#trait: fallen angel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

millersfinest · 8 months ago

Text

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #mini series #ellie the last of us

671 notes · View notes

heart-of-the-morningstar · 1 year ago

Text

✨Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) x f!sinner reader Smut Masterlist✨

I thought it would be a good idea to put all of my short stories (and headcanons) for our favorite Short King in one post so they can be easily found! This will be updated if or when I write more! Thanks for all the love on these btw, I never expected this much engagement for a genre I’ve never written about, I appreciate all of you 😭💖

Headcanons

Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Headcanons

Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Alphabet

One Shots

His Queen

Opening Up

Sensitivity

Desperation

Feathers

Pretty Boy

Lucifer in Lingerie artwork by the lovely @yuckypuppie

Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal

The Engagement Ring artwork by the lovely @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis

Teasing Lucifer artwork by the lovely @bat-boness

Dress Up, Part 2: The Ceremony

Lucifer and OC Cuddling Scene artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Lucifer and Husk at the bar artwork by the lovely @luci-lover-forever

Lucifer and OC Wedding Attire artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Kiss the Bride artwork by the lovely @yourlocalcryptidbee

Lucifer Wedding Attire artwork by the lovely @bat-boness

Dress Up, Part 3: The Honeymoon

Double Trouble artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Triple Trouble artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Dress Up, Part 4: The Anniversary

Meeting with Asmodeus artwork by the lovely @luci-lover-forever

Dress Up, Part 5: The Gift (Come Fly With Me)

Chained artwork by the lovely @missowletteblue

Bucking Bronco based on this Cowboy Lucifer art by the lovely @bat-boness

Behind (Not So) Closed Doors

Lead Us Into Temptation

Snake Tongue artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Falling For You (Again) - Lucifer x f!fallen angel reader

Reunited artwork by the lovely @missowletteblue

Rosie artwork by the lovely @missowletteblue

Story Cover artwork by the lovely @missowletteblue

His Forbidden Fruit - Angel!Lucifer x f!Huamn Reader

Angel Lucifer artwork by the lovely @the-other-soup

Lucifer and The First Woman artwork by the lovely @sora-712

All Dolled Up

Miss You

These one shots are all on my AO3 account too!

My Ko-Fi

Asks/Drabbles

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (short dialogue segments) - NSFW

Cowgirl Imp OC artwork by the lovely @fluffypinkpillows

Lucifer w/ reader who's never received oral before - NSFW

Full Body Length Mirror - NSFW

Lucifer w/ an ace/sex repulsed reader - NSFW

Lucifer w/ a virgin reader - NSFW

Foreplay w/ Lucifer - NSFW

Reader catching Lucifer touching himself to them - See "Behind (Not So) Closed Doors" for a full short story - NSFW

Lucifer w/ a devout reader (corruption kink) - See "Lead Us Into Temptation" for a full short story - NSFW

Lucifer loves reader's laugh - SFW

Lucifer w/ a shy s/o who has a hard time taking compliments - SFW

Lucifer w/ a bigger s/o - NSFW

Lucifer w/ reader who isn't as ready as previously thought - NSFW

Lucifer and the love languages- SFW

Lucifer w/ an s/o with scars - SFW

Lucifer doesn’t know he’s on a date - SFW

Lucifer in a rut - NSFW

Lucifer loses his s/o in an accident- Angst

Lucifer x reader in heat - NFSW

Lucifer x reader in his penthouse - NSFW

Lucifer tries to hide his demonic traits -Hurt/Comfort (slightly spicy)

Lucifer x reader dry humping/thigh rubbing - NSFW

Lucifer turns cockwarming against you - NSFW

Lucifer x virgin reader - Loving One Night Stand -NSFW/Slight Angst

Lucifer x Reader - Markings - NSFW

Lucifer x Insecure!Reader - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Sleep Talking - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Impatient - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Chains - NSFW

Needy Lucifer x Reader - Morning Routine - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Trapped - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Use Your Words - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Nowhere To Run - NSFW (Dark themes)

Lucifer x Reader - A Gift For You - NSFW

Lucifer - Dom vs. Sub - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - It’s Been A While… - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - What Did You Say? - NSFW

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #my writing #masterlist #ao3 #thank you guys 💖

1K notes · View notes

digi-lov · 8 months ago

Text

LadyDevimon (X Antibody) EX7-058 by Takeuchi Moto from EX-07 Extra Booster Digimon Liberator

#digimon #digimon tcg #digimon card game #digica #デジカ #digisafe #EX7 #Ladydevimon X #Takeuchi Moto #digimon card #color: purple #Lv5 #type: virus #trait: fallen angel #trait: x Antibody #num: 04 #halloveen #token

108 notes · View notes

voxslays · 5 months ago

Note

hazbin hotel characters x a fennec fox like sinner? (gn reader please) (any character(s) will do tbh)

SLY FOX

A/N: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO HAZBIN HOTEL SEASON ONE! I am hoping that season two releases in like November or December of this year…but I have a feeling it will be at least 2026, sadly…

ALASTOR

ꨄ Could honestly care less about your more animalistic traits. You have big fluffy ears? Cool, so does he. He doesn’t care. Although, he will use your cute looks against you, calling you demeaning pet names.

ꨄ Finds your slyness endearing. Your fox like abilities—while he will initially ignore them—could be quite useful to him in the long run. Alastor will try to get you under a contract.

CHARLIE

ꨄ Thinks you are one of the cutest sinners she’s ever seen! How can someone as cute as you have done anything wrong ever? She says, before you list off your multiple atrocities.

ꨄ Will constantly be trying to touch your big fluffy ears, pet your tail, or boop you on your cutesy little button nose.

LUCIFER

ꨄ Like his daughter, the fallen angel also finds you absolutely adorable. However, he won’t constantly be touching you like Charlie does. He has some anxiety issues and is a little anxious about it.

ꨄ Will constantly be asking you questions about your hellish form, writing them down to remember them for later. If you’re not around or don’t have an answer, he will just Voogle it.

HUSK

ꨄ Another one who could care less about your animalistic appearance or traits. He is ‘much too busy’ drinking and managing the bar to even spare a glance in your direction.

ꨄ Sure, he finds your beady black eyes and nose to be cute, but unlike Charlie he doesn’t have the urge to go up and pet your tail. He knows the feeling and hates it.

257 notes · View notes

barblaz-arts · 10 months ago

Note

Thoughts on the theory of Carmilla being a fallen angel? Considering she and her daughters have very little “demonic” traits, at most red eyes and small fangs (if you look closely, Odette’s horns seem to be part of her hairband) I think it makes sense.

I wasn't on board with that theory about Carmilla at first but I saw someone point out a while back how this shot of Carmilla from the pilot--

-- made it look like she has withered wings. Thought that was so cool so now I'm so on board.

I also like how both Carmilla and Vaggie have to use makeshift horns, as if they need to put in extra effort to look more demon-like

I dont think her daughters also fell tho. It'd be super interesting if the very reason Carmilla fell in the first place is if she found out her daughters are down in Hell and wanted to be where they are.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #vaggie

598 notes · View notes

scribbly-squid · 6 months ago

Text

Oblivious | Lucifer Imagine

Lucifer x Sinner Reader

Imagine: Angel Dust having to explain to Lucifer after the fact that you were flirting with the fallen angel.

Masterlist

“You must be the King of Hell,” you said, your voice warm and calm as you looked up from your book. Your gaze shifted to the towering, sharp-dressed figure standing beside Angel Dust, the two of them making quite the striking pair. You closed the book slowly, savoring the moment, and slid the glossy brochure Angel had shoved into your hands earlier—a vivid, glittering advertisement for one of Hell’s more notorious clubs—between the pages as a makeshift bookmark. Rising from your seat, you smoothed your outfit and crossed the room with easy confidence. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Y/N.”

Lucifer’s crimson eyes flicked to you, his expression carefully neutral at first. For someone nicknamed the King of Hell, he seemed surprisingly… reserved. After a brief pause, his lips curved into a polite, faintly nervous smile as he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his deep voice velvety smooth but tinged with something you could only describe as hesitation. “And please, drop the formalities. I’m not really a fan of those.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, your curiosity about the infamous King of Hell growing by the second. “I can see where Charlie gets it from,” you quipped, and his smirk grew slightly, a glimmer of pride flickering in his eyes.

“She’s told me a bit about you,” Lucifer admitted, his tone light but cautious. His gaze flicked briefly to Angel Dust, who stood a few feet behind him, clearly struggling to suppress whatever sarcastic comment was threatening to escape. “So, Charlie mentioned you had some questions for me?”

“I do,” you replied, nodding enthusiastically as you clasped your hands behind your back. “First question: is it some kind of prerequisite for fallen angels to be ridiculously handsome?”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you watched as Lucifer blinked, his composure slipping ever so slightly. For a being of his stature and reputation, he looked… flustered. A quiet, nervous laugh escaped him as he rubbed the back of his neck, his crimson eyes darting anywhere but at you. “Well, uh…” he began, his voice catching slightly, “every angel is unique, so we all end up with different traits. There’s no, uh, official requirement to be... ‘good-looking.’” He paused, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “But I suppose many of us are rather fortunate in that regard.”

Behind him, Angel Dust failed spectacularly to keep his composure. He let out a sharp snicker, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Fortunate, huh?” Angel repeated, his tone oozing with mockery. He waggled his eyebrows at you, his pink eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t let him fool ya, honey—he knows exactly how good he looks.”

Lucifer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he’d heard this a thousand times before. “Thank you for that, Angel,” he muttered dryly.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, but you did your best to maintain your composure. Clearing your throat, you glanced back at your book, needing something to ground yourself. “Right, well, thanks for clearing that up,” you said, doing your best to sound nonchalant even as your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. “Anyway, I should go get ready for one of Charlie’s exercises. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Lucifer nodded, his polite smile returning, though you caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. “Of course. Good luck with that.”

As you turned to leave, you risked a quick glance over your shoulder at Angel Dust, who was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter. His grin was so wide it practically split his face in two. He blew you an exaggerated kiss, winking at you as if to say, Told you so.

You raised an eyebrow at him, shooting him a look that said, You weren’t kidding. Angel only doubled down on his smug expression, twirling a strand of his hair around one clawed finger like a lovestruck teenager. It didn’t hurt that Angel was right—Lucifer was ridiculously handsome. Though you were certain you’d never hear the end of it from Angel Dust.

Lucifer leaned against the bar, his crimson eyes lost in thought. Angel Dust, turned around with a smug grin plastered across his face.

“You good there, big guy?” Angel teased, tapping his nails against the bar. “You’ve been staring at that wine like it’s got all the answers to life’s mysteries. Lemme guess—you’re thinkin’ about what Y/N said, huh?”

Lucifer sighed, barely glancing up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Angel snorted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Oh, please,” he drawled, sliding closer on his barstool. “Don’t play dumb with me, Lucifer. Y/N was totally flirting with you earlier, and you just stood there like a clueless puppy. It was adorable, really.”

Lucifer frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Flirting? She wasn’t flirting. She was asking questions.”

“Uh-huh.” Angel gave him a deadpan look. “Sure. Because ‘Is it a prerequisite for fallen angels to be ridiculously handsome?’ is just a totally innocent question, right? Definitely not laced with any, ya know, subtext.”

Lucifer straightened up, his expression shifting as the realization started to dawn on him. “Wait… you think that was…?” He trailed off, the faintest hint of pink dusting his pale cheeks.

Angel couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back as his shoulders shook with delight. “Oh, my God, you’re hopeless! She was flirting so hard I almost felt secondhand embarrassment, and you—you just stood there, giving her a freakin’ lecture about angelic traits. Classic.”

Lucifer groaned, pinching between his eyes. “I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Angel said, wiping a tear from his eye as his laughter died down. “Listen, babe, next time she hits you with a line like that, maybe try something like, ‘Well, what do you think?’ instead of looking like you’re buffering, alright?”

Lucifer shot him a withering glare. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Angel grinned, leaning his chin on his hand. “But hey, don’t worry. I’ll coach you if you need it. After all, it’d be a real shame if you let someone like her slip through your fingers just ‘cause you’re too busy bein’ all stoic and mysterious.”

Lucifer didn’t respond, but the thoughtful look on his face spoke volumes. Angel’s grin widened.

“Y’know,” Angel added with a wink, “for a guy who’s literally the King of Hell, you sure are terrible at recognizing when someone’s into you. Just sayin’."

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

276 notes · View notes

hurthermore · 1 year ago

Text

»»------► 𝙰 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 (18+) - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

Pairing: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗!𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝚂𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘.

Word Count: 𝟻.𝟾𝚔

Warnings: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛.

𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 <𝟹

𝙴𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 @safety-pin-angel-wings, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 @the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes!

Two months. Alastor had found himself stalking you for two months. Months where he had hidden himself from oncoming eyes yet divulged himself under the blistering sun, basking in the warmth it drowned him in as he attempted to sneak but a glance at you. He had a want, a need, a gnawing emotion inside of him to simply be in your vicinity, and that emotion was overbearingly uncomfortable, like a desire akin to no other.

Although, to even revel in your presence was something that was a task he found to be ridiculously difficult to accomplish, and the cravings to be blessed with your existence doused him in a way that forced his skin to itch when his perceiving eyes couldn’t locate you.

What had you done to him?

Forcing him to become a shell of his former self as all he could find himself doing was obsessing over you.

You were an evil woman, clearly.

One he couldn’t help but fall for.

It had hit him like a ton of bricks, the bow of cupid had pierced him with numerous arrows, he was certain. It had embedded a sense of romanticism in him that he never had the inclination of experiencing before; in a new, scary way. But the pure fluttering it brought him, the sheer excitement it doused him in had overtaken that initial hesitation of insecurity and fear.

He could only conclude that he had fallen infatuatedly in love with you. The way he had accepted and owned such a thought with ridiculous ease was astonishingly something he didn’t find strange, but normal.

But then again, it would be unlike the great Alastor Hartfelt to not be confident in himself; that trait also extended to the emotional attachment he had latched onto you.

It had been conflicting, despite everything. The sense of feelings you had embedded within him, along with the discovery of pure emotion you had brought out of him had him spiralling into a sense of self reflection of who he actually was—what he actually was. He knew he was a man of murder, a man who had slain countless lives based on the mere claim that Alastor desired to snuff out the lives of those who were instilled with evil intent, to clean the world of the natural horrors of what a normal human being was capable of. He was also a man with a cannibalistic tendency, who would, usually, take his victims into the innards of his human butchering kitchen, a kitchen that was hidden within the walls of his cellar, before sawing limb after limb.

An activity he enjoyed a bit too much.

So to have you imbed him with an entirely new emotion—a rather conflicting one—had him reassessing everything he had known; the concept of romantic, even platonic love wasn’t an abstraction that Alastor was familiar with. The only love he had ever been able to truly relish in was the one of familial; the love he held for his tender, warm-hearted mother.

But she had long since passed into the realm of heavenly death.

Regardless of the doubts he may or may not have had, the cravings to see you, to merely witness you was unbearable. So unbearable that his fingernails would twitch to itch towards his hair; begging to pull on the tussles of hair follicles to elevate the stress he felt when his wandering eyes could not perceive you.

So over the course of those two months he had stood outside your house, waiting for you to leave its confines to enact his routine of stalking you, to pretend he was standing next to you, it became abundantly clear rather quickly that you only left the house twice a week; for grocery shopping. Very rarely would you leave the walls of your home outside of those two shopping trips.

It was strange, alarming in a way that a woman as beautiful, as delightful as you would be a hermit.

But was that the true reason?

Were you just a person who preferred to stay in the comfort of their own company?

Or was there something he was missing?

It would be something he would eventually bring to light, something he demanded to know, to understand.

Everytime you left the house, his heart would stop; freezing in place as his breath hitched. You were always ethereal, with that blinding angelic aura that always seemed to follow you. He wanted, craved like nothing else to approach you whenever you left the premises of your home, to engage in conversation with you and make you fall in love with him; to forget all about your bad egg of a practice run husband.

But the insecurities of his psyche prevented him from doing as such.

The unstable security of his mind in regards to how you would view him, how it could enforce any negative opinions to seep into your being toward him frightened him dearly, filled him with a dread he had only managed to experience when he had to live through the dreaded loss of his darling mother.

No. He had to approach you in a more subtle way, in a way that wasn’t so forward, a way that made you believe you had met by mere coincidence.

Your husband, despite how Alastor despised the idea of interacting with the man who had stolen your hand in marriage—your hand that was rightfully Alastor’s—made the most sense to approach in order to get to you. To possess you.

So his plan was simple: find a weakness within your husband, exploit it, pretend to assist him in said weakness, and imbed his existence into your life before making you his wife.

A plan that would prove to be ridiculously easy, especially with the inhabitants of New Orleans being dramatised gossipers.

People spoke like wildfire, like a plague on the earth, so to hear rumours of your husband’s failure in his business, well, it was unsurprising and amusing to say the least. It fuelled Alastor’s sense of superiority over your husband, proved to him that he was the better man in atleast one area so far; keeping his job afloat.

Alastor could provide for you better than that abhorrent piece of human meat, even if he didn’t make as much money, even if he was a poor man; Alastor would give you the world.

It took him all but a day of stalking your husband, on a day you weren’t predicted to leave the house, following him into a drive as he stalked the older man into his place of business; the business he owned. Vincent was a sloppy man, obviously so. It took Alastor barely a handful of times of ‘people watching’ to realise as such. Your husband was a bit unaware of his surroundings too. Maybe that came with how arrogant he appeared to be though.

Clearly, that extended to his ability to run a business.

With the assistance of gossip from human interaction, the accreditation of Vincent’s failure within his business was apparent, and the man seemed a bit too obliged when Alastor had waltzed into his business under the persona of his radio host title, offering the old, vile man sweet words of inclination. Forcing and manipulating a string of syllables to sway the vile man who had somehow won your heart, in order for Alastor to win it instead.

Vincent had agreed to his offer of advertisement, and rightfully so; Alastor would not be himself if he was incapable of manipulating the norm of the world, would not know who he was or what to do if that lovely quality he had attained through his years had become ineffective. Alastor offered to go in depth with the collaboration over dinner; a homemade dinner of one of his favourite dishes, at Vincent’s place. It was obtrusive, but Alastor had a charm about him, one he was well aware of, so spinning a thread of psychological control over the man he had come to learn was named Vincent, was all too easy.

This would be the catalyst to enable him to see you again, talk to you again.

But would you remember him?

He doubted it.

Yet hope remained.

Unfortunately, his question was answered for him as he watched you gather ingredients for the meal he was to attend tonight; the meal where he would finally be able to interact with you again. He had stalked you in a slow tow, watching every slight movement you made, every slight wisp the hair on your head would cascade into with the wind. He had, uncannily, been matching every step with yours, envisioning that he was next to you as you made your way into another butcher’s shop; the third one you had visited so far today.

It made him feel awful, seeing your desperate expression as you attempted to search for a specific product: venison. He recalled specifically asking, telling Vincent that he was favourable to venison.

Alastor just wanted to taste how well you could make his favourite dish.

Even if it were bad, disgusting by design, he would eat anything you fed him.

Paradoxically out of the palm of your hand, if you so pleased it.

As he continued to watch you from afar, his heart ceased to beat as the familiar look of dissociated disdain doused your angelic facial features. Your eyes melted into that murderous expression he vividly remembered you showcasing two months ago; the one you only gave towards your husband.

Were you thinking of that vile piece of existence?

Was he plaguing your mind?

Alastor could only wish it was he that was the one within your mind instead.

Yet as soon as that fascinating expression doused your beautiful features, it disappeared all too quickly as the butcher seemed to refocus your attention, altering the thoughts that swarmed your mind whilst he placed the bag of meat onto the counter before you.

Alastor wished to see that expression again.

To kiss your lips as your body splattered in a raging murderous intent.

As your form exited the shop, Alastor could only tighten his smile as he witnessed the bloodied bag of meat hidden within the bag you held in your delicate hand; at least now you wouldn’t have to continue your search with that distressed expression. Yet despite how calm and collected you seemed, your demeanour changed instantly as the breeze cascaded within your hair; your eyes darting back and forth before they landed onto him.

His heart stopped, painfully so as your glimmering eyes connected with his. The smile etched onto his face couldn’t help but stretch into improper proportions as you witnessed him, finally noticing him after all the days, weeks, months he had followed you. And as you reciprocated it, Alastor was sure you could command the whole world with such a smile.

And when you added that small, cute wave alongside your gorgeous smile, he was filled with hope that you had remembered him. Remembered him from that night at the speakeasy.

Was everything he just planned out with your husband unnecessary?

Did you truly recall him?

But the longer he waited for you, waited for you to show any signs of familiarity, the hope that you did remember him dwindled into the pits of oblivion. And as your expression became one of unease, his halted heartbeat restarted into a stretched rip as you awkwardly looked away from him, only to run away from his presence.

He was an imbecile for believing you had remembered him.

He had simply set himself up for emotional heartache by wishing for something he knew not to be true.

As much as he wished to follow you home as you scurried away, to perceive you and protect you, he couldn’t risk the potential of you catching onto his activities.

He also had to visit your husband at his place of business so he could escort himself into your presence.

Alastor truly couldn’t wait to finally hold you again.

Perhaps he would kiss your hand this time.

“Al? Where the fuck have you been?” A familiar voice rang into his ear canal, tearing him away from any thoughts that involved purely you as he diverted his oculi onto a short blonde woman behind him.

Turning around, the voice invaded his thought process before he pushed his round rimmed cheaters back beyond the bridge of his straightened nose. “Mimzy! It’s been quite some time, my dear.” He responded, straining his smile as the woman intruded not only his thoughts, but his need to visit Vincent.

“Some time my ass. Your lanky ass has been gone for two months! I thought you were dead!” Her rough, smoker voice scratched his ears, forcing him to compose his natural facade of a toothed, charmed smile.

“I have been busy, Mimzy! Don’t you worry your little head about it.” He condescendingly mocked before tapping his index finger against her nose. Although he did enjoy Mimzy's company before the day he first saw you, indulging in activities of prohibition and the fast paced dance of swing with her, she was all but a pet to Alastor; someone he could converse with when bored. And the sensation of boredom was all too familiar to him.

But then you came into his life.

You had, along with every bit of romanticism you embedded him with, gave him such a thrilling sense of entertainment.

“Busy? I didn’t realise stalking some pretty doll classified as busy.” Mimzy huffed as she eyed him wearily, clearly trying to strike some sense of morality into him with her truthful implication. “Ya’ know how wrong that is, right Al?”

He wished to laugh at her statement; if only she knew the horrors of what Alastor was truly capable of, she would never voice such a sentence to him.

Smiling coyly, his visual structure sharpened into daggers. “Stalking? What an awful thing to imply! I was merely admiring a beauty before me!”

“Ha! You? Admiring beauty? You ain’t never been the type to admire beauty.” Mimzy gestured with quotes as she emphasised the last word that left her larynx; her eyes rolling as she comically waved her hands back onto her hips.

“Maybe I just admire the one.” He responded before patting any dust that had collected along his waistcoat. It was a true statement; he had never been the one to admire beauty before, merely perceived it.

You truly were the only woman he had eyes for.

“Now!” Alastor continued, clapping his hands together before the short woman could get a rebuttal in edgewise. “I must be off! I have very important things to attend to!” His fingers tightened the bow around his neck before he began striding his long legs. “I will visit you soon, ol chum!”

A lie.

He would not.

Not when he had to keep an eye on you.

The echoing of the blonde woman's voice diminished within the growing horizon behind him as his long legs stretched him towards the premises of the building that was owned by your husband.

Dread filled him as the thought of mingling, being forced to converse with Vincent was something he rather not partake in, but had to endure such a gruelling task, to get closer to you.

It was a rather long walk to say the least, hours had passed before he had the displeasure of arriving at the place of work that your husband owned. But Alastor had years of experience in walking, running, and hunting; if he so pleased, he could walk further than the average person simply due to the physical enhancements his hobbies had graced him with, so the effort of walking hours, if it ultimately meant he got to see you was more than worth it.

He would crawl through the dirt of the bayous for you.

Entering the familiar business he had visited barely a couple of days ago, he had forced his facade to stitch into the stretch of his skin naturally before finding himself stood before Vincent, Alastor’s height proportionally higher than his. Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, Alastor could only inwardly grimace as the man began spouting about how joyful he was, how ecstatic he was that the radio host was going to advertise his failing business for such a small price.

Little did Vincent know, the price far extended the realm of physicalised currency; his wife was what Alastor was truly after, and his wife he would attain.

Alastor wondered, deeply internalising his thoughts as he contemplated on what made you marry such a man. At first, he genuinely believed, for some strange reason, that you loved your husband. But the more time Alastor was forced to inhabit the same vicinity of the said male, and the want for your heart to belong to Alastor instead, the opinion was becoming a dwindling afterthought as more appropriate and convenient thoughts echoed his mind.

Were you attracted to the money he once had? Alastor could provide you with such royalties with ease.

Were you attracted to older men? Alastor could pretend to be older, if that is what you sought.

Or had the whole marriage been arranged?

Alastor preferred the last thought that swarmed his mind. An arrangement meant attaining the love you harboured within your soul would be just that little bit easier to win and acquire for the rest of his existence.

He would hold your love close even after he himself ceased to exist.

But the imagery of your marriage being constituted on the basis of an arrangement made sense. The vivid recall of mental images of your murderous expression as your husband called for you two months ago plagued his mind; the way you had contorted your facial structure into such a horrific stretch, it made him certain now that you hated your husband.

He wasn’t sure if that was because he had observed you well enough with his perceptive eyes, or he simply wished it to be true.

How could you love him? You must have hated him, right?

As he engaged in frivolous conversation with your husband, Alastor couldn’t help but notice the slight misogynistic way your husband spoke towards the fairer sex; it was ever so subtle, but being the perceptive man he was, Alastor was able to deduce such a trait all too easily.

He hated those of misogynistic values.

Alastor couldn’t wait to take you away from this man, to seduce you into murdering him.

Despite his physical form focusing on conversing with the vile man beside him, the realm of his psyche delved into the imagery of imagination; an imagination that evoked the picture-like show of you murdering your husband, stabbing a knife in and out, repeatedly as his blood soaked your body.

He craved, needed you to enact the murder of your husband so you would be more susceptible to accepting his own murderous inclinations before you had even figured out those horrifying tendencies, despite how deeply he wished to end his life now.

As the car turned into the familiar street that Alastor stalked almost daily, his heart began to race; the moment he would finally be face to face with you again would ensue shortly, and the thought of finally being gifted the ability to converse with you, to touch you, had him flushing within the innards of his flesh.

Despite the fake tone in his voice as he conversed with the despicable man he knew would die soon, along with the facade of a presented smile, Alastor couldn’t help but feel riddled with anxiety; yet another feeling he struggled to experience.

What was it with you and invoking new emotions to erupt from within the depths of his soul?

As the entryway door creaked open, Alastors pupils darted back and forth as he attempted to search for you within the walls of your home.

Walls that were very familiar.

He, admittedly, although not in public, had once or twice creeped himself within the partitions of your home; whilst you and the thing who called himself your husband were not present. He may, or may not have searched the entirety of your home with the two breaches he had conducted; locating every room and facility your home had to offer.

Your husband was definitely well off previously, a fact that was easy to uncover simply by perceiving the modernisation of your home.

Although he would never verbally admit it, the mere reasoning for Alastor intruding into your home within those two slots was to encounter the lingering scent of you. It was truly a unique smell, one he could not coherently explain, but one that was divine within itself.

He couldn’t wait to detect your scent again and forever onward.

As he walked into the home alongside Vincent, the older man had yelled your name, calling you over as if you were some pet.

It aggravated Alastor, having another man even speak your name. The desire to simply sink his fingers into the man's neck, squeezing it with such force until his eyes burst from its sockets doused Alastor.

Yet before the thoughts of just simply throwing his entire plan out of the window and ending the man's life right at this moment, you had rounded the corner, wearing such a revealing and debauched dress that had him biting back a degenerated groan.

He wasn’t aware you owned something so seductive, and although you looked alluring with whatever you wore, he couldn’t help but admit seeing you in such things brought out cravings of a sexual sense he wasn’t used to at all.

The depths of his psyche couldn’t help but manifest the imagery of the dress descending around your ankles.

You looked shocked to see him, your facial expression maladjusted, yet Alastor could easily perceive the way your hands trembled ever so slightly, the way your eyebrows tilted skyward by barely a millimetre.

Were you frightened of him?

He hoped the answer was no.

Alastor hadn’t realised how wide his smile had become as he looked at you, as you came closer to him, almost within an arm's reach before the older man beside him began introducing the two of you to one another. He hadn’t missed how your upper lip snarled ever so slightly when your husband referred to you as a doll.

So you didn’t appreciate such a label.

Alastor would make sure he didn’t make the same mistake.

Closing the distance between the two of you, Alastor extended his open palm for you, waiting on your own hand to embrace his, excitement dowsing his nervous system as he waited patiently. His heart felt erratic, unfathomable, as your fingers glazed over his skin. Your skin felt ridiculously soft, like an exotic silk that was only attainable by the richest of the human species. The glossy look in your eyes seemed to glow as he attempted to calm his blood pressure down, and without thinking, he had brought your dorsal to his rugged lips, deliberately marking you with his kiss as he never broke eye contact with you.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, darling.” He spoke with pure seduction entwined with his tone, subtly hinting towards the previous encounter and the months worth of stalking which was missed by everyone in the room.

The way you had emotionally drawn back as your eyes darted to your husband whilst his lips left your skin before you had referred to him by his last name had him furious.

Why were you looking at Vincent when he was right in front of you?

Why were you calling him by his last name?

He would have to teach you to know better, in a merciful manner.

Correcting your referral of him, Alastor demanded you cite him by his first name; the name he desired deeply to hear seep from your pretty lips, all the while ignoring the anger-induced man behind him on purpose, enforcing a sense of dominance over the man who would soon be revoked of your love.

Sparks of butterflies fluttered throughout his organic architecture as you uttered his name back to him oh so beautifully; the way your lips moved as you spoke every syllable had his body craving to simply tie you down into his bed and keep you there for the rest of eternity.

Quickly shaking the thoughts out of his mind, he spoke to your husband with the natural stale and disinterested tone his voice enacted in an attempt to alleviate the corrupting thoughts that he refused to overtake him; engaging in the verbal equivalent of a cock fight as he attempted to show you how he could make your husband submit to him, to show you Alastor was in fact the better man.

But when Vincent had brought up the fact that Alastor had approached him first, he couldn’t help but allow his mask to slip ever so slightly.

He did not wish for you to be knowledgeable of such information; Vincent was unintentionally sabotaging his plan.

Bringing back the conversation in his favour, Alastor, in his peripheral vision, witnessed how your expression brightened as your husband submitted to him.

The thought of making you happy had encased him with a sense of self pride that not even his mother could embed within him; it was as if he was making his wife happy.

In a sense, you were his wife though, weren't you?

You would be, anyway.

Twitching his eye, Alastor grimaced when Vincent had pushed passed him to press his vile fingers into the crevice of your waist, forcing his touch onto the woman that belonged to Alastor; even if it was a fact that Alastor himself only knew, you still were his.

Despite how vacant your expression remained as the vile man beside you held you close, the way your figure had twitched in discomfort enabled Alastor’s rage to peak in a way that he couldn’t anecdotally relate to; only half of what he was feeling could barely be related to the emotions that he drowned within when witnessing the events of abuse his mother had endured. Yet before he could devolve himself into the depths of a jealousy-induced wrath, you had spoken up, your voice clearing all negative emotions from his organic shell.

You had brought up the falsification of why he was in your home to begin with: dinner. Diverting the attention all onto yourself, Alastor tried to agree, to be blessed with tasting the divinity of consumable creation you had concocted, but the pig beside you had beat him to it, suggesting that you alone plate the food whilst the two men toured the home.

Not only had Alastor already toured your home on his own accord, but the subtle hint of misogyny that lingered within his words had Alastor rightfully pissed off.

If Alastor was your husband, he would be the one plating food out for you; beyond that, he would be the one to make it for you.

Alastor would never expect you to do a single thing once you were truly his.

Speaking up, Alastor quickly intruded within the conversation, redirecting your husband to, in kinder words, piss off. Linking your arm within his, Alastor pulled you away from your husband, only to hold you where you rightfully belonged, situated right by his side. The sheer emotions of love and sense of utter pride couldn’t be contained as your smaller frame rested oh so closely into his.

He could smell you.

That beautiful smell that only you had.

Despite your unease and tenseness, it was visually and physically apparent that you much preferred being next to Alastor instead of the seething man who was your current husband. And when you had tilted your head so prettily to initiate eye contact between the both of you, Alastor could only shiver in a flush, his expression love-struck as, for the first time, you had truly looked within his eyes.

He didn't want this moment to end.

But you had spoken up, your beautifully toned vocalisation gracing his ears as you essentially begged him to just allow your perfected self to sort out food.

Fuck.

The way you spoke directly to him, truly perceiving simply him had his heart racing, the organ threatening to jump out of his suit of flesh as you continued to stare, continued to lean, continued to emit that stupidly perfect smell from your body.

You were a little minx, making him feel such things.

Bringing out such emotions out of him.

He should punish you.

Punish you in such a pleasant way.

Before you could pull away, Alastor relieved you of his touch for barely a second before opting to bring you closer; to rub your form against him so he could stain your smell against his clothes. Charismatically, he had somehow managed to influence the subservient man named Vincent into leaving the two of you alone to find the wine hidden within the cellar of the house; even if it would be barely for a few minutes, Alastor was delighted to have you alone.

He wondered how many different things he could do to you within those minutes; how far he could push his boundaries with you before you became uncomfortable. Yet before he could attempt to try, you had questioned him on how he had known where your cellar even was.

So you were more perceptive than you had led on.

But Alastor had his ways, and despite his intense emotions of romanticism towards you, he was not above manipulating you. If it meant you would finally be his, he would throw you into the pits of mental instability, only to join you; although, that would be a last resort scenario. So he did as such, manipulated the situation to ease your mind, to get you away from opening a can of worms you didn’t want to delve into before asking you to drag him into your kitchen, despite him knowing exactly where it was.

With ease, you seemed to accept his answer, only to obey his command as your hand had pulled his own down the hallway, your soft skin caressing his own roughed epidermis as you opened the door to the kitchen. The smell of a ridiculously well-made mixed meat dish clouded the room, invoking Alastor to compliment you, to praise you before asking you what you had made; an answer he already knew.

It was so lovely to see you alone again, without that wretched husband in the way.

As you responded, downplaying the dish you had made, Alastor couldn’t stop his fingers from tapping against your softened lips as he shushed you from continuing the sentence, correcting your statement before you had both stepped into a soft and rather domestic conversation that had Alastor believing he was in heaven.

He wished to have you beside him every day.

Soon.

Seeing how far he could finally test those boundaries now your husband was out of the immediate vicinity, Alastor stood directly behind you before whispering in your ear. The way your shoulders had jumped ever so slightly had him inwardly groaning, the need to push himself flush against you, just to simply feel you, was becoming too much to handle. The conversation you both engaged in was a huge distraction for him, evading the thoughts of doing rather ungentlemanly-like acts to you that attempted to thread through the weaves of his brain.

As you proportioned your food, he noticed how little your plate contained, and how it lacked a substance of venison; a strange occurrence considering he knew you had eaten red meat before.

Perhaps you simply had a distaste for venison?

But when he had pointed it out, you had specifically lied straight through your teeth and into his face as you spoke false words of not being partial to red meat.

Why did you feel the need to lie?

Why would you lie about such a detail?

It was unnervingly strange for Alastor, having you lie about such a pathetic detail; there must have been a reason for it. But before he could question you further, your husband had returned to the kitchen, his hand grasped around the neck of a bottle of win before placing it against the table.

With disdain, Alastor sneered subtly at the person who was becoming a rather irritating thorn in his side. A thorn that kept preventing Alastor from simply making you his.

Falling into a strange conversation with Vincent, Alastor had noticed the way you had drawn away, the halo of light around you glimmering ever so softly as you seemed to delve into a realm of dissociation, a realm of conscious unconsciousness.

It was difficult, ridiculously difficult for him to enjoy your beautifully made food as your facial structure seemed so vacant, so removed from the realm of reality as you slowly ate your small portioned food.

He wished to give you some of his own.

He would, if he could.

The whole dinner felt rushed, especially with how Alastor was trying to mentally switch between talking to Vincent, watching you whilst also being swarmed with thoughts about you; a difficult situation he had found himself in. Trying to break the cycle of repeated switching, he had asked you, oh so kindly to come visit him, along with the pig that was your husband, at the radio station; his way to ensuring of seeing you again.

It was incredibly cute how you had needed him to repeat himself, your face seeming almost dazzled as it awakened from his voice directed solely to you. And although he wished for you to be the one to agree to his proposal, your husband had accepted for you.

Annoyed was what Alastor was as Vincent had agreed on your behalf; but on the bright side, at least you would surely come now.

Before he had realised it, your husband had begun hinting at the time, and to ensure his plan could effectively be enacted, he found himself being forced to leave the company of your sweet being as he bid you farewell.

He wished to hold you, to speak sweet words of reassurement into your hair, especially as your facial expression became distressed at the beginning of his exit. He wanted to stay, to steal you away and throw this painfully stupid plan out of the window and just tie you down in his home.

Instead, he turned around, deciding to walk his way home as he needed time to let off steam, to allow all the emotions he had been swarmed with to be processed thoroughly.

He needed to stick to his plan, to stop the ridiculous thoughts of simply stealing you away.

His plan was a one way ticket to truly winning your heart, because you wouldn’t be able to love him if you knew, if you were aware of his illegal activities of murder.

Not until you had killed your first victim: Vincent.

← 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 ✦ 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 →

✦ 𝙰𝙾𝟹 ✦

𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚃.𝚃 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝚅 𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍!! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐!<𝟹

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

@cherry-cola-100 @hana-en @undrgroundtheme @roxxie-wolf @mutifandomkid @gentle-aesthetic-bby @itsmskeisha @k1y0yo @d34dl0ve @reikamasama @taygirl24 @alastorssimp @ieatcocoa @tremendoushearttaco @spottypug @bishiglomper @marcysbear @zazamagicaldonut @little-slyvixen @wendigonamecaller @schiz0preniczz @trippoverrt @reader3 @kittyandbluey @xinhar @sol3chu @yuckypuppie @forest-knights @ivebeenthearchersstuff @feellaaya @babesway22 @straows @blobin456drawz @saccharine-nectarine @blakeaha @nishayuro @impulsivethoughtsat2am @zarabethe @petrichorvzlia-blog @burninupa-star @alastorsaries @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @rapturenyx-blog @charlottemorningstarsdarling @witchykitten @luv4th3m @iiotic @dark-mark @acefluxanomaly @aspenthewriter @alast4r @higanbanaki @abunchofwhoresinatrenchcoat @clownviti @witchykitten @joumi13 @queermaxwooo @rand0m-1diot @ourchampionofthesun @kimoko-james @aestheticgals-blog @bisexual-sunrise-colors @phamtasic @catticora @dinosaur-crime-scene @mcntsee

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut

454 notes · View notes

tayraedoll · 7 months ago

Text

The Devil at Play

You are a new sinner at the hotel; you are shy but you finally open up after a couple drinks at the bar. Angel Dust steers the conversation to his favorite spicy topic, little do you know there is someone else who is intently listening in.

My first attempt at a Lucifer fic! Let me know what you think <3

Word count: 3,824

18+ MDNI

TW: Alcohol, swearing, drunken shenanigans, sharing a bed, use of s3x toys, rose suction stimulator, fingering, fluff

"Say, is that a mirror in y'er pocket? Cuz I can see myself getting in y'er pants", Angel seductively wagged his eyebrows at Husk, making the feline roll his eyes and take another swig from his bottle.

You smiled into your second cosmopolitan, trying to suppress the giggle that wanted to bubble up. It had been two weeks since you joined the Hazbin Hotel crew and you finally felt comfortable enough to join the others for a drink at the bar. You were never the most social person in life, and that trait followed you into the afterlife. You had spent most of your nights by yourself either in your room or in a quiet part of the hotel like the library. You didn't have anything against the other residents, you were just super self-conscious in social situations. But you were determined to befriend the others and took the leap to finally put yourself out there a bit.

Charlie was definitely the easiest to be around, her bubbly personality made you feel at ease. You also did not have to talk much in her presence, the girl spoke a million words a minute which allowed you to largely just sit there and listen to her rambling. Vaggie was also alright, she wasn't nearly as talkative as her girlfriend but she had a calmness about her. Niffty and Husk mostly just ignored you, they'd briefly acknowledge your presence before getting caught up in their own worlds again. It took a few days for you to warm up to Angel Dust, his crude humor initially made you uncomfortable. But he saw how truly uneasy you were so he never directed those remarks at you which helped tremendously. Now, you were just as content in his presence as you were Charlie's. You honestly stayed clear of Alastor when you could, alarm bells would blare in your head when he was around and your stomach would flip nauseatingly. He was definitely outwardly sweet, but your gut told you not to trust him so you vowed to keep the deer demon at arms distance.

The only resident that you just could not get a read on at all was the King of Hell himself. Lucifer was always so distant, you couldn't recall a single actual conversation shared between the two of you in your entire time at the hotel. Although he didn't necessarily make you feel unwelcome, you did not think he was particularly fond of you either. Part of you wanted to confront him, ask him what his problem with you was; but the other part of you figured the only thing worse than the Devil's cold shoulder would be his wrath. Unwilling to risk angering the fallen angel, you resigned yourself to the act of pretending the other person didn't exist.

'God he was pathetic, two weeks have gone by and he still hadn't mustered the courage to talk to you!', Lucifer thought to himself. Every time he took the initial step to finally strike up a conversation he would inevitably psych himself out of it; he was afraid of coming off weird or worse- desperate. The Devil used to be a smooth talker, but Lilith walking out on him wreaked havoc on his self-esteem. Now, it seemed all he could do is watch you from afar, perpetually tongue-tied and timorous.

He swirled his whiskey around in the glass, watching the amber liquid intently as he tried to come up with yet another reason to talk to you. He sighed heavily, maybe he should just go to bed instead and save himself any more embarrassment.

"So Whispers," Lucifer perked up at hearing Angel's nickname for you, he thought it was positively adorable, "what does it take to make you scream?" Lucifer nearly choked on his whiskey, struggling to stifle his cough in his jacket.

You felt your face heat up, you swished your cosmo before downing the whole thing in one gulp. The alcohol in your system was making you more brazen, with a determined hum to yourself you set the glass back down with a little more force than necessary before turning to face the pornstar.

"You know what? I don't think I ever have. I think that is just some ploy pornos use to make sex seem better than it actually is", you smirk at the stunned look in the spider's eyes, his jaw practically unhinged with how low it dropped.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa timeout here Whispers! Are you tellin me you ain't ever orgasmed before?!", Angel narrowed his eyes at you, trying to detect any hint of deception.

"No- I mean I have! It's just...it's never been like what porn makes it look like! You know- like the 'can't walk straight, seeing stars, and brain won't function anymore' kind. In reality, it's a lot more subtle than that. That's all I'm saying", you shrug and look around the bar to escape Angel's look of complete horror. Your eyes find Lucifer's across the bar- he is staring right at you with such intensity you felt his eyes bore right into your very soul. You swallow dryly and turn back to Angel, his aghast expression was much preferable to Lucifer's fierce staring contest.

"Sweet Satan Babycakes, I don't think you've EVER had GOOD sex before! Don't worry, we will fix this! I will get you set up with an online dating profile and we will get you laid by the end of the week", Angel reached for your phone- which you were thankfully able to grab first you shuddered to think about what the pornstar would write for a dating profile.

"Thanks Angel but I am not really wanting to meet anyone right now. Besides, I promise you I am more than capable of taking care of myself", you shoot him a wink. "I'm off to bed, goodnight everyone!" After the resounding chorus of 'goodnights' from the other guests you make your way to the stairs, completely unaware of the yellow eyes that followed your every step until you were out of sight.

An hour later you were freshly showered and changed into your comfiest PJ's; you were about to get into bed when there was a knock at your door. You sighed heavily, you swear if Angel was at your door with a picture of a dude on a dating app you were going to to shave all of fluff right off. Half-stomping to the door you open it roughly, "Angel really, I'm ser-". Your eyes became wide as saucers, it was not Angel at your door as you expected but Lucifer himself. "Uhhh...what can I do for you Luc- I mean your majesty?!" Heat spread throughout your face and neck, no doubt you were tomato red right now.

"Luc-ifers f-fine sweet-art", he slurred back. You raise a brow and appraise the Devil before you; he was utterly disheveled- his shirt untucked, vest and tie pulled open, hair a wild mess like his hands kept running through it, and his eyes were completely glazed over. The angel was completely shit-faced and standing at your door in the middle of the night- great. But WHY was he here? And did he really need to get absolutely hammered in order to talk to you? Your smile faltered, that thought stung more than you cared to admit.

"Sooo uhh Lucifer, is there something I can help you with?" you cock your head to the side questioningly.

The blonde beamed at you with the brightest smile, your heart becoming a puddle in your chest at the sight, "Yes! Y/N, would you do me the date of going on an honor with me? Wait-what?"

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped you, he was too stinkin cute, "Maaayyybe we should revisit this conversation tomorrow when you have sobered up."

"NO!", he suddenly wrapped his fingers around your shoulders, you let out a gasp of surprise as you stared into his wild eyes. "I-I'm so sorry. You're right, I just...don't know if I'll have the courage to." Your heart broke, he looked close to tears and was having a hard time looking you in the eyes. "I've been trying to talk to your for weeks...I'm such a coward", he sniffed and moved to pull away from you, however, you were quick to grab hold of him and wrap him in a tight hug.

"It's okay, I have a hard time talking to others as well. That doesn't make you a coward", you feel him wrap his arms around you in return, you vow to hold him for as long as he needed.

After several minutes he shifted more of his weight onto you, making you stumble and readjust so neither of you fell. "Hey Lucifer?", you were met with silence. "Lucifer!", this time you got a small snore. Fantastic, now he was asleep practically on top of you. Now what were you supposed to do about this? You looked around, no one was in the hallway, likely everyone had gone to bed already. You sighed, you were not strong enough to carry him up three flights of stairs to his room, nor could you just leave him on the hallway floor. Your only liable option was to bring him into your room and share the bed, it was at least big enough that you could share it without needing to touch each other.

You half-dragged/half-carried the King of Hell to your bed and set him on the edge. You took the time to remove his shoes before tucking his legs under the covers and bringing the comforter up to his chin. He had a soft smile on his face, it was the first time you had ever seen him look peaceful. You smiled at him for a moment, "Goodnight Lucifer", you whispered. Your feet padded softly on the floor as you tiptoed to the other side of the bed, carefully slinking in so you wouldn't disturb his majesty. With a final glance at the angel beside you, you let your consciousness drift into dreams of yellow eyes and warm hugs.

Lucifer grumbled unhappily, pushing his face further into his pillow in an attempt to block out some of the light seeping in through the window. He just became aware of the pounding headache behind his eyes, Satan why did he drink so much?! Okay yea, perhaps the 4 whiskey sours he chugged before running to your room were a bit much...WAIT. He froze, memories suddenly crashing back into his mind. HE. HAD. COME. TO. YOUR. ROOM. Yellow eyes flew wide open- the baby blue comforter, the Verosika poster on the wall, and the side table full of make-up, perfume, and lotion were DEFINITELY not his. He slowly picked his head up and his breath caught in his throat- he was on top of you, hugging you koala-bear style, and what he thought was the comfiest pillow in existence was actually your left breast. HE WAS NUZZLING HIS FACE INTO YOUR BOSOM NOT EVEN 60 SECONDS AGO!

Thankfully, what was left of his lucky stars came together and you were not yet awake to find him in such a compromising position. However, with how he was wrapped around you there was a high chance that he would wake you by moving. Slowly, he extracted his arms from underneath you one at a time; he breathed a sigh of relief when he was safely moved over to "his" side of the bed. Now what? Did he just continue to lay here until you woke up? Would it be weirder if he watched you sleep or if he just left and made you wake up alone? Luckily (the the second time already this morning), his thoughts did not have to spiral for long before you stirred beside him. You groggily blinked the sleep from your beautiful eyes before gifting him with your radiant smile, "Good morning! Sleep well?"

The angel chuckled nervously, golden blush painting his cheeks as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, "Yea, better than I have for a while honestly. Thank you." You both fall into an uncomfortable silence, neither of you knowing where to go from here.

"So uhh.."

"About last night-"

You both stop, giving the other room to speak first which only led to more unpleasant silence.

"Ladies first."

"No, I insist, you first"

Lucifer coughed nervously, "I'm sorry for last night. I shouldn't have come to your room, especially in such an inebriated state. But thank you for not kicking me out or otherwise shunning me."

You gave him a small smile "Well, I couldn't just leave our king alone in the hallway. What kind of hostess would that have made me?" The king chuckled before you continued in a barely audible whisper, "Do you remember what you said last night?"

Lucifer's eyebrows scrunched together as he carded through his memories, trying to figure out what you could be referring to. His eyes went wide before he turned back to you,"Yes!"

You each just stared at each other for a bit, both equally flushed. Finally, you broke the silence, "Yes...you remember?"

"Oh! Golly, I am so sorry! Yes, I remember and YES I would still like to take you out on a date! I-if you would like to go that is...on a date...with me."

Your happy giggle sounded like music to his ears, you gently reached for is hand and intertwined your fingers together, "I'd love to. I mean, technically, we have already slept together", you shot him a wink.

Lucifer gave you a sultry smile, "Ah yes, I will make sure that I am sober next time so I can fully enjoy the experience." You laughed, getting up to collect your things to get ready for the day. Lucifer followed suit, patting around the bed for his phone; when he couldn't find it he reached for the bedside table. Upon opening a drawer he found a peculiar device- it was in the shape of rose with an opening in the middle. Intrigued, the demon king pushed the "on" button and suction took place at the opening.

Lucifer's face turned a brilliant gold when he realized what he was holding. And it was just his luck that you happened to walk back over at that moment.

"So, what's on the ag-", you cut off when you saw your sex toy in the angel's hand; all you two could do was stare at each other- seemed you were doing that a lot lately. To break the tension, Lucifer said the first thing that came to mind.

"Does this make you scream?"

Your mind was blank, all trains of thought came to an abrupt halt when you found THE KING OF HELL with your rose clitoral stimulator in hand. You couldn't comprehend the question he asked, "Er...what?"

"Well I-uh...I remember Angel asking what made you scream at the bar last night and you said nothing. I must admit that I agree with Angel on thinking you have never, ever had good sex if you've never lost composure."

"Oh really? And do you think that YOU could make me lose my composure?", you crossed your arms in front of you and smirked.

The king stared back at you with wide eyes, the beautiful caramel color taking over his face again. You slowly approached him until you were standing just an inch apart, "Show me."

It was like a switch was flipped at your words, Lucifer's hands were on your hips and he began walking you backwards towards the bed. When your legs hit the bed, he raised one hand to gently cup your cheek as he leaned in to leave a tender kiss on your lips. His lips were as smooth as satin and tasted like candied apples; you moaned sensually, which he took advantage of by delving his tongue into your mouth.

Suddenly, his hand still on your hip turned you around so your back was to him. He sat back on the bed, pulling you with him until you were sat between his legs with your back pressed to his chest; you could feel his heart beating erratically, his body hard- hinting at the chiseled musculature that lay underneath his clothing. The king's panting breaths gently rocked you forward; he nuzzled his face into your neck, planting soft kisses on your sensitive skin.

Your hands gripped onto his knees as his hands slowly moved up your sides and fondled your breasts through your clothes, another wanton moan escaping you.

"Oh my sweet Angel, losing control already? I haven't even begun to touch you yet", Lucifer's voice had dropped an octave, deep and rich like barrel-aged bourbon. You pushed your breasts into his hands as her expertly kneaded them. He lightly gripped your shoulders and pushed you forward just enough for him to get your shirt over your head, he took your bra off as well before pulling you back to rest against him once more.

"Now, let's see what other pretty sounds you can make", he turned the suction on at the lowest setting again, the sound of the buzzing toy filling the room. The devil began by moving the toy down your neck and across your collarbone, the slight suction making your skin tingle. As he made his way down your décolleté, your grip on his knees tightened and whimper passed through your lips. The moment the suction caught onto your hardened nipple your back arched almost painfully and your mouth popped open into a perfect "O".

"That's it gorgeous, just relax, let me take care of you."

He increased the suction on your nipple by one setting, his other hand masterfully pinching and tweaking your other nipple. Your thighs clamped together, hips gyrating desperately to get friction between your legs as the heat in your lower belly blossomed. Lucifer returned his lips to your neck, nipping your skin and leaving dark bruises in his wake. You cried out in a half-moan/half-sob, the coil tightening alarmingly fast. You bit down on your lip as you struggled to ground yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.

"Oh no, no, no Sweetheart. No holding back your tempting cries, I want to hear them all", he removed his fingers from your breast to dip a claw into your mouth to free your lip from your teeth. Returning his fingers to your aching nipple, he swirled the same claw that was just in your mouth around the sensitive bud. All the sensations were too much, with a scream, you came undone under his fingers. Your head hit the demon's shoulder as you caught your breath. Did he really just make you cum by only touching your nipples?!

Before you knew what was happening, the rose was moving down your navel towards your waist. You were not sure how or when it happened but you now found yourself completely bare. Instinctively, you attempted to close your knees to hide yourself only to be stopped by two strong legs wrapping around your thighs and forcing them apart.

"That was a fabulous first act Angel, but it's time for the grand finale", Lucifer had not dropped that sultry tone. Your core clenched upon hearing the promise of pleasure in his voice, slick leaking from your needy hole and ruining the bedsheets underneath you. His fingers trailed down your side, tickling your belly, before slipping between your folds. A loud gasp erupted from you as the king lazily circled your sensitive nub, "So wet for me, such a good girl. Are you ready for more?"

His fingers parted your folds, holding your outer labia apart to expose your clit while his other hand held the rose to hover just above your most sensitive spot. You knew it was coming, but a jolt of electricity still rocked your every nerve ending the moment the suction hit your pearl. Your thighs immediately tensed almost painfully, Lucifer's own legs keeping you spread-eagled; a high-pitched trill resounded throughout the room.

"Just like that Doll, keep those gorgeous sounds coming", Lucifer's fingers slid down your lower lips and two digits pushed into you, rubbing along your gummy walls until he found that perfect spot that had your head falling back on his chest again. His fingers set a long, smooth rhythm, brushing that sweet spot over and over again. The squelching sound of his fingers disappearing into your pussy accompanying your cries.

You had lost control of your voice, your lewd moans escaping you completely unbidden as your whole body coiled impossibly tight. Knowing how close you were, The Devil pressed the button to increase the suction just a bit more and the damn finally broke. You came with such a deafening scream there was no way it was not heard throughout the entire hotel. Your head was spinning from the lack of oxygen to your brain, sweat covering you in a thin sheen as you panted. You could officially say you were fucked until you couldn't think straight.

Lucifer set the rose to the side and wrapped his arms around you, rubbing soothing circles up and down your arms as you came down from your high. He planted adoring kisses on the hickies left on your neck and licking up the trails of sweat.

"So, do you still believe that screaming is just some ploy used in porn to fake pleasure?", the angel asked when your breathing finally returned to normal.

You giggled, "I'll admit, that was the best sex I have ever had."

"Oh Darling, you know I am the sin of pride right? There is no reason to inflate my ego like that", you could feel his smile against your skin. You twisted around to face him, pressing your lips to his.

"If I had known you were capable of that, I would have spoken to you a long time ago", you winked.

"Well, now I'm worried that no conversation will live up to your expectations", he chuckled.

"Hmm, somehow I highly doubt that."

At that moment, your stomach embarrassingly decided to join the conversation. Lucifer smiled wider "Do you like pancakes?"

"I could definitely go for some pancakes right now", you nodded.

Lucifer kissed your temple, "I'll meet you downstairs then!" With that, The Devil disappeared into a portal and left you to get dressed. You couldn't help but smile as you replayed the unexpected turn of events. You were really happy you decided to go to the bar last night.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #fem reader #rose toy

262 notes · View notes