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nostalgiclittlespace · 2 months

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Request: Care giver! Lilith and little! Lucifer (Hazbin hotel)

Plot: Lucifer being in little space and Lilith taking care of her baby (he’d be 0-2 years old), just lots of fluff please 💕

Thanks so much for the ask, anon! Sorry for the short delay in getting this out, but I hope you enjoy! (Also it seems like all of my agere fics end with sleepy cuddles 😭 aka Self indulgence. Luci was also very neurodivergent coded. Again, self indulgence)

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC, DNI IF KINK, NSFW, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST.

Title: The Cutest King of Hell

Word Count: 1249

Pairing: CG! Lilith x Little! Lucifer

Description: Playtime and a picnic for Little Luci! (Fluff!)

The Cutest King of Hell

Lucifer. A daring, intelligent, cunning creature. The first to introduce evil and disobedience to the so perfect human kind. He had once been an angel, hand-crafted by God, and cast away from his first home. But now, he was a king, the most powerful being in Hell…

But he also happened to be the cutest.

Lilith huffed affectionately as Lucifer pushed his rubber ducks along the floor. Laying on his stomach, pacifier between his lips, white and yellow onesie equipped–no one could argue that he wasn’t just the sweetest, most innocent being Hell had ever seen.

Especially not Lilith.

She too sat on the floor, pushing the rubber ducks back towards Lucifer, as if they were swimming back down the lake of his pale blue playmat. There were many other creatures along for the adventure too of course. Some frogs, fish, and even a couple plastic dinosaurs had made it into Lucifer’s imaginary world.

Lilith knew all about the fallen angel’s imagination and creativity of course. Perhaps it was the thing she adored most about him. He could create infinite stories, creatures, and worlds in that perfect mind of his. Even when regressed as young as this, he managed to maintain a clear enough objective in his play. If his babbling was anything to go by, the ducks were meeting the dinos and toads for a picnic on a faraway island. Called Ducky Island of course.

“What’s the duck say, Luci?” Lilith quizzed with a smile as she pushed one towards him to join the other rubber figures at their meet-up.

“Qwak!” the baby exclaimed, pushing it along. “Qwak, qwak, qwak!”

Though the mimicry was muffled by the silicone in his mouth, his confidence and pride in the answer was evident by his eyes crinkling into a smile.

“That’s right,” Lilith smiled as well.

The Queen of Hell reached for the toy bin, where they kept all of Lucifer’s play toys. FIshing around, it only took a moment for her fingers to land on yet another duckling.

“Here’s James Pond. Is he going to the party too?”

“Yeah!” Luci giggled. “Swim, swim, swim.”

“Off he goes, swimming and swimming,” Lilith agreed, pushing the tuxedo-wearing rubber duck in a circle then towards Lucifer.

Lucifer took over, gliding the duck in smooth patterns across the playmat. Lilith watched, enjoying the play’s serenity. Hell, a place of violence and punishment, didn’t see moments as simple as this. If she were to simply step onto her doorstep, blood, swears, and devastation would greet her. Inside however, in the nursery she had designed to protect from the horrors, the R-rated nonsense wouldn’t exist. Here, the most complicated thing was figuring out how to keep Lucifer entertained for more than ten minutes.

“Looks like that picnic needs some food, Luci,” Lilith remarked, pointing to the congregation at ‘Ducky Island.’ “What would they like to eat?”

“Apple,” Lucifer replied, lining up several frogs with the other guests.

“How about apples with peanut butter?” Lilith suggested.

“Yummy! And cookies?”

“Of course. Would you like to help me get it?”

“Mhm!”

Lucifer smiled behind his pacifier, placing the very last duck at the picnic gathering. Then, using his hands for balance, he pushed himself to his feet with the grace of a baby deer.

Lilith stood along with him, borrowing the elegance of a great stag. Lucifer immediately grabbed her hand. Holding himself close to her, he lightly leaned into her side for balance. Lilith took it in stride, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as they ambled towards the kitchen.

The plush carpet beneath their feet, the perfect crimson walls, and the occasional abandoned toy paved the way through the castle. Lucifer’s babbling filled the royals’ desolate hallways. An innocent, adorable sound, a stark contrast to the endless curses that would envelop anywhere else in Hell.

Soon, Lucifer and Lilith arrived at the kitchen. Like the nursery, it held all Lucifer’s essentials. Baby bottles lined the countertops. Several sippy cups and plastic plates had been abandoned in the sink to be washed.

“Let’s get your picnic and bring it back to Ducky Island,” Lilith said.

Even if he would inevitably make a mess of crumbs and peanut butter on his playmat, seeing the joy Hell’s little king derived from his picnics and play made the mess worth it.

So, Lilith grabbed a couple apples from the pantry, along with a jar of peanut butter and a package of his favorite cookies. Lucifer watched with big eyes and a smile beneath his pacifier. He already extended his hands, silently requesting a sweet treat.

“Not until you finish your healthy food,” Lilith chastised lightly, tapping his nose playfully. “Come on, let’s get your picnic ready.

Luckily, Lucifer wouldn’t have to wait long. Within a minute, Lilith had sliced the apples and arranged them in the shape of a swan. Luci’s eyes grew wide and lustered as he watched the snack take shape. With a scoop of peanut butter plopped beside it, it was ready to be enjoyed.

(The cookies, despite some pouting, remained in their box for now.)

Revitalized by the prospect of a delicious snack, Lucifer tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the nursery. He was already babbling about how all his duckies would be thrilled to see the apple duck she had created. Actually, it was a swan, but she didn’t bother correcting him; not only would it be pointless, his cuteness was too much to even remotely diminish.

As soon as they arrived at the playroom, Lucifer broke free from her hand holding; he rushed back to his toys on loose, uncoordinated steps. He plopped down right in front of the ducks and dinosaurs, then popped his pacifier out of his mouth. Mumbling incoherently, he patted his hand on the spot behind him–clearly demanding that snack time begins.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Lilith smiled, placing the dish on the mat beside him.

Happily, Lucifer snatched an apple slice. He took a bite before showing it to his toys. He continued his baby-talk, and made dramatized munching sounds as his toys also digged into their lunch. Lilith also may have stolen a couple sweet slices.

As predicted, peanut butter stickiness covered the mat. Apple juice dripped off Luci’s chin. Once the cookies were brought out, an ungodly amount of crumbs covered his onesie. Nonetheless, the endearing giggles made the mess seem small enough. As the snack slowly disappeared, Luci’s energy did the same. He yawned, scratching his eyes as his sluggish a hands and slurring babbles poked at his toys. Lilith, knowing naptime would soon follow, strode from her place on the floor over to the nightstand, where she wound his music box. By the time Lucifer had noticed she had temporarily left his side, the gentle notes already drifted through the nursery.

Lucifer stared up her, taking long and slow blinks as she scooped him off the floor. It seemed that playtime had sapped all his energy. Duckling picnics were very tiring work after all. As soon as his pacifier was replaced in his mouth, his head rested on her shoulder. The sound music box would last long enough to get the little king to sleep. But not without his lullaby added onto it. Soft lyrics danced with the ringing song.

“More than anything, more th anything, I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything. More than anything, more than anything, need you to know I love you more than anything.”

And every word was true.

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chcrryade · 1 month

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⠀⠀˚⠀PROMISE ME YOU’LL RUN⠀ ┉ ┉ ⠀Yijun’s not one to make friends. But as it seems, there’s always room for enemies.

INCLUDING ⁺⠀qiao yijun, qwak yunseo. TIMESTAMP ⁺⠀BACKSTAGE INKIGAYO, 8 AUGUST 2021. WARNINGS ⁺⠀swearing, arguments. WORD COUNT ⁺⠀2.1K NOTE ⁺⠀find yunseo here. oh yiseven beef i missed you.. i still think this is cringe but we ball

Sweat was drying uncomfortably on the back of Yijun’s neck. The makeup plastered all over his face felt cakey, unnatural. The lights were too bright and his shoes were too big and with every step he took down the corridor he felt irritation dancing along his skin, sparks flickering and waiting for the final little inconvenience to tip him over the edge, ignite him completely.

He wanted to go. Where, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew was that he wanted to be somewhere else. Outside. A bar. The dorms—and not the new ones, in the new apartment the company had set the rest of the newcomers up with and shoved a room in for him too—the original ones. With Hyeonmin. And Ilwoo. And fuck, he’d even be happy to see Jiyeol’s perpetually dead-eyed stare looking back at him when he opened the door. Back home, in their flat. His mother had probably ripped out every memory he’d made in his childhood bedroom to replace it with some minimalistic decor and some fake potted plants and an exercise bike by now, since the last time he’d spoken to her on the phone she’d been waxing lyrical about her ‘new health goals’ for the year.

Anywhere other than the Inkigayo backstage corridors sounded like a dream. He’d take a locked and bolted room with completely blank walls and no-one for company other than Jaehee over a minute longer here.

His fingers crept up the sleeve of the jacket he was wearing and his nails scraped long trails up and down his arms, touch cool to the overheated skin. The sound of it was muffled, and everything felt a little far away. Like he was drifting underwater, wading around under the surface without any real direction—like now, and how he was pacing up and down the corridors in hopes that something would relieve the itching feeling crawling around just under his skin, jumping from nerve ending to nerve ending.

He didn’t have to search for any longer. The faint pressure closing in on him popped all at once, leaving him gasping for air. Or rather—left him slamming hard into someone’s shoulder as he passed them a little too carelessly, head lost in the clouds and deep underwater simultaneously. He swivelled on the heel of his too-big shoes, his lips poised and ready to toss out a half-hearted apology before going on his way, but then Yijun saw the look he gave him.

It wasn’t outright disgust. However much you hated someone in this business, you’d never let them know. It’d stay hidden in the creases of paper-thin smiles and the palms of clenched fists. The look was more.. Reproachful. A drag sideways to the arm Yijun had hit, a hand coming up to brush it off, and then flicking back over to meet the rapper’s eyes. The stranger’s lip curled up at the corner, half a sneer on his face, and that was the flame that started the fire. That was all it took. An expression that lasted less than a second, gone faster than it had appeared, and Yijun was gritting his teeth, and turning to face him fully, and trying his best to push the burn of all his vitriol into a singular look.

“Surely it didn’t hurt that much. There’s no need for you to give me that face.”

That only served to make the look worse. The sneer was full-force, now, and the stranger’s hand dropped from his arm to thud uselessly against his side in a way that seemed far too loud for the quiet of the hallway, even if it was still populated by the distant chatter from other dressing rooms and constant buzz of the aircon.

“And who are you to tell me how much it hurt? There’s no need to be rude.”

The words fell distorted on unhearing ears, static filling them to the brim instead. Who are you? It wasn’t what he meant, wasn’t at all what was being said—but his mind twisted it that way anyway. Who are you? Reporters at the door. Eyes on his back. A tap on the shoulder, a look of realisation. You’re that.. That Yijun kid, aren’t you? From that group. Whatever they’re called. There’s a new one, now. The other.. Well. I guess you would know what happened to them. From one failed group to another that no-one knew the fate of, from headline to headline and scandal to scandal, and he was still a nobody. Who are you?

He glared right back once he’d snapped himself out of his frozen state, pushing forward to lean closer, leering at the stranger even if he had to raise his gaze to do so. Anger was filling up his head again, leaking out of his ears and pooling onto the floor around the shoes that still didn’t fit. His words were growing in volume, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides and nails leaving crescent moons indented in his palms.

“Rude, my ass. I was just saying.”

Realistically, he knew he should’ve walked away before it went any further. He should’ve turned and retreated, kept it to judging looks when they passed on end-of-show stages and quiet eyerolls when no-one else was looking. But he didn’t, so he couldn’t. Especially when the still-stranger pushed blood-red strands of hair that had come loose from its styling out of his eyes and smiled, the expression stretched thin across his face. Yijun wanted to scream, and he himself didn’t really know why.

“I think I’ve been in this business long enough to know what being rude looks like. What I don’t know is why you think I have a problem with you—I don’t even know who you are.”

His nails bit into his skin so hard it broke. The stranger kept on going.

“I must’ve missed your performance earlier. Or maybe it just wasn’t all that to begin with? Anyway, like I said—I don’t know you.”

You’ll know me in a minute, he thought. His head was pounding, the lights above him boring into his retinas. Because I'll rip your teeth out and carve my name into your arm. Maybe then he’d be remembered. The freak who attacked a fellow idol, a jealous psycho so desperate to be known he’d hurt and tear and dig his teeth in for it. Better than nothing, he supposed.

But he didn’t say that. He bit his tongue, tried to school his face into one of indifference rather than one that would show how affected he was from the comment, and said something else instead. “Do you want a medal? I don’t know who the fuck you are, either. And I doubt you and your own little group of no-names were much better than us.”

That was what seemed to crack him. The smile melted off of his face, the façade having slipped, and Yijun let a grin of his own spread over his lips wide enough to show his teeth. If that was all it took, then—well. He would’ve done it a lot earlier.

The stranger opened his mouth again, brow furrowed and likely ready to fire back, until a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Yunnie-yah! Where the hell are you?”

Yijun stifled a snicker at the nickname, grinning wider when ‘Yunnie-yah’ only glared harder. A taller man came up from behind but stopped in his tracks at the sight of Yijun, hand almost immediately coming up to rest on the red-haired stranger’s shoulder.

“What’s up? Who’s your friend?”

He laughed again, louder this time. He couldn’t help it. Even ‘Yunnie’ rolled his eyes at the term.

“Far from a friend. Just—I don’t know.”

The taller stranger’s eyes narrowed, hand tightening slightly in its place. “Is there a problem?”

Yijun kept his eyes on the redhead, daring him to speak up. Go on. Snitch. Make a scene. You know you want to.

The redhead said nothing, scoffing and turning away. Despite this, his friend piped up anyway.

“You shouldn’t go around talking shit. It’s not a good look.”

His arms were itching again. His hands uncurled from where they’d been squeezed tightly shut, and he wiped the bleeding crescent moons clean on his sleeves, watched as the red stained the fabric, vaguely thankful it was already dark and he wouldn’t get too harshly reprimanded for the damage. “You shouldn’t accuse people of things you don’t know they’ve done. That doesn’t paint you in a very good light, either.”

The taller one was quicker to anger than the redhead, it seemed. He started forward even if nothing Yijun said had been particularly provocative, gently pushing the shorter to stand behind him. His vision was suddenly too full of dyed hair and narrowed eyes, the conflicting smells of sweat and cologne clouding his senses until he was drowning in it all over again. This was how he was going to be remembered, then. A victim, beaten black and blue after a few misplaced words and a misunderstanding. Again—better than nothing. He’d probably get more money out of that.

Alas, the punch he was waiting for never came. A third voice arose instead. Weren’t they crowding the corridor, now? More shoes thudded down the hallway, splashing in the remnants of his anger, his desperation. Like children on a rainy day, getting their feet wet but not caring until the cold seeped in.

“I sent you off to find him, not hang arou—what the fuck? What are you doing?”

It was getting repetitive. Maybe if it went on for long enough there’d be twenty men piled up in the corridor opposite him. Maybe one of his own members would turn up next. He tried to tune everything out for a moment and when he came back found that he was less angry, and more.. Tired. Over it. The taller one was yanked away, and Yijun pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He felt like he was drifting again, lost to the raising voices of whatever the trio were going back-and-forth about. Snippets bled through the haze, drifting into one ear and out the other. Can’t you leave well enough alone? He started it. I don’t care. The last thing you need is another hiatus. Fuck you.

When the darkness from his closed eyes morphed into spirals and colours and static, he reopened them to find all three pairs of eyes trained on his figure. A glare, a sneer, a wary look.

“I’m really sorry about this, uh..” the newest arrival of the three stepped forward to apologise, bowing his head and trailing off as he waited for the Yijun to supply his name.

“Yijun.”

“Yijun-ssi. It won’t happen again.”

It could, for all he cared. He’d argue and fight and trade blows all day if it gave him something to do. The apology was paper-thin anyway, hardly counting for much. Still, he nodded along and pasted on a smile as sweet as he could manage.

“It’s alright, sunbaenim.”

Silence fell again. The tallest was the first to clear his throat and stand up straighter, giving him one last look before turning on his heel. He paused and looked back when he realised only the one who had arrived last was following him, but the redhead cut him off before he could say a word, and waved him off.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

They were back to their stalemate. The glare against the grin. By now the blood on Yijun’s sleeve had dried, and he could feel a blister coming on from the back of his too-big shoes.

“What’s up, Yunnie-yah?”

The sound of him gritting his teeth was audible. Yijun watched the muscles in his jaw tighten, amusement poorly hidden on his face.

“It’s Yunseo. Or nothing at all, if it’s coming from you.”

“Right.”

He hoped his disinterest was discernible, easily distinguished. From the answering look on the redhead’s face, it had come through just fine.

The quiet was back, until Yunnie—Yunseo—shattered it with a stilted cough, glare lessening in its potency, if only for a moment.

“I guess I’ll have to expect seeing you around.”

Nothing sounded worse, in Yijun’s opinion. The aircon buzzed somewhere above his head, and the distant chatter carried on.

“I hope not.”

The redhead scoffed. Yijun couldn't see what look he had on his face, because he’d turned and carried on walking on his original—long-forgotten, but original—path.

His makeup still felt cakey on his face, and the lights were still too bright. But, at the very least, all the irritation that had been coursing through his bloodstream was more or less gone. Pissing people off was something of an outlet, it seemed.

#⠀Ꮺ◞⠀CLUB CLASSIC!⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀writing.#they call me the i need to empty my draftsinator.. cringe writing piece edition #kpop oc #fictional kpop group #fictional idol community #idol oc #fictional idol group

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