#unwanted // lucifer fic

[etherealbelphie]

An Unwanted Interruption (Ft. Lucifer and GN!MC)

Warnings: Slight romantic implications? (Lucifer has a crush on the MC if you squint)

Word count: 0.7k

A/N: I've had a bunch of Christmas/winter themed stories in my drafts for a while, I figured it was about time to polish them up and post them! This will be the first of many :D This is also somehow the second Lucifer-centric fic I've ever written. This concept had me giggling the entire time I wrote it, so I hope you enjoy it!

I think I added all the right warnings, if I should add any, please let me know!

-Ethereal ^J^

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Lucifer had agreed to take you to the human world during the holiday season.

While Christmas in the Devildom was alright, they hadn’t begun celebrating the holiday until much more recently, when Christmas became less about religion and more about spending time with those you love.

Christmas in the Devildom didn’t have the same history and tradition that the human world did.

Which is why you were so ecstatic, even if you were only going to a mall for a few hours.

“Come on, let’s go!” You said impatiently, bouncing on your heels.

“The human world is cold this time of year, is it not?” Lucifer asked, buttoning up his jacket.

You could’ve sworn he started going even slower just to spite you.

“It’s cold, but it’s not that cold,” you emphasized, gesturing to your outfit. You two were going straight inside, and you didn’t feel like lugging a ton of winter gear around. “You know there’s heating in the mall, right?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes but finished buttoning the rest of his coat quickly. He tugged on his gloves, then turned to you. “Very well, let’s get going then.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you a little closer. “So the both of us will be teleported,” he claimed.

He mumbled something you couldn’t be bothered to decipher -though it sounded vaguely Latin- and next thing you knew, the two of you were standing in an empty alleyway.

“Holy crap, we’re here!” You exclaimed, unable to look away from the snow glittering in the sunlight. Even as the cold wind whipped at you, you could still feel the faint traces of the sun’s warmth.

“Of course we’re here,” Lucifer scoffed. “Did you really think I’d fail?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, though your mock-irritation was quickly replaced by excitement once more. “Now, come on! I know where we are! The mall is this way!”

You grabbed his hand and began leading the way through the snowy streets. If Lucifer had a problem with that, he didn’t say so.

With the enthusiastic pace you’d set, the two of you had made pretty good time, and were by the front entrance no more than ten minutes later. The first set of automatic doors opened, and the two of you stepped inside.

You sighed in relief as a wave of warm air hit you, then you turned to Lucifer. “So, what did you want to do first?”

“I don’t have a preference,” He answered, tugging off his gloves and tucking them into his pocket. “I figured that I would allow you to choose what we did today, seeing as you’re more familiar with this environment than I am.”

“Oh!” You paused a second, thinking. Lucifer always took your opinions into consideration, of course, but him having none of his own was exceptionally rare. “Well, when I’m here, I usually go to-“

You noticed a woman had approached the two of you, patiently waiting for you to finish your conversation.

“Ah…can we help you?” Lucifer asked.

She smiled, pulling a book out of her bag— Oh no.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior?”

You were certain you had an expression of absolute horror on your face and couldn’t form a coherent sentence if you tried.

Thankfully, Lucifer took the reins and answered. “Oh, no thank you.” He smiled at the woman politely.

“At least take this, then?” She held the book in his direction, and he recoiled.

“I’m sorry, madam, but I can’t touch that. I may literally burst into flames.”

You brought your hand up to cover your mouth. You weren’t sure if you were absolutely mortified or about to start crying from laughter.

“What, are you a Satanist?” She asked, scowling.

“Certainly not,” Lucifer said, sounding offended at the mere suggestion. “He wishes.”

That response was enough to push you over the edge, unable to contain your laughter. This prompted strange looks from literally everyone around you, but you didn’t care.

The woman stared at you a long, long moment before she finally turned around and left, which only made you laugh harder.

Lucifer looked at you a moment. Though his lips were pressed together, you could see him cracking a smile too.

“I-I’m sorry!” You exclaimed between fits. “I- I didn’t know what to do!”

He chuckled. “That wasn’t the first time, and I’m quite certain it won’t be the last time someone approaches me about my father. I’ve gotten good at responding. You, on the other hand…” He simply smirked at you, which made you start laughing all over again.

[allastoredeer]

"Chaggie's Totally Legitimate Dating 101 Crash Course" - SNIPPET

Alastor sighs again. "Fine. But if it’s over five classes, I'm leaving. No relationship, however fake, is worth that headache." "Wow, what a saint." "Hmm, I figured that was your job. Or, at least, it used to be.” He cackles. "Oh, fuck you." "No, I'm afraid that isn't in our agreement." "Oh, this is going to be good," Angel whispers, wiggling into a more comfortable position on the couch. Husk, on his part, has the good sense not to respond. Niffty's already buzzing with far too much excitement for Alastor to handle. Unlike with Husk, he doesn’t have it in him to reprimand her. The wild gleam in her eye is simply too endearing. "Call me down when Charlie's back, then," he says, heading to the stairs with a short wave. "I am not walking all the way up there to get your sorry ass,” Lucifer shoots at his back. Alastor snaps his fingers and his shadow peels off the heels of his shoes. "Send it up to get me, then." The glower of his shadow weighs on his back, a faint press of unhappiness between his shoulder blades, that softens into resignation as it sighs, and slinks across the floor to lean against the shadow of the grandfather clock. Crossing its arms, it gives the rest of the room a dull, miserable look.

It's been a while since I posted anything (life stuff, you know how it is), but here's a snippet of the next fic in the "Just Kiss Already" series.

Get ready for some silliness with a side of unwanted emotion (on Alastor's part, of course).

[circeyoru]

Hi, really random, BUT!

Is Collector!Reader in your Collection of Souls fic a seraphim? I keep imagining them with big black feathery wings and brown skin and white freckles/hair...would that be why their so powerful? Idk

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This is for {Collection of Overlords}.

HA! No!! Nope nope!! In part 1, it's heavily implied that you're a demon of greater power. If you read the request and the first ask for this series, you'll see that Reader/you was the Ruler of Hell before Lucifer's arrival. As the original ruler, you hold immense power but just didn't 'fight for the throne' when Lucifer and Lilith were in Hell. You opted to co-exist in peace and taught them how to take over your position as the King and Queen.

As for a design, not sure yet. I'm writing as I go, maybe later there's gonna be a design for you like {Unwanted Soul}.

[theravenmuse]

Fire in His Veins - Chapter 1/4

My work for the High Pollen Count (sex pollen) event

CW: DEAD DOVE; Non-con between both Crowley/Lucifer and Crowley/Aziraphale; non-con sexual acts both before and during the effects of the sex venom; Aziraphale is forced to watch Lucifer rape Crowley; sex venom causes unwanted sexual desires; Lucifer both forces and denies Crowley's orgasms at different times; non-consensual sexual torture which may include things like bondage, whipping/hitting, edging, and psychological elements (I have not written all of these scenes yet so can't give details at this point); Lucifer kidnaps Crowley and takes him down to Hell.

This fic DOES end with both Aziraphale and Crowley safe and as happy as they can be after going through this.

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are on their way home when they find themselves intercepted by Lucifer himself, and Lucifer has a nasty surprise for his traitorous demon. With Crowley out of his mind under the influence of Lucifer's sex venom, it's up to Aziraphale to rescue him, but the cost of that rescue may be higher than either of them are willing to pay.

Excerpt:

“I don’t belong to you any longer. That was the deal.”

“Deal? My darling, I never signed a thing. No one did.”

Crowley spun around, searching for the source of that voice before coming upon the chilling realisation that it was inside his own head. He still belonged to Lucifer. He might have gotten out of his formal job, but the claw holds in his mind, the ones that Lucifer himself had put there time and time again, remained.

Continue Reading on AO3

@goodomensafterdark

@adverbian @malachitegrey @voluptatiscausa

[heyitsspiders]

Bitten Apple ~ AdamsApple Fic - CHAPTER 3

Adam is finally able to be decent!!! (kinda) (not really)

Ao3 Link

a/n: thank you all for the support thus far with the story, i love reading yall's comments and what yall enjoyed!

i hope yall have a nice day/night :D

Successful Meals

Adam debated not going to dinner but images of his face slamming into the carpeted floor flashed in his mind and decided he was a bit hungry – no other reason he wanted to go. He sat on the edge of his fucked up bed, the sheets were torn and barely hanging on, and eyed the closet he hadn’t looked in yet. He groaned, it was probably full of fancy shit. Heaven had a dress code too with the long ass dresses – which he didn’t mind, he wore them when he was alive, Hell, he created them! – but that prevented him from showing off his love of rock more. He got some spikes on the collar and his sick ass guitar, sure, but that was it. At least Hell understood his fashion sense, even if it did add unwanted features.

He pushed himself off the mattress and walked into what he thought was the closet, but apparently was a whole ass bathroom with a closet in it. So, he wasn’t wrong in thinking the clothes were in here, just misjudged the location. The bathroom wasn’t too much but it was clean and made him feel a little more at home – maybe he should stop throwing shit everywhere. Adam walked over to the actual closet and peered inside.

Yeah, he had been right. There were suits, vests, cuffed shirts, dress pants – it felt like a haberdashery threw up. At least some of it didn’t seem too horrible. Whatever, he could play Lucifer’s shit game for now, he really didn’t feel like seeing his damned blood anymore today. Adam shrugged off his sick ass clothes – aside from his ‘A’, that they completely ruined – and did his best to avoid looking at the mirror. However, he caught sight that he was much hairier – or well, furrier? – than before with thick dark fur replacing his chest hair and happy trail. Not to mention his legs were covered in the stuff, all the way down to his hooves. His hands too were different, not only did they end in claws but also were much darker than the rest of him. Another new addition had been made that he thought was just on his clothes – the ‘X’. It was on his skin too, right where the little bitch stabbed him over and over. 

Adam growled, oh Hell had a sick sense of humor. They ruined his body more than Lucifer did with the fucking apple. The shame of being naked was hitting harder than the first time in the garden and he quickly averted his gaze from both the mirror and himself – he couldn’t stand the sight. He shoved on black dress shirt that ended in cuffs with a dark crimson vest and cuffed black pants. Putting on pants was very weird with sheep legs, they curved in weird places and the clothes clung too close to Adam’s body for him to be comfortable but if it made Lucifer leave him the fuck alone then he’d deal with it. 

He exited the bathroom and his room and walked through the maze of hallways – seriously, what the fuck is up with all these hallways? Doesn’t he live alone? – and finally ended up at the damn dining room. Adam opened the door and shut it harshly behind him, which he had almost slammed but decided against it. 

“I see you listened this time!” Lucifer piped up from across the room, his eyes looking over Adam. This man was so gay it disgusted Adam.

Adam rolled his eyes, “yeah, didn’t feel like being dragged around again by some prick.”

Lucifer chuckled before motioning with his hand to the seat next to him. Adam huffed and walked over, pulled out the chair, and sat down. This was embarrassing. Lucifer looked over him with a facial expression he couldn’t quite make out but he knew he didn’t like it.

“Isn’t it nice to just do what you’re told?” Lucifer hummed, grabbing his fork and knife and cutting into the steak in front of him. 

Adam growled but kept his mouth shut, which felt weird. He could feel the words rising in his throat but none of them made sense so he just sat there, staring at his food. He appreciated that it was mostly meat, don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t picky. Humanity wouldn’t have even started if he was picky, but he always had liked meat more. Adam looked at the silverware that had been neatly placed beside his plate and considered using them.

He didn’t.

Adam reached a clawed hand over to the steak and grabbed it before bringing it up to his mouth and biting into it. It was a little tough but his sharp teeth had no problem cutting through it and ripping a piece off. He chewed the meat twice before swallowing and continuing the vicious process. Not only was this to piss off Lucifer but it also was just how he ate, utensils were made way after him and even in Heaven he never got used to them. He also purposely ate with his mouth slightly agar, making his eating so much more obnoxious. Adam internally grinned as he watched Lucifer try to keep his composure but slip up with an eye twitch.

Lucifer set his fork and knife to the side and dabbed his mouth with a napkin before looking at Adam and speaking. “Would you cut that out? Some of us are trying to eat,” he looked annoyed, just what Adam wanted.

Adam spoke with his mouth still full with the bit he was chewing, his words muffled, “yeah, I am too.”

Lucifer sighed deeply, “fucking eat normally, Adam. At least with your mouth closed, the smacking noise and seeing your chewed food is horrible.” He then motioned down to Adam stupid clothes, “not to mention the mess you are making.”

“Just don’t look,” Adam shrugged.

“Do we really have to go through this again?” Lucifer raised his hands to start yanking on the stupid fucking chain.

Adam quickly swallowed and raised his hands, “fine! Fuck! Don’t gotta tug me around for fucking everything!”

“Good,” Lucifer closed his mouth quickly, as if he was stopping himself from saying something. Adam didn’t care though, less nonsense for Adam to listen to. 

Adam continued eating – less loudly but still with his hands – and hated to admit it but fuck, it was really good. The steak was so juicy and seasoned to Hell, just the way he liked it. The sides were just as good, he couldn’t remember the names of them but shit they were just as good. He cleaned his plate fairly quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lucifer on the other hand was taking his sweet ass time, he had barely eaten half of the steak. 

Adam groaned, leaning his head on his propped up hands, “do I have to wait for your slow ass to finish eating?”

Lucifer swallowed what was in his mouth, “yes, you do.” He shot a glare at Adam’s elbows as if they had offended him, “and take your elbows off the table, did they not teach you table manners in Heaven?”

Adam rolled his eyes and moved to his arms back to his sides, “they tried to.” He wasn’t sure why he was listening but rationed it as him not wanting to be beaten again – he wasn’t a pussy but the man literally owned him and Adam was powerless. He was biding his time. Yeah.

Lucifer chuckled, “they gave up on you?”

“They didn’t give up on me!” Adam snarled, his claws dipping into his chair. “They just realized it was useless because I was– am already perfect, I don’t need stupid ‘table manners’.” 

Lucifer laughed a bit harder, “oh? That’s why?” He cut off another small sliver of meat and put it in his mouth – probably something Lucifer was very used to – and swallowed before speaking again, “have you ever thought they just finally realized you were a waste of time?”

“Have you ever thought about shutting the fuck up? You haven’t been in Heaven for a millena, you don’t know what happened while I was there,” Adam glared. “You have no clue what you are talking about.”

“True,” Lucifer hummed. “I don’t know what happened while you were up there, but by your behavior I can definitely guess.”

“Well you’re guessing is fucking wrong.”

He smirked, “then why aren’t they here?”

Adam opened his mouth before shutting it, pausing. Why weren’t they here for him? Why hadn’t Heaven stormed Hell and punished the demons for killing him?

 “They- they just don’t know I’m here. Otherwise they would be,” he tried to sound sure of himself but cringed as it came out weak, like he was a lost child waiting for his parents.

“I’m sure they would be,” Lucifer continued to eat.

They sat in silence that was only broken up by the utensils cutting into the steak and other food that littered Lucifer’s plate and Lucifer’s near-silent chewing. Adam wanted to be mad, he wanted to rage and throw shit and break Lucifer’s stupid face. But, he didn’t. He just sat there, looking down at his lap, at his hands. Did… Did Lucifer have a point? He shook his head – no, Lucifer couldn’t be right. He was the Devil, the man who ruined and took everything from Adam. 

The gentle clanking of metal caused Adam to jerk his head up just to see Lucifer setting his fork and knife on the plate, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Delicious, what a fantastic dinner.”

“I see you enjoyed it too,” Lucifer commented, looking at Adam’s empty plate.

“It was fine I guess, ‘just was hungry,” Adam lied.

“Either way, you may go back to your room,” He stood up and pushed in his chair, grabbing his cane. “I expect to see you at breakfast?” Adam was pretty sure it was supposed to be a statement but Lucifer had asked it like a question.

“Whatever,” Adam grumbled, standing up from the stupid chair and shoving his way out of the room. He just wanted to get out of these clothes, sleep forever and never see Lucifer’s face again. Never see the way Lucifer looked over his body. Never see the dumb fucking smile that took up so much of his face when he had successfully pissed off Adam. Never- 

God he must be really tired. He groaned and shook his head, trying to rid his mind of Lucifer, and reached a hand out for the doorknob to his room. He was just tired. 

Adam woke up to, who he assumed to be Lucifer, knocking. Again. He hoped this wouldn’t be a daily thing. Adam groaned, dragging a hand down his face – It was too early for Lucifer’s bullshit. As the knocking got louder Adam pushed himself off the mattress and stumbled over to the door.

“What,” Adam grunted.

“Finally,” Lucifer cleared his throat, “anyways, I will be out for the day and-”

“You woke me up just to tell me that you won’t be here?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “What, you gonna tell me there is a babysitter downstairs too?” He joked – Adam really hoped it stayed a joke.

“Let me finish,” He shot Adam a glare. “I wanted to let you know so you don’t try looking for me. Meals will still be served at the same time.” Adam laughed, as if he’d go looking for Lucifer. 

“I’ll be going, don’t fucking destroy my house,” and he left with a snap of his fingers. 

Adam sighed. Finally, he was gone. He contemplated going back to bed but decided against it – he was already awake – and chose to explore and learn the layout of this funhouse while he wasn’t being threatened. He walked out of his room into the hallway, every now and then there was a little table with either a lamp or small decorations on top of it to light up and decorate the hallway. He made his way down, avoiding the urge to knock everything over, and peered into the dozens of doors that littered the hallway. Some led to bathrooms, others guest rooms, some were even just random storage or kitchens. Adam grimaced, this whole place could be about fifty rooms smaller if they just stopped repeating so many fucking rooms.

However, one room caught his eyes; a room that looked like a bar. Finally, maybe he’d be able to drink alcohol down here after all. The bar counter was empty, showing off the pristine marble that it was made of, with plush red stools stationed in front of it. Behind the counter was the main attraction; the drinks. He walked in, eyes glued to the shelves of various drinks – who knew there was this many kinds of alcohol? There were so many neat shelves that were illuminated from a light behind which highlighted the drinks and only made them look more like a God-send. The whole room was dim aside from the bar, which is where almost all of the light came from. 

Adam walked behind the bar and looked up at all the bottles, all different colors. He grabbed the one closest to him, the glass was cool to the touch. It was clear, showing off the light yellow liquid inside of it. Adam squinted at the label, the bigger words were foreign to him but above it in a smaller font read ‘tequila’. It sounded good enough and he fumbled with the top before realizing it was a screwed cap – like a water bottle cap. Adam frowned, did that mean it would be weak or that it was cheap? 

He shrugged, just meant he could drink more of it, right? He lifted it to his lips and took a sip before harshly pulling the bottle away. He coughed as the liquid burned his throat as it went down. Adam glared at the bottle, people drank this shit? How did people stomach this? He swallowed hard, if other bitches could do it so could he.

He lifted the bottle back to his lips and turned it up, allowing the liquid fire to flow into his mouth. Tears pricked Adams eyes and he squeezed them shut and continued to try and drink. He very quickly had to stop and slammed the clear bottle on the smooth marble. It felt like a hundred fire ants were biting the inside of his throat and all he could do was swallow repeatedly, trying desperately to get the feeling to go away. His mouth felt dry and he was faintly sweating, a few tears falling down his cheeks. Fuck. That really fucking hurt.

Adam could feel his thoughts growing a bit fuzzy but he wanted more – there had to be another drink that didn’t feel like swallowing lava. He grabbed a few more bottles of varying sizes and shapes, one of these had to be good. 

He drank so many different kinds of alcohol, every single one leaving his mouth dryer and rawer. The one good thing about his continuous drinking is his tongue started to grow numb and his mind was growing fuzzy – he was barely recognizing the burning pain the drinks left in his throat. Adam had no idea how much time had passed, all he knew was that his stomach was so full yet so empty. He was starving. Lucifer said there were still meals right? He fumbled with the bottle that was in his hands and half-assed putting on the cap. Since when was the room spinning? Probably Lucifer, the fucking prick.

Adam stumbled over to the door, the spinning room really fucked with his balance – it felt like he was on a ship in the harshest storm ever. Is this what Noah’s Arc felt like? Poor fuckers, this sucks ass. He slammed face-first into the doorway.

“Ow! Fucking bitch,” Adam hissed in pain, punching the doorway. The doorway fucking punched back and it hurt his fist.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, prick?” Adam kicked, his new hooves were much more effective at kicking than his previous feet. 

Once he felt the wall had learnt its lesson he continued through the hallway. He searched his swimming mind for the location of the dining room but was only met with the buzzing that occupied his brain. He used the wall to support himself as he took careful steps – he wasn’t fully used to his hooves and everything moving in every direction wasn’t helping. Adam miscalculated how far out he was stepping and tripped, crashing onto the floor.

“Urrghh,” he groaned and continued laying on the floor for a little bit longer before trying to get back up. Adam kept falling back to the harsh floor as he would lean too far forward or to the side when trying to stand. 

“Stoppp” Adam whined to the gravity that kept knocking him down, he swore it was increased. 

Laughter broke through his buzzing thoughts and he looked up to the source of it. Oh it was pretty boy – pretty fucking annoying boy! Ohoho, Adam was hilarious. He was so funny. He should say it out loud.

“You’re fucking annoyingly pretty,” He slurred before laughing. Nailed it. Lucifer looked so surprised, he was probably thinking how badly Adam had roasted his dumb ass. The king would probably never recover.

“That so?” Lucifer crouched down – or shrunk, Adam wasn’t sure – and was eye level with Adam as he propped himself up. Lucifer seemed to sniff the air – which didn’t make sense, he didn’t have a nose. Did he breathe through his skin like some fucking weird frog? – and his face scrunched up. 

“You reek of alcohol, did you get into my personal bar?” Lucifer sounded annoyed but not to the point of beating the shit out of Adam.

“Yeah, it all tastes like shit,” Adam groaned, continuing to try and stand once more.

“Did you drink it neat?” Lucifer yelped, looking surprised. “Oh my golly, no wonder it tasted bad, you drank it right out of the fucking bottle!” 

“How else do you drink it? Why put it in the bottle thing if not to just drink it?” Adam questioned but most of his focus was trying to stand up – he was making more progress.

Lucifer cringed, “okay, it seems like you need to be treated to a proper drink.” Was this fag asking him out on a date?

“I ain’t fucking gay, you- you- uhh gay.. Bitch,” Oh yeah, Adam was on a roll tonight – tonight? This morning? He didn’t know nor did he care.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, “whatever you say. We can do that tomorrow.” He looked over Adam, “have you eaten?”

“I was tryin’ but someone decided to live in a fucking maze,” He grumbled, finally standing on his hooves. Lucifer grew to his normal height. He was so small, could be crushed like a soda can. 

Lucifer stared at Adam, “okay so we are getting you something to eat and then getting you to bed.” Lucifer grabbed Adam’s wrist and started to drag him, causing Adam to stumble and trip over himself.

“Fuck, bitch! Stop goin’ so fast!” Adam complained, trying to keep up with Lucifer’s break neck speed.

“I’m just walking..?” Lucifer raised a brow before shaking his head, “whatever, fuck it.”

“What- Wo-o-oah! What the fuck?” Adam was suddenly much shorter. What the fuck did Lucifer do to him? He turned his head and was met with Lucifer’s really close face. He looked down and realized that no he had not shrunk, he was being held. By Lucifer. 

“How- why- Put me down!” Adam kicked his feet.

“Hold still would you?” Lucifer sighed, “I don’t feel like dealing with you drunkenly stumbling through my house.”

Lucifer carried Adam like he weighed nothing – despite being much taller and bigger – and carried him through the spinning hallways. How was Lucifer walking so smoothly? He probably did this to Adam. Fucking bitch.

“You broke me,” Adam growled. Lucifer looked at him as he continued to walk impossibly straight.

“What?”

“You made everything spin, asshole. Stop it,” Adam slurred, his brows furrowed.

Lucifer laughed, “that’s not me, it’s called you're drunk off your ass.”

Adam grumbled and crossed his arms, huffing. This was so unfair, wasn’t alcohol supposed to be fun? Instead he felt fuzzy, like he couldn’t hold onto any thought that entered his mind. Adam looked up as Lucifer opened a door with magic and walked into the dining room.

“What time is it?” Adam asked, looking around.

“It's around lunch, I left earlier than I originally thought.”

“So hungry,” Adam mumbled, his stomach aching. It faintly reminded him of being stabbed. 

Lucifer dropped Adam on a chair, his back and legs colliding with the arms of the chair. “Oops,” Lucifer said in a bored tone as he walked over to his chair.

Adam twisted until his ass was properly in the chair, a dull ache blooming in his lower back and legs, “asshole.”

Lucifer ignored him and sat down, leaning his old-man cane against his chair before grabbing his fork and getting ready to neatly eat… Whatever the fuck was in front of him. It looked like a weird sandwich. He held the fork so delicately in his long, dark, slender fingers as he tilted it to the side, cutting into the sandwich and letting what looked like the yolk of an egg spill out.

Lucifer looked over at Adam and raised an eyebrow, “are you going to keep looking at me or are you going to eat?”

Adam blinked hard, “uh- obviously I’m going to eat, just– just curious as to what the fuck that is.”

“It’s a ham and egg croissant sandwich,” he answered as he stabbed into the small piece he had separated and lifted it to his thin lips. 

Adam shook his head, what the fuck was happening? Why was Lucifer less hard to look at? Must be the alcohol – anyways, he was hungry as shit. Ditching the utensils once more he grabbed the sandwich whole – like a normal person, who the fuck cuts up a sandwich? – and bit into it. It was pretty good, the ham and egg worked well together with the swirly bread. It was also juicy from the yolk. 

As Adam chewed, with his mouth closed this time, his hunger really started to set in. Holy fuck it felt like he hated eaten in forever. It took him no time to chomp the whole thing down, licking the plate and his lips clean.

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Damn right, you got any more of these?” He drooled at the thought of more food, it was so fucking good, not to mention the room spun not as fast so that was a plus.

With a simple snap of the shorter man’s fingers there was a whole ‘nother sandwich in front of Adam – which he quickly devoured as well. He ate another like, three or four of those sandwiches before stopping as his stomach was starting to become less welcoming to more food. He slouched down in his chair, hand on his full stomach. Despite his slouching, he could still clearly see Lucifer, who had just finished up eating his one sandwich. This man ate slow as fuck.

“Hopefully all that bread sobers you up, you haven’t stopped looking at me,” Lucifer said casually as he wiped his mouth with a napkin before magicking it away. 

Adam blinked hard. Had he been looking at Lucifer? Why? He was so ugly – well, Adam would usually say that. With the copious amount of alcohol he consumed, Lucifer looked at least decent to look at. Basically, Adam didn’t want to puke looking at the man. Even now he caught himself doing exactly what Lucifer said: staring. 

Obviously Adam was staring because he was looking for a moment to escape. Yeah. He was alert and looking for a way out of here and away from Lucifer’s freaky smile and swept back blonde hair and that stupid fucking suit he wore all the time. Not to mention that big ass hat with the mocking symbols of a snake and an apple.

Adam cleared his throat, “I wasn’t looking at you, I was more looking at how stupid you are.”

“Uhuh,” Lucifer squinted his eyes before speaking again, “anyways, you’re free to go back to your room. I suggest you get some sleep and get the hangover you will get over with faster.”

Adam grumbled something about ‘not being a fucking child’ before standing up and leaving, this time being able to walk and not trip over air – mostly. He walked down the hallways, up one of the thousands of staircases and finally found his room. He turned the knob and opened the door, promptly passing out – half way on the floor, half way on the bed.

[midethefangirl]

surrender - hopeless (i'm falling down)

tags: angst, seriously y'all are going to hate me for the three chapters of this fic, pregnancy (unplanned but not unwanted), quan chi is a douchebag here, warning for attempt at forced abortion (i'm about to trigger my own filtering system), hurt no comfort, pre-MK1, and of course it is bireena centered but bi-han makes not physical appearance in this fic.

summary:

notes: continuation of @ladybug023 's spy!sareena headcanons inspiring my writing. I decided to splice this into three chapters because the word count went beyond 3k words and I hate writing super long stories when it comes to platforms like Tumblr. the chapter title is gotten from the lyrics of 'Hopeless' by Breaking Benjamin. also, if you want to join a tagging list for updates, please, let me know and i'll add you 😁❤️

word count: 1.6k words

also cross posted on ao3

part one of surrender; part three of i'm weak so what is wrong with that (i added a new tag for this)

The deepest circle of the Netherrealm was one of the most dreaded locations in the Netherrealm and for a damn good reason. 

It was the place where previous overlords of the Netherrealm banished offending denizens to be tortured by the onis. 

This was the last place Sareena wanted to find herself in but what had she expected the moment she found Quan Chi at the Lin Kuei foregrounds? 

Regret ran through her mind as she awaited her judgment, her palm flat against her lower abdomen, the recent news bringing mixed feelings. 

She and Bi Han had always been so careful… but it is not 100% safe , came that little voice in her head. 

She had lost focus of why she was in the Lin Kuei and now, she was paying severely. Here she was awaiting Quan Chi’s arrival while in Bi Han’s mind, she was as good as dead. 

The last thing that the cryomancer would remember was how she betrayed his clan, how she betrayed him . How she lied to him. 

How could she have deluded herself into thinking she could keep up with the lie she had allowed to fester? How could she have believed that she could stall her day of reckoning? 

Her wishful thinking had done nothing but land her in this mess where her fate and that of her child was dependent on the whims of a dangerous sorcerer. 

Bi Han would never know that she was carrying his child - not that she was aware herself until the onis Quan Chi had assigned as her torturers - Drahmin and Moloch - had somehow detected it. 

The Netherrealm was basically hell, where demons, onis, tortured souls and every possible personification of evil walked about but they had a few rules they followed. 

One of them which was her saving grace, at least, in this moment - a person with child was off-limits. Harming a person with child was seen as a death sentence, enough to have the perpetrator in the deepest circle of the Netherrealm. 

It could be her saving grace but knowing Quan Chi, any assurance dwindled by a great percentage. The sorcerer was from Outworld, not a native of the infernal realm. Sareena doubted he’d respect this rule. 

Ha , Quan Chi respecting the rules of the Netherrealm? That was as laughable as the many dreams of liberating the realm from his hands. After overthrowing Lucifer with the help of the Sisterhood of Shadows, the sorcerer had made himself a tyrant, keeping denizen under his thumb. 

Anyone who dares to defy his dictatorship ended up in the position she was currently in. Either that or on the run like Ashrah, which did not seem so bad right now. 

Quan Chi had gained unilateral control over the Netherrealm and he showed great disdain towards its rules. This one would be no different. 

Hell, he’d torture her himself, unborn child be damned. The thought of that had the demon clutching her abdomen protectively, if she had to fight to her last breath to protect herself for the sake of her child, she’d gladly do that. 

The heavy sound of boots against the stone pavement had her alert, her eyes looking up to see Quan Chi flanked on his sides by Drahmin and Moloch. 

She sat up straight, her back against the wall as she finally came face-to-face with the brown-skinned sorcerer who stared at her venomously. 

“Why is she still here, unscathed?!” He turned towards the onis, his tone miffed as he spoke like she was not right in front of him. 

The onis exchanged looks, obviously displaying their fear of the sorcerer who impatiently expected their answers. 

“L-Lord Quan Chi- we- w-we thought,” Drahmin started, stumbling over his words as he struggled to get his words through. 

Sareena could tell this was the moment where the sorcerer was so close to losing his shit. He rarely expressed his anger in outbursts which was terrifying in this scenario. 

“Speak up you imbecile!”

“She is with child,” Moloch blurted and Quan Chi let out a mirthless chuckle which chilled Sareena to the bones. 

“That should not stop you.”

“We cannot-. It is forbidden,” Drahmin interjected. 

He knows that , Sareena wanted to add but at this moment, her silence was more golden than whatever comeback she had on the tip of her tongue

The room fell silent as Quan Chi crouched down to her level. The demon attempted to keep as much distance as she could but she could only go so far when her back was against the wall. 

The sorcerer pressed a hand against her abdomen, chanting some incantations under his breath. Then, he jerked his hand away, recoiling as if he was shocked by electric current. 

He was on his feet now and his eyes widened, time standing still as he looked down at her. It was like the dreaded calm before the storm and Sareena could not afford to trust this silence, her eyes looking cautiously at him. 

A myriad of emotions flitted across the sorcerer’s face before settling for rage and disdain. Quan Chi’s lips curled into a sneer as he seemed to put two and two together. 

“You whore!” He spat venom. 

He knew, there was no way he would not know. 

“It is that pathetic Earthrealmer, isn’t it? He sired this bastard, didn’t he?” He jeered. “It is not enough that you failed your mission but you had to let that Earthrealmer bed you and put his seed inside you.”

Sareena could almost feel herself let out a sob. Quan Chi’s face was too calm, way too calm for the venomous words he tossed her. It was a moment of when he’d strike at her. 

And her fear was about to come true. 

“Seize her!”

No, no, no.

“No!” She yelled, the moment Drahmin and Moloch were at her sides, their hands pulllng her up. She struggled against the iron-cladded grip of the onis who dragged her out of her cell. 

“Please! Please, don’t do this!”

“I’ll get rid of that bastard if I have to. Shang Tsung would have a field day helping me,” a smug look fell upon the sorcerer’s face. 

It felt like a century had passed when she found herself in a room she was unfamiliar with. Her face was stricken with tears, her voice hoarse from her cries. 

“Quan Chi!” A voice broke through and everyone’s attention was focused on a new presence. A pair of amethyst eyes fell upon her still in the rough grips of the onis. 

The dark-skinned demon pushed through Quan Chi before reaching for Sareena. Drahmin and Moloch had released her instantly, making her fall into Jataaka’s arms. 

“What in Lucifer’s name is going on?!” Jataaka demanded, her eyes glaring fiercely at Quan Chi who was now displeased that the demon had dared meddle in his affairs. 

“Stay out of this, Jataaka,” Quan Chi shot back. 

Sareena found herself shaking, her hand instinctively on her abdomen as she shrunk into Jataaka’s protective hold.

Jataaka stood her ground, her hold firm around Sareena. The demon had a fierce look in her eyes, the kind that had even Quan Chi and his two henchmen pause.

“You would really protect a traitor? Someone who tried to leave the Sisterhood for a pathetic Earthrealmer?” The sorcerer scoffed, his question aimed at the demon who still had her arms around Sareena.

“Still a sister nonetheless. I am not going to let you hurt her, sorcerer,” the demon hissed.

This seemed to have struck a nerve as Quan Chi stepped up to her, his face dangerously close.

“She is pregnant with an Earthrealmer’s spawn. If I have to rip that abomination out of her, then so be it,” he spat.

Jataaka remained unfazed, her gaze piercing as her arms tightened around the demon.

Then, it seemed as though the demon had thought of something.

"You are not going to harm a fellow member of the Sisterhood," she reminded. “Neither are you going to lay your filthy hands on her offspring.”

Sareena wondered if the other demon had gone mad, taunting Quan Chi the way she was. The sorcerer had no qualms about ending her life or that of her unborn child.

"Are you forgetting who rules the Netherrealm, Jataaka?" The sorcerer questioned, a hint of a smirk forming on his face.

Jataaka stood her ground, her grip tightening, “You are an outsider who managed to best us, it would do you some good to know your place and remember the rules of the realm you reside in.”

It may have sounded like an empty threat but it was anything but. The Sisterhood of Shadows have helped overthrow previous overlords, they would not give up on overthrowing Quan Chi either.

"What are you trying to get at?" The sorcerer questioned.

"If you touch a single hair on her head, her unborn child or her, you will have the wrath of the Sisterhood and Lucifer upon you. You think we will tolerate you harming a member of the Sisterhood?" Jataaka said.

Quan Chi narrowed his eyes at her, a scowl forming on his face, "Very well, then. Have it your way.”

His gaze was now on Sareena and the demon felt a chill running down her spine.

"But I will be back. Soon," the sorcerer spat before taking his leave.

Drahmin and Moloch trailed behind him like two lost puppies, leaving Sareena and Jataaka alone in the room.

The demon could feel herself shaking, she was not in the clear just yet. Her child was still in danger and Quan Chi would make sure to get rid of them.

Jataaka had noticed her distraught, the demon holding her in a reassuring embrace, "Don't worry, he will not touch you. We won't let him."

She could only hope so.

tagging: @livingdeadgirly

[denpa-dere]

Masterlist

Obey Me

___

Fics/One Shots

denpa's first smut - NSFW levi x gn!mc, soft dom mc, edging

smoke - NSFW belphie x gn!mc, drug use, brat belphie

house arrest - NSFW polyship x afab!mc, breeding kink, first in a series

house arrest 1 - NSFW mammon x afab!mc, breeding kink, day 1

house arrest 1.5 - Suggestive asmo x afab!mc, breeding kink, day 1 aftermath

house arrest 2 - NSFW levi x afab!mc, breeding kink, dom/sub, day 2

house arrest 2.5 - Suggestive (sort of) Satan x afab!mc, breeding kink, day 2 aftermath

house arrest 3 - NSFW beel x afab!mc, breeding kink, day 3

house arrest 3.5 - suggestive/NSFW lucifer x afab!mc, breeding kink, day 3 aftermath

house arrest 4 - NSFW asmo x afab!mc, dubcon, aphrodisiac, day 3 evening

house arrest 4.5 - suggestive belphie x afab!reader, day 4 morning

house arrest 5 - NSFW belphie x afab!reader, dom!reader, choking, day 4

house arrest 5.5 - suggestive, polyship x afab!reader, day 4 con't

house arrest 6 - NSFW, satan x afab!reader, dubcon, day 4 evening

house arrest 6.5 - diavolo x afab!reader, day 4 evening

___

Drabbles/HCs

asmo the tease - suggestive, asmo x gn!mc

something between - lucifer x gn!mc

only you - lucifer x gn!mc

nothing i can do about it - mammon x gn!mc

unwanted - lucifer x gn!mc

___

Fanart

rain (lucifer, denpa)

good morning beautiful (satan)

spit (belphie)

love & lore gift exchange (satan)

love & lore autumn submission (levi)

levi lineart preview

mammon's new jewelry

levi pixel art (WIP)

denpa

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Tithe 2/2

Part One

Summary: Younger Gods AU - don't need to read the original fic to enjoy. (But you do need to read part one.)

18+ NSFW

Warnings: Neglect/abuse/manipulation, unhealthy relationship dynamics, SMUT (artisanal?), the whole-ass angst train, needlessly verbose prose for the "aesthetic," potential (minor) S2/comics spoilers

My master list for further reading

Recommended listening: Son Lux "Let Me Follow," and Ghostly Kisses "Blackbirds"

Next on the one shot list is a Hob x reader x Morpheus inspired by a prompt. And Younger Gods, of course. And the new, super-long mystery project.

Any of you lovely fucks want an AU of this AU? Like, with the Tom Ellis Lucifer? Same premise, wildly different story. I kinda want to write it, but I can't promise when it will appear. Let me know if there's an audience or if I should leave it on the back burner until it boils down to sludge.

Part Two

The bread runs out, and then the waterskin goes dry.

Her life becomes an hourglass, slowly draining as she waits to be remembered.

The Morningstar likes her best when she’s weakened, desperate, when there’s nothing but frantic hope left in her eyes, and it all belongs to the ruler of Hell. She hasn’t reached that point yet, but each day brings her a step closer, and if the Morningstar does not come, does not bring light to her cell, she’ll eventually fall beyond even that.

The last drop of water rolls over her parched tongue, leaving a damp trail that sticks to the roof of her mouth. Her cracked lips aren’t bleeding – yet. She’d rather be asleep before they do. This time, she won’t crawl back towards consciousness without a light to follow. Until the door opens, she’s determined to dream. Of all the things she may lose, her misery, her life in Hell is not at risk. But damned souls cannot enter the Dream Lord’s realm.

If she remains forgotten, she’ll lose her meadow and the storms that rush to greet her like old friends she never knew.

Dreams have become a finite resource, and she wants as many as she can hold before they disappear forever. The Dream Lord said he would not take them from her, but death might.

She curls into the dark, face tucked against cold stone, listening to the hollow shadows that keep her company. Until she drifts.

She escapes.

It’s so easy; it never fails to surprise her how quickly and far she goes in the space between breaths. Hell, she’s always been told, is the one place in the universe impossible to escape, but that just isn’t true.

One moment, she waits in the cold. The next, she rests in soft grass with rain washing her clean of cares.

The meadow bursts with life – slow-growing things and skies rolling thick with heavy clouds – all very busy existing. Peacefully thrumming with a green pulse removed from time. Each beat of the space’s verdant heart lasts a moment. An eternity.

She loves every inch of it, and the possibility of losing this home breaks her heart.

For a day, she stays in the grass. Unmoving. Bathing in the rain and the beams from the sun and moon that peek between thunderheads.

Although she imagines his eyes on her, suspects his touch in the rain and his attention in nodding daisies, the Dream Lord only returns on the third day. He did not visit – openly at least – as her rations slowly drained away. She can only guess why, but she sees the question unspoken, the unwanted answer that brought their last meeting to an end.

Maybe he senses the change, the deeper melancholy infecting her place of peace, and it’s called him back like an open wound left to fester.

He still cannot save her.

She knows.

She was the one to tell him, after all.

But when she looks up, knee-deep in the stream with the rain peppering kisses along her neck, she’s glad.

What can he take she isn’t already doomed to lose?

He’s a familiar face now, and she doesn’t have many of those. He stands in her sanctuary, and no bad thing can happen here. She refuses to believe otherwise. She needs faith in something. Her hope in the Morningstar fades in the dark with her half-mortal body, and her grey-sky meadow fills a flaking hollow in her chest.

There’s room in that hollow for him, too.

Her meadow is already a part of the Dreaming, and thus a part of its Lord. She found rest and safety in him before he waited at the edge of the woods, and if he wants to visit the stormy plain while she sleeps, who is she to deny him?

He doesn’t approach, and neither does she. He’s content to watch, studying her leisurely play like her wet ankles will tease out some great mystery, or the grass she weaves into a plait holds terrible riddles. But she only wants to feel flowing water over her skin. She only wants to make something green and fresh into a pretty wreath to set in the rushing stream.

When the sun catches the clouds on fire, and sunset burns hot pink and gold, she settles in a cluster of colorful weeds to wait for the stars. Yellow flowered sour grass, little wild violets, and bristling white clover peep up between her fingers, cushion her head as she lies back.

She feels the Dream King approach more than she hears him. It’s like the wind stops to bow, and his presence fills the little pause in the meadow’s pulse. Sitting beside her, he watches the sky clear. The clouds never hide the constellations when she dreams. They’re too wonderful to hide, even for the most liberating storm.

His eyes mirror the cosmos as he turns to her, enchanting. They should make him distant. Unreachable. But she swears she could name the constellations twinkling there.

“What brought you here?” she asks.

“A part of me has always been here. I am the Dreaming.”

She isn’t sure if he’s being obtuse on purpose, but she can’t remember the last time she felt free enough to ask questions, so she presses it, building a history between the two of them, growing their encounter into a connection.

“The first time I saw you. When you waited by the trees.”

Galaxies comb over her as she rests, looking up at him from the bed of weeds and wildflowers.

“Curiosity.” Honest and simple. It isn’t exactly a vulnerable confession, but he doesn’t have anything to prove to her, and she likes the honesty.

She wonders if it will stretch to the present.

“And this time?”

The light in his eyes sharpens as they narrow. He looks at her like he’s the one who asked the question, hunting for answers behind her eyes.

“Curiosity unsated. And –” He hesitates long enough she thinks he won’t continue, but when he does, his voice has something beyond a ruler’s curiosity, a trace of the stories buried in his gaze during their last encounter softening the words to a rumbling whisper. “Perhaps, concern for a dreamer.”

The last rind of orange sun dips under the horizon, and the stars jump to life, ignoring the twilight. They’re all eager to burn.

She rolls fully onto her back, smiling as she takes his gaze with her, and looks up. How many more nights of dreaming does she have left? How many stars can she count, and if she tallies them all, can she keep them when she goes?

He waits for her answer patiently, as sure and still as the dark he wears so well.

Since he didn’t lie to her, she can’t bring herself to lie to him, either.

“This may be my longest dream yet. And my last.”

She thought he was still a moment ago. But now the dream goes still with him, and he’s a black hole locking the world in his gravity. It’s only suspense. Not suffocation. It draws her without either having to move.

When he breathes again, the stars remember how to twinkle. The stream dares to run.

“Has the Morningstar forgotten you?”

“Yes.” She’s resigned to her death, but she already yearns for all these beautiful things she can’t keep. “I wish this were real.” So she could tuck a flower in her pocket to smell when she wakes. So she could cradle a star in her palms during the coldest nights of her pitch dark cell.

More than anything, she wants the storms to follow her home like a stray dog.

“Your life here is as real as what you feel in the waking world.” He pauses. Corrects himself. “In Hell.”

Her view fogs over, and she blinks quickly, before any tears leak down her face. She doesn’t try to hide the misery in her voice. “That just makes it worse, though.”

A shooting star arcs overhead. Instead of a wish, she pins her fears and regrets to it, hoping it will take them far, far away, leaving her to enjoy however many dreams she has left in peace.

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He leaves less and less.

For the first week, he comes every other night. Then he appears with the stars. Eventually, he arrives early enough to see the sun set and lingers long enough to watch it rise again. A growing pattern spreads like a bright stain: the weaker she becomes, the closer he sits. The longer he stays.

Rain still falls, thunder grumbles, and lightning flashes quick as thought. It’s all still her, all still her dream and her place, but she’s dying, and they both know it.

Eventually, it becomes a matter of leaving when he must rather than visiting when he can.

She isn’t sure why he cares. He oversees all dreamers, and the Dreaming expands beyond even those countless billions. She waits for the right opportunity to pose the question – a bright afternoon when the then clouds glow with the sun and dim rainbows hover over the trees. Everything tastes possible.

“I am the Dreaming, but I believe this corner of my realm would crumble away without you.” He buries his long fingers in the grass, tilts his head back to study the gathering clouds. “The meadow is mine, but the storms are yours, and their energy feeds everything that grows here. I could create a facsimile without your rain, but…”

His endless eyes turn to illuminate her, expressing all the dangerous things hanging like forbidden fruit between his words.

It would not be the same.

It would not feel like her.

It would lack the smells and shades of her untrained, demi-god soul.

And he would miss it.

He would miss her.

How should she tell him she will miss him, too?

“Dream Lord –”

He interrupts her. “You’ve given of yourself, and I enjoy your company. Please.” His chin drops so he can eye her through his lashes, and she isn’t sure if it’s an invitation or a dare. “Call me Morpheus.”

Her mouth feels strangely dry as she meets those eyes – dark in spite of the stars they hold. “Morpheus.”

“Yes.” His deep voice drops even lower, pushing her thoughts aside like a puff of dandelion seeds. “What name do you wish me to use?”

The dandelion seeds fly back to the stem and turn to stone. She looks away, humiliated, wondering if he’ll just forget he asked and tell her something new instead. But, patient as ever, he waits, though he seems aware the question wasn’t taken as intended.

She lets the silence sit until it’s awkward, until the shame and horror burn in her throat, begging for some kind of release. The answer chokes its way free.

“People call me things, but I don’t have my name. The fae didn’t think I needed it. The Morningstar calls me Rain. But that isn’t my name.” It all tastes like vomit. Ugly and undeserving of the quiet meadow. He’s given her permission to call him by name, and it’s a wonderful gift, but she can only show her scars to excuse her failure to offer the same. “I have no name to give you.”

That strikes him. When she dares to look him in the face, she sees the empathy. His slackened expression holds no judgement. He doesn’t mock her or take back what he’s shared. Frustration lies in the way his eyebrows pinch, though, and she’s seen it there before.

He’s found a limit to his power, and he doesn’t like it.

This time, instead of placing her alone in the field and leaving, he folds the narrow space between them so she presses into his side, under an arm that brings her even closer.

It’s a denial on his part. Who would dare pluck a dreamer from the defense of the Dream King’s arms?

She chooses to accept his embrace regardless. It’s the first she’s enjoyed in quite some time. The best by far, even if he’s claiming something she hasn’t expressly given permission to take.

With his chin resting on her head, he murmurs, “We shall find it for you, and you will have any name you wish until that day.”

Like she has time to wait. Time and opportunity to search the waking world for the name her mother gifted her.

She doesn’t have the strength to argue. She wonders if he says these things because he knows, too.

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The storm rages through the meadow. She feels herself slipping fast, but she irrationally hopes if she pushes more of herself into the dream, some fragment will live on. Morpheus can keep it. He can keep the meadow and the chaotic weather. Her afterlife will keep her away, but she doesn’t want to leave him lonely in a dusty field.

They stand together by the stream because she’s sick of lying down and waiting for the end, even if she feels it biting her heels. She’ll meet death on her own two feet. His arms keep her upright, pulled close to his chest.

Only days left now. Maybe hours. She fights to stay in her dreams, aware of the throbbing headache and spiking pain in her physical belly. It all washes through the link to flesh and bone, echoes that manifest in her dream. She’s lucid enough to recognize them for what they are, and she’s lucid enough to ignore them. She chooses the dream. Considering Morpheus holds her fast, the dream has chosen her, too.

Even in the circle of his arms, remaining takes focus. The discomfort of her living body leaches through and jerks on her tether to wakefulness, demanding she return and suffer in full.

As the Dream Lord holds her, she holds him. Her arms loop around his narrow waist like he’s a tree in the storm that will anchor her against the pull from sleep. Lovers would carve their names into the trunk. Instead, she whispers, “Will you stay? Just a little longer.”

It is all she has left.

He breathes into her hair, and the gust is pleasantly warm compared to the wind. Only a little longer. She imagines his arms cinch just a bit tighter in defiance.

When he speaks, his voice is haggard, the smooth darkness roughed by an unspeakable emotion that has dared touch the Endless. “I will stay.”

He’ll stay until she can’t.

Until the end.

They stay together, breathing in time, pretending the end isn’t galloping towards them. Playing at eternity in cherished silence.

And then –

The door creaks, and she jerks awake. Dim light – still blinding – pours into her cell, framing the winged ruler like the sun.

“My sweet Rain. Did you think I had forgotten you?”

She looks to the light with hope, but it isn’t for the Morningstar. It isn’t for the fire’s warmth or the bland food that will fill her shriveled belly. She hopes to live so she may dream again, bring rain to Morpheus’s lonely meadow.

The months have taken their toll. The Morningstar holds out a hand, calling her to rise and return to her monarch’s side, but her knees fold the moment she tries to stand. And she does try. The igneous rock scrapes her palms as they catch her full weight, and she gasps for breath at the effort.

Even if there is light, she’s still dying. She needs water. Food. It isn’t too late to perish.

The Morningstar sweeps down, not to lift her off the floor, but to hold her chin and force her eyes from the floor. Lucifer’s eyes are hungry on her face. They demand her helpless adoration. Her wild hope.

“You are unwell.” The ruler of Hell says it like someone else left her in her cell for the better part of a year. No responsibility. No guilt. Only feigned concern tender and light as a feather. “We must remedy that.”

Mazikeen helps her up, half-carries her as the Morningstar moves to a table full of food and a tall pitcher full of what she desperately hopes is water. Little chimes ring through the marble hall with each shuffling step. The demon helps her sink to the floor their ruler’s side, her head resting against a knee. Easily within the Morningstar’s reach, angled so her desperation is on display.

As ever, she’s at the Lightbringer’s mercy. Her tormentor is her savior. But that’s only true because she must live to keep her dreams, and there’s a cup of water in Lucifer’s hands.

A ringed hand holds her jaw steady as the goblet nears. “Here. Drink and be well, Rain.” As she swallows, a hand runs over her hair. Torn chunks of bread and grey vegetables follow, taken from the Morningstar’s fingers. She knows how to behave, how to appear thankful and glad when she’s screaming inside. Her dignity died a long time ago. It doesn’t chafe her. But she has someone else’s hands in mind now.

She is still something the Morningstar fears to lose, and the Morningstar has no idea she’s given her hope to another king.

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She enters the dream in his arms.

He holds her like he’s been waiting, unmoving since the light of the open door woke her.

They stand in the meadow with the threat of rain carrying across the sky in rolling thunder, and as she finds herself, discovers her balance, his hands rise to her face.

He studies her as he had from the edge of the woods, but it isn’t her actions he marks. Inquisitive stars peer deep to draw out new pain, searching for hurts, asking without words if she is well.

Her hands trace the back of his fingers, wandering to his wrists, over his sleeves and up to his elbows. Then back to his wrists in a soothing stroke.

“I will dream again,” she assures him.

The Morningstar has remembered her. She will live, and she’ll return to this green place in his Dreaming.

His hands shift so his thumbs press on her jaw, tilting her face up to meet him. She expects a word or some nebulous expression she’ll spend her waking hours puzzling over, but he banishes all her expectations effortlessly.

With a kiss.

Silken lips press to hers. A touch. An introduction.

Her heart stalls in her chest as her hands cling to forearms. Holding him close in confusion.

“I thought you lost.” His mouth barely leaves hers, and each word is practically a kiss of its own. “I thought this meadow would languish without the rain.”

Apparently, the grass wasn’t the only thing to grow thirsty in her absence. He barely finishes before he kisses her again. An invitation this time, a call to dance as their lips glide together. Careful touches grow warmer, firmer, and she dares to answer in kind. She’s never been invited to play this game before, but she feels like she’s glowing, like there are no bones or muscle left in her body, only the hazy idea of lightning before a bolt gathers itself.

His hands slip along her jaw so the tips of his fingers can curl into her hair. She has his full attention, the weight of a billion dreams, and she wonders if this will consume her. She entertains a fantasy that he can tear her away from her mortal body, keep her in his soft hands like this forever.

Their lips break apart so he can press his forehead to hers, noses brushing together as he puts together the questions he must ask before he takes more.

“Will you spend this dream with me?” He pauses his thought for the next kiss. It’s quick, but no less sweet. When he pulls away, he leaves enough space to look, to hold her gaze. She sees his need, his hunger, and she hopes he’ll swallow her whole, let her never be lonely again.

“May I show you what it is to be worshipped, little storm god?”

There’s a touch of a growl in his voice, and it carries through her in a delicious shiver. He isn’t the only one who wants, who needs, who hungers. Her hands wander to his chest. Two curious, brazen fingers creep higher to ghost over his lips, trying to discover the secrets behind the blinding power of his kiss. When his eyes flutter shut, bolder hands brush along his eyebrows, down his nose, until he shudders and catches them up in a grip like silken iron.

With more kisses to her fingers, her knuckles, the inside of her wrists, he says, “Please. Give me your words, little storm god.”

Here, in his realm, he’s asking permission. Has anyone ever asked for it before? No. Never. She swells with something painfully bright, and she feels drunk on power. She smells ozone from her lightning.

The feeling burns, fierce and lovely, as she stares into the stars he calls eyes. She doesn’t recognize it. It’s nameless as she is. But she wants more, and if she has to give him every word she’s ever spoken and ever will, she’ll gladly surrender them.

“Yes.”

He slips closer, nuzzling with soft kisses under her ear as he presses her hands against his chest again.

She tries to think of more words – the right words. Breathless, she says, “I’ll spend this dream with you. Please. Morpheus.”

Before she can descend into frantic babbling, he seals her agreement with another kiss. He asks with gentle touches for her to open for him, and she gladly gives leaves for him to take as he wishes, because she’s falling into the sky, and one of his stars burns in her heart.

----------------------------------------------

He pulls night around them like a curtain.

Even the stars disappear behind a thick scrim of cloud cover.

The trees rustle with the breath of a rising storm, and for the moment, their psithurism is the only song in the dream, the only sound as he lowers her into the grass, its emerald flush gone silver in the night.

When he first reclaimed his tools and began the laborious process of remaking his realm, the green meadow had dazzled him. He’d stumbled upon it by chance. Great swaths of ruin and decay gave way to a peaceful storm, and as he’d stepped into her space at the edge of the Dreaming, the rain melted the weight on his shoulders. His power mingled with hers across the landscape, and though he knew all dreamers without stopping to speak with them, he found himself wanting to understand. He wanted the little storm god to look at him and answer his questions.

How could a prisoner of Hell have so much life to share with the world of sleep? Did she know what boon her rains granted the desolate corner of his kingdom?

He approaches her with all his questions, and he finds a lonely demi-god who hardly knows what she is. Her divinity is fact, but it has no influence on her waking hours. It is a gift unconsciously offered, poured into his world to sustain life and passion where all else cracks and decays.

The longing in the dream touches him, a lonesome song of a trapped thing, so he gives her warm sun between the clouds, lets the long grass embrace her and the stream kiss her feet. When he returns, when he struggles to leave, he soothes her with contact she’ll recognize as his embrace. Hands, and arms, and his chin on the crown of her head.

It’s a quiet thing. A balm for a heart that has never been any way but broken. He basks in her relief as she faces an end he unwittingly inspired, and it soothes aches of his own. It goes this way until he craves the little storm god in her meadow – her respite from Hell.

The craving grows in quiet hours and misting rain, fed by the threat of imminent loss. He thinks he has lost her when she fades from her dream, only for an instant, but it’s more than enough. When she returns to his arms, he is decided.

He pours that reverence into every soft touch, each stroke of his lips.

She gives him the words he most wants to hear, and he begins his worship.

When she looks up from her bed of grass and flowers, her expression suggests she’s the one eager to praise, that he is the god deserving offerings. He must show her differently.

He sets a hand on her chest, splayed fingers just reaching her collar bones. His palm drags down as he leans in to claim her lips, splitting her attention as his palm travels between her breasts, down her belly. As his hand returns, he banishes her clothing. His hand rests over her heart, flesh to flesh, and he listens to her waking pleasure through the dream. It’s only an inexperienced whisper, but he will teach it to sing.

Prayers drip from his tongue as he tastes her neck. Her confused, eager hands roam his hair, his neck, the collar of his coat with little noises of joy and frustration. When he smiles, charmed but determined to keep his slow pace, he moves his hand from over her heart to cover a breast. Patience has its rewards, but he will not leave her cold and wanting.

He fills his mouth with her other breast instead of words, and he tastes her heartbeat through the tender skin as he teases her peak into a bud. She gasps and arches, so his free hand slips around to support her back, keeping her near as he begins his feast.

The first sprinkles of rain patter over them, but the storm god panting under him hardly seems to mind, and neither does he. He loves her rain, her kindly chaos.

“Morpheus.”

He answers the summons, returning to her lips as his thumb circles a stiff nipple. Pushing her thighs apart with a knee, he reclines between her legs, giving her time to adjust to the position without feeling exposed. She fills his senses. Petrichor and crushed grass. Moving water and electricity.

There is more of her to have, and he thinks he may combust if he can’t have it all. He breaks their kiss with praises as he works his way down the path his hand took in the beginning. Words feel hollow, beautiful, and good, and perfect – his mouth does a better job expressing his passion when it’s full of her skin.

His hands paint her body with affection. They explore each dip and curve, spread over her back, cradle the dip of her waist, return to her breasts and curl around her hips. He doesn’t give her space or time to grow shy, but he enjoys her yelp of surprise when he swoops low and pulls her knees over his shoulders. A kiss to the inside of her knee reassures her of his intentions, and he moves to her core.

He licks her entrance, and a broken moan rewards him. How sweet. He must discover what other sounds she makes when she isn’t guarding her words and asking careful questions. As free as she believes herself to be, she does not know how to be unrestrained, even in her dreams. That is alright. He will help her.

Every flick of his tongue triggers a gasp. When he takes her clit she whines. Her hips try to dance against him, chasing pressure and release, but he has complete control, which he uses to build a slow pleasure that will shatter her. He wants her to fall apart on his tongue, and Dream of the endless is nothing if not determined.

She comes with a cry that sounds almost hurt, but the dream practically glows with her passion, and the clouds echo her calls with thunder.

He isn’t satisfied, and he pulls another from her, this time beckoning her to the edge of madness with curling fingers in partnership with his tongue. He allows no pain, free to banish any possible discomfort from this encounter. If he ever has her half-mortal body in the Dreaming, he will drag her through hours of bliss until she cannot recognize any pain in their coupling. But that is a concern for another day.

For the time being, he’s happy to grow drunk on her taste.

After she catches her breath for the second time, she reaches for him, and he takes her outstretched hand, pondering how lovely their fingers look laced together as she tugs him back up to cover her so she can rain chaste kisses over his face and down his neck. He’s burning for her, and the ache crawls from his belly into his chest as she puts her lips to his eyes, his nose, his chin.

His clothes melt away, and she explores every inch she can reach with fresh enthusiasm. He kisses her back into the grass, savoring the warm fingertips tracing the lines of his chest, dipping over his stomach.

He gathers her leg to rest over his hip, maintaining the kiss as he presses inside. A groan reverberates through the entire Dreaming, and he bites down on a name he doesn’t know. It has never bothered him so much as it does in that moment.

But her hands are on his face, and her whole form writhes to welcome him.

As he moves within her, he aches to fill her with stars and wishes, to let her breathe her dreams through the desperate gasps billowing over his ear. She clings to him, and he reaches for her heart. Though they are too close for him to even imagine a parting, he kisses his hopes and assurances into her flesh, breathing devotion and faith as the wind sweeps down with the rain to bless their union.

He wants to take everything she naively offers, but he wants to give as well. He wants to search out the name bestowed by her mortal mother and return it. He wants to whisper it like a benediction as he takes her again in the storm, tying them closer with old magic and simple understandings.

She chants his name with dizzying fervor, stoking his desire to find more, to press nearer in every way. Her body offers him the relief of a cottage fire in an autumn tempest, and he throws as much fuel on that fire as he can. As his hips roll to meet hers, he murmurs, “Let me feel you again. Will you give me another? Can you give me more?”

She’s past the point of words. Even his name has fallen from her lips, though he still feels it thrumming in her mind as she flutters around him, approaching the end with the most desperate sounds. He kisses her sternum, just over her heart to ask a boon of the little goddess coming to pieces in his grip.

“Please.”

She remembers how to speak as she crashes through her third high.

“Morpheus.”

What would he give to hear her call him thus every evening? It must be a spell. He prays the magic takes, that it sets around them, binds them like satin cord.

He works back up her throat, hungry for another kiss as his own end rushes near. She accepts him so readily, so happily. Even though she’s exhausted from pleasure, the smile she meets him with has the flavor of spring.

Joined in every way, he shudders with his release, filling her the way her rain filled his heart. Reluctant to leave, he rests above her, within her, as he stills. Quick breaths push her chest against his, and he cradles her blissfully limp body. Her fingers twine through his hair again, soothing, trying to return satisfaction and fulfillment she’s already given him twice over.

Her storm tempers itself. Satiated purrs carry through the sky, and a misting rain glitters on her bare skin, catches in her hair and lashes like jewels plucked from the night sky. Her eyes may as well be moons for the tidal pull they exert over him.

Though he has just had her, has yet to even pull away, he wants more. It’s a thirst he can’t slake, and he marvels at his own sway as she presses into the palm he holds to her cheek.

All too soon, she will wake. In Hell. She will suffer, regardless of the Morningstar’s favor.

There are few hates as strong as the starving man’s as he watches a fool leave all he’s ever craved to rot.

He will not allow it. He cannot bear to as she kisses his hand and glimmers in the sleeping meadow.

“Twice traded storm god,” he murmurs, “should you be willing, I would negotiate a third trade for you, to make you a creature of the Dreaming.”

He watches her face, almost mistakes the tears dripping from her wide, hopeful eyes as more rain. Eager again for her words, he kisses over her cheeks and returns the salt in a searing kiss, branding her with their entwined passions.

He wants all of her. Forever. He tells her as much.

“I would make you mine and keep you.”

If she agrees, she need never disappear from his arms again. He need never worry that the rain will cease. She need not sleep in a cold cell, trapped in the dark alone.

Her acceptance shines in her eyes, haunts the stroke of her hands over his back.

“I would be willing.”

It’s better than an oath, and he knows just how to honor it. He’s more than ready to worship her again.

----------------------------------------------

He sends Cain as his emissary. It’s the first thing he does after he loses the storm god to waking, and he waits on his throne for news, struggling to attend to his duties as he wonders what news his subject will bring.

Will Cain see the storm god, veiled and chained with bells in the corner of the room, or will the Morningstar lock her away again at the first whisper of a guest.

What demands will the ruler of Hell make of him in exchange for the storm god? It is a negotiation he dreads, and not only for the risks he will face. The Lightbringer is often cruel, and the tithe may have to pay for her own freedom in blood. But Morpheus will have her regardless of the Morningstar’s machination. Even if she comes to the Dreaming mauled, he will celebrate her arrival.

Surely she knew the danger when she accepted him?

She is made to weather storms.

He need not fear too much.

Cain returns.

He gives Morpheus a letter from Lucifer Morningstar, formally sealed with wax, written on parchment made from some ancient beast’s hide. Before he breaks open he words, he quizzes his subject. Had he seen the storm god? Was she well? Did the Morningstar intimate violence as it became clear who, in fact, claimed the tithe’s allegiance?

The first murder shakes his head. “She stood in the shadows with the Morningstar’s favorite Lillim. I didn’t even notice her until I said your name and the bells on her ankles trembled.” He hesitates, and Morpheus feels the sun dim behind the throne room’s stained glass.

“What?” he demands.

“The Morningstar – well, the Morningstar smiled.”

Morpheus opens the letter and immediately spots the trap. It is a terrible thing, clearly meant to destroy him. But he doesn’t care. Not as much as he should. And the Morningstar must know it.

It’s less of a letter and more of a will. Lucifer Morningstar has left Hell. The infernal realm and all within is given into the hands of Dream of the Endless.

An impossible burden. An invitation for war and conflict with a dozen of the most powerful entities to ever grow thought.

Yet all he can think of is the door in the royal chambers, and the little god locked behind it.

Cain took a day to travel back, and the storm god is not asleep. He cannot feel her in the Dreaming, and he wonders if she’s hurt, if the pain keeps her from resting. What has the Morningstar done in the hours since handing Cain the message?

He rushes to Hell. He does not pause to enter by the gate, armed with the word of the Morningstar. This time he enters not as a guest but as lord. If any demon dares interfere, he will not regret tearing his way through them.

Word of the Lightbringer’s desertion has already spread, and Hell hums with a particular kind of anxious chaos. Demons press against rules, abandoning their posts in the image of their former keeper. Souls wander, wild-eyed but free for just a moment of their torment.

He cares for none of them.

A few small devils scatter as he enters the Morningstar’s chambers.

The door stands open, the cell empty. Subdued fear crests over him like a wave.

Had the Morningstar simply left the demons to tear into her flesh? Undefended? Screaming as he waited for word to reach him?

He will find her soul and take it away with him, turn her into a true creature of the Dreaming and give her an eternity free of whatever agony the Morningstar had left for her.

One of the devils tries to skitter past him to the door, and he seizes it by the neck.

“What happened here?”

It chitters and croaks, but it is weak, and it bows quickly to Dream’s power. As razor-sharp claws scratch at his hand, it hisses what it knows.

“Ruler summoned fae king. Wanted magic. Wanted potion to stop sleep. Stop dreams. Stuffed it down the tithe-pet’s throat. Took the tithe. Took Rain. Not here. Gone. Gone. Gone. Let me go?”

He throws the twisted cretin across the room, snarling.

Yes. Now he sees why the Morningstar would smile. The little storm god made good bait, even if the former ruler of Hell had no intention of surrendering her.

The eternal ash scratches his lungs, but he can’t help drawing breath after breath, looking for some trace of her as he crouches to touch the floor of her cell.

She met him here.

He wonders if he can feel her hunger and thirst in the stone, her loneliness in the shadows.

She dreamed herself away, and now she will have no escape. Even if she walks the waking world, Morpheus has no doubt the Morningstar will find ways to punish her. And without a realm to govern, there should be plenty of time for torment.

The burden Lucifer so elegantly foisted on him prevents Morpheus from chasing after his little storm god for weeks and months. Time slips by as he sorts through the mess left by the Morningstar’s retirement, and by the time he’s free, she is gone.

He searches the waking world and discovers nothing. No stories, no whispers, no hints. The Morningstar has hidden her well, and he knows better than to ask the Lightbringer to trade a second time.

Months stretch on, birthing new years and decades.

He wonders as he waits in her meadow, still hoping that she will break the magical chains twisting through her mind and dream her way home.

Does she ache for him as he yearns for her?  

The grass is turning yellow.

Is she in pain?

The stream runs dry and the bare trees rattle like skeletons when faint breezes disturb the still air.

What else has the Morningstar taken from her in retaliation?

The sun is too bright, and the stars turn dull.

He was right. It is dying without her. Fading around him even as he tries to sustain the place where he kissed her, where they joined and made love for the first and last time.

Morpheus does not give up, but there is no path to follow, and the corner of his world they shared crumbles. She becomes another bleeding scar he cannot staunch, a misery he carries in love.

Perhaps one day. Perhaps by some miracle or mistake they will meet again. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Nothing kills hope, not even when it becomes a knife between his ribs.

He wanders the sea of the unconscious, looking for storms.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

Request rules

Requests are currently closed!

(This list only applies to stories. I don't take any art requests at the moment. If I ever decide to open art requests there will be a different set of rules!)

*****

Basic information:

❥ All of my works (so far) are x reader and I probably won't write stories featuring any OCs that aren't my own. If any of my stories ever feature one (or more) of my OCs I'll state it on top of the description.

❥ All of my stories are written in second person unless stated otherwise.

❥ I prefer to write female or gender neutral reader (but don't hesitate to ask me about male reader requests).

❥ Requests might take some time to write (I attach great importance to my personal space/private life—self-care is very important for me!).

❥ I like to write song-fics but I probably won't take any requests because my music taste is different from the average (further information below).

{Masterlist}

List of Fandoms/Characters I'll write (will change/grow over time):

❥ Hazbin Hotel

Alastor, Lucifer Morningstar

❥ Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi

*****

There are specific rules that determine what I will/won't write. But sometimes there are exceptions, so feel free to ask—I won't bite!

What I WON'T write:

ABORTION - I hope this one explains itself.

ABUSE - if the character is the one inflicting anything crucial to the reader or the other way round (especially in romance or with children as victims); talking about it is okay; sometimes side characters "harming" the reader/other characters might also be okay but I can't really tell you what's okay and what's not because it really depends on the case (the kind of abuse/how detailed/the plot/identity of victim & perpetrator/circumstances/etc.). Abuse is a very crucial topic that won't trigger me but might trigger other people and I also don't support any abusive actions at all nor will I ever romanticize them! I'd see less issues with this topic if the story's intention is to spread awareness! So don't be afraid to ask! I will tell you if it's okay or not).

CHEATING - neither the character doing it to the reader nor the reader doing it to the character (only exception: unwanted/forced/arranged and loveless marriage with a side character—not to be confused with unhappy marriage).

GORE/BODY HORROR - I don't mind blood or violence but I won't write anything that's too descriptive.

HATE/DISCRIMINATION - I don't support any kind of hate or discrimination and never will. My blog is a safe space for all kinds of people in this world. However, there are a few exceptions such as discrimination in a historical context or as a character background that shaped their personality. I might also write discrimination to spread awareness or if a side character is discriminating another character but gets to feel the consequences of their actions. So feel free to ask me and I'll tell you if I'll write your request or not!

INCEST - explains itself.

OMEGAVERSE - I neither understand it nor feel comfortable with it.

RAPE/SEXUAL ASSAULT - mentions are okay (f.e. to spread awareness) but actual descriptions aren't.

SMUT - I might post smut that comes from my own ideas but don't take any requests at the moment because I've never posted something like this ever before. So it might probably change over tim. (I'll write spice and suggestive stories though as long as they ain't smutty.)

SONG-FICS - I really like to write them myself but I probably won't take requests since my music taste isn't average and I don't like most popular music. I will make exceptions though if the requested songs somehow meet my taste/mood (I prefer dark wave, post punk, synth pop, metalcore, and rock/alternative metal in general. I listen to pop as well but only to specific songs/artists, such as Lana Del Rey, Lady Gaga or Rihanna. So feel free to ask—maybe we meet a common ground, even if it's not my taste of music! This rule might also not apply to instrumental music!)

SUICIDE/SELF HARM - talking about it/mentions are okay (f.e. awareness or Chara term background) but I won't write any scenarios of characters actually committing to such actions!

What I WILL write:

ANGST

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE (AU)

BLOOD/VIOLENCE - but only up to a certain point (consider the rules above. I also won't write detailed gore and body horror)

BREAK-UP

CHARACTER DEATH

FAKE RELATIONSHIP

FLUFF

FORBIDDEN RELATIONSHIP

FRIENDSHIP

HEADCANON

PARENTAL RELATIONSHIP

PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP

PREGNANCY

SPICY/SUGGESTIVE - as long as it's not smutty

ANYTHING ELSE THAT ISN'T MENTIONED - of course there might still be some topics/themes I won't write about that aren't on the list yet. In this case the rule sheet will be updated!

*****

I may decline a request if I don't feel comfortable with it but in this case I will inform you. If that's te case, please don't take it personal! I also still have to explore my writing preferences and boundaries (f.e. I don't feel comfortable taking smut requests at the moment because I've never posted smut ever before. But this will probably change over time). If you're unsure if I will write you request, feel free to ask! 💞

[french-toast-enjoyer]

Writing Share Game:

Rules: share some writing!

thanks to @rkmoon for the tag, here's a snippet from a symbrock fic I'm not sure is good enough to continue! I also submitted it to @funkycave so if you see it on their blog hey, same hat. lemme know if I should actually write this:

To the world, he was once known as Ediliaphon. The scribe of creation, and the angel of all to be known by man.

Now his collar simply reads “Eddie”. A bastardization of the name given to him by the god he once loved. The God who had abandoned him for daring to question his divine plan.

The God that had left him there, in the writhing city of Pandemonium with every other rejected angel. Tossed like an unwanted, unruly pet. Weighed down with a rock and thrown in a river to die.

And he would’ve died.

For nine full days after the collapse of Lucifer’s army, Eddie and all other now fallen angels had lay in the depths of what was now hell, paralyzed with the never-before-felt sensation that would come to be known as pain.

That fateful period had brought to birth several new, unbearable concepts.

Suffering came forth in the physical anguish of broken bones and hellfire-charred skin. Agony crept into the faces of those lost, regretful angels. And annihilation–

It claimed half of all lower angels on the first night.

Without a master or cause to tie themselves to, without faith in either their love or hatred of God, many of the regretful, lost souls had simply ceased to be. Succumbing to their injuries with no hatred to empower them to stand up and keep fighting.

But for those who did hate?

It disfigured them. Morphed their wounds into splitting heads. Their faces became permanent snarls, their halos had cracked into horns, and their bodies had melded into darkness from days of bitterly crawling on their bellies.

Eddie was lucky. Eddie had avoided both fates, somehow.

It eluded him, how he had fallen without shattering his soft white wings. And how he felt so little in the advent of his fall that malevolence had not consumed his broken, once divine body.

Much like the others, however, he was frail. Fading in real time without a deity to uphold him.

On night one, his wings had wilted, night two, his skin began to burn.

He'd have given up forever to touch God again. Just once.

There were nights when he’d remember his time as a scribe. Appointed by the Father to pen the histories of all that had been created. It'd been so brief, yet so blissful. To think he gave it all up, out of pride. Out of the want for more accolade than the ultimate honor of witnessing the birth of all the world. What a fool he was.

He would’ve died. But on his knees, something had found him.

It called itself Venom. A manifest of sin much like those conceived with Lucifer’s first betrayal. In perpetuity, it was meant to be the lord of treason. Of biting the hand that feeds.

He'd been despondent when the entity had found him. Useless. Too tired to curse God and too prideful to beg for forgiveness.

It had sensed the angel’s weakness. Known it to be the closest thing to a lamb this wretched pit could offer. Only in appearance, of course.

Much like that which tempted Eve, it'd crawled to the angel on its belly, whispering sweet nothings about divinity and reclamation. Offering him protection in exchange for devotion.

Eddie, feeling bloody tears welling in his eyes, knew that his choice was either to obey, or so begin the process of fading away completely.

He'd looked to the heavens. They couldn't be seen. God was not coming to forgive him, much less save his life.

In short, he'd agreed.

So began his life, given up to the first and last entity that'd shown him mercy.

Herein begins the true fall.

I'm gonna tag @spibbb and @bunsofhoney because I like what I've seen of their writing! as always, no pressure to participate:)

[pridepurgatorium]

— What happens after?

The way I decided to do this challenge(?) is I would roll for a brother to pair for whoever’s day it was, so if it’s Lucifer’s day I’d roll from Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Beel, and Belphie.

This has led to the fic sometimes leaning more centered towards the other brother, but I think in essence the idea is still encapsulated (brotherly love) so for some of them I chose to not rewrite it.

With all that being said,

@ombrotherlylove2023 , Lucifer and Satan

Day 1: Misunderstandings and fluff (ambiguous ending, could be fluff but not written)

“Satan we had just fallen and I had just lost Lilith I didn’t know what to do with you-“ Lucifer’s sentence is cut off abruptly.

“And that makes it ok?” Satan was close to blowing his lid. This argument was seemingly never ending and for a man who considers himself calm and calculating (he has to be) he was still the avatar of wrath.

“All you have ever seen me as is Lilith’s shadow, I am not Satan I am the being born of Lucifer’s Wrath because his Father took his beloved sister away. I am a being you can’t bear to look at because all you will ever see in me is disappointment. I will forever be a reminder that you lost the war, lost your sister, made your brothers fall, and lost a piece of yourself. Lucifer, I did not ask to be born of your wrath! I did not. ask. to. be. here! I know very well you didn’t want me! And perhaps more importantly I know that nobody in this house wanted to welcome me!” Satan may have been screaming at the end but the words he had been keeping so close to his heart have finally spilled, leaving in their wake a gaping hole, and when he finally realized everything he said and looked to see Lucifer’s (stupid) dumbfounded look, he knew he’d fucked up.

How could he let Lucifer in on his insecurities! Lucifer had never cared for him! Lucifer did not deserve to know that deep down, he was desperate for his approval, for his pride, for his love. 

“Satan, you think I don’t love you?” Lucifer asked. It’s not that he was entirely surprised, he knew he didn’t show his love as often as he should. Diavolo knows he could treat Mammon kinder. But for Satan to believe that he was unwanted from day 1 leaves him feeling like he’s failed. Satan wasn’t a disappointment! He achieved everything he set his mind to! He could pull off so much and almost all of it, he had taught himself. Lucifer knows where he had gone wrong, knows he should’ve helped Satan understand what it meant to finally become his own being, but Lucifer was lost.

He had lost his sister, lost two pairs of wings (the scars haunt him every night), (thought) lost his brothers trust, and had just freshly sold his autonomy.

“…When the war started, I would get these flashes of anger, so intense I would question myself, ‘Are you becoming a demon?’ or ‘Is father punishing me for my thoughts of rebellion’, but I would later learn that it was really just you all along. Now I sometimes find myself asking, ‘Is father omniscient and omnipotent? Did he know what Lilith would do and chose to do nothing? Did he know she would die?’ and find that my anger is still as intense as it was, I think that you hadn’t truly taken my anger, rather you were just born from it.” Lucifer’s rant, seemingly never ending, continued-

“All of this to say, Satan, to me, you have never been me, you have always been someone else, and maybe it’s weird that I could differentiate between us, or that I chose to believe we have always been separate on some level, and I know it’s no excuse for my behavior following the war till now, but I feel it’s important to say now, better late than never I suppose” 

“Satan, I love you.” Both of them knew that this wouldn’t fix the wounds already dealt, but maybe, this could be a new beginning.

^ look at those silly guys on my silly banner. maybe even. read the banner. do what it says? :3.

Really glad I rolled Satan and Lucifer even if this wasn’t Lucifer centered, my whole life is Lucifer centered he can step aside.

I hope this is enjoyable and readable and you like it so much you eat it.

[tending-the-hearth]

Hey, bestie! I was wondering if you could recommend some good Hazbin Hotel fics?

oh i definitely have some!! most of them are ongoing, but these are the ones i really enjoy:

unwanted reveal: one-shot where lucifer accidentally reveals that vaggie is an angel when he meets her, with some solid Dad Moments with him and vaggie + him and charlie

it's all about that journey to pleasure town: charlie contacts ozzy after That Scene in valentino's studio and basically ozzy being a very protective uncle and fizz and angel becoming best friends, it's one of my favorites rn and connects hazbin hotel and helluva boss really well!

lights! cameras! fire! - wait, fire?: Actor AU, i am a SUCKER for those, and this fic is really good at separating the characters vs. the actors in the fic

all at once: huskerdust overloard AU series!!! this series especially does the AU so so well, it's all split into one-shots, but they all connect and flow together!

poison (lucifer's version): radioapple but make them so silly, alastor poisoning lucifer for fun and lucifer powering through it

peace and quiet: very sweet angel and vaggie one-shot and just them having the most sibling vibes ever

if hell is forever then heaven must be a lie: cain-centric fic and fallen angel!emily!!! this is a more recent one i've started reading, and is on the shorter side, but i love it so much already. the way cain is written is so heartbreaking, and i'm so excited to see where it goes

[sculptorofcrimson]

Wings Weighed Down by Iron

A Ferrus Manus Dark Fic where he realizes that telling his Sons not to replace their body parts with bionics is doomed to failure because his philosophy taught them to despise frail humanity.

They are not his sons. 

They are too cold, too broken, more machine than man. They are not sons of flesh and bone and blood, they are not his sons anymore than he could have sired great world-eating machines of steel and thunder. The gifts of the flesh are tender, and rot quickly when lost. The flesh beneath steel and armor is little more than a ghost now, a fragment of spring waters frozen and fouled by winter frost, tender earth ravaged beneath the trampling charges of great steel spires that stretch out to the skies. 

They speak of silver and steel. Their flesh is weak. Their bones are fragile. When the temple that they call a body withers, when their muscles atrophy and their bones become brittle, they will turn to steel where Nature has been forsaken. They have learned to lust for, to desire, to crave the touch of steel and the kiss of the forge, for the hand of Man to finish what Nature has so unperfectly started. For it is right to hate what is weak, what is imperfect, what is natural and so fragile, to abhor the soft tendons of flesh for the certainty of steel. 

These sons have turned their backs on nature itself, these sons have chosen to follow the footsteps of a lost father who could not turn himself away from the iron before his fate was sealed in crimson. 

And for tragedy never ends, and misery never dies, his sons have taken up his lost, wayward torch, and chosen to march down that one dark forest path their father died to defend. 

They strip flesh from their bones and replace it with steel. They weave wires into their flesh, and metal in their bones. They weld silver into their tendons, and thread cable through their nerves, for only by the power of their greatest rage and hatred could shed their entrappings of flesh and bone. 

They seek to bless a father through the greatest sins of his sons. 

Their hands are not their own. The steel and silver has laid claim to it. Their hatred is not their own, it was born into them through the hands of a Primarch who had no hands of his own, who has forgotten what even the touch of flesh itself resembled beneath the unwanted silver. Their bodies, their temples, willfully torn down and desecrated, laid to honor in a demigod who prayed his sons would never have to walk the path he had trodden. 

He had tried to turn them from the lure of the machine, bid them to relearn the mysteries of flesh, bone and blood. Ferrus had foreseen the madness that lay beneath the path of iron and silver, his sons marching alongside of him, little more than brains encased in metal, and it was he who had shuddered, and tried to dream of a cure. He had dreamed to cure his Legion and himself, to strip the silver from his hands and cast the iron into the molten magma where it may melt and sink into the rock. 

And he had failed.

Sweet Ferrus, dead Ferrus, it was you who died.

It was his dream that was crumbled into not dust, but into steel and metal pilings. It was his dream they immortalized beneath silver bones and metal claws, it was his dream they blazed in the form until it was melted into warped slag of a once beautiful dream. The irony lies therein; he was both the Father and the Lucifer that had tempted his own spawn to partake of the Apple, yet wished no more than to wean from from the taste of steel and silver. It is he who was the Primarch who fought for his Legion's humanity, only to watch it slip away into the cold embrace of steel and metal, to be remembered no more than a warrior who had forgotten what makes them human. 

As his sons march on, dragged ever onwards by their hatred and their steel, Ferrus Manus can do nothing to stop them. The dead do not speak, and they have no more will to forsake the gifts of the flesh, the fragile beauty of flesh and blood. The dead do not have voices nor bodies to do so.

And thus, so it was, with silver eyes he watches his sons, less than a memory, less than a a dream now, fading fast. He watches them march relentlessly onwards to zealously repeat the mistakes of their long lost genesire, binding themselves to paths of steel and silver. He watches, voiceless, dreamless, the orchestrator of all their misery as their bodies, once vessels of life and warmth, decay into shells holding nothing but metal and wires, the touch of flesh naught but a distant memory. Souls marred and melded into mechanical pistons till nothing but the echoes of their former humanity remains, yet marching onwards to desecrate their temples in his name. 

Their hands are no longer their own, claimed by the silver and steel that now courses through their veins. 

Does it please him now, genesire? Does it please him to watch his sons march the same path he had trodden so they would not? Does it please him to watch them become what he had feared, what he had abhorred, yet failed to exorcise? 

In his name they shall feed his greatest shame, in his name they shall sire his greatest rage. 

He watches as they burn their hands in his name, as a young Marine screams out his hatred to the uncaring skies. He watches as the fledgling Astarte roars out a promise written in blood and steel, as his son burns his flesh and bone in the name of a lost father, as he scorches the greatest gift his Primarch had offered him in the name of his Primarch. The flames burn, the Astarte’s flesh blisters, then chars, then dies, but the Astarte’s screams were not in pain, but in rage. 

They will never be free of this prison. They will never want to be free of this prison. He will never see his dream spread its wings of flesh and bone beneath a soaring sky. 

No. Never. Instead they will die as he had died, shackled, fettered by his own chains, unable to scour the silver from his skin nor the metal from his bones. Ferrus will never separate the metal from his corpse, he will never scrape the silver from his hands, he will never be the genesire they needed, or wanted, or even deserved, for not even he had been able to forsake the song of steel. 

His dream will die as he has died, his sons none the wiser for his agony. 

The gifts of the flesh are lost to them, they have embraced the certainty of steel. They have understood the weakness of flesh, and embraced the irremediable stagnation of steel, for there is nothing purer than the Blessed Machine, and nothing crueler than the deviance from which they have chosen. One day, when the steel they call a body rusts, when the metal they proclaim a bulwark crumbles, there will be no return to the flesh. They were once the highest of humans, now made from the same steel upon which forged the weapons of war. For there is no salvation in immortality, no end to servitude even in death.

Instead they shall march onwards in the zealous belief this pleases him, his sons shall die forged by their own hatred, broken upon the anvil of metal and bones, forsaken by their genesire for a dream he did not want. 

And so that is how Ferrus has forsaken them. Not for their treachery, but for their loyalty.

They are not his sons.

They are no longer his sons.

They are scions of steel and iron now, forged by the steel and the anguished howls of a dead father forsaken by his own sons.

And so, they are no longer his sons.

[mageofseven]

I just love song fics so so much, so much inspiration coming from them, what about 🦋 Butterflies by Kacey Musgraves with Satan pretty please with a Cherry on top 🍒

Have a nice evening dear ♡

Oh this is a cute little song! I'll give it a try~

For anyone who wants to listen to the song as they read this, you can listen to it here on YouTube.

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

The two were laying in Satan's bed, curled up together and reading the same book. The couple had this system where the blonde would hold the book and MC would lay with their head on his chest as they read. Satan's reading speed was faster so he would read the pages and then wait for his Kitten to catch up. When the human was ready, they would tap the man's wrist so he knew to turn the page.

The demon was having trouble focusing today though; he just kept finding himself staring down at his sweet Kitten and smiling.

This human...they really did change his life for the better. Before them, he was alone. Alone and misunderstood. Satan didn't even understand himself; who he is as person, what he was feeling...everything was so hard to understand. It was only natural that he used to struggle in such a way when you take his...birth into account, but still.

Hundreds of years of pain and confusion...all over because of the sweet human in his arms. His Kitten understood him better than he himself could have ever hoped to. Since the two have been together, the wrath demon hasn't felt so alone. Before they came...honestly, loneliness was probably the emotion he knew best after anger. After all...he was unwanted originally.

He was born from the anger and pain Lucifer felt towards his Father at a time where he and his brothers were grieving the lost of their sister and trying to adapt after being forced to leave the Celestial realm after the war. The last things the Brothers wanted or needed was a baby.

Satan grew fast and by the end of the year, he was a fully grown demon, but even as an adult, no one wanted to deal with the angry and pained blonde. He lived with them because Lord Diavolo told them he was their responsibility. Satan always knew that if those other men had a choice, he would have never even been born.

Things were...better now of days with his 'brothers', but none of them made him feel as wanted or as loved as MC made him feel. With them, the blonde finally felt like there was a purpose to his life, like he was born to be with them.

The wrath demon never expected to fall in love or feel that butterfly-like flutter in his stomach when he looked at someone--least of all from a human. They turned out to be a real blessing for him. Heh. A blessing. For a demon. The irony of it was perfect to the man--

"Tawny?" MC called him out of his thoughts, using their cute nickname for their boyfriend.

"Yes, Kitten?"

The human tapped his wrist. Oh right. The book.

Satan kissed the top of the human's head before turning the page.

Yes, a blessing. No matter how the demon looked at it, it was the perfect word for his Kitten.

[theravenmuse]

Fire in His Veins - Chapter 2/4

My work for the High Pollen Count (sex pollen) event

CW: DEAD DOVE; Non-con between both Crowley/Lucifer and Crowley/Aziraphale; non-con sexual acts both before and during the effects of the sex venom; Aziraphale is forced to watch Lucifer rape Crowley; sex venom causes unwanted sexual desires; Lucifer both forces and denies Crowley's orgasms at different times; non-consensual sexual torture which may include things like bondage, whipping/hitting, edging, and psychological elements (I have not written all of these scenes yet so can't give details at this point); Lucifer kidnaps Crowley and takes him down to Hell.

This fic DOES end with both Aziraphale and Crowley safe and as happy as they can be after going through this.

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are on their way home when they find themselves intercepted by Lucifer himself, and Lucifer has a nasty surprise for his traitorous demon. With Crowley out of his mind under the influence of Lucifer's sex venom, it's up to Aziraphale to rescue him, but the cost of that rescue may be higher than either of them are willing to pay.

Continue Reading on AO3

@goodomensafterdark

[obeymedevil]

Levi & Satan x Gn!Reader

A/N: I was a bit upset awhile ago (but it took me weeks to be able to finish this oops-) so I thought I'd write a little comfort fic :) I hope it helps you guys out too and gives you something to smile at! ~ I love you all! And if any of you need to talk or a place to vent and rant then I'm right here for you! My DMS will always be open for you guys~ 

Warnings: Upset, mild description of injury, sad and upsetting words and insults. Comfort is included :3

//Mc is having a tough time feeling like they're unwanted, Levi and Satan are quick to hold and assure them though.

Dense 

"You're so dense!" A classmate snarled at you after explaining the task for you for the third time in a row. You flinched a little at the loud tone and held your breath, fidgeting lightly on your feet. 

"I'm sorry I-" Another student soon cut you off with a pretty dramatic sigh, moving you away. 

"Don't apologise when you clearly don't mean it. You're just wasting our time, now just get out of the way. You're just making things worse for us." Nodding softly, you moved back and walked out of the classroom. Lucifer would definitely have your head for leaving class but you couldn't stay in there after that. Everything was just too much again. Why couldn't you do anything right anymore? Nobody wanted you because of it. People used to come to you for help constantly, you were the one to comfort and give advice and deal with any issues they couldn't. But now? Now you were relying on others a little too much and it felt like you couldn't function alone. The price for that? Nobody talks to you about their issues anymore, they shut you out and completely play it off like everythings fine because they don't need you. A stranger would be better to confide in according to them. Things began spiralling downwards like that but now they were getting worse. You couldn't even do a simple school project right… 

You didn't realize it, but you were currently walking to the House of Lamentation at a pretty brisk pace. Tears were clinging to your eyes and light red marks were appearing against your cheek bones. That always happened before you cried and it made everything so obvious and difficult to hide. Walking in, you made a straight B-Line to the kitchen, desperate for some water to try and calm your shaky breaths and racing heart. The others shouldn't be home yet due to class, this should be fine. Opening one of the cupboards, your hands shook as you brought out a glass, beginning to fill it before accidentally dropping it and watching it shatter against the floor. 

"Mc?" A voice was heard but you didn't look upwards, you were too afraid to. "Hey, how did you manage that? You're so stupid sometimes." There was a gentle playful twist to his tone and usually you'd laugh along with him. But not now. Not this time. You felt the tears drop down against your face as you finally let your body give up, falling to the floor against the glass. A hand instantly went to your shoulder. "Mc? Hey I was teasing I'm sorry! I-I shouldn't have said that oh no i-" He saw the glass against your knees and without a second thought, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the main room to sit you on the sofa. 

"S-sorry." You mumbled out between sobs that were wracking your body. Gazing up, you saw Levis worried expression as he pulled out his D.D.D to call for Satan. 

"Why are you apologising? It's okay, I do stuff like that all the time! We're both really clumsy right?" He smiled lightly before trying to comfort you - the most he could do right now being to hold your hand. "Satan's coming to deal with the glass, is that okay? He's the best of the best so don't worry." He smiled lightly to offer a little comfort, bringing up a blanket to lay against you. Satan soon rushed in, seeing you curled up and sobbing against Levi. He sighed softly in worry before crouching at you, placing a hand beside you.

"Hey Mc… I'm here, I'm going to take a look at your injury alright?" Nodding softly you hide yourself deeper into Levi's chest causing his cheeks to heat up - but he doesn't move away, not when his Henry was so distraught. He gently began to dab at the cuts and remove any remaining glass as carefully as he could before wrapping it all up as softly as he can. "There, all sorted love. His hand leaned over to wipe some stray tears on your cheek, the majority of them were laying against Levis shirt though. With a soft smile and Levis gentle grip on you, you began to stutter out apologies once again. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to make such a mess I-I just had a horrible day and they kept calling me dense and how I've been wasting their time." You took a shaky breath in as the two gazed at you with gentle eyes. "I waste everybody's time. I got told that all the time when I was back in the human realm and its happening all over again I'm sorr-" Levi cut you off with an even bigger hug before, being careful with your shaking frame. 

"Mc, you are not dense. You are the most wonderful person ever. You're my Henry. You're our Mc. I love you, we all do. E-even a worthless otaku like me is blessed to be around you. So please, don't let people upset you like that… Y-you're my everything." Satan smiled gently as he moved some hair away from your eyes, 

"You're our everything." Satan soon moved over to the other side of you, joining the hug as both boys kept you safe and warm against them. "I'll ensure nothing like that happens again, love." His silent promise soon drifted off into gentle breathing as time went on, a sleeping Mc and Levi were soon joined by Satan. All three of you were snuggled up on the sofa and once the others returned home one by one, the pile on the sofa grew bigger. 

Those who had hurt you though had been spoken to by Diavolo and all 7 brothers and you didn't exactly see them ever again after a very large apology from each of them. Life got even better, especially with their support and constant love.