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rippersz · 19 days

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𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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littledollll · 4 months

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Come morning

Lucifer Morningstar x angel!reader

A/n: i rly like this little thing. I’m living for soft Lucifer like always. I hope you are too! Also, happy three kings day to all those who celebrate:)

Warnings: slightly sad, mostly fluff. Kisses, cuddling, Small mention of Lucifer’s fall. Tell me if I missed anything.

_______________________________

“I have to go, my angel..” you spoke softly at the devil laying over you. A noise of complaint came from their chest, similar to a whine but definitely more raspy with sleep.

Lucifer’s arms wrapped around your waist, forcing you to arch up just slightly your back, which was surprisingly more comfortable than you imagined.

A few soft, open-mouthed kisses were littered all over your torso, down your chest and the soft skin of your stomach. Their strong arms were holding you so gently.

Their head laid over your stomach, with almost no weight to it. You could tell they were forcing themselves up, attempting not to crush you under their weight but still holding you down.

“Mm.. no, you don’t.” They muttered, looking up at you through their stunning blonde lashes with a look you could only compare to puppy eyes.

“…I should.” They nodded in agreement. “But you don’t need to.., and I don’t want you to.”

You chuckled, bringing one hand to carefully play with their messy curls. “You’re always getting me into trouble, my angel.” They hummed. “Maybe it would make you stay here with me.”

You’ve debated that. More than a thousand times over and over in your mind. Lucifer knows.

“…it’s selfish of me, I know.” They admit quietly against the warmth of your skin. “I can admit to being a little selfish.”

“Being a little selfish is okay sometimes. I understand, my love. You know I’d like to always be by your side.”

“It’s not that I want you to suffer the same fate that I did. No, never…” They felt the need to make that clear, as if you didn’t know already.

You hummed and gently cupped their face, tilting their head up just a bit. “One day, I will be here to go to sleep and wake up with you, to annoy and follow you around all the time, every single day until you tire of me. Soon enough, my angel…”

“You could never annoy me.” Lucifer mumbled as they nuzzled against your hand. “I do adore that that’s the one part you decided to focus on from everything else I said.”

Lucifer sighed, “I wouldn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well it’s a promise. Can you trust in me, that I will keep that promise?”

It sounded dumb, but really it gave them a bit of comfort, and helped reassure them. Lucifer knows you’d never break a promise. Your word is always true. “..okay.”

“Thank you, pretty one. Now it’s time for me to go.”

Lucifer placed another small kiss on your stomach before begrudgingly letting go of their hold of you and sitting up.

They watch you slip on your robes, and with gentle hands helped you with tying them appropriately. “Like they were never off.” They whispered, admiring your form once you redressed.

You hummed, leaning down to kiss their cheek, jaw and temple before you met their awaiting lips. “Nothing in this or any universe could ever compare to the love I hold for you, my angel. Never forget it.”

“Perhaps the love I have for you would be a fair competitor.” Their smile reached their eyes with your words. It would never stop being your favorite sight.

“You can only hope, my angel.”

#lucifer morningstar sandman #the sandman #lucifer sandman #lucifer morningstar the sandman #gwendoline christie #sandman lucifer x reader #the sandman lucifer #the sandman lucifer morningstar x reader

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s1nful-sa1nt · 7 months

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MORE MEMES

i am having too much fun making these

#gwendoline christie memes #brienne of tarth #jan stevens #captain phasma #lucifer morningstar sandman #marilyn thornhill #brienne of tarth x reader #jan stevens x reader #captain phasma x reader #lucifer morningstar (sandman) x reader #marilyn thornhill x reader

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bluecurtainsart · 6 months

Text

More Lucifer

#lucifer morningstar fanart #gwendoline christie #lucifer morningstar sandman #lucifer sandman #the sandman netflix #netflix sandman #fanart #gwendolineuniverse #neil gaiman sandman #neil gaiman #lucifer #lucifer gwendoline christie #drawing #the sandman fanart #the sandman #the sandman lucifer #lucifer fanart #lucifer netflix

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jolenes-doppelganger · 7 months

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Bet with the Devil (NSFW)

Lucifer Morningstar (The Sandman) x fem!Reader

Summary: Following Dream's narrow escape from Lucifer, chaos breaks lose in heaven. At least for the Archangels like yourself, the lowest ranking angels in heaven. With few options left, Michael appoints you to run an errand down to hell wherefore you are to deliver a message from God himself. What could go wrong? (Angels are all genderless according to official lore, both Lucifer and reader present with female anatomy).

Warnings: Sexual content (cunnilingus, fingering, the works), roughish, blood kink-adjacent sex

Word Count: 7.2k words (Oh my GOD I'm sorry).

It was a simple mission. That's what you'd been told. Michael was preoccupied, and to send such a small errand with Raphael, Aziraphale, or even Gabriel would be insulting. God had better uses for them. As a lowly Archangel, you were cut out for small errands. They weren't usually to Hell. Sure, you were protected, and had all the necessary authority to visit Hell without needing to call in, but still.

"Deliver a message to Lucifer Morningstar," Michael ordered. "It bears the official crucifix, if demons give you trouble, bare it and command them to obey in the name of the Almighty," he explained, glancing down, a bored expression on their face.

"Yes Michael, I understand," you sheepishly replied.

"One more thing, Y/N," Michael said, extending the scroll outward. "This is your first time interacting with the Prince of Lies, correct?"

You nodded, taking the scroll from Michael, tucking it inside your robes for safekeeping.

"In that case, always remember, Lucifer Morningstar was the best of us before the fall," Michael solemnly declared, "They are still the most beautiful and charismatic angel to exist. Listen not to their lies,"

"I understand, thank you Michael,"

They smiled in response, patting you on the back. As the gates of heaven open, multitudes of angels pour out, flying every which way. Michael gestures for you to follow them, and you both take to the air, flying away from the horde of angels sent down to Earth. Taking his mighty sword, Michael cuts a portal through empty space, motioning you forward. Clutching at the rosary around your wrist, you dive headfirst into the flaming pit below you.

<-*~~~~~~~~~~~~~*->

Your feet hit the stone floor with a jolt. Distant screams and wails fill the air, the acrid smell of sulfur causing you to wrinkle your nose. The devastation of Hell is truly complete, after all, the malevolence of the Almighty knows no bounds. A demon shrieks as you make your presence known, skittering around a corner before you can even make your visit known. Silence enters the chambers, and you slowly pace around the strange coliseum-like structure. Pits of fire surround you, dancing vengefully. Turning your eyes upward, you utter a short prayer to the Almighty, requesting strength. This is the only connection you have with him, he cannot see you here, only direct messages can be sent.

Giant columns bear the weight of this strange place, irreverent carvings dotting the surfaces randomly. It's grotesque, and feels incomplete in a way that irks you. Taking in every detail of your surroundings, you're slow to recognize the hulking figure mere steps from you.

"My, my," they whispered, "You must be... An angel," They smirk.

The most beautiful divinity you've laid eyes upon regards you with utter amusement, vibrant red robes glittering in the faint light. Golden-white curls decorate their head, and the serenest blue eyes you've ever seen flicker over your features with playful interest.

"Lucifer Morningstar," you gasped, flexing your wings in surprise. "I didn't think it would be this easy to reach you,"

This comment seemed to amuse them more, and they chuckled, gliding over to a basin of fire. You watch as they slowly reach in, fingers fluttering ever so slightly before scooping out a handful of vibrant vermillion and coral flames.

"Who else but me would greet a rogue angel?" they chuckle, watching the flames glide over their fingers.

"I assure you, I come on official business," you promised. "I act as a messenger on behalf of the Almighty,"

This peaks their interest, their wings flexing ever so slightly. Dropping the fire back into the basic, they take a few steps forward, large frame bearing over you ever so slightly.

"And what kind of irrelevant message could this be?" Lucifer sneered.

The situation was a bit comical. A lowly Archangel cast off on a mission to relay the ruler of Hell a lazy rebuke, Heaven's equivalent of a slap on the wrist. From Lucifer's point of view, this could only be seen as insulting.

"Morningstar, I apologize for the unintentional injury my presence has caused. Aziraphale, Raphael, Gabriel and Michael were all preoccupied," you assured.

Lucifer chuckled, gazing down at you with a patronizing smile.

"No, don't apologize. I am charmed that heaven has sent you to bear this urgent message,"

You're taken aback by Lucifer's charm. Their comments are meant to be insulting, yet they carry an elegance to them. Lucifer watches you intently, reveling in how small you seem beneath them. You're oh so timid and shy, a nameless Archangel sent on a meaningless mission. It's cute how accommodating you are, how nervous they make you.

Shaking your head, you flutter your wings, attempting to regain whatever miniscule leverage you have.

"It appears you've angered the Almighty with your exchange with the Endless. I have been sent here to remind you that there are certain rules regarding exchanges between them, and that under no circumstances are they to be taken as trophies,"

Lucifer groaned aloud. "Please, these are just rules. The Endless are divine powers, they come and go as they please, and make decisions as their free-will permits,"

"I assure you that these rules exist to ensure balance. You cannot do whatever you desire without consequences,"

Lucifer laughs at this, turning toward you with a look of utter disbelief on their face.

"Oh, sweet one, aren't you tired of all these rules," they purred, reaching forward to gently caress your wings.

Shuddering ever so slightly, you jerk away from their grasp. Your cheeks flushed, heat tingling from the edges of your feathers to your shoulders. Touching wings was a gesture made by only the closest companions, thus cheeky gestures such the Morningstar's were considered taboo. Sensitivity and honor played a role in this custom, the former more pertinent in high society. It seemed only necessary that the prince of demons would be so callous with gestures such as this, making your mission all the more difficult.

"Perhaps you've forgotten decorum between angels, but I certainly have not," you spat, flexing your wings with vicious intent.

"Oh, how easily you heavenly messengers are to anger," they insipidly grinned.

Turning their fingers ever so slightly, a robust gold ring flickered delicately in the dim light. Chasing your gaze upward, Lucifer regarded you with a bemused expression, silently begging you to take the bait. Your nostrils flared ever so slightly as you breathed in deeply, gently moving to take a rosary bead between your fingers. Lucifer glanced down at your wrist where you had woven the object on to your body, and you watched with unguarded glee as their features twisted into a macabre look of disgust.

"It is not my place to engage in such childish games with you, Lucifer Morningstar," you preened, "I simply bear a formal censure from the Almighty. You may choose to read it yourself, or I can read it for you,"

You reached inside your robes to remove the scroll, the threadbare cloth soft from years of use. Heaven had no need of trivial things such as luxury. Heaven was the highest honor, thus even the merest of rags would glorify God. It was this state of self-righteous thought led to the consequence of indifference. A rough grasp on your palm broke you from your thoughts as harsh winter winds break through the mildness of fall. Eyes so blue, so deep that they could be compared to the serenest of water bored into yours with such wrath that could only belong to God's most scorned child.

"Bear that spiteful scroll in my presence and I will send it back to God with your wings as postage!" Morningstar snarled.

"Unhand me, fiendish vermin!" you insulted, "In the name of Almighty God you will release me!"

"Oh you poor foolish child," they growled, "You are in my realm, he has no authority here, and neither do you!"

Both you and Lucifer fought for purchase, their grip on your wrist made dually claustrophobic by the vice grip they held on the crux between your neck and shoulder. Instinct instructed you to drop the scroll, to break free from their grasp and fly to heaven. Your message would be delivered, yes, and you would be safe. Tossing the scroll as far from you as possible, Lucifer was momentarily distracted, thus giving you a window by which to escape. Shrugging away their arms was the final step to freedom, feet sturdy on the ground and wings flared, you took a step, grinding the soles of your feet into the slippery ground, you slipped. The sandals upon your feet, threadbare and devoid of traction slipped upon the lip of stone, and you slipped.

Time grew slower, arms braced parallel to the floor, to catch the weight of your body and your hulking wings. Freedom was certainly lost now, injury closing upon your tail like a wolf pack upon a doe. Wind rustled through your robes, bare skin exposed to the air currents; a product of your scuffle with the devil. Your eyes closed as the ground grew closer, that was until two arms encircled your waist.

"Ahh!" you gasped.

Red velvet-encased arms held you close to Lucifer's chest, your wings pinned outward. You were relieved, yes. But this was the devil you were dealing with.

"My, my, clumsy and naïve," they tutted, breath tickling the shell of your ear, "What an unfortunately appetizing combination,"

Your heart raced in your chest, blood flushing your cheeks, dizziness and nausea weakening your already vulnerable state. Your robes sagged open, bearing clammy skin to the cold air, and to Lucifer's vulturous gaze.

"Out of one-liners?"

"Out of breath," you replied, reaching upward to close your robes.

"No, no, keep them like that," Morningstar whispered, swatting away your hands. "I like the view,"

An obscene amount of cleavage was exposed, an expanse of skin from your collarbones to your sternum barely covered by the thin layers of your clothing. Whether it was their probing stares or their flirtatious regard of your disenfranchised state was irrelevant, the rapid beating of your chest made known your nervous state all too well.

"Come, sit with me," they inclined, "I am capable of civility,"

It wasn't an invitation as their tone suggested, rather an introduction of their intended course. With as much grace as one could muster given the partnership of a flustered, clumsy and hopelessly confused angel, Lucifer pulled you away into a deeper corridor, away from the green marble pillars and strange pictures. No faces greeted you down this strange passageway, no sound reached you. It was eerie how empty this grand structure was.

"Stop will you," Lucifer groaned, holding you still upon a landing. "You are impossible to lead, I'd have greater success with a three-legged lamb,"

"It would help if I knew where I was going," you glowered.

They scoffed, disregarding your pleas. Obstinate and self-assured, this was the devil’s main flaw. But you had flaws too now you realized. Greed perhaps? No. Not yet at least, you had nothing that you simply could not get enough of, perhaps you were greedy for air? But I suppose if you needed it, like needed it every moment of every day, it would not be greed? Maybe you were selfish. But how could you be selfish? You did not want, aside from the wants granted from above. Perhaps you were too meek, although the Lord said that the kingdom of heaven would be theirs.

“Quite a lot of thoughts in that big head, I wouldn’t want you to get too focused and misplace your step,”

Shaking your head in annoyance, you disregard Lucifer’s warning. Your thoughts were your own. They should mind theirs.

“How can your thoughts be your own if everything is dictated to you,” Morningstar pressed.

“If you would mind your tongue,” you seethed.

“Oh alright then, if you’re so inclined to your thoughts allow me to stay in them,” Lucifer’s voice rippled through your head.

The jolt of their voice in your head did more than catch you off guard, you found your step slipping, flimsy sandals sliding over the damp steps. With little more than a sigh, the prince of free will reached around to grab you by your waist, once again suspending you mid air.

“What did I just say?” Lucifer mocked, overly dramatic as they pulled you up, lips pursed for dramatic effect.

“What the fuck are we talking for?” you growled.

“Oh?” Lucifer smirked.

“I have no time to talk, I was supposed to return to my post by now, and I don’t have room for your games. Make your point, seated or otherwise,”

Lucifer’s expression hardened, abruptly dragging you toward and open room. The room itself was a lounge, a precipice-like opening above the fires of hell. With a flick of their wrist all doors and windows clanged shut, sealing you in a room with the Morningstar.

“Be seated,” they sighed, gesturing to a point on a couch.

You hesitantly obeyed, sinking into the softest surface you’d ever touched. It felt sinfully good, you thought, smirking to yourself. Maybe relaying messages to Morningstar didn’t need to feel so heavy.

“That’s right, relax yourself,” they purred, looking down at you bemused.

“Well, what did you want to talk about?” you half-heartedly pressed.

“I didn’t come here to talk, did you?” Lucifer crooned.

“Well, how else would you convince me to abandon my heavenly post and join your ghastly forces?”

Lucifer rolled their eyes. Inching over you ever slowly until at last, at long last, you could see just how deep those blue eyes were. All the rage, all the anger one could ever imagine welled up in those deep hues of blue and grey, irises dilating until all light from their eyes seemed to fade. How could their gaze be so hateful, were you that vile?

“Yes,” they sneered, lunging toward you viscerally.

The force they used to grasp at you sent the couch hurtling backward, leaving your skull to collide with the stone ground. Pain bloomed in the back of your head, and you gasped in agony. Pain met pain as Lucifer, commander of the legions of hell, sunk their teeth into the crook of your neck.

“Oh God,” you gasped.

“He’s not here,” they glared, lips lightly glistening with your blood.

“Why are you doing this?” you gasped.

“Because I know you, I’ve been in your head, I know how you lose yourself in my eyes, and I know just how flustered you’ll get when I do this,” they snarled, their fingers burying themselves into the flesh of your trapezius, knotted from the constant strain of your wings upon the muscles.

“Please!” you moaned, wings twitching uncontrollably. “I thought you were going to convince me to be here, this doesn’t feel-“

A long stripe up your neck silenced all that was left of your plea. It felt cool, luxurious and soothing. Fingers ran up your neck, burying into your hair, gently massaging the place where you’d hit your head. Pain bloomed into pleasure, and the rage-filled gaze of your captor turned bemusedly wanting.

“The head injury is atonement for the head ache your sudden appearance has given me,” they smirked, “The abuse of your back for the knife heaven has sent you to stab in mine, and the bite,” they chuckled, “Well the bite is just for fun,”

Morningstar glowed above you, light from the ornate chandelier creating a halo of soft light around their angelic features. They really were the most beautiful angel ever created.

“Yes little angel, look all you want,”

Gently, ever so languidly, Lucifer moved your robes to the side, baring your breasts to the chill of the room. Their gaze glides over the peaks and valleys of your form, smiling in delight as you blush.

“Tempting, so tempting,” they whisper, dragging a finger down your sternum.

Your breathing grows ragged, a desire you’ve never felt blooming in your lower abdomen. Instinct calls, and you flex your thighs, shifting your position, trying to find release from the uncomfortable clenching in your cunt.

“Poor little angel,” Lucifer drawls, running fingers through your tangled hair. “How desperately you want,”

It’s meant to be condescending, this statement. It’s not your fault, you think. Your innocence, the lack of experience, it’s not your burden to bear. If you’d been given the opportunity, if you’d ever had the chance to engage in, to learn this strange dance of limbs and ragged, animalistic desire, well, you would have.

Lucifer rolls their eyes at your inner monologue. It’s rather cute, how you justify your naïveté. But it’s boring, a waste of thought. Thought is the killer of want, to think long enough is to ruin any chance of acting instinctually, to chain the animalistic mind, ruining any chance of sin. Lucifer doesn’t much care for the act of sex, it’s carnal, sometimes entertaining, but this, getting an angel to sin? Oh my. What a lovely thought.

“Stop thinking little angel, stop worrying,” they whisper, pressing the softest of kisses on your ear. “The body knows, the mind doubts,”

Their words, the breath on your ear, it’s all too stimulating. You reach around their shoulders, pulling yourself into the warmth of their body. Your head aches from the trauma of the stone, and little prickles of pain bloom in your neck. You want comfort now, you want patient pleasure.

“Good,” Lucifer croons, pulling you upward, carrying you like a child.

They smell spicy, like a blend of pepper and cardamom, maybe even frankincense. Their robes stink of sulfur, but their skin smells of incense, perfumed oils and smoke. You pull away the awful smelling robes from their neck, burying your nose in the smell of their skin. Never before have you wished for fresh air, for the rustle of wind on your wings, the cool of a mountain breeze.

Yes. A voice whispers. This is what you must cling to, this is what you must remember.

Lucifer hisses, a sharp rebuttal, laced with mirth. You’re thrown, landing on a bed of satin and silk, but the sudden motion causes you to shriek, and you land at an odd angle, your wing’s twisting painfully. If Morningstar had been furious before, they were murderous now.

“I told you,” they shout, “Not to think!”

You shuffle away from them, backing yourself into the headboard, away from the rage of the demon in front of you.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean to?” Lucifer mocks. “I don’t care what you meant to do, you will not think, you will not ponder, you will only feel,”

Lucifer smiles down at you, canines bared in a saccharine smile. They flare their wings, dark onyx against the flickering red and yellow light. The anger, the flat out hatred, it’s gone. Golden curls illuminated by candlelight, soft pale skin defined by shadow, silky robes in luxurious tones, it’s all sensuality and elegance.

“Beautiful, sweet angel,” they lull, “Come here,”

Soft fingertips trace over your lips, your chin, your cheek. Gentleness and warmth dips into the contours of your skin. Comforting, merciful touches. The likes of which you have never felt.

“Yes, that’s right,” Lucifer praises, “Just feel,”

Their hands slide lower, running over your shoulders, your collarbones, the raw skin where they bit you. They grow closer, breath tickling the tiny hairs on your face. Lucifer’s lips wet with spit, eyes dilated in the low light. You desperately want to run your hands through their hair, to muss up their curls, ruin the delicate spirals. Their lips on your neck, on your cheeks, on your own.

I want, I want, I want, I want.

"Yes, good little angel," they whisper, "What pretty little feelings those are,"

"Can I?" you whisper. "Can I have these things?"

"Yes, yes you may," Lucifer smirks.

Wrapping yourself in their embrace, your robes sliding down your shoulders, baring your chest to them, your stomach, the top of your mons pubis, all of these things lay bare, vulnerability in it's most simple form.

"Beautiful, uncorrupted angel," Lucifer groans, "Bare yourself onto me, let me see you as the Father has made you,"

They pull your robe down, fully baring you to the candlelight. You shiver, the air here is stagnant, but devoid of heat. It's that of a cave, murky and claustrophobic. You're desperate for air, you feel like you might faint, you feel dizzy, like you might faint, like you might-

"-Shh, feel me, don't feel fear," they direct, pulling your naked form into their skin, toward the smell of incense and perfumed lotion.

You inhale, pulling down the red silk that smells of misery and rotten things, down off their shoulders, down their arms, down to sit on the bed, down onto the floor. I want, I want, I want.

"Yes," they smirk, "Want," they echo.

A burning ache fills your lower abdomen, an uncomfortable pulsing that only seems to worsen to pulse and clench, and you ache to be rid of it. Lucifer smiles, a knowing, pitying smile. Their skin glows in the dim room, and you try not to blush at the sight of their bare skin. You fail, and your embarrassment becomes funny to them.

“Sweet little baby, so young, so naive, how desperately would you like to be with me?” Lucifer preens, your lips inches apart.

“I-,” you stutter, almost ready to commit to them, to sin against God, to deny your creator, but then you want. Not for their touch, but for the sun on your face, and you shut your eyes tightly, breath growing heavy.

I can’t lose this bet, I can’t want too much. I can’t lose, can’t lose, can’t lose.

“Shh,” they whisper, gently pressing their lips against yours.

Fire blooms in your abdomen, hot aching fire, and it burns and flares and pulses at a rate that feels sinful. Their lips mound against yours, and you bury your hands in their curls, feeling the soft hairs between your fingers. Lucifer gasps in your mouth, letting out a low groan, smirking between passionate kisses.

Their hands snake down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You continue to kiss them, to inhale the soft gasps as you tease them with your caresses. Lucifer continues to lightly hum into your mouth, running their hands up and down your body, pinching slightly, running their short nails up and down your back.

“Please,” you whisper, “You must try harder than that,”

A low chuckle bounces off the walls, and you look into their eyes once more, to find them filled with mirth.

“I’m not trying,” they smirk.

Lucifer’s hands swiftly move from your lower back to your butt, firmly grasping the soft flesh. They pull you up and toward them, pulling you into them, breasts pressed up against theirs. You can feel the soft pebbles of their nipples rubbing against yours, the softness of their stomach, the hairs of their pubis tickling your thighs. But most importantly, they can feel you, the heat that comes off your skin, the softness of your thighs, the slight sweat that coats your body.

Morningstar presses a few kisses to your neck and shoulders, one hand tracing back up to your upper back, the other still massaging and pulling the flesh of your buttocks and inner thigh. It’s odd how close they feel. Their breath seems to come on all sides of you, the pull of their chest, the softness of their gentle hums of approval in their ear, it all contradicts the needy grip they have on your body, the way they pinch, and pull and suck.

Lucifer had moved to kiss and abuse the flesh of your shoulder, running their tongue up the soft welts left by their earlier bites. A hand continues to sneak up your back, and you gasp softly as it caresses the soft span of your wings. Their touch is featherlight at first, gently rubbing and feeling the tips of your wings.

“So soft,” they whisper. “Oh?” they smirk, an eyebrow quirking.

You feel then finger a particularly sore feather, encased in keratin, you’d had trouble removing the casing and you’d given up.

“I can help with that,”

Lucifer gently pinches away the casing, gently smoothing the feather. It feels heavenly, the itching sensation finally falling away.

“Thank you,” you whisper, letting your head fall onto their shoulder.

“Anything for you, little angel,” they smirk.

“Let me return the favor,” you ask, gently rubbing the crook of their wings.

Lucifer lets out a loud gasp, groaning at the gentle sensation of your hands on their wings. They hang their head, leaning backward, exposing their breasts. You continue to massage the sensitive muscles of their wings, sore from the sheer mass of skin and bone. The sight of their nipples is arousing, how they peak and stand fully erect.

“May I?” you ask.

“Please,” they groan, twitching and grinding their pelvis into the expanse of your lower stomach.

The approval is all you need, and you begin to slowly kiss a path up their sternum, pressing light kisses to the underside of their breasts. Lucifer shifts their hips, attempting to grind themselves against the soft expanse of your thighs. They grunt and groan softly, digging their fingers into the soft flesh of your shoulders, causing you to gasp and wince.

“More,” they beg, “Give me more,”

Their cunt makes contact with your thigh, silky wetness sliding against your thigh. They gasp and moan, pulling your face closer toward their nipple. Taking the cue, you gently kiss up from the bottom of their breast, open-mouthed, finally circling their sensitive nipples with your wet tongue.

“Please,” they drawl, grinding themselves against your thigh.

Experimentally clenching your thigh, you watch as Lucifer continues to quiver and twitch, their wings fluttering erratically. The continuous massaging of their wings seems to bring them closer to agony, but regardless of your fear that you are hurting them, they continue to grind and gasp and plead for your clenched thigh, your exploration of their wings, the assault of your mouth on the chest.

“Oh little angel,” they sigh, leaning into your continued ministrations of your mouth, the way you circle their nipple. “You are too sweet, hurt me a little,”

You look up at them in shock. Hurt them? Wasn’t that the opposite of what they wanted.

“Bite me a little, pinch me, be greedy,” they smirk.

The dance of limbs begins once more, but you’re cautious. Lucifer gently croons above you, looking at you with curiosity.

“Just try it, please little angel, just try,” they whisper, pushing your mouth into their breast insistently.

Lucifer gently pushes themselves into you, and you clench your thigh, gasping in surprise when they twitch and moan in response.

“Good, good little angel,” they praise, running their hands up and down your back, kissing the top for your head between the motions of their hips.

Their reaction emboldens you, probes curiously at the clenching sensation in your cunt, making it worse. The small twitches of their wings grow softer, as if they’re becoming accustomed to the light touches. Gently, ever so gently, you apply more pressure to the crux of their wings, rubbing the tips of your nails against the soft leathery flesh of their wings. Morningstar gasps in shock, grinding against your thigh with increased desperation.

“Yes, yes, more,” they gasp.

The caresses of your nails turn to intense grasping, pinching lightly at the skin, squeezing the joints of cartilage and skin. Lucifer rolls their head, emphatically moaning and sighing. Their skin is flush with sweat, pink and covered in goose flesh. They let their head hang, using your body for support, intermittently gasping and groaning. Morningstar’s hair is a tangled mess of blonde frizz, the perfect curls that halo their head are soaked with sweat, the product of your unnatural coupling.

"More," they growl, shoving your face into their breast.

Perhaps they want you to go faster? The gentle caresses of your tongue turn into soft suckles, and to your surprise Lucifer exerts more pressure on your scalp. You cry out in pain, trying to pull away from the pinpricking sensation of their tugs on your scalp. It hurts, it stings, and you try to twist away, making it worse.

"Just bite me, for God's sake," they mock.

You dig your fingernails into the skin of their back, clenching your thighs in pain. They groan and gasp, taking shaky breaths. Clenching your jaw ever so slightly, you take the tip of their nipple in your mouth, gentle running your teeth over it.

"Ohhh," they groan, writhing and whimpering in your grasp.

The sensations seem to be painful, and you would stop, if not for the hunger that boils in your lower abdomen, that clenching sensation that flares up every time they make a certain low hum in their throat, when they twitch just right, when their knee barely brushes the tender area of your inner thigh. Lucifer looks glorious above you, and the more you rock into their motions, the slower and more intense the grasps on their leathery wings, the harder you bite and suck at their breasts, oh, how beautiful they look.

"Oh, angel, sweet perfect angel," they keen, erratically thrusting themselves into you, into your mouth and the motions of your hands. "You've done a wonderful, a perfect- Oh!"

Lucifer's compliments are cut off by a strange surge of shaking, gasping and moaning, and you watch wide-eyed as they throw their head back, wailing at the ceiling in agony-filled bliss. Eventually the subtle rocking motion of their hips still, and they go limp in your arms. The great Lucifer Morningstar, God's most perfect angel, limp in your arms, panting heavily, slick with sweat, and, other things.

"Did that hurt?" you whisper, confused by the whole ordeal.

"In only the best ways," Morningstar replies, looking down at you with a mischievous twinkle in their eyes. "Would you like to experience it?"

Lucifer seems genuine, caressing your face softly, and for a moment you feel wanted. You'd never been allowed to want, or to be wanted by someone else. As a vessel of God, of the Holy Trinity, it was your duty to serve, to never be served, but in this moment, you could be wanted, you could experience the feeling of being desired so explicitly. Would it be worth giving your soul up?

"It is," Lucifer smiles. "It is worth that and much more,"

There isn't a hint of treachery in their eyes, just the usual twinkle of mirth. Perhaps you want to believe them, perhaps that's why you kiss them so desperately.

Lucifer tastes like red wine and brimstone; it's like licking wine off of a stone wall. You like it, that much is clear. They just indulge you, messily biting and licking your lips, your tongue, running theirs on your teeth. Making out has never been clean, at least not when you're this desperate, this wanting.

"Pretty angel, so pretty," they croon, running their hands up and down your back.

"It won't hurt, you promise?" you ask, a little shaken by the ordeal Lucifer themself had experienced.

They chuckle, a soft, pitying chuckle, as if you've missed something clearly critical to the entire deal.

"It must hurt, otherwise it is simply no fun," they giggle, gently bringing you in for another kiss.

Their hands slide over your body, running over the ridges of your spine, the soft curves of your stomach, your thighs. Hunger pools in your body, and you cling desperately to them, seeking release from this terrible want that continues to build inside of you.

"You poor, suffering creature," they smirk. "Do you want me to make it better?"

"Yes, please," you gasp, barely thinking about your answer.

Lucifer laughs wickedly, pushing your shoulders into the bed, leaning over you with barely concealed lust. Their eyes seem to burn with animalistic hunger, and you wonder if it hurts to want that much. Lucifer doesn't respond to this thought, rather out of character to their previous actions. The stream of thoughts is quickly driven out of your mind when they press a series of hungry kisses to your neck, suckling and biting with merciless intensity.

"You taste like virtue," they groan. "It's so refreshing, I wish I could bottle it," they confess between kisses.

Their hot breath on your neck feels like fire on top of a violent sunburn, it just builds in intensity with prolonged exposure. Morningstar grasps your hips, squeezing and massaging the tender flesh, as if toying with clay. It's near painful, it'll leave bruises, that much is certain.

"I'm supposed to like this?" you wonder aloud.

"Not necessarily, but you'll like this,"

Lucifer drops their mouth to your breast, licking and suckling slowly at a nipple, and you watch as they take the soft bud in between their lips, making direct eye contact with you as they do so. The sensation of their mouth on your breast feels like agony, and you clench and squirm underneath their grip, the teasing pulses of that odd place intensifying astronomically. It causes you to gasp and groan erratically, as if experiencing some kind of forbidden torment, the worst kind. Lucifer moans in response to a particularly vocal keen, rewarding you with a soft bite to your nipple. The sensation is overwhelming, you jerk your hips upward, seeking relief from the hotness that extends from your cunt.

Lucifer firmly pins your hips down, humming softly as you continue to wriggle and gasp underneath them. Regardless of how desperately you desire them, how awfully the sensation burns, Lucifer does not quicken their pace, riling you up further, as if to prove how awful this sensation of wanting can be. Regardless of your silent and occasionally verbal pleas, the lord of evil continues to smirk as they toy with your breasts, biting lightly at the underside, as if to say "Mine", and in a way, they are claiming you.

"That feels, good," you admit, running your hands through Lucifer's messy golden hair. You hope it's what they want to hear, what will convince them to hurry the process.

They hum in response dropping a few kisses in between your sternum. Their movements are slower now, methodical. They follow the slope of your stomach, gingerly kissing the soft indents of your ribs, the softness of your stomach, reveling in the pureness of your form. It's not enough, and the pulsing sensation that grows in your cunt feels terribly strong now, and you whimper wantonly as their mouth grows closer.

"Oh, so needy," they sneer. "How lovely,"

Lucifer gently pries your thighs opening, groaning lightly at the sight of your wet cunt, the proof of their persuasiveness. It's odd how they look at it, you don't see anything particularly intriguing with the unused organ, rather all of your torment seems to be linked to the spot, and you desperately wish it to end. Morningstar gently leans towards the mound of flesh and hair, blowing lightly, directly on your clit. The sensation is torturous, and you twitch and shake despairingly at the awfulness of the assault. They laugh in response, keeping your thighs spread, letting your most intimate areas remain open for the world to see.

"Please, please, I need it," you beg, unsure of what you desire so desperately.

"You do? How unfortunate," they drawl, blowing cool air on that sensitive bud once more.

You arch your back, digging your hands into the sheets. A hand comes from your hips to your stomach, shoving you back into the bed. The point is clear: Stay put.

Hands gently squeeze and caress your thighs and ass, a hot mouth suckling and biting at your inner thighs. You glance down to see the golden haired deity paying homage to the cradle of your sex, smirking in a most peculiar way as they get closer and closer to where you so desperately need them.

“If I gave in right away, it wouldn’t be as good,” Lucifer explains. “The more I rile you up, the better this will all be,”

Their explanation is perfectly efficient, but you find no comfort in you. The closer their mouth gets to your core, the closer their hot tongue inches toward that aching, needy place between your thighs, the worse it gets for you.

“Please,” you beg uselessly. “I want to feel what it’s like,”

Morningstar hums in response, rolling their eyes at you. By now their command is clear, you will be patient and you will be complicit to their pace. When their mouth finally rests atop your mind pubis, a trickle of wetness has run a path down from your opening to the lowest crevices of your genitals, and you feel your cunt pulse erratically.

“What a pretty little sight,” Lucifer sighs contentedly.

Making sinful eye-contact with you, they extend their tongue, running a strip up from your entrance to your clitoris, and the feeling is so hot, so consuming that you shriek in relief. Lucifer continues this motion a few more times, each stroke slower than the first.

“Please, please,” you beg, “I want it,”

“You want what?” they croon.

To put it into words feels too lecherous, and you plead with them through your eyes, imploring them to understand your desperation.

“I don’t know what you want until you tell me,” they smirk, playing dumb.

Taking a few shaky breaths, you open your mouth, visualizing the actions you wish them to take.

“I want your tongue,” you whisper.

“Where? How? In what ways?” Lucifer murmurs, resting their head on your thigh, toying with the tiny hairs there.

“I want it on my, my clitoris,” you blush, “I want it in a steady rhythm, but other than that I don’t know what will….” you trail off.

In truth you don’t know what will feel good, you haven’t experimented, not even a little bit.

“Oh little angel,” they purr, “If you want me to just take the lead all you had to do was ask,” they sigh, returning their mouth to your clit.

The pace they set is torturous, tongue drawing acutely decisive patterns over the tiny nub, causing all kinds of pleasurable sensations to erupt from your body. You feel a continuous clenching and releasing sensation in your lower abdomen, in your core, and it continues to build and broil, sustained by the soft hums and groans of Lucifer’s mouth into your clit.

“Oh my God,” you wail, the prayer decidedly unheard in this domain.

Lucifer detaches themselves from their clit, biting your inner thigh forcefully. The shock of the sudden movement causes you to squeal in pain, and you try to twist away from their movements.

“Never, ever, speak his name here,” Lucifer rasps, “You will only praise me, you will only beg me,”

Two fingers enter you forcefully, tearing the soft tissue of your hymen, effectively severing your virginal state. The action delivers two kinds of pain. The first is a searing agony that bleeds through your labia, hot and throbbing. The other torture stems in your soul, a certain blackness marring your sinless state.

“No!” you cry out.

You would be changed now, forever marked by the devil. It would not be noticed, not be detected by the other angels, but the Almighty? He would know.

The circumstances of your changed state and the pressing weight of pending damnation weigh on you, nearly swallowing you in fear and pain, but that pain is erased when a pair of hot, wet lips descend on your core.

The feeling is blissful in comparison to the sting of your labia, and you quickly descend into the feeling of pleasure once more, but a stone weighs on your chest, and in between your gasps and moans, a few tears fall from your cheeks.

“There, there,” Lucifer soothes between their movements, “It won’t be so bad, I promise you’ll like this,”

The two fingers that lie in your entrance slowly pump in and out, and the sensation stings and burns a little in contrast to the raging coil that contracts and releases in your lower abdomen. In between strokes, Lucifer gently croons and hums into your clit, freehand drawing circles on your hip.

Their fingers hit a particularly sweet spot in your core, and you buck into their face, gasping and groaning as that coil unexpectedly tightens, pulsing and growing like waves of an incoming tide. Between your fevered breaths and moans of bittersweet pleasure, Lucifer continues to burn holes into your body with their gaze, forcing you to acknowledge them and what they are doing to you.

“Lucifer,” you gasp, “This feels so good,”

They smirk into you, curving their fingers in and out of you in a strange fashion that pulls you closer to heaven; the heaven of the flesh. The coil in your abdomen, the tower of arousal and bliss topples over, and you feel waves of bliss hit you as you climax.

“Good angel, good job,” Lucifer preens, holding you in their arms as you descend from your high.

Their touch is almost comforting, the soft kisses on your collarbones and neck are almost affectionate.

“That wasn’t a fair bet,” you whimper, beginning to cry. “You took my virginity, I’m blemished in the eyes of the Lord,”

“No, no, no,” Lucifer chuckles. “You asked me to, you asked me to take control,”

You blink in confusion, running back the few exchanged words in the moments leading up to the tearing of your hymen, the penetration.

“I said I wanted your tongue, I didn’t say-”

“-You didn’t tell me no, you silence following my assertion to take the lead was your answer, and that answer was yes,” Lucifer wearily sighs.

It dawns on you, you’ve been damned, and as soon as you return to the Almighty it will become official. You are an angel only in title.

“I should have never come here,” you lament uselessly.

“Oh don’t play victim, you were following orders, and by disobeying then you would have been damned,” Lucifer wearily explains, rolling over to lay you in their chest.

You’re worthless now, you have no value, no prospects, absolutely nothing to look forward to. You’ll be doomed to walk the earth until you are summoned by God, and at that point you will be officially cast out from heaven, forced back into the arms of the person who had managed to woo you into defiance of the lord.

“I hate you,” you gasp.

Lucifer pauses, momentarily taken aback by the statement.

“Wrath?” they chuckle, “So soon too, oh my,” they sigh, toying with the rapidly darkening feathers of your wings.

“You are the second prettiest angel I’ve laid eyes upon,” they muse.

When you look up at them again, you don’t see a lie in their face, rather a simple contemplation of your positioning. Their face is soft and silky, skin smoother than that of a baby. Their lips are pursed in thought, begging to be kissed. You’re done asking for things from the devil, so when you kiss them, it’s not Lucifer who tastes of sin; it’s you.

A/N: Six weeks, a trip across an ocean to Uni and a dehabilitating sinus infection later…… I’m free to write my other fics!!!!!!

Tagging: @hecatescrystaldagger @the-fuck-do-i-know

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar sandman x reader #lucifer morningstar sandman smut #lucifer morningstar sandman #gwendolyn christie #gwendolyn christie x reader #smut #lesbian

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stanchett · 1 year

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hello, I loved your Gwen fic! Idk if you do Lucifer requests, but I would love to request a Lucifer x Human reader where they meet on earth and the reader doesn't know Lucifer is actually the devil. She only finds out when she is already so enamoured that she doesn't care anymore. Thank you if you decide to write this! :))

Thanks so much for the request!! I hope you enjoy! :)

(This is un-beta'd, apologies for any mistakes I might've missed)

In Mourning

Lucifer Morningstar x fem!human!reader

Warnings: grief, hurt & comfort

2k+ words

Your feet dragged through the cemetery, your heart still heavy with loss. A week without your best friend felt like an eternity, and you did everything you could to distract yourself from the pit in your stomach but found yourself visiting her grave daily. Fresh flowers in hand, you approached the marble slab and dropped to your knees, the overwhelming rush of heartbreak washing over you. Despite knowing she couldn’t hear you, you told her everything that had been on your mind that day through the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. You traced your fingers over her name, elegantly embossed in the stone, and you almost wished to join her. The passing thought scared you, and you hung your head and allowed yourself to sob. Through your tears, you failed to realize that a stranger had been silently watching you from a distance.

Wiping away the remnants of your tears at last, you begrudgingly stood to leave, placing the flowers in the cup of water in the ground. Your eye caught on someone sitting on a bench before a statue of the Virgin Mary, smiling up at her in a way that made you feel uneasy. You thought it odd, looking away to scoop up your remaining belongings before looking back up. They were standing now, and moving in your direction. You sighed to yourself, mentally unprepared to speak to anyone after your last half hour of crying. You were sure you looked terrible. As they got closer, you noticed they were beautiful; adorned in a white suit with white heels to match, light blonde hair in perfect relaxed curls, and they were tall. Very tall. Over 6 feet at least. They had a certain aura about them, and you felt strangely comforted in their presence as they approached.

“What weighs on your heart, young one?” Their voice was even, with undertones of genuine concern. ‘Young one’? You couldn’t have been much younger than they were, although their manner of speaking made them sound timeless. You looked away with a forced smile to shield your grief. They came to a halt a few paces away, carefully processing your reaction. Anyone close to you would’ve known better than to ask what was wrong. You looked up again, willing away any stray tears at their question, and found it difficult to look them in the eye. They intimidated you.

“Oh I.. lost a friend recently. I was just visiting with her. Or trying to…” Your shoulders dropped in defeat. You knew it sounded ridiculous, visiting someone who was no longer living as if they still were. But the stranger only smiled in understanding, and you felt a small sense of relief come over you.

“Walk with me,” was all they said, turning away from you. Slightly confused but enjoying their company, you obliged. The two of you strode together in silence for a short while, enjoying the chirping birds and gentle breeze blowing around you. It was a beautiful afternoon, and you found the cemetery to be quite peaceful despite your sadness.

“Grief is an interesting creature, is it not?” Your head jerked in surprise at their sudden words, disrupting the stillness between you. You nodded in response, your eyes grazing over the names and dates of the headstones as you passed.

“Oh… Yeah, I guess it is,” you answered a little awkwardly, not sure what else to say. Your mind was still somewhat clouded from crying. “Have you lost anyone close to you?” You almost feel silly asking, but you needed something to distract you from thinking about your friend. You missed her dearly and knew she should be the one taking a walk with you.

A smirk plays on the stranger’s face, their hands clasping behind their back. “Yes, I suppose I have. Almost everyone, in fact.” Your heart sank for them, and you cursed yourself for asking such an imposing question. You couldn’t help but wonder what that felt like. You let the silence take hold again between you for a moment, but your curiosity quickly got the better of you.

“Does it ever get easier like they say it does?” You felt your eyes prick with fresh tears again, but you quickly blinked them away.

“With time. I suppose it does become easier to cope with, yes,” they said definitively, glancing down at you to catch your ponderous gaze. There was something in those eyes you couldn’t quite place, but you were intrigued nonetheless. You came to a stop in front of a small pond, surrounded by beautiful flowers and a few looming statues. Leaning toward the water’s edge, you caught a glimpse of your reflection and immediately regretted it. Your eyes were still slightly swollen and your cheeks tinged pink, though the latter could be due to your encounter with this beautiful stranger. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw them reach down to pick something up. Lowering yourself onto a nearby bench, they took a step to stand beside you, and held out a pristine white rose for you to take. You looked into their eyes with a kind smile and took it blindly from their grasp, your fingers brushing in the process. You dropped your gaze to take in its beauty before bringing the seemingly-perfect flower to your nose, its sweet scent wafting into your senses. Before you could offer your thanks, their voice was in your ear.

“Those we love are closer than we think.” You turned around to ask what they meant by that, only to find yourself completely alone, your sole company being the rose in your fingertips, its petals now black as night.

----------

Four more visits you’d had to the cemetery with no sign of your mysterious stranger. You of course told your best friend all about them, your words falling on deaf ears. You knew she would’ve been just as invested as you were in learning more about them, and the thought brought you some much needed comfort. You wondered if you kept visiting for her, or for the chance to run into them again. It was on the fifth day that you finally saw them again, walking alone among the graves, still dressed in white from head to toe. It was a stark contrast against the green of the freshly-mown grass and darkened evening sky. As you approached your usual spot beside the rectangle of stone in the ground, their head turned to you, having already paused themselves before the grave you were headed toward. They raised their palm gracefully in greeting, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“I wondered when I might see you again,” you teased, their eyes sweeping over you. You noticed a hint of nervousness taking hold at the way they looked you over, your stomach filling with butterflies. “Would you like to sit with me?” you asked, half expecting them to turn you down. You wouldn’t be surprised if they did, you normally spent this time crying your eyes out to your best friend anyway. You were pleased, however, when they lowered themselves to the ground, sitting with their legs extended beside you, one crossed over the other. It was such a simple act, yet they made it seem so regal.

“I suppose I can stay for a bit,” they replied, leaning back on their hands to watch you sit. You eased down beside them facing the grave, a solemn reminder of the reason you started coming here in the first place. Keeping your tears at bay, you looked in their direction, suddenly hesitant to meet their eyes. A question arose in you and you asked it before you could stop yourself.

“Where did you go? You disappeared on me the other day.” Their brow furrowed in thought, and you regretted being so forward immediately. You hardly knew this person, you remembered. What right did you have to know what they were up to? They answered nonetheless, apparently able to look past the prying nature of your question.

“I had some business to attend to. A few other souls were in need of guidance.” Their reply only puzzled you further, making them sound like a therapist or some kind of cult leader. They were certainly dressed like one.

“What kind of business? Can I ask what it is you do?” Their eyes took on a darker glint. Suddenly you weren’t sure that you really wanted an answer to that question.

“I am in the business of life and death... And judgment,” was their response. You leaned away to gauge their expression, now an amused one. Your eyebrows raised at their words, a million more questions flooding your thoughts. You don’t ask them, just allowed their statement to hang in the air. They had their hooks in you and you desperately wanted to know everything about them. After all, you didn’t even know their name.

After a beat, they stared off into the distance, watching the sun go down. As if able to read your mind, they volunteered, “Lucifer Morningstar. That is who I am.”

You held back a laugh, immediately discrediting their confession. “Like… the fallen angel?” Their head whipped around, anger igniting in their features. Your face fell at their seriousness. You still didn’t believe them, but something in the air around you both changed, as though suddenly charged with electricity. All of your nerves were on edge, but you had a hard time feeling anything other than adoration for this stranger who had brought you so much comfort in just the couple of times you’d met.

“As in, the Ruler of Hell.” They swiftly rose to their feet, and you clambered up to join them. With their hands interlocked at their front, you heard a noise behind them. At that moment, the sun dropped below the horizon, blanketing the sky in deep oranges and purples. They turned as if to leave and you reached for their arm, and that’s when you saw them; a set of massive black wings with horned tips, longer than you were tall. A sharp gasp left your throat, taken aback by them. You momentarily wondered how they kept them hidden during your last meeting. You would’ve noticed that detail before as it would’ve been hard to miss.

“Wait! Don’t go..” The pleading nature of your words embarrassed you, but you were enamored with this being, this Lucifer Morningstar. They looked at you over their shoulder with a sly smile, satisfied that you were finally convinced of their identity. You reached out to them again, your fingers ghosting over the leathery flesh of their wings, not daring to touch them. They fluttered when your fingers got too close, recoiling from your fingertips.

“They’re so beautiful,” you whispered without thinking, lowering your hand as they turned to face you again. You felt inferior to them, and almost considered kneeling before them when they took a step toward you. Wordlessly, they reached forward and cupped your cheeks in their hands, urging you to look up at them. Their eyes glistened in the fading daylight, a thoughtful smile on their lips.

“I have been watching you for some time, and I could no longer find the will to stay away,” you felt dizzy at their admission, a strange mix of emotion overcoming you. How long had they been observing you from afar? At that moment, you didn’t care. You felt your heart clench and your stomach fill with nervousness again as they lowered themselves to be eye-level with you.

“So don’t,” Your eyes flicked to their lips, this perfect being laying themselves bare to you filling you with a feeling you couldn’t begin to explain. Leaning in, they captured your lips in a soft kiss, more gentle than the breeze on the day you met. When you parted, you saw something in their eyes akin to sorrow; they couldn’t stay in this realm and they knew it. “Take me with you."

They smiled at your request, placing another kiss on your forehead. “Are you prepared to enter the gates of Hell?” The question caught you off guard, almost certain they wouldn’t consider for a moment letting you join them in their dominion. You only nodded in reply, thoroughly prepared to part from this realm if it meant being by their side. Taking your hand, they lead you from your place in the cemetery, and you hoped you would be seeing your best friend much sooner than you’d hoped.

#i hope this is like decent lol #feedback is much appreciated !!!#Lucifer Morningstar x fem!human!reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar sandman #gwendoline christie #my fics

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