the movie in question and onto Lucifer. The king of Hell had snuggled up closer to you than he already had been, his head resting on your shoulder as he watched the show.

The simple gesture made you melt, and you couldn't resist gently turning his face to look at you. Lucifer looked at you curiously, waiting for your next move. You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, enjoying the smile it brought to his face.

"Hmm, that was nice, but I think you missed, love." He leaned in, closing the gap between you two, kissing you lovingly. You moved to deepen the kiss and— a knock came at the door. You parted from the kiss and looked towards your room door as Lucifer let out a disappointed sigh. "I'll make sure to give you as many kisses as you want later, alright?" You whispered to him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before standing up and answering the door.

"(Y/N)!" Charlie exclaimed in excitement. "The hotel has a new guest! They said that they know you. You two must've been friends before! Come on, let's go see them!" Without warning, Charlie eagerly grabbed you by the hand, pulling you through the hallways of the hotel and towards the main lobby.

In the lobby, you saw them. The fucker you had hoped would never die purely so you would never have to see them again. Yet, here they were in all of their trashy, shit glory. "Hi." You said with a fake smile, trying to remain civil and hold back the resentment that had since been dormant.

"(Y/N)! Baby!" Your ex grinned, approaching you with wide, open arms. "I'm so glad I found you after all these years. It took some asking around, but we're together again!" They wrapped their arms around you, squeezing you tight enough that it felt like you might suffocate.

"Woah, haha! Hands off, please!" Lucifer appeared next to you, poking at your ex with his cane, annoyance seeping into his forced, polite tone. They finally released you, glaring at Lucifer as he stepped between the two of you.

"And just who the hell are you?" Your ex questioned, watching as Lucifer wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. "I feel like I should be asking you that question." Your boyfriend replied snidely, any attempt to be polite despite the situation now far gone.

"Alrighty!" Charlie said with a nervous laugh, wishing that she had gathered more information about her hotel's newest guest and their relationship with you before allowing them to see you. "Let's all just relax, and maybe (Y/N) can introduce the two of you to eachother."

You let out a sigh. You loved how sweet Charlie was taking in any sinner, you really did, but sometimes it did more harm than good, usually to no fault of her own. You motioned to your ex, "Lucifer, this is my ex." Then you motioned to your boyfriend, "This is Lucifer. King of Hell...And my boyfriend." The last part felt almost weird to say, the surrealness of dating the Hell's king and the man sometimes known as the devil himself finally setting in.

Your ex only laughed in response, earning an angry, growling-like noise from Lucifer. You grabbed his hand, squeezing it in an attempt to calm him down which only partially worked.

"There's no way this little guy is Hell's king! He's so fucking short. I really thought you had better standards in who you date, babe."

"Fuck you." You hissed, anger bubbling up inside of you as you felt yourself slipping into your more demonic form. "He's certainly better than you ever were." By now the other inhabitants of the hotel had gathered around, some more entertained than anything, while others, particularly Vaggie, were preparing for the brawl that was surely about to happen.

"Woah! Look at the time." Charlie intervened. "It's getting pretty late, why don't we all start heading to bed?" You responded only by turning around and heading towards your room, in desperate need of calming yourself down. Lucifer followed behind you, the walk to your room quiet with no words spoken.

You opened your door, nearly throwing it open in your still-present anger, before flopping down onto the bed with a loud, frustrated groan. You looked to the side, taking notice of the way Lucifer refused to look at you, his arms crossed.

"Honey?" No answer. "Love?" No answer, yet again. "Luci?" That did the trick. He always melted whenever you called him that.

"Your ex is fucking annoying."

You let out a small chuckle at his bluntness, a smile making its way onto your face. "They are, Luci. That's why they're my ex." You sat up, pulling him down onto the bed with you, kissing him, causing both of you to relax, some built-up tension leaving.

"You're all mine, aren't you?" He questioned, already knowing your answer. "Mine to love. Mine to claim." His mouth moved to your neck, sharp teeth grazing the skin, and you let out a soft moan as he began to nibble and kiss at the skin, his teeth leaving a mark you were sure he'd take pride in.

Your head fell to the side, giving him more access to your neck as you took his hat off, throwing it to the side, your fingers running through his hair as he continued to mark you.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. You'll only ever want me." He whispered, lips returning to yours in a fervent kiss. Your lips remained locked together, only occasionally parting for a few seconds so you could help rid each other of the clothes that separated you from what you both craved.

He moved between your legs, the tip of his hardened cock teasing at your wet entrance. Usually, you two would've done more before the main act, but you two were more than ready to indulge in the other right now.

"Don't be a tease, Lucifer." You purred, spreading your legs wider. "Can't you feel how wet I am? How ready I am for you to fuck me senseless?"

He smirked before finally slipping in, biting his lip to prevent an almost embarrassingly loud moan that threatened to surface at the way you felt wrapped around him. He has been in heaven before, and he could say with confidence that being deep inside of you felt better than anything his former home could've offered him.

He began to thrust, his pace starting slow, still teasing you. He wanted you to beg, and you already knew it.

"Faster, harder, please, Lucifer—" You pleaded, giving in to what he wanted from you. "I know you want to pound me into this bed, Lucifer—Ah! Fuck!—" His pace sped up, and the sound of hips meeting yours in rapid succession filled the room. "Fuckfuckfuck–yes!"

"You always feel so fucking good." He growled, wings slipping out as he lost himself in the ecstasy that was your pussy. You ran your fingers through the red and white feathers, and he let out a pleasured whine at the feeling. His wings had always been sensitive.

"Fuck me—Let them all know I'm yours!" You cried out, losing yourself in the feeling of his cock fucking you with quick, deep strokes. You gripped the sheets in your hands, back arching as he angled himself just right, hitting your sweet spot head on.

"Mine. Mine to ruin, mine to fuck, and mine to fill up. All mine." His hands found yours, pinning them down against the bed as he began to fuck you even harder, his climax nearing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer.

"I'm gonna cum–You're going to make me cum so hard–"

"Then fucking do it." He demanded with a growl. "Cum around my cock like the little slut you are for me." You came around him, cunt spasming as your orgasm coursed through you. Lucifer's wings fluttered as he followed you soon after, filling you up with his hot cum.

You pulled him down into a sweet kiss once your climax subsided, cupping his face in your hands. God, you loved him more than anything. The kiss ended after a good moment, leaving you both to bask in your shared, post-coital bliss.

"You lost a few feathers," You observed with a giggle, holding one up. He chuckled warmly, lying beside you. You rested your head on his chest, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. You'd have to deal with your ex in the morning, but for now, you were both satisfied with knowing that you were entirely Lucifer's, and that's how you'd always want it to be.