#can't write an MC but can write 5K in like...four hours

[welllpthisishappening]

Where the Love Light Gleams

Killian was going to kill his brother. 

Which wasn’t very festive, but neither was being away from his girlfriend on Christmas Eve and this was all Liam’s fault. Or so he would claim. While rationalizing his current tendency to wallow, and stare at his phone and he’d spent far too much time on his phone that night. 

Whatever, it was Christmas Eve. That was definitely a reasonable excuse. 

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Rating: Teen, with banter and friendship and kissing Word Count: 5.1 K AN: It’s me! Someone who can’t seem to write an MC to save her present life, but loves few things more than Christmas-type fluff and is therefore filling Christmas-type prompts again. Today’s comes from @shireness-says​​ who is always wonderful about replying to these sort of things and requested: 

"you had a business trip and i missed you so much that i kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety… sorry?" and “we’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about. "

Both of which I almost legitimately filled. Just kind of—twisted. As is tradition. If you are so inclined to send a prompt from this very long list, you can pick one here, and I’ll do my best to write it before Christmas. 

This one is also on Ao3 if that’s your jam, where I’ll be posting all of ‘em. 

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“Are you moping? It kind of looks like you’re moping.”

“Wow, such unparalleled observational skills. You should become a private investigator.”

Sticking her tongue out, Ariel made some sort of objection-type noise in the back of her throat, which probably would have made Killian smile in any other situation. On any other day. A day that wasn’t Christmas Eve. 

When he was absolutely, positively moping. 

It was a miracle he hadn’t frozen like this. That would have done irreparable damage to his spine, he was sure. 

He wasn’t really sitting up very straight. 

“There can’t possibly still be private investigators in the world,” Ariel challenged, brushing a wayward strand of hair away from her face and it was far too windy on the docks. If Killian didn’t get off the docks soon, he was going to scream. 

Or mope for the rest of the holiday season. At least until the New Year. That seemed reasonable, honestly. 

He was going to strangle Liam. 

This was all his fault. 

“You’re kidding me, right? What—what kind of world do you think we’re living in?” Ariel shrugged. “One that’s progressed past the need for private investigators, obviously. And I object to the notion that I would require any sort of PI-type skills to know that you’re being an absolute and complete, although also kind of understandable, idiot.” 

“Those words don’t go together.” “What do people hire private investigators for, anyway?” “Loads of stuff.” “Give me one example.” He huffed, irritation rattling around his skull and mixing in with a begrudging appreciation because he knew Ariel felt bad and maybe he’d kick Liam too. “Missing kids.” “Yeesh, that’s awfully negative.” “What was that about accusing me of moping before? I’m playing to those accusations.” “Ok, but we already decided they were observations, so you don’t get to rename them now that you’re feeling particularly jerk-like.” “I’m here, aren’t I? Makes it seem less jerk-like.”

Another shrug. And a specific quirk of her lips that Killian was far too well-acquainted with. The muscles in his cheeks were almost starting to ache. 

Presumably from holding them in this position for so long. 

He was absolutely moping. 

But he’d already been in Boston two days longer than he planned on, and none of this was really going according to plan. He’d checked his phone no less than forty-seven times in the last forty-five minutes. He hated that. Staring at that screen made him feel like a clingy freak, who couldn’t go more than a few minutes without talking to his girlfriend, and Killian had complained about those people enough times that his current tendency to do it made him despise himself just a bit. 

And yet he couldn’t stop. 

His thumbs flew across the keys, sending complaints and updates and smiling in spite of his own situation. 

Like a psychopath. One who was quite obviously frustrated. 

With several thousand things, it seemed — the most pressing of which was his distinct lack of festive nature, caused almost entirely by the issues with the expansion in Boston and adding another ship in Boston was supposed to be easy. 

Until Eric got the flu, and it was understandably difficult to captain a sightseeing holiday cruise when you couldn’t actually stand up for more than two minutes at a time, and Killian couldn’t say no to his brother when they both had so much money tied up in this, and if Liam was going to fly in to make sure everything stayed the metaphorical course, then the least Killian could do was drive in from New York. 

Or so Liam had told him. In no uncertain terms. 

Except Liam had also brought Belle with him and that somehow seemed like cheating, and Killian should have asked Emma to come. 

She had to work. He’d missed Mary Margaret and David’s Christmas Eve party. 

Which normally wouldn’t have felt like the end of the world, partially because Mary Margaret’s fruitcake was notoriously awful, but this year it made Killian’s heart feel like it was fragmenting in his chest and Emma’s photos had gotten progressively more and more blurry as the night went on. Mary Margaret also notoriously bought a questionable number of Prosecco bottles for the Christmas Eve party. 

“You are,” Ariel agreed, a string of words that caught Killian off guard when he was so deep in his own wallowing. “Which is super nice, but—” “—How can there be a but in this situation?” “There are several, actually, except the biggest one is how three different people on tonight’s cruise wanted to know why the first mate was so obviously distracted.” “They called me first mate?” “People think it’s funny to use nautical terms in real life.”

Slumping forward did not do anything to help the state of Killian’s spine, only managed to make sure his hair fluttered in front of his eyes when a salt-tinged breeze blew off the Harbor and he briefly wondered how dramatic he could get. He needed to exhale some more. 

He needed to go home. “Anyway,” Ariel continued, “they wanted to know why the first mate was on his phone all the time, and if the first mate was available and—” “—I’m sorry, what?”

“You have a face, you know that right?” “Now you’re just saying words.”

If she kept sticking her tongue out at its current rate, it was going to get frost-bitten. “These are compliments, you’re an ass and I owe you just—a metric ton of rum, the good kind, for doing all of this.” “Giving me whiplash,” Killian muttered, but one side of his mouth tugged up despite his best efforts to remain as depressing as possible. Ariel’s eyes got brighter. Rivaled the lights still flickering along the railing of their very nice, very new, decidedly expensive multi-level ship, and it had only taken about fourteen seconds for Killian to make that one photo Emma had sent him his phone background. 

That probably wasn’t weird.

“So, people wanted to know about you,” Ariel said, “and your previously discussed face, and rather than employee a PI because it’s not 1947—” “—Oddly specific.” “I will kill you.” “God bless us, everyone.” “Your very helpful and exceedingly sure of his own obnoxious brand of humor brother was very quick to inform all the interested parties that the first mate was distracted because he unfortunately wasn’t with his wife for Christmas.”

Ariel’s murder threat was not only out of place considering the date, it was pointless because he was going to guarantee he died all on his own. Killian nearly fell off the edge of the dock. 

One of his knees buckled, gaping at his friend and business partner like she’d only recently grown a few extra heads. She didn’t shrug again. Smiled, in her best impression of a variety of fictional and overly confident cats, but her shoulders stayed frustratingly still and that was—

“Emma and I aren’t married,” Killian sputtered, not entirely stunned to find those particular words difficult to say in that order. Half a plan rattled around with the rest of the emotions circling his skull, and he hadn’t really acted on the plan, but he’d been pondering and considering for at least a few weeks before his phone had rung. 

And that was only kind of a lie. 

He’d been doing a lot more than pondering for much longer than a few weeks. Considering had flown out the imaginary window, like—as soon as he and Emma had moved in together. 

Liam didn’t know any of that, though. 

At least in theory. 

Maybe strangling his brother was something of an overreaction. 

He still wanted to go home, though. 

“Liam knows that,” Ariel reasoned, “and I know that. And obviously you know that, but none of your on-water admirers know that, and you were playing your part very well.” “What?” “Glued to your phone, all night. Like a clingy newlywed.” “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it? Because while not technically true—” “—Or true at all,” Killian interrupted, and he wondered if he was getting used to the feel of his heart doing whatever it was doing, or he was just growing more melodramatic by the second. At some point in the last twelve minutes the idea of walking back to New York had become rather appealing. 

“Well, whatever. It was a good excuse, and it’s not like it was one-sided texting and it’s kind of romantic. All things considered.” “What are all the things, exactly?” That shrug came with another smile — far too knowing for Killian’s liking, but he also knew Ariel wouldn’t go back on her rum-buying word, and he supposed there was something to be said for that. Especially if it was good rum. “If you’re going to play the part…” “Look who’s being a romantic now.” “I’ve spent most of the lead-up to Christmas trying to force-feed Pedialyte on my husband. Got to get my romance from somewhere and you’re like—Hallmark Channel ready.” “Probably couldn’t have as much alcohol, then.” “How many bottles of Prosecco do you think Mary Margaret bought this year?”

Tugging his phone out of his pocket, Killian scrolled back through the more than two dozen photos he’d been sent over the course of the night until he found the one he was looking for. Of a table covered in green-hued bottles with plastic champagne flutes that Mary Margaret must have bought in bulk and— 

Ariel’s laugh hung in the air around them, louder than it probably should have been considering the time, but they were also by themselves and he was still kind of moping. So. The world could cope with their collective volume. 

“Do you think she gets a discount for buying so many?” Killian shook his head. “If she doesn’t, she’s being robbed.” “Get the private investigators on the case.” “Challenge Liam to a comedic battle.” “Not if we’re calling it that,” Ariel argued, bumping her shoulder against Killian’s leg. And he wasn’t sure if he was actually smiling, but his lips were moving and his heart didn’t appear to be shattering quite as much anymore and he hoped Emma fell asleep. 

On Mary Margaret and David’s couch. 

They wouldn’t let her go home, he was sure. 

He hadn't gotten a text in awhile. 

He was less sure about the shadows moving towards them, though — because he’d been a little distracted when they docked, but he watched Liam and Belle get into their rental car and there was absolutely no reason for either one of them to be back on the docks, but anyone else showing up on the docks at eleven o’clock at night was probably a sign that Killian and Ariel were about to be robbed. In a far more literal sense than whatever happened with Mary Margaret and her plastic champagne flutes. 

“You guys good?” Ariel asked, sounding more aware of what was going on than she should have been. Killian’s eyes narrowed. 

That made it only slightly difficult to see the overall width of his brother’s answering smile. 

Plus, it was dark out.

“Better,” Liam said, “she's an absolute natural.”

Scrunching her nose, Belle waved off the compliment. “Please, all I have to do is stand there and be helpful.” “Yeah, but that’s more than Killian was able to do today, so…” “He was distracted.” “And standing right here,” Killian muttered, although standing was a little generous. His left knee was still awful bent. In an unnatural sort of way. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Liam asked. Gesturing towards Killian’s posture, he tilted his head and that was even more judgmental than any of the words Ariel hadn’t bothered saying. “Can’t be good for your ACL or whatever.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Adding the whatever makes it sound less official, really.” “And we’re trying to be official,” Ariel chipped in, clamoring to her feet. By using the side of Killian’s jacket for leverage, tugging on fabric until she threatened to tear it and that also would have been impressive if it didn’t feel suspiciously like he was about to pass out. 

She wrapped her arms around Killian’s middle. 

That kind of helped, honestly. 

He’d never admit to it.   

“Official about what, exactly?” Killian asked. “What are you guys doing here?”

Liam’s smile got wider. “We could ask you the same question, but we’ve already claimed way too much of your time and—” “—Wait, what?” “Killian seriously,” Ariel sighed, “if you keep interrupting, we’re never going to get to the fun and passably romantic part of the plan.” “Oh, no it’s definitely more than passably romantic,” Belle argued. 

“Depends on him, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but he was glued to his phone and I’ve got at least twenty bucks on this happening before New Year’s Eve, so—” “—New Year’s Eve would be really romantic, actually!” “No, no, no,” Liam objected, voice rising on every repeat, “I’ve got Christmas morning, and that means he’s got to go now.” Not having anything to drink made it impossible for Killian to claim intoxication as a reason for the current spin rate of his head. Metaphorically, at least. Even so, he felt a little dizzy and slightly out of breath, trying very hard not to topple into the water. 

There was no way he’d be able to disentangle himself from Ariel before he did that. 

And then she’d get annoyed. 

“What is going on?” Killian demanded, pausing between each word for emphasis. Liam’s lips disappeared. Behind his teeth. 

While he failed spectacularly at containing his laugh. “We’re kicking you out,” Belle said simply, like that made sense and they hadn’t all but required his presence in Boston less than seventy-two hours earlier. 

Killian blinked. Once, twice. Half a dozen times. Nothing changed. Ariel’s arms tightened, maybe — but Liam didn’t move, and Belle’s nose still had that scrunch-like effect, and the lights on their ship really did make it appropriately festive. 

“And apologizing,” Ariel added. “We should make that more obvious.”

Blinking more was stupid. 

Talking probably would have helped. But Killian’s tongue suddenly took up far too much space in his mouth, next to all the imaginary cotton balls that were impeding his ability to breathe and it could not have been healthy for so many body parts to consistently fail like that. 

“This is really my fault,” Liam admitted, taking a step forward to clap Killian on the shoulder. His right knee bent that time. At least his reactions were symmetrical. “And I—well, I...I was so worried about the money and the party and—” “—We didn’t really think about your plans,” Belle finished. Opening his mouth, Killian genuinely could not come up with a word to describe whatever sound he made. Something between a scoff and that huff he was trying to accomplish before, but also drifting dangerously close to laughter borne of disbelief and his back actually had the gall to pop when he leaned forward. 

“I don’t have plans.” “Please,” Ariel scoffed, “you have at least the hope for plans, and that’s nice in a way that deserves a better adjective and all that rum I promise.” Liam’s eyes widened. “How much rum are we talking?” “Enough that you stop spending so much time talking about the proper light to string ratio.” “What does that even mean?” Killian balked. 

Shaking her head, Belle moved into his space as well. Both her hands landed on the front of his jacket, and Killian wasn’t exactly cold per se, but there was something inherently comforting about his sister-in-law’s smile and the way she always smelled a bit like vanilla. 

As if she were just minutes away from baking something, at all times. 

“Telling you to come here was a dick move,” Belle announced, Ariel’s head finding Killian’s shoulder when she started to cackle once more. They were all standing too close to each other. Someone was going to step on someone else’s foot. “And,” she continued, “Liam was right. This is totally his fault, but he’s running on like...no sleep, because we’re—” She grit her teeth, another unfinished sentence that frustrated Killian for about eight and half seconds. Before it all clicked at nine. “No, shit.” “Shit,” Belle confirmed, another smile and her left foot landed on Killian’s right when he pulled into a far-too-tight hug. Ariel had to move her arms. “Babies are expensive you see,” Liam said, “and we’d already funneled so much money into this, the party had to happen and I wasn’t sure if Belle was going to be able to come with me because—” “—They don’t tell you morning sickness lasts all day,” she grumbled. Killian’s laugh had an almost manic edge to it, suddenly happier than he thought he could be and that was more appropriate for the time. Of both the day and season. 

“So,” Liam added, “I kind of lost my mind about Eric, and didn’t think about you or Emma or how stupid you’d be when you weren’t around Emma at Christmas because it’s so goddamn obvious what you’re planning.”

Heat rose in Killian’s cheeks, a questionably large inferno that suddenly flared to life in the pit of his stomach. “I haven’t totally decided.” “Yeah, well that’s dumb.” “Rife with opinions tonight, aren’t you?” “We’re kicking you out,” Belle repeated. “With our apologies that I wasn’t on the ship tonight because that shrimp appetizer smell made me want to die a little.” Ariel sighed. “Do all our statements have to be so violent? There should be more positivity to all of this.” “There will be if Killian can get me my twenty bucks.” “Why are you betting on this?” he asked, but the distinct lack of frustration in his voice was obvious even to him. Belle laughed. “Because calling you a newlywed was not nearly as unbelievable as it should have been, and if you get with the program you could probably have your rehearsal dinner on one of our very accommodating ships with an appetizer that does not include shrimp.” “I’m not really a huge fan of shellfish.” “See, the perfect plan.” An objection sat on the tip of Killian’s tongue — if only because he was decidedly stubborn and now a little worried about his brother’s expanding family, but his own family was not in Boston and he’d really like Emma to be his family. In an official sort of capacity. 

“But what about—” “—No, absolutely not,” Belle cut in before Killian could finish, “that’s what we were doing. Going over the plans for tomorrow’s lunch cruise, and everything you were supposed to do, which I’m pretty confident I can do now, mostly because my husband is here and I won’t be tempted to text him the entire time.” “At least not much,” Liam quipped. The pinch between Killian’s eyebrows was going to stay there forever. If not longer. “And then I’ll also text you, at an appropriate time tomorrow, to apologize for being a massive Christmas bastard.” Hair hit Killian’s cheek. Not his. Distinctly red and smelling like shampoo she’d definitely spent far too much money on, Ariel’s hair blew around her when she threw her head back. With laughter. The catching sort, spreading like wildfire through their tiny group, until Belle had to wrap her arm around her middle to stay up, and Killian’s stomach ached just a bit and it took him a moment to realize he’d made another fire pun. 

In his head. He needed to go home. 

“Was Ariel a distraction?”

She kicked his ankle. “Rude, and yeah obviously. Liam is so goddamn overprotective with his unborn child, it’s disgusting.” “And nice,” Belle grinned. 

Exhaling, Liam tugged on the back of his hair. A tell, and an apology without the words. Killian wanted the words. Even if it took a few extra minutes. “Seriously,” Liam said, “a Christmas bastard, which is not an excuse, but—I’m sorry. For the batard’ness, and bringing you here, and not explaining the reasons behind the bastard. And also for ruining your plans.” “I really have no plans,” Killian promised, but that fell a bit flat and he at least had rather specific wants. Of the desire-type variety. 

“So fix that. Like as soon as possible.” “For my twenty bucks,” Belle said with another yank on Killian’s jacket. The poor jacket was not going to last much longer. 

Ariel rolled her eyes. “She’s obsessed with the twenty bucks.” “Because your husband will have to pay it!” “Should you have bet with an invalid?” Killian asked, trying without much immediate success to take a step away from either one of them. “And what kind of Pedialyte flavor are you forcing?” “The purple kind.” “Blue’s definitely better.” Liam looked frustrated. 

That felt like something of a victory. “Were you going to go, Killian? Or—” Kissing the top of Ariel’s hair and pulling Belle into one more hug, Killian flipped off his brother, muttered Merry Christmas, don’t sink the boat, and would never admit to running back towards his car. Or how quickly he drove home. 

It took at least twenty-six minutes to find a parking spot. 

Four blocks away. 

Still, Killian assumed he was running on holiday-fueled adrenaline and something almost resembling romance and the distinct lack of anything in his pocket was a challenge he viewed as quirky more than anything else. 

He bounded up the steps, nearly dropping his keys more than once before he managed to unlock the door only to be immediately hit in the face. With what felt suspiciously like garland. 

And Killian hadn’t really planned on spending much time in their apartment, only thinking about a few hours of sleep before driving to Mary Margaret and David’s house on the Island because he might have come up with half a list of sweepingly romantic things to do, but he wasn’t a total jerk who would show up on someone else’s doorstep in the middle of the goddamn night, and it obviously did not make a single ounce of difference. 

While he was being strangled with garland. 

Blinking against the darkness of their living room, Killian’s brain couldn’t quite come to terms with what he was seeing. Like the ninth floor of the Herald Square Macy’s had exploded. Tinsel hung from what appeared to be actual ivy, pinned along the top of the wall with startling accuracy. Lights meant to resemble icicles reflected against every window pane, and there was an actual tree in the corner. 

Every one of his inhales had a distinct pine-like scent to it, like he was standing in the middle of a forest, and Killian did not think they owned that many ornaments when he left. 

They hadn’t owned any ornaments, so it was a rather easy number to remember. 

A star was balanced precariously at the top of the tree, paper snowflakes dropping from the ceiling and—

Emma curled in the corner of the couch. 

With at least four blankets covering her. She was a notorious blanket thief. 

Mary Margaret hadn’t woken up either, twisted into the other end of the cushions, and Killian couldn’t fathom how they were comfortable, but he was also admittedly a little distracted by the desire of his lungs to keep providing oxygen to the rest of his body and David’s eyes were alarmingly wide. 

“What are you doing here?” “I live here,” Killian hissed, swatting away the garland. Bits of it fell onto the top of his sneakers. “What are you doing here?” “Helping.” “What?” “Helping,” David said slowly, like Killian simply did not understand the word and not all the meaning behind it. “She—well, the decorations left something to be desired, and you know Mary Margaret. There’s a project, so she’s got to help and—” “—Wait, wait, wait, did Emma do all this?”

Waving both his hands in the air, David didn’t bother to say obviously when the movement made it so abundantly clear. Killian’s jaw dropped. 

Something popped there as well. Which probably wasn’t what woke Emma up, but thinking that was almost nice in another way that deserve a better adjective, and the overall force of her smile as soon as her eyes landed on him made every bit of splintered heart still lingering in his chest knit itself back together. 

Immediately. 

“Should I be concerned that you’re deserting?” she asked, hooking her chin over the back of the couch. As if she’d been expecting this exact situation. Killian shook his head. “Nah, this is a wholly authorized shore leave.” David’s groan very likely hurt the inside of his throat. 

“What happened here, Swan?” Pink immediately colored her expression, every one of her teeth obvious when she grit them. Mary Margaret must have been the soundest sleeper in the Universe. Or she’d had a questionable amount of Prosecco to drink that night. “Christmas?” That was as good a reason as any, honestly. Although that stubborn streak of his ran several nautical miles wide, and nearly tripping over the garland on his few steps towards the couch made Emma’s shoulders shake. 

Killian knelt in front of her.

Step one accomplished, then. 

“It’s super lame,” Emma warned, but Killian’s heart was doing more biologically impossible things and his eyes fluttered when she brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I just—well, you weren’t here, and that kind of ruined any of my festive-type feelings, which as we all know are shaky at best.” “Work in progress, love.” Her tongue sticking between her lips was not as annoying as Ariel’s had been. Killian figured that had something to do with the desire to kiss her. And not Ariel. Who would have smacked him at even the allusion to such a thing. “Well,” Emma mumbled, “the lack of appropriate holiday spirit reared its head like—as soon as you closed the door behind you, but then I went to the party and you kept texting me and—” “—I’m sorry, I was texting you? You were texting me!” “God,” David grumbled, dropping into the only chair left in the living room. There should have been more chairs in the living room. “It’s ridiculous, the pair of you.” Killian narrowed his eyes. Glaring was too difficult. “Why are you here?” “I told you, helping.” “He did,” Emma said. “Both him and Mary Margaret, really. I, ok—well, whoever was texting who, it doesn’t really matter. Just that Ruth thinks we’re married.” Of all the ways that sentence could have ended, Killian was loath to admit hearing that David’s mother believed the same lie Liam had been spouting to Boston tourists was not one of them. 

“She does,” Emma continued, rushing over the words, “for some reason. But she kept saying how nice it was that a young couple like us was able to keep in touch when we weren’t together for the holidays and I was really kind of drunk, and even more upset that you weren’t going to be here, so my mind just kind of latched onto things and—” Pulling in a deep breath made her shoulders shift again, Killian’s eyes taking in every moment so he could commit them all to memory and the question was out of his mouth before he realized Emma was still talking. “Will you marry me?” “Do you want to get married?”

David fell out of the chair. 

Slid, technically. Directly onto the floor and next to presents that were almost perfectly wrapped with color coordinated bows on each of them. 

“What?” Killian breathed, Emma’s hand flying to her mouth. Left one, so that helped too actually. None of his fingers shook when he reached up, pulling that same hand down and kissing the bend of her knuckles. Tears clouded Emma’s eyes, falling on her cheeks faster than he could brush them away. 

With his mouth. Killian tried all the same. 

While ignoring the increasing volume of David’s rather uproarious laugh. He was texting someone. Probably Ariel, who very likely was requiring play-by-play. And had timed Killian’s drive home. 

“That was kind of...this,” Emma explained, nodding towards the living room. “I—I wanted to decorate, and make it Christmas when you got back because...well, I blame the alcohol and your brother and—” “—That’s fair, honestly. Belle’s pregnant, by the way.” “No shit.” “Shit,” Killian confirmed, a repeat he’d share later. Once they got all this engagement business sorted out. “They’re pretty incredible decorations.” “Yeah, well flattery will get you everywhere.” Huffing out a breath, Emma’s head dropped to his, and that made it easier to get his fingers in her hair. “This made a lot of sense when I was drunker. But, uh—I needed to do something with all that energy and sudden holiday thoughts and I’ve got a lot of thoughts about your face, you know that?” Ariel was going to be insufferable. 

Killian would make her buy some Moscato, too. That was Emma’s favorite. “Gave me something to do,” Emma added, “and then I figured you’d get home and there’d be some sweeping and we could do something about Ruth’s assumptions and I think we’d be really good at being married.” Kissing her was the only reasonable option. Even as David sounded like he was in physical pain. 

Surging up, Killian’s mouth all but slammed into Emma’s, tilting his head so he got to that one, perfect angle that allowed his tongue to swipe across her lips and draw that even more perfect sound out of her, and he was only dimly aware of Mary Margaret waking up. The couch creaked when she moved. 

Killian didn’t. 

His fingers carded through Emma’s hair, only breaking apart to appease his lungs and the requirements of his body before kissing her again, and his knees kind of ached. Presumably from supporting most of their collective weight when Emma was kind of draped across him. “Don’t go in the bedroom, ok?” Humming against her only guaranteed David made another noise of protest, but it was nice that they’d helped decorate and Killian could only imagine how they’d gotten all that ivy on the wall. 

“That’s, uh—” Emma leaned back, one of her eyes squeezed closed. “Where we put all the extra non-holiday stuff, and it’s kind of a disaster.”

“Tore up the apartment, like she had separation anxiety,” Mary Margaret slurred, and Killian refused to be held accountable for whatever his face did at that. 

David rolled his whole head. Emma shrugged. He liked that one the best. “So, uh—” “Yeah,” Killian finished, before he could stop himself and any qualms either one of them had once had about clingy relationships or relationship qualifiers appeared to disappear before their eyes. Like frost on the window. Which was seasonally appropriate. “I think we’d be really good at marriage.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Where’d you get the decorations from, though?” “You’re welcome,” Mary Margaret replied, sounding a bit more coherent and just as exhausted. That was fair. It was close to four in the morning. 

Emma nodded. “Definite separation anxiety. So we should probably not do this again, and then you can help decorate.” “Deal,” Killian promised, and they didn’t bother waiting for an appropriate time to call Liam. Or Ariel, who crowded into the video call because, as she claimed, it was her living room and her twenty bucks and her shriek probably affected the structural integrity of her house. 

The rum showed up two days later. 

And made for a very good toast, as soon Killian slipped the ring onto Emma’s finger. They picked it out together. 

[with-love-from-hell]

Vermillion Skies

{Part one}

Lucifer must act quickly after Mc is assaulted by a demon. He must find the delicate balance of serving justice and being there for his beloved human in the aftermath of the assault.

Fandom: Obey me!

Genre: comfort, angst, some fluff

Pairing: Mc x Lucifer (pre-established relationship)

Written for F!Mc

WC: ~5k

Music Accompaniment

TRIGGER WARNING FOR ALL PARTS: graphic depictions of sexual assault / rape, gore, and violence.

Cw: rape/sexual violence, gore and blood, genital mutilation, PTSD, anxiety, vomit, scenting/marking, revenge, breaking & entering, hateful/sexist language, mention of genitalia, virginity mention, violent death, swearing, spoilers for lessen 16+

>> Though I have a Masters Degree in Psychology, I am not your therapist. If you have experienced any form of sexual abuse, assault, or harassment and are in need of help, please utilize the RAINN sexual assault hotline or online chat service, or find additional help using the NSVRC website. <<

This turned out suuuper long so I hope it was worth it! If there's desire I may write some similar things with the other brothers and/or side characters- but I love me some Lucifer comfort, so I'll stick with this for now. I'm definitely someone who enjoys reading revenge stories in instances of sexual violence and I feel as if Lucifer was a good fit for such a story. It brings me peace knowing abusers got their just deserts. I finished part two as well so I will be posting them both at the same time. I will continue working on part 3 (and onwards if it is gonna be really long, which is likely) after I finish the Body Image series. Read under the cut

You had been alone in the House of Lamentation for a better part of the day while the brothers attended a student council gathering. There was an upcoming RAD festival that required hours of decision making and planning from the brothers. Usually you would go with in such cases, but Lucifer ensured you that it would be mindless debate over small details. He would much prefer you attend the meetings when your input would be more valued among the other council members.

You spent most of your time tidying the house to surprise Lucifer, and jamming out to music. A text message from Mammon in the group chat let you know that the brothers would be back later than expected, though they only had a couple more things left to discuss:

Mammon: "Aye, Mc! Sorry it's takin' so long. Asmo keeps goin' on and on about the colors of decorations and Levi won't shut up about the games."

Levi: "OH you're one to talk Mammon. You keep trying to convince Lucifer to allow gambling tables. 😡"

Asmo: “Mammon, you’re also wasting time babbling about who gets to spend time with Mc at the festival first- which we all know wouldn't be you. 🤡"

Levi: "ROFLMAO Mammon really is a clown isn't he. 😂🤡"

Mammon: “Oi! We all know Mc would leap at the chance to go to the festival with the Great Mammon! 🤘”

Belphie: "But you're still a clown."

Satan: "If you four don't leave the chat alone we'll never be able to leave. 🙄"

Lucifer: "My apologies, Mc. We should be home within the next few hours. Would you mind preparing dinner? I know it was my turn tonight, but I promise to make it up to you."

Mc: "Can do! I’ll make something extra special for all you since you’re wasting so much precious energy arguing!” 

Beel: "I can't wait. 🤤🤤"

Lucifer: "Your attempts at humor amuse only yourself, Mc."

Mc: "😘"

You giggled and shoved your phone in your back pocket. What am I going to do with them, you thought, a smile fixated on your face. You trotted mindlessly down to the kitchen to plan tonight's meal. You passed quickly by the entry way. But stopped in your tracks when something seemed...off..

Circling back to the main foyer, you noticed the front entry was slightly ajar. You stopped and stared at the open door. The brothers were usually so careful to ensure the doors were all shut and locked before leaving for the day. You approached to investigate and noted that the lock appeared to had been magically burned through- the deadbolt seared to a melted clump of brass. A few scratches lined the frame, and a bit of ash lined the floor at your feet in an ovular shape. A feeling of unease washed over you. Did someone break in? No. One of the boys must have forgotten to shut the door...and broke the lock... You tried to reassure yourself, but the anxiety mounted at the troubling state the door was in. You pulled your phone back out to text the group chat.

Mc: "hey...did you guys shut and lock the door when you left..?"

Mammon: "Uh...Ya...We double check every time we leave."

Mc: "Well, its wide open now..."

Lucifer: "This isn't a funny joke, Mc."

Mc: "I'm not joking, Luci..."

You send a picture of the melted lock in the group chat. Lucifer's reply makes your blood run cold.

Lucifer: "Go to your room immediately and lock the door. Keep your phone on. We're coming home now."

Lucifer's response made the unease transform into full panic. Does this mean someone is in the house? You frantically turned and jogged back up the stairs checking over your shoulder every few seconds to ensure you were safe. After returning to your room, you slammed the door and locked it. You clutched your phone to your chest, panting. Your heart was racing so fast, it felt as if it may explode out of your chest. Your breathing was so loud that you failed to hear the movement coming from your bathroom.

After catching your breath and calming yourself down a bit, you turned on your heal to go wait for the brothers by your window. Panic once again coursed through you as an vaguely familiar figure towered over you. Attempting to flee, you whipped around and fumbled with the lock. The demon scoffed and yanked your arm back, dislocating your shoulder in the process. You fell to the floor, yelping in pain, and your D.D.D went careening to the other side of the room.

"My, my. What do we have here?" The demon let out a menacing chuckle, causing a shiver to run up your spine. You hazily recognized him from your Devildom History class. You have noticed him staring at you in the past, and he was in some of the circles Belphie tends to run in, but you’ve never actually spoken to him.

Shaking the memories of the demon out of your head, you regained your composure. You scrambled off the floor and attempted to bolt toward your bathroom, but he was slightly faster. His tail wrapped around your ankle, tripping you and sending your body crashing to the ground. 

Your head slammed against the floor and your vision flickered white as he dragged you back to him. You groaned as the demon postured over you. He was on all fours, pinning your wrists to the ground with one hand. The pain of your dislocated shoulder was becoming dull given new pain that rippled through your skull. You felt droplets of blood begin drip down your forehead.

Once you were able to process the predicament you were now in, you tried to squirm out of the demon’s grasp. He let out another laugh, clearly amused by your attempts at escape. "Oh, my dear. You're not getting away that easily. I've been waiting for this moment since that tyrant welcomed you through our gates. And since that lackey of his let you stay...I figured there was no better time than this."

You gulped, the color draining from your face. Your mind raced with disturbing thoughts and images of what this beast planned on doing to you. 

He lifted his palm to your face and a long claw traced your throat. "At first I was just going to tear you apart and consume you- body and soul...But now I see why those idiot brothers are so infatuated with you." He leaned down and breathed in your scent, licking the lobe of your ear as he huffed. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” you screamed, trying your best to free yourself from his grip. 

He let out a sickening chuckle as he reeled his hand back. He swung his open palm hard at your face, the connection feeling as if you'd been hit by a freight train. The room spun wildly as you tried to refocus your vision. You attempted to call on Lucifer using your pact, but the mark only just flickered. You couldn't focus enough to summon him because of the pain.

The demon grinned widely at the newly formed hopelessness that painted your features and noticing your failed attempts at summoning your boyfriend to your side. He lowered his voice to a soft grumble. "I think I’ll claim you as my own first. I'm sure that will suck the pride right out of him."

Your swallowed the lump that had now formed in your throat. You weren't sure what he was getting at, but the mention of pride must have meant something to do with Lucifer. Your eyes widened in a newly formed fear when his clawed hand began to tear at your clothes and he unbuttoned his jeans. You now understood his intentions, and you screamed as loud as you physically could- hoping someone- anyone- would free you from the brute's grasp.

"Screaming will do you no good. No one is coming for you." He gave you a threatening smirk. He began leaving bite marks along your frame. He dragged his teeth down your body as he explored aimlessly with his tongue.

You begged and pleaded with the demon to free you, but to no avail. Your body tensed as he began slashing through your undergarments. Tears spilled from your eyes as you screamed. The demon nipped at the tears rolling down your cheeks, the pain from where his hand struck you was overwhelming. His cackling laughter made you feel nauseas and you begged silently for Lucifer and his brothers to hurry. You tried telling the demon you swore not to tell Lucifer if he freed you, but he just shook his head and glared in response.

"If I'm risking my life by going after the most protected whore in hell, I'm going to ensure it was worth it." He gripped his hand around your throat, and you felt something prod at your entrance. Before you could continue your protests, he thrusted inside you.

You screamed in agony at the excruciating pain that the foreign phallus inside you caused. Because your body received no preparation, warm pools of blood began exiting your vaginal entrance. Your vision continue to spin as the air flow was slowly cut off by the demons grasp against your throat. As he continued his abuse, you saw him place his hand down to your entry and lick the warm, ruby liquid off of his claws.

You weren't sure how long it took for the demon to complete his torture, but it seemed like an eternity. You knew he had ejaculated at least once, but despite the added lubrication, the pain persisted, becoming increasingly unbearable with each thrust. Your mind wandered to Lucifer, and a wave of shame washed over you. Every time you had gotten to the point of having sex with him, you panicked and asked him to stop. You saw the disappointment on his face, but he wouldn't ever do something like that against your will. But now, what was supposed to have been your first pleasurable and devoted experience with your gentle lover was now tainted by the revolting beast on top of you. Your body felt so unclean...so polluted...how could he love you now?

When you finally heard the sound of the brothers calling out to you, your heart lifted. You tried to scream, but only whimpers escaped your vocal cords. the demon clamped his hand over your mouth. You yelped at the sudden feeling of him exiting your sex and he gave you a foul, toothy grin.

"I guess I ran out of time." He whispered in your ear. His hot, musty breath against the side of your face made you gag. "I guess I won't get to taste much more of you today.” He sprouted wings from his back and moved to your window frame, winking to you as he leapt.

Your vision began to fade, and a sharp ringing began reverberating through your skull. The sound of pounding on your bedroom door made you turn your attention from the window. You slowly rolled yourself over and tried to push off the floor, desperate to open the door, but you had forgotten that your arm had been dislocated. The pain caused you to scream out, and a wave of nausea washed over you. Vomit spattered over the floor in front of you and collapsed into a mixture of your own fluids.

The bedroom door burst open, and Lucifer stood before you. A look of utter terror was present on his features. You lifted your head only centimeters off the ground and tried to speak, looking into his panic-stricken eyes...but unconsciousness took over your body and your head fell back to the floor.

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Lucifer saw your initial text appear in the group chat and immediately something felt off. Anxiety rose in his chest upon seeing your response indicating the door was now not only unlocked, but wide open. A picture confirming this made his heart jump to his throat. He knew that they needed to leave. Now.

"My apologies, Lord Diavolo- but we must take our leave immediately. We need to check on Mc." Lucifer was already walking toward the doors of the student council room before Diavolo could give him a reply. The rest of the brothers jumped to their feet and followed him out.

Because he was the strongest of the 7 by a long shot, his brothers had a slightly slower gate than him. He hated having to constrict his pace for them to keep up, but he needed to give direction when they arrive at the house. His heart nearly stops when he felt your pact mark on his chest flicker. You were trying to call for him, but something was interfering with your ability to complete it. He yelled at the others to pick up the pace as he increased his speed. He hoped you were able to follow his instruction and blockade yourself in your room. He was damn close praying that you were safe...that he wouldn't be too late.

Once he rounded the corner on the house, the front door was as you had said- wide open. He stopped at the door frame and turned to his brothers, who made their way through the gates shortly thereafter. He instructed Mammon to fly around the perimeter. Satan and Asmodeus were instructed to search the downstairs, Levi would check the tombs, Belphegor was assigned to follow him upstairs, and Beelzebub was instructed to scan the entry for evidence. He told them all to keep an eye out for intruders and you. With their instructions taken, Lucifer knew the most important thing now was to make sure you were alright.

He hurled himself up the stairs with Belphie taking the opposite end of the hall. He ran to your room, frantically calling your name. The sound of your distant whimpers had his eyes widening in fear. He knew was moving rather quickly, but time seemed to move in slow motion. When he arrived at your door he pounded harshly with no regard for the door's stability. He heard you yelp, followed immediately by violent retching. Fuck it all, He cursed under his breath. He stepped back and threw his entire weight into the door, crashing it open.

His eyes locked with yours. His whole body shook with a mixture of rage, disgust, sadness, and guilt. At his feet lay your nude form, wounded and bleeding profusely. Your eyes fluttered and your head fell to the floor as you lost consciousness. He immediately pulled out his phone as he kneeled next to your body. His thoughts raced so quickly that there wasn't a single one he could savor to provide some sort of stability.

Lucifer mindlessly dialed Simeon's number as he placed his finger to your bruised neck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered your pulse. He cradled your face delicately in his hand, stroking the cuts on your cheek gently as he waited for an answer.

"Lucifer?" Simeon was surprised to see that he had called. "What-"

"Get over here." He choked out, only now realizing how close he was to tears.

"What? What’s going on?!" Simeon was alarmed at his tone.

"Mc…She's hurt." He muttered breathlessly. "Just get here. Now."

He hung up and tossed his phone to the side. He searched your face for signs of arousal and noticed your eyelids twitching. He made note of the fact that you likely had a concussion. As he waited for Simeon to come aid in healing you, he scanned your body and made note of every cut, bruise, break, and blemish that appeared on your skin. Both for a report to Simeon so he knew where to act first, and for the beatings he would deal to the demon who dared to mutilate you in this way.

As his thoughts lingered to the torturous fate that would befall the lowlife of a demon who had the balls to break in to the HOL and attack his beloved human, he picked up an unfamiliar scent. The adrenaline must have prevented him from noticing it before, but it was consuming his orifice now. His crimson eyes fell on the lower half of your body. A feeling of absolute horror drenched him upon the realization that the demon had scented you and your space so fiercely. It was only now that he had understood that the brute had penetrated your vulva, and tainted you with his seed. His gaze fixed on how the white emissions collected on the floor with the excessive blood that oozed out from between your legs. He balled his fists in rage and the corners of his vision began to shrink as a dark grey hue clouded his vision.

How dare this pile of filth violate her in such a way. His thoughts practically roared through his head. She didn't deserve this fate. If I had been a little faster, this wouldn't have happened...

"Lucifer?" A soft voice jolted him out of his wrath and he whipped his head around to meet Simeon's gaze. "What hap-" Simeon took two steps and his eyes fell on you. His eyes widened in shock and he tried (and failed) to contain his gags at the site of you- his precious lamb- brutalized and bloodied.

Lucifer stood and gripped Simeon by the shoulders. "Heal them." He whispered. Little emotion was detected in neither his eyes nor his voice. "You can use my room. Take whatever you need. I'll gather the others."

Simeon nodded nervously and turned his attention toward you. He sucked in a breath and knelt before you, checking your injuries and responses to touch.

Lucifer walked across the hall to his room and opened the door, temporarily dropping the wards he had placed around it to keep his brothers out. As he passed by your room once more, he glanced at your face. Simeon had just covered you with his shall and was gathering you in his arms in an attempt to move you. His mind flashed back to the night Belphegor killed you and how similarly your head slumped over his arm as he cradled your lifeless form. He shook the thought from his head and tightened his fists. No. Not again.

He gathered the others and informed them of Simeon's arrival and assistance in healing you. Each brother took to a task that would aid in your recovery- Satan was tasked with assisting Simeon and ensuring none of the other brothers would disturb him while he treated you; Asmo was assigned to put together a care kit for you with items that would be more fitting for delicate wounds, as well as contacting Solomon for some pain-relieving potions; Beel and Levi were instructed to repair the entry way; and Mammon and Belphie were tasked with cleaning your room, as well as removing the scent of the demon who had hurt you. After the tasks were complete and you were stabilized, they would all put together a list of things you would need in your recovery, with Simeon’s assistance.

As for Lucifer...well...he had other matters to attend to before he was able to focus his attention on you.

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Lucifer stalked silently through shadows of of west Devildom. The scent of your attacker still fresh in his mind- a scent he wouldn't likely forget for millennia to come. He had traced him to the seediest area in all of Devildom, which came as no surprise. The few demons that lingered in the streets scattered when they felt Lucifer's vengeful aura. The last time he felt wrath like this was when Satan had been formed. The only difference was that now, he had an easy target for his rage. He had to focus the energy on finding your assailant. That was the only thing that would bring him any relief.

Suddenly, he felt the scent grew stronger. It pulled him toward a dark Alleyway between a dive bar and an abandoned housing complex. Lucifer quietly peered into the darkness, doing his best to mask the rage that brewed within him so he would go undetected. He witnessed the outline of a lower demon eating the mutilated remains of a succubus. The scent he followed was from the living beast- that much was obvious. And he thanked Diavolo that he was quick enough to save this from being your fate.

The demon stilled, sensing he was being watched. Lucifer knew he needed to act quickly before the demon could try to escape. He moved effortlessly through the darkness and within seconds, he was behind the scum with his hands crossed over his chest.

"It seems you've been quite busy today." Lucifer snarled through gritted teeth.

The lower demon whipped around, tumbling backwards over the body he had been munching on. His eyes widened with shock. “L-Lucifer.” He stuttered before sprouting his wings and attempting to flee. Lucifer grasped his tail and dragged him back down to his eye level, earning a whimper from the demon.

“Its not what it seems, i swear!! I-I only fucked her because she begged me to!” the demon spat, his lies displayed obviously on his face. “It’s not my fault she's a fucking whore!”

Lucifer scrunched his face in a mixture of disgust and fury. The audacity that this repulsive vermine had in using such a word to describe you only fed his rage.

The demon opened his mouth to speak again but before he could, Lucifer extended his claws and plunged them into the demons throat. He gagged and sputtered as he stared desperately into Lucifer's contempt-filled eyes. In moments, Lucifer wrenched the Demons tongue out of his throat and cast it to the ground beside him. The demon screamed in pain as blood spurted from his esophagus.

Lucifer grinned at the site of the pathetic demon before him. He was just getting started.

A crowd formed near the end of the alleyway to watch the impending torture, but Lucifer couldn’t care less. If anything, he welcomed the audience to remind them that he is not to be crossed. His silent intention was inflicting a pain 100 times worse back onto the demon who had harmed you in such a monstrous way, and boy was he following through on that promise.

Lucifer released his grip on the demon's tail, who again tried to flee, but was quickly captured again in Lucifer's grasp- this time by his right wing. Lucifer unhinged his jaw and sunk his teeth into the demon's shoulder blade- where the base of the wing met the demon's body. The demon screeched, blood spraying the wall before him. Lucifer ripped a chunk of flesh from the demon and spat it to the ground. He then pressed his claws slowly into the demons back and grasped the ligaments attaching the bone of his wing the Teras muscle, and yanked. Lucifer relished in the demon's cries in pain- knowing it truly was the sound of justice being served.

Lucifer threw the demon into the brick wall of the adjacent building. He groaned at the impact but instantly regained his composure given the circumstances. One glance at Lucifer's face drained all the remaining color from his own and he attempted to scamper away on all fours. Lucifer smirked as he stomped on the demon’s ankle as he passed by, earning the sound of bone crushing beneath his heal. Another agonizing wail echoed through the alley as lucifer twisted his heel on the demon’s leg. He had the demon pinned. As much as he tried, the demon could not free himself. He turned to meet Lucifer's eyes, gurgling at him. Blood splattered all over the ground as he attempted to beg for his life.

"You dare beg me for mercy?" Lucifer glared at the demon, his voice a low, guttural growl. "After what you've done to her?"

The demon clasped his palms together and continued his attempted pleas, as if to try to appeal Lucifer's more merciful tendencies that were sometimes apparent when you- his lover- was at his side.

Lucifer felt wrath begin to bubble in his stomach once more as visions of your body- bloody, abused, and discarded- flooded into his mind. He clenched his fists so tightly that it drew blood from his palms. He dropped to his knees, pinning the demon's lower half beneath him. His anger only grew as the demon attempted to wriggle out from underneath him. He imagined you doing the same, begging for the demon to let you go.

"Please...have mercy..." Lucifer could hear your pained voice echoing through his head. It was followed by the sickening audio of your whimpers and screams at the abuse inflicted upon you.

Lucifer wound back his arm and punched the demon in the stomach as hard as he physically could. The demon spewed up the remains of the succubus on impact, sobbing at the anguish felt by the brutal mauling Lucifer was inflicting upon him. He reeled back his fist once more, and landed another punch- this time on the demon's sternum. He felt the demon's breath hitch as he struggled to regain his lung capacity. He landed blow after blow to the demon’s chest and stomach.

Lucifer paused his assault, breathing heavily, his heart ached with fury and sorrow for your pleas of mercy that were ignored. He grabbed the demon by the collar of his shirt and brought him up to meet his glare, Lucifer’s nose only an inch away from the demon's face.

"Did you grant her mercy when you threw her to the floor?" Lucifer hissed, slamming the demon's body back into the ground.

The demon gave a low groan, his eyes slightly dazed at the impact of his head meeting the ground.

Lucifer gripped the demons left arm. "Did you grant her mercy when you broke her arm?" With a flick of his hand, the demon's radial and ulna bones protrude through his skin.

The demon screeched, his body shrieking in agony at the perforation in his skin. He was now snapped out of his daze.

"Did you give her mercy when you sunk your teeth into her flesh?" Lucifer's voice became a feral growl as he landed a punch right in the side of the demon's face, causing teeth to careen from his mouth onto the dirty pavement.

The demon coughed blood, sobs escaping between breaths.

Lucifer placed a talon to the demon's throat, leaning in close. "Did you grant her mercy when you choked the air from her lungs?" He pressed on the demon's throat, blood beginning to draw from the open wound he was creating. The demon gurgled and gripped Lucifer's arm with his unmaimed hand, attempting to pull it further into his throat. It was as if he was imploring Lucifer to just kill him.

For a moment, he considered it.

But then, Lucifer felt an unspeakable rage flare within his soul. He remembered seeing his beloved’s abused vulva coated in this excrement's seed. He remembered her rasped breathing as she looked at him with eyes full of shame. He remembered the way her head lolled as Simeon lifted her- her beautiful energetic body now maimed and nearly lifeless. He knows the trauma will haunt her for the rest of her life.

And the fact that this scum thinks he deserves a quick death? It made his blood boil.

Lucifer retracted his claws and leaned back. He lifted himself up from the demon, who looked at him in shock. For a second, he thought that Lucifer's punishment had concluded and that he would continue on his way. That is, until a torturous pain sored through the demon's entire lower half, moving its way through his spine and sending blinding shockwaves of agony through his entire body.

Lucifer's foot rested on the demon's crotch from where he had just stomped down. Blood pooled underneath the heel of his loafer, clearly from the eruption of the demon's testicles. The demon burst into the loudest and most agonizing wail yet after his brain processed the source of the pain. He clawed at Lucifer's leg, trying as hard as he could to get him to release the hold he had on his genitals.

Lucifer bent over, his voice now a terrifying roar. "And do you think there was any mercy given when you stole her innocence? When you forcibly probed her insides? When you continued fulfilling your revolting desires despite her screams for you to stop? When you coated her with your seed in an attempt to mark her as your property? Was there even a speck of mercy then?"

The other demons that stood in the alleyway watched in wide-eyed horror, making a mental note to never give Lucifer's lover even a passing glance for fear they would suffer a fate even a fourth that of their comrade- especially after realizing what that demon had done to her.

Lucifer finally lifted his foot and stepped back, watching the demon writhe on the ground, clutching his now shattered genitals. His screams echoed across the alley, and could probably be heard throughout all of Devildom.

Lucifer drew his claws once more and gripped the demon by the neck. His talons were like needles piercing the demon's flesh, but he knew the scum would shortly begin to go into shock- negating any of the pain he would continue to inflict upon him. With his wings spread wide, he took to the air, keeping the demon in his firm clutch.

Once high enough, Lucifer took one last look at the demon before him. He wished he could hurt him more- make him feel the ache that burned so deeply in his chest when he thought of your brutalized body- but he knew that any further torture would not be felt by the demon. Lucifer gave him an icy smile as he uttered his final words.

"I truly hope whatever the next life brings you is even more painful than anything I could have ever done. You truly are the most vile creature that has ever crossed my path." And with that, he released his grip.

The demon fell through the air as Lucifer stared. The demon thought for sure he would and break every bone left unbroken in his body upon striking the ground, but held out some hope that he would just die upon impact and not have to life the remainder of his life in agony. To his unfortunate surprise, his chest was pierced on the spire atop the building Lucifer had been hovering over. He screeched at the gaping wound left by the spire. He tried to pull himself off of it, only resulting in his body being propelled further toward the thick base of the spike. He gasped for air as the pain continued for what seemed like an eternity. The last thing the demon saw before death consumed him was Lucifer's glowing vermillion eyes. He found himself filled with regret as he passed his final breath.

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Part two