#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɢʀᴇᴇᴅʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Lucille and Crimson 」

[burning-fcols]

"Now sweet face you know I want to but I'm an old fashioned man. I don't believe in taking a dame in the sheets until we get hitched. You understand don't you?" (crimson for lucille) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 ❛ Sweet Face ❜ Nickname sends a flutter through Lucille's chest, warming her right at her core and other places she firmly doesn't think about, as a proper lady should. It never grows old, all the terms of endearment Crimson bestows her with. Making her feel... special, in a way that she never had before she met him. Yet even in all this newness, there's no denying the comfortable familiarity that comes from being around an ❛ old-fashioned man ❜ , as he chooses to put it.

Likely having to do with the time period she was raised in, Lucille is used to the steps of courting that Crimson is following to the letter. Granted, this is all theoretical since she never got to experience anything remotely romantic when she was alive. All potential suitors scared away or horribly mutilated depending on how bold they got with the demure little lady. But the concept of waiting until marriage is hardly unheard of and frankly, it excites more than it could ever disappoint.

Because it sounds like Crimson is actually considering marriage.

Not wanting to appear too eager, lest she make a fool of herself if she's reading the moment wrong, Lucille pretends to brush off her dress. Using the motion as an excuse to avert her flushed face— cheeks on fire at the others admission that he ❛ wants ❜ to take her in the sheets be intimate with her —she bashfully responds, ❝ O-Of course I understand! I hadn' even considered that we might— I-I mean, heh... Not that you aren't a very attractive man. An' I do really like you... ❞

Cheeks on fire, she fidgets with a droopy ear, chuffing out a nervous breath of a laugh. ❝ It's jus'— I'm ratha' old-fashioned myself. My Pa an' brotha's always told me not t' um... ❛ let a guy pick my flowa' ❜ 'til he agreed t' tendin' t' th' whole garden. ❞ Grimacing at the awkward paraphrasing, finding it easier to talk about sex in metaphor yet also feeling immature for it, she clears her throat into a fist, ❝ Meanin' he needed t' be willin' t' take care of me fereva' an' not jus' fer th' night. Y'know? ❞

Shrugging, gaze still averted from Crimson, she seems to deflate a bit as she admits, ❝ But my folks were an- intense bunch. They meant well. I'm sure of it... Still, good intentions didn' stop me from goin' my whole life without even a bit of courtin'. ❞ Needless to say, Crimson is the first man to come CLOSE to having the chance of picking her flower. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

「 ☆ 」 Lucille breathes a sigh of her own when Crimson takes the baby, tension fading from her form at the mafioso's gentle demeanor. Strange as it may seem to an outside observer, Crimson looks like a natural to the sheep. Like he was meant to tend to something so delicate... It makes sense, considering how the pair are trying to have a baby. Something Lucille still wouldn't mind, even with another already in their care. Surely they could handle a couple children. Lucille always did want multiple kids and the thought of carrying Crimson's baby is too enticing to let go.

She makes a mental note to discuss it with Crimson later, wanting to see if they're on the same page when it comes to getting her pregnant. For now, she focuses on the latest addition to their family. Overjoyed at being blessed with a child sooner than expected, Lucille places a dainty hand on Crimson's arm and gives his cheek a pack of a kiss. Humming happily against her husband's skin, soft muzzle gives it a nuzzle as she murmurs, ❝ Yer so good wit' him... It's real attractive, y'know- seein' you bein' all paternal~ ❞ But that's a sentiment to be explored.... later.

Moving back, Lucille reaches her hand toward the Impling so he can grab onto her finger. Cooing at the little creature, she then answers Crimson's question in a more conversational tone, ❝ I was so worried about th' li'l darlin', it didn' even cross my mind t' think of names... There wasn' a note either. Th' people who left him didn' even offer that much kindness. ❞ Brows knit with pity at the poor dear, she gingerly caresses the baby's cheek with her hand. ❝ Do you have any ideas fer what we should call 'im? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

@burning-fcols II x

This was the last thing crimson expected to come home to. He was a tad worried and anxious when his wife hadn't been home at first. He figured something bad must've happened to her. He was just about to call his men. Most likely scream his head off. Barking out orders to bring his wife back before he came face to face with her holding a baby.

He breathed a sigh of relief before taking the infant into his own hands. He had never held moxxie much when he was a baby so this was certainly different. "Ain't no surprise to me. Especially in this side of hell. Fucking animals. Could've atleast dropped him off at a orphanage or hospital though. It's like they were trying to kill him."

He said with a scoff before meeting the little guy's gaze. It stirred something within him. Something sentimental. Feeling pity for the first time in forever. "I mean I don't see why not. We were gonna try for a baby anyway." Depending on how well this went and if they could handle the stress he was pretty sure he was gonna knock her up still. "Have you thought about any names yet? Unless they left a note with him saying what his name is. If he has one." Knowing how they abandoned him probably not though.

[burning-fcols]

"This is lucille. She's gonna be your stepmother in a week. I thought it would be real nice for you to come to the wedding. You are my son after all. This could be our chance to patch things up." (crimson for lucille and moxxie) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 When Moxxie opened his door, the LAST thing he expected was to see his father standing there. Let alone him and a sheepish— pun not intended but unfortunately thought of by Moxxie —sinner who seemed terribly out of place beside the weathered mafioso. Soft and sweet-looking, with big doe-eyes and a petite figure that doesn't scream of familiarity with hardship. Then again, he could be wrong. Plenty of people appear innocent at first glance in Hell, and those tend to be deadliest of all. Still, there's something about the timid smile flashed Moxxie's way that feels too authentic to belong to a killer.

Shock as well as the sight of an uncomfortable-looking stranger caused Moxxie to default to politeness, awkwardly inviting the pair inside to sit down. As he poured them drinks in a daze, he struggled to keep his hands from shaking. Mind raced yet was incapable of clinging to coherent thought, aside from gratitude his roommate Millie was out for the evening. He could imagine the whirlwind of fury that would arise if she knew his father was here. Praying to get this visit over as soon as amicably as possible, Moxxie had steeled his nerves for WHATEVER may happen.

A wedding invitation, however, causes him to choke on his drink. Hitting his chest as he fights for air, wide eyes are riveted upon Crimson. ❝ Wh-WHAT? ❞ He barks, tone overwhelmed with bewilderment rather than anger. Far too busy trying to wrap his mind around how his father could possibly think this was a good idea. Not merely the wedding— although Moxxie has many concerns —but inviting HIM of all people to it. ❝ Are you— You're gonna... With he— ... I... You can't be serious. ❞

❝ Ignoring the fact that the LAST ❛ wedding ❜ I attended was a complete disaster— ❞ That's putting it mildly, Moxxie providing air-quotes around the word to show how little value he gives the ceremony Crimson had prepared. ❝ —I assumed you'd rather see my decapitated head on your wall than have me over as a guest again. ❞ It's not as if being Crimson's son meant anything BEFORE and he's about to say as much, but then he notices Lucille's worried expression. The way she stiffens in her seat, gripping the fabric of her dress in her lap. A nice garment decorated with a floral pattern, shades of soft pink to compliment her lavender coloring. Even her wool has a flower tucked in it of the same color.

Lucille tried really hard to look nice for this visit.

She ALSO looks to be around his age... Even a few years younger, if Moxxie had to guess. Sucking in a shaky breath, he exhales before lifting his hands in a placating gesture. ❝ Look. I just... don't know if this is a good idea. ❞ Looking at Lucille, not caring about his father's reaction but not wanting to upset HER ( even if he is silently wondering how much she has thought this through and how he can warn her ) , he hastily adds, ❝ Not the wedding! If you want to get married then by all means you should... ❞ Eyes snapping back to Crimson, he fidgets in his seat, wondering how much Crimson is going to control himself with his fiancé in the room. ❝ But me attending it feels like it'll cause unnecessary conflict. Maybe we should just say our goodbyes and leave things the way they are. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

“Where the fuck did you find a baby?” (crimson for Lucille) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Having hurried home as quickly as she could— the men tasked with protecting her ordered to leave and procure necessary supplies instead; finally relenting after much argument over how SHE was their main priority —Lucille had allowed herself a moment to catch her breath once she passed the front door. With plenty more to do before she could properly rest, she had been going through a list in her mind. She'd need to bathe the poor dear, get him into some clean clothes and a fresh diaper ( hopefully the men will be quick ) , feed and lull him to sleep... The malnourished baby in her arms looks as though he hasn't eaten or rested in far too long.

Sighing as she prepares to get to work, Lucille blinks with surprise at her husband's voice interrupting her thoughts. Unaware that he was back from business already, she supposes that it's best he learn about the... unexpected arrival now rather than later. ❝ Oh. Well, I was goin' fer a walk— th' weathers been lovely an' you were busy wit' work —when I heard cryin'... So I followed it t' see what all th' fuss was about. ❞ Walking to Crimson as she explains, Lucille gingerly rocks the baby Imp in her hold to try and keep it calm. ❝ An' I found this li'l darlin'... ❞

Looking down at the Impling, she lets it grab onto her finger. Brows furrowed with pity at the poor creature, big glossy eyes refocus on Crimson, ❝ It was awful. Someone had jus' left th' poor dear. All alone in a dumpster, left fer dead... Who would do that to a baby? He's so little an' helpless... ❞ Blinking back tears, she can't stop them from sliding down her freckled face as she weakly asks. ❝ We can keep him, right? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

Lucille what do you think of crimson?

「 ☆ 」 ❝ Crimson? Oh, he's jus' th' nicest guy! ❞ Lucille says with a beaming grin, hooves clasping in front of herself. Still new to working for the Imp, she's unsure if she's merely been spared his less-pleasant behavior. Not that she's ignorant to the type of ❛ business ❜ Crimson attends to or the circles he socializes in. But Lucille is accustomed to... unsavory environments and the people who foster them. It'd be hypocritical for her to judge anyone. Although, she IS aware of the temper Crimson supposedly has. Stories tend to drift around the sharks that skulk about his home. One that's bound to eventually rear its head around the sheep.

Right?

But until then, he's been nothing but cordial and dare-say charming. Treating her with a respect she's never known and looking at her with eyes that would have been carved out of his skull if they'd dared do so in front of her father or brothers. Nothing overly-forward or disrespectful! Just... potentially interested. Which was more than enough to invite the ire of her family. But Lucille is sure there's nothing substantial in those moments. He's a suave sort, and probably lonely in such a big house. Some harmless flirting and appreciative glances don't have to lead anywhere.

They probably won't... She's only a lowly maid, after all. With nothing to her name.

❝ He's so gentlemanly an' he really seems t' appreciate everythin' I do... He compliments my cookin' an' tells me I look nice even when I'm jus' wearin' somethin' as simple an' plain as my sweata'. ❞ Pulling at the edge of her comfortable garment to emphasize how it contrasts with Crimson's suits ( or the classy outfits one normally sees on girls clinging to the arms of sharply-dressed men ) , cheeks flush a sheepish pink. ❝ Calls me th' sweetest names too... But he's not jus' nice. He's— ... impressive. ❞

Fidgeting in place— fighting to ignore the warmth bubbling within —gaze drops as she brushes back a clump of wool from her face, ❝ He's so- commandin'. Bold an' confident an' dangerous an'... ❞ Abruptly clearing her throat into a fist, she barks out an embarrassed laugh and hastily adds, ❝ B-But I'm startin' t' ramble on an' on, ain't I? I should probably be gettin' back t' work... ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"Doll face you cook all the time. Why don't you let me take you out? I happen to know some of the best italian joints this side of greed." (crimson for lucille) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Lucille looks up from washing the dishes, having been tidying up around the kitchen before planning to start dinner. Setting a plate onto the counter, she dries her hands on a nearby kitchen towel. Droopy ears giving a flick of interest, a grateful smile delicately hints her muzzle. ❝ Really? That’s so sweet of ya… ❞ Dark eyes alight with fondness, theres no denying the warmth in her features. From the sheepish way she tucks a bit of wool out of her face, to the pink blossoming on her cheeks, she’s undeniably smitten.

Unfortunately, glee is interrupted as a thought strikes her, Lucille glancing down at her outfit. Nothing’s wrong with it— a modest but flattering sweater and a pair of pants that hug her curves nicely —but it’s hardly suitable for any of the ❛ best Italian joints this side of greed ❜ . Tugging the end of her sweater, muzzle crinkles as she muses, ❝ I should prob'ly change... but I don' know if anythin' I have is fancy enough. ❞ Especially compared to the way Crimson usually dresses. She'd hate to make him look bad. Not to say that her clothes aren't nice. But they're just that... nice.

With a few cute sundresses to choose from, Lucille knows she'd look out of place amongst the glamorous girls she sees waltzing around the city. Hanging off the arms of sharp-dressed men. Draped in jewels— likely stolen —and expensive fabrics that a small town girl like Lucille had never even SEEN before coming to Greed. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"It's okay baby. Daddy's here." Crimson @ lucille for her waking up from a nightmare - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Roused from slumber by the terrors of her own mind— thrashing in the blankets that had somehow become entangled around her —Lucille had been looking around in a blind panic. Vision literally fogged by burning tears, the sheep sinner struggled for breath as she searched the dark room for the grotesque manifestations of her family's victims. Some of them had faces decayed by time and dismissiveness, Lucille knowing deep down that she had simply forgotten them. Lives reduced to drops in a bucket when compared to the scope of the damage caused.

Others were painfully vivid... Eyes appearing EXACTLY as they had when life had deserted them. When Lucille cut up their limp corpses— motions of the knife compared to the ones used in the kitchen in a ploy to preserve her sanity —into smaller bites. Easier to feed to the pigs that way. Wailing and gnashing their teeth, flesh falling off them like a slow-cooked roast. Reaching for her, asking WHY she let this happen. Why she didn't help them... Some of them even having the right to ask why she had tempted them to their deaths.

If those men— some of them still youthful, having been cut down in their prime for trying to pick a forbidden blossoming flower surrounded by deadly brambles —hadn't taken a liking to her, then they would have never been...

It doesn't take long for Lucille to bury herself in Crimson's arms, hiding her face in his chest as if that'll make the visions stop. Will protect her COMPLETELY from the ghosts of her past who want to drag her down with them. She's not sure where they're trying to go... She's already in Hell, damned for her sins. Part of her is certain they are dragging her toward nothing at all. Complete and utter oblivion. A far more terrifying prospect than the life she's somehow found for herself in Greed.

Fighting to regain her breath, chest heaves as she clings to Crimson's shirt. Cheek presses against his chest as she shows her face, feeling suffocated having it fully against her husband. Large tears sliding down her cheeks, they cling to long lashes as she laments through hitching breath, ❝ I—I... I'm sorry... I... I w-woke you up... ❞ Voice breaks, expression crumpling as she closes her eyes, trying to appear even smaller as she curls up against Crimson. Barely audible, she weakly whispers, ❝ Please don' be upset. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"Don't waste my time. What the fuck happened and what the hell do I have to do to fix it?" crimson @ lucille (he's on the phone with his goons while pounding his wife against the mattress) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Lucille had known she would be waiting until she was married to have sex... Mainly because that's what everyone told her to do and she's nothing if not amicable to those with authority over her life. But what she hadn't known was how invigorating it would be once that requirement was finally met. With expectations of missionary and privacy— Lucille not one to try and give lewd things much thought —tameness has been completely blown out of the water thanks to her husband.

The man currently chatting on the phone while destroying her insides... and Lucille LOVES it. Hands clasped over her mouth, she fights to keep quiet as Crimson handles his business. Not wanting to interrupt or be overheard. Biting her bottom lip, even that can't completely stop muffled whimpers. Eyes squeezed shut, she can still vividly see Crimson behind her eyelids. The image of him hovering over her, so strong and commanding. Barking out orders with an authority becoming of a Mafia Head. Voice not betraying what's happening during the important phone call.

Choking down a moan at just the THOUGHT of how impressive Crimson is— let alone the reality of it pounding her into the mattress —a shudder quakes through her body ( petite frame rocking with each harsh thrust ) , tight walls squeezing pleadingly around the notably thick shaft. Back arches as a thrust hits her spot just right, eyes snapping open as she fails to choke back a sharp gasp. Hands dart to grip the blanket beneath her with a trembling hold, eyes watering from overstimulation.

Big dark hues dazed yet riveted upon her husband, mouth is slightly agape as she softly pants, quiet whines slipping out despite the risk. Yet that only excites her further... Practically drenched between her legs, warm slickness surrounds Crimson's cock, aiding in the others pace. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"I want us to try for a baby." crimson @ lucille - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Taken aback by the others bluntness ( yet appreciative of it ) breath hitches with a stifled squeak. Wide eyes focus upon her husband— it still feels strange to think of Crimson as such; in a GOOD way —large, fluffy tail gives an unknowing few wags. Delicate features overtaken by a blush that'd rival the Imp's red, hands gingerly clasp against her woolen chest. ❝ You... You really mean that? ❞

It's an empty question, Lucille learning that Crimson wouldn't say things he doesn't mean. For better or worse. But she has to voice it anyway, the sheep sinner moving a smidge closer to the commanding Imp. ❝ You want t' have a baby wit' me? ❞ Lips upturn in a disbelieving yet joyous smile, doe-eyes glittering with unrestrained fondness for the man in front of her. Honestly, she hadn't expected Crimson to want a family with HER and had resigned herself to a life as a wife but never a mother. Unless she counted her step-son Moxxie. But it feels... odd viewing someone older than her ( even if it's not by many years ) as her child.

And she knows Moxxie feels the same.

Crimson had clearly lived that part of his life already. Having reared a child with his past wife; a woman who is still a mystery to Lucille, too nervous to prod at such a touchy subject with Crimson or Moxxie. Something the sheep sinner had reluctantly accepted, deciding she should be grateful for being wanted by Crimson in THIS part now. Yet she's being proven wrong... and she couldn't be happier about it. Tail steadily wagging, the sweet sheep isn't even aware of how much her gaze is practically pleading for Crimson to make good on his desires, sinless as the intent is. ❝ I want that too! I want t' give you a child. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"Baby you really know how to cook. Best pasta I've had in awhile." (crimson for luciile) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 When taking this job, Lucille hadn't doubted she would be able to perform adequately. The tasks were ones she was intimately familiar with since childhood. Cooking, cleaning, mending clothes ( no sense in wasting money on a new suit when a tear could easily be stitched into obscurity ) . Even removing stubborn bloodstains reminded her of home. Albeit instead of being isolated in a deceptively no-name farm in the middle of nowhere, she's now tucked away in the middle of a roaring and rampantly-violent city. Okay, so the ❛ welcoming small town ❜ nearby where she lived as a human was ALSO home to its fair share of morbid crimes, but they had the sense to mask it in false hospitality and denial.

In a place as overwhelming and NEW as Hell, there's an odd sense of comfort to be found in having a home to tend to again. A role she knows how to play. Especially one as busy as this tends to be, Lucille often having to side-step sharks when hurrying about to finish her chores. Nearly getting trampled a few times by some less-than-courteous mobsters, she's grateful for the curtain of night falling over and the quiet it brought to the household. With business apparently tended to for the day— or at least, for the span of nice dinner —Lucille had served Crimson a steaming plate of spaghetti, alongside a fresh salad and glass of wine.

Filling his glass, she blushes at the compliment; as well as the name used to address her. Not used to being praised by people aside from her family, she hadn't expected to be spoken to by the head of the house. Unless it was barking out an order. ❝ Th-Thank you. I'm awfully glad you like it... ❞ Lucille sheepishly responds, setting down the wine bottle. Abruptly realizing that she might not have been as formal as needed, she hastily adds a— ❝ Sir. ❞ —at the end of her comment, awkwardly smoothing out her apron as if reminding herself that she is wearing one. Because she's the cook. The maid. The housekeeper.

The employee.

Nervously pushing a clump of wool back as if it were a strand of hair, she takes a small step back from the table and asks, ❝ Um... Is there anythin' else I can do fer ya, Sir? 'Cause if not, I'll jus' get started on cleanin' up in th' kitchen. ❞ Honestly, it's hardly a mess in there. Merely a few pots and utensils to tend to, since Lucille isn't one to be a slob when preparing a meal. But she figures she can straighten things out while Crimson enjoys his meal before it's time to take his dishes away. She could even grab herself a plate while working, assuming that she's meant to eat in the kitchen. Out of sight and out of mind; something she's learned to be very good at.

Keeping things running smoothly behind the scenes while the men in her life went about their business. 「 ☆ 」